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myownwholewildworld · 3 days

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THE RIGHT KIND OF WRONG ― dbf!mechanic!joel oneshot

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: dbf!mechanic!joel x f!reader. summary: your car breaks down and you make a deal with your dad's best friend, joel, who happens to be the best mechanic in town. you'll work for him over the summer holidays to pay your debt back, but maybe you can find a pleasant shortcut to it? a/n: well, well, well... what can i say? this whole uniformed!joel shit is giving me proper brain rot. i don't know what came over me while writing this but i just rolled with it. i do appreciate any notes you may wanna leave to keep me motivated hehe. enjoy! x edit: forgot to mention this oneshot was prompted by this ask! warnings: 18+, mdni. no outbreak AU. juicy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 48). rough, ABSOLUTE filth & i'm not even sorry. some edging. semi-public groping? masturbation (f and m receiving). oral (f and m receiving). pussy pronouns (she/her). unprotected piv. mouth fucking. very mild brat taming kink. transactional sex. alternating pov. reader is female but that's about it. w/c: ~8.9k of pure filth. divider by @cafekitsune

“Ugh, not again, c’mon!”

Your cranky little car did not have it in it anymore. It was almost fifteen years old now, having passed down from your older brother to you when you turned sixteen five years ago. Out of pure frustration, you hit the steering wheel with the palm of your hand and let out a raspy grunt.

The check engine light had lit up on the dash, which was what caused your fit. And then, as if orchestrated by the universe, the engine made a loud, clicking noise. You flattened your forehead against the wheel, your fingers curling around the rubbery texture with a tight grip.

“You stupid car!”, you screamed at it as if it was a sentient being. “I’m broke, you cannot die on me like this!”

You were on the parking lot of a caf��. Early that afternoon you had met with some friends to celebrate the beginning of summer and the end of the academic year. One more and you would be done with your degree ― it looked so damn far away, but you still had this summer to look forward to.

Rummaging through your purse, you finally located your cellphone and quickly dialled your dad.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, dad. I’m at Betty’s. The fucking light has come on again?!”

“Watch your mouth!”, he reprimanded you from the other side of the line. You could hear him huff and puff with disapproval. “I think your car is on its last legs, gonna have to think about buying one.”

“You know I can’t afford that, all my savings are going into my degree. I’ll just have to get it fixed for now.”

“Take it to Joel’s then. See what he thinks.”

“But it’s a Sunday, you think he’ll be open?”

“That man is a workaholic, you bet his business is open today.”

“Alright, you reckon he’ll do it for free?”

“For free?” He laughed; you could imagine him shaking his head. “I doubt it, but maybe he’ll give you a discount. Gotta go, little bug. I’ll see you at dinner. If you can make it, obviously.” He mocked you.

“Ha, ha… So funny. Talk to you later.” And you hung up.

The drive to Joel’s garage was a fucking torture. Every time the engine made a squealing noise, your heart would jolt to your throat. You tried to encourage it, whispering sweet nothings in the hopes it would get appeased and make it to Joel’s repair shop.

You also got distracted by your filthy mind. Joel had been in your DILF radar since you were nineteen. Three years ago, your dad celebrated his 45th birthday with a barbecue in the middle of summer. Joel had turned up in a white tee shirt, khaki shorts and flipflops, with untamed silvery curls and a crate of beer under his arm.

When the Texan heat became unbearable, he had stripped himself of his clothes, fashioning a pair of short swim trunks that had left you breathless and wet. When you watched him get out of the water later that afternoon, you could have sworn that the tip of his dick had shown briefly before he discreetly tucked it away. That image had been burnt into your retinas and haunted you since then.

Unconsciously you licked your bottom lip, your core molten with slick, as the car came to a halt. You had arrived at your destination.

There was an old Ford at the front of the garage, someone working under the hood. When the driver’s door of your car slammed against the frame, Joel peeked up from the engine he was working on.

His eyes flickered with recognition. He grabbed an old rag to clean his big, veiny hands of grease and oil. You wondered what else would be big and veiny. Stop it, you dirty fucker, you told yourself.

“Hey, Joel!” You waved at him with a smile.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

You rolled your eyes at him, the grin staying on your plump lips.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Joel. Have not been for a long time now, y’know.” You punctuated, unsure of what you were trying to achieve with that comment. Well, you knew, but did not want to admit it to yourself.

“Oh, I know”, he husked, his voice suddenly gruff.

Tilting your head to one side, you looked at him with question marks in your pupils. Why had he accentuated that “know”? And why all the sudden was your cunt gushing? How could he make you wet with three simple words? You were going to need to request a booty call that night from your friend with benefits.

“Uh, uhmm”, you laughed nervously. “The engine light on my car has come on for the third time this week and the motor is making weird noises, could you check it out for me, please?”

“Sure thing, lemme see.” He took the keys from your hand, electricity cracking between you.

You pursed your lips, a gesture he did not pick up on. Joel walked to the driver’s side, activated something and then the hood popped open. He walked around to the front of the car and propped the hood up with the metal rod that was inside.

As Joel was inspecting the motor with his broad hands, you put one foot in front of the other in a vain attempt to rub your knees together and cause some friction in your needy cunt. You squeezed your thighs some more as you watched him work with his hands, and you imagined what it would feel like if he was working you instead.

Oof! Take it down a notch, girl, you thought to yourself when your clit twitched in desperation.

Then Joel turned around to look at you.

“When was the last time you changed the timing belt?”

“The... what now?” Your mind was hazy with lust, but even if you had been at your full mental capacity, you wouldn’t have known what he was talking about.

“The timing belt. In the engine. What ensures that the camshaft and crankshaft rotate in sync?” He looked at you with a cocked brow, cleaning his hands again on that old rag.

Oh, I would pay big bucks to be that rag.

“Are you even speaking English?”, you replied back, partially because you really had no idea what he was talking about, partially because your brain was all mushy with desire.

“I’ll take that as a ‘never’ then. You should really get it replaced, seems like that’s your problem. Have you had trouble starting the car?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, this very morning.”

“Yeah, sounds like it. You need to change it asap, if it breaks while you’re driving it would be bad, very bad. You could have an accident. Also trying to fix it after it’s broken will cost you even more.”

“So… will I need to break the bank?” You asked, already flinching at the idea.

Joel seemed to take a second to consider your options, leaning against the passenger’s door and scratching his scruffy beard.

“It’ll be $800.”

Your heart almost stopped, your mouth agape.

“Eight fucking hundred?” He nodded. “Well, can I― Can you not give me a bit of a discount here? You are best friends with my dad. Pretty please?” You laced your fingers together in a prayer and batted your eyelashes at him.

With a low grunt, he straightened his back and folded arms at his chest.

“I’m already giving you one. I would usually charge $1100. You’re already getting a bargain.”

“Well, what about $300?” You counteroffered.

Joel’s brows knitted together and then loudly scoffed.

“What? You think I’m a fucking charity? No, kiddo. $800 and that’s it. If I go any lower, I’d be losing money. Got a business to run here.”

You really did not have $800 bucks to spare. In fact, you barely had five hundred bucks to your name. Asking your family for money was not an option either ― not because you were proud (you were), but because money was tight. Your parents already had enough struggles as it was, you did not want to add to the pile.

You visibly pouted and stumped one foot against the gravel, vexed. A loud sigh slipped through your lips as you pressed the heel of your hands against your eye sockets. You needed the car.

Dropping your hands to your sides, you looked at Joel with puppy eyes, covering the distance that was between you. Pleading, you palmed his strong forearm, your fingers wrapping around the girth of his muscles.

For a brief second, you wondered if you would be able to fully grip his erection. Would your fingertips be able to touch your thumb? Or would he be so thick you would need both hands to handle him?

“Joel, pl―please?”, you stammered, your arousal playing games with your vocal cords.

Unwillingly, he scanned your body up and down ― slowly, taking his time, pondering his options.

Joel had wanted to fuck you for three years now, since your lustful eyes widened at the sight of only his tip on that dreadful summer day. He could vividly remember the way you had chewed your bottom lip as you watched him slide his cock back in his swim trunks, shamelessly, without blinking. You only stopped devouring him when someone talked to you, snapping out of your trance.

That night, when he got home, he had jerked himself off with you in his mind. He had imagined your plump lips sealed around his glans, the tip of your tongue playfully caressing the slit ― your sparkly eyes looking up at him, dreamy and teary, imploring. He had taken his sweet time, rejoicing in his fantasy, until he had spilled in the palm of his hand, as if he was a hormonal teenager. And every time he would fuck someone to find relief, he would visualize your cunt sheathing him, clamping down on his dick like a beartrap.

Ever since then, every time his eyes landed on you, his blood would boil and his cock would harden. Just like now, dick pounding against his boxers, begging to be paid due attention. With the eyes of his imagination, he saw himself letting go and throwing you into the back of your car, drilling your pussy relentlessly until you came wailing, asking for more.

Joel sucked in his breath ― he needed to calm down, distract himself with something else. You were his best friend’s daughter. He shouldn’t be daydreaming about fucking you stupid. He had seen you grow since you were a babe.

Never thought of you any other way until that fateful barbeque, when he realised you were a full grown ass woman. Suddenly he had seen you for what you were: a fuckable brat who could get his cock rock-hard with the simple lick a of a lip.

An idea formed as you begged him. You looked desperate ― desperate enough to him at least.

Joel cracked his tongue, his expression unwavering. But if you could see, you would know his cock was throbbing already.

“Well. I do have an idea.” His words dragged, his erection making him feel uncomfortable.

“You do? I’m all ears!” You exclaimed with a lopsided grin, your delicate fingers tighter around his forearm.

His head snapped to his right, pointing to a sign that read “Hand Car Wash”.

“If you help out all summer handwashing cars, I’ll consider part of your debt paid”, he explained, looking down at your hand touching him.

“In full?” You eyed him as if he was your goddamn saviour and that unsettled him.

“I said part of it, kiddo. I’ll leave it at $300.”

You batted your eyelashes at him. Did you know that your suggestiveness was wreaking havoc?

“Anything I can do so the $300 reduces to zero?”

“I’ll think about it”, he reluctantly conceded. Joel had a few ideas in mind, but none of them were precisely appropriate. Not for a twenty-one year old to do with a forty-eight year old at least, that was for sure. “Be here tomorrow at 9 AM, sharp. The team works from nine to twelve, Mondays to Fridays.”

You frantically nodded, almost squealing in excitement. The noise you made forced his cock to twitch. He could make you squeal too, only if you would let him.

“I’ll be here! Thanks, Joel.”

Before he could think, you let go of his forearm and hugged him close to your chest. To your round breasts. Those two meaty globes he wanted to palm so badly. He could swear your nipples were stabbing at him. You embraced him so close to your body, his bulge pressed gently against your lower belly, and he wondered if you could feel him.

And then you stepped back. Quickly, too quickly for his liking.

“You’ll need to leave your car here, don’t want you driving back in that junk. I’ll have a look at it tomorrow. I’ll give you a lift back”, he offered. “Lemme close first and I’ll be right back in five minutes.”

“No probs, take your time.” You smiled at him as you went back to your car to grab your things.

Soon you were on the passenger’s seat of Joel’s pickup truck. It was dusking on the horizon, the light scattering through the windshield. Joel put down the visor so he wouldn’t get blinded by the sun.

“So how’s college going?” His attempt at small talk made you smile.

“It’s good, hard but good. The first year was really bad though. I didn’t know anyone there, so had to make friends and everything.” You mentioned, shrugging, while mindlessly playing with your seatbelt.

“I’m sure you had no problems making friends”, Joel said distractedly, checking all the mirrors before turning at the streetlight.

You placed your elbow on the window frame, the back of your head resting on your palm, and you turned to look at him.

“How are you so sure?” You asked, curious to see what his take on you was. The man was like a brick wall.

“You’re so vivacious and talkative. You’re not the shy kind either, always were part of the popular group in high school, weren’t you?” You nodded, but he didn’t see you, all focused on the road ahead. “Bet’cha you have all the boys running after you.”

Well, that was unexpected. For both you and him, because you saw how his jaw clenched. It was almost imperceptible, but you were so aware of his every move, your body so in tune with his, you couldn’t have missed it.

Had he noticed you? Like, actually? Was it possible that Joel fucking Miller, your freaking dad’s best friend, could look at you with other than paternal eyes? Why would he make hat comment otherwise?

Your cunt, still wet from your previous innocent interaction, fluttered. You had no butterflies in your stomach ― they were actually clapping their fragile wings in between your legs. This man was a fucking menace to your senses, and he seemed oblivious to the effect he had on you. Or did he? Time to find out.

You giggled at his question and patted his upper thigh a couple of times, as if he had cracked the best joke you had ever heard. The pad of your fingers almost caressed his groin, that sweet dip where his thigh met his pelvis. The denim under your touch suddenly stretched as Joel flexed his leg, trying to release the tension that had rapidly built up.

You bit your bottom lip as he peered at you askance, your hand still too close to his crotch.

“I actually do, but none of them seem good enough, y’know? I want a man, not a boy”, you ventured, your top teeth sinking further in the soft pillow of your bottom lip.

You saw Joel sucking in his breath ― and the grin in your face grew. He was definitely not immune to you, at least not as much as you had originally thought. He looked so unattainable, always so distant, you had wondered if, in his eyes, you had never grown up.

“Do you now, kiddo?” He asked between gritted teeth, tone throaty.

His brown eyes drifted down for one second, watching the tips of your fingers rubbing the denim of his jeans slightly, and then he locked them back on the road. You heard a low grunt vibrating in his throat, although he tried his best to suppress it.

“Yeah. I’m sick and tired of stupid childish boys. They are just boring now, they lack― well, you know.” You let him brew with your unfinished sentence and removed your hand from his lap.

You could tell Joel finally was able to breathe again as his chest expanded slowly. His reaction to you left a prickling sensation in your pussy ― wet, throbbing, needy. You pressed your knees together, but what you really wanted was for him to reach for you and dunk his thick fingers in your slit.

“Your dad’s there.” He stated, succinct, after clearing his throat.

You looked over your shoulder and through the window to realise that, in fact, you had arrived home. Your father was already waiting for you on the porch, probably because he recognised the noise of Joel’s truck’s exhaust pipe. And then he started walking towards you.

You suppressed a pouting grimace ― you wanted just a few more minutes alone with Joel. A few more moves and, who knew? Maybe you would have him fingering the shit out of you. But thanks to your father, you would never find out.

Your father knocked on the passenger’s window and you rolled it down, smiling. Although what you really wanted to do was smack him for interrupting.

“Hey, dad.”

“Hey, sweetie. How’s the car?”

“Well…” You looked at Joel ― you had already forgotten what was it that needed replacing.

“The timing belt is going. Bit expensive but your daughter and I have reached an agreement. Will reduce the price for her but she’s gotta come work on the hand-wash business”, he explained, matter-of-factly.

“Sounds ‘bout right. Get your first taste of what the real world is like.” Your dad laughed at his own occurrence, while your mind drifted far, very far.

“I’d love to get a taste.” You answered feigning innocence, turning your face to Joel with a very wide smile painted on your mouth.

His eyes darkened, transfixed on yours. Oh, he knew exactly what you meant. He subtly stirred on his seat and you wanted to giggle so bad, but refrained.

“Hey, Joel. There’s a game on tomorrow night. You wanna come over? Can have something to eat, few beers, will be fun. I need the company, God knows this lady over here just complains while scrolling through her social media”, he pointed towards you with his thumb and you simply rolled your eyes at him.

Watching football with your old man was as boring as it got. However, if Joel Miller was there, he would have your undivided attention. Well, not him, the screen, obviously. Duh.

Your eyes shot to his, expectant. Your cunt was even more anticipative of his answer.

“Yeah, why not?”

Famous last words. That was Joel’s only thought as soon as he entered his best friend’s home. You greeted him at the door, all smiley and welcoming, ignoring the fact that you had been trying to get him hard the. whole. fucking. day.

You had come to work with some very short jeans ― every time you bent down to rub the sponge on the car’s bodywork, the bottom part of your perfectly round ass cheeks would show beneath the denim. Did you even wear any underwear? He thought not.

And then that white crop top was the fucking end of him. You had gotten it all wet when a loaded sponge dripped all over your front while you were talking to him about some trivial thing he could no longer remember. You had tittered and apologised while you scrunched it to get as much water out as possible. And the only thing he had been able to focus on were your pointy nipples, staring right at him, screaming for his caress.

After that, he had been at full mast the whole damn shift.

“Hi, Joel, come in!” You greeted him excitedly, swinging the door open.

He had taken a cold shower before coming over, but maybe what he needed was a fucking ice bath. Because the moment you batted your eyelashes at him, his cock twitched again. Joel had fisted his dick while showering, in the hopes that emptying his nuts before seeing you again would placate his lust for you.

Nope, hadn’t worked. Not one bit. This was probably a bad idea.

“Hey, kiddo.” He greeted you, emphasizing the last word.

He could literally be your fucking father, but that did not seem to deter you. If anything, it spurred you on. Had you no shame? Had he no shame? Because he should have stopped you the moment you started to be suggestive. Instead, he had let you go on, enjoying every single second of it.

Joel walked in and made his way to the kitchen, with you on his heels, where your father was lathering up some ribs with his secret sauce recipe.

“Hey, Joel. Let me get that from you”, he said before cleaning his hands on a kitchen towel and grabbing the beer crate from him.

Feeling they were still cold, his best friend cracked two open and handed him one. Joel lifted the can to his lips and saw you looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“Want one?” he asked, since you were of legal drinking age.

You shook your head no, wrinkling your nose in disgust.

“Eww, nah. I hate beer”, you sniggered and his dick spasmed some more.

“‘Course you do”, said your father before he could reply. “You only drink― What’s that crap again?”

“Gin and tonic, dad. It’s literally gin and tonic mixed. It’s not that fancy.” You huffed and puffed, shaking your head.

“This youth mixing everything because they can’t have proper alcohol. What’s next? Mixing beer with lemonade or something like that?”

“Well, that’s actually a thing. It’s called a shandy. Don’t be so old.”

Joel let you two have a go at each other. Observing the exchange, he sat down on one of the stools in front of the island, knees slightly bent.

“What?! You listening to this, Joel?” You father exclaimed with a joking tone. “Is Sarah like this too?”

“Yeah, exactly like this. Thinks beer is disgusting and everything. Thought I raised her better than that, but apparently not.” He jested, sipping from the tin can.

“How’s she doing?” His friend asked.

“She’s fine. She’s turning twenty-four in a couple of weeks. She moved out two months ago, gone to Houston for her new job.” He couldn’t help but be proud of his Sarah. She had accomplished so much. “She’s supposed to be here for her birthday, but we’ll see. She’s always so busy, don’t really know with what.”

“Aren’t they all? I barely see this one over here and she still lives under my roof.”

You folded arms, rolling your eyes again, while you sat down beside Joel on another stool.

“Sorry for having a social life? Like, what do you want me to do? Stay here with you watching football? Got better things to do, dad.”

“So you ain’t staying tonight then?” Your dad asked.

Joel turned to study you, interested in your answer. Could he have some reprieve tonight?

“Of course I’m stayin’. Would be rude not to when we have guests over, right, Joel?” And as the last words abandoned your mouth, you placed your left hand on his right thigh under the counter.

God have mercy.

Joel’s muscles stiffened, one in particular more than the others. His thighs were tense as he gripped the beer can with more strength than what was necessary. He kept his eyes to the front, taming his breathing.

He should have done something, slapping your hand away from his lap for instance. But he didn’t. And you took that as an invitation, because soon enough you were kneading his bulge under the kitchen island. Your palm rubbed harshly against the denim, and he saw you chewing your bottom lip.

Your father busied himself with seasoning the ribs and the French fries, oblivious to what was happening just a few meters away from him. This feels fucking wrong, but so fucking good, Joel thought to himself, your hand frisking his groin brazenly.

His cock was thudding with desire under his clothing, begging to be freed from its prison. You sensed his desperation, because you quickly tried to clasp your hand around it. Feeling your frustration at the inability of fisting him properly, Joel parted his legs to give you better access. If that was not an open invitation, nothing was.

I’m already going to hell. Joel had to stop himself of sucking his breath in when you started to unzip his jeans. His eyes slightly widened, but that was his only tell.

“So who do you reckon is going to win tonight?” Your father asked as your fingers dipped underneath his boxers.

Your warm skin against his beating cock dulled his senses. Then you took his dick out of his boxers and attempted to circle his girth while working him. Joel had to drink from his beer to shut himself up.

“Not sure, but I’d like for the Longhorns to win”, he spat the words out as best he could given the circumstances.

“Yeah, would be nice seeing our hometown win something this season”, your father continued with the small talk.

Joel’s thighs flexed when you started pumping him decisively. Fuck. He briefly looked down at his erection. It felt too damn good, your tiny fingers gripping him hard as you slowly moved your hand up and down on his lap. The tip of his cock was glistening with precum and you expertly rubbed it on his foreskin with your thumb.

As your father turned around to put everything in the oven, Joel took the chance to look at you. With your gaze averted, you pretended there was something interesting in the wall in front of you, while your right hand was buried underneath your slutty denim shorts. Joel could swear he could hear the squelching sounds your pussy was making while you played with yourself.

“Right, I think this is it. Gotta wait for an hour until everything’s properly cooked. Wanna move to the family room in the meantime?” He happily chattered as he walked around the kitchen island.

You reacted quickly and let go of his shaft. With his lap right under the kitchen counter, Joel hoped to hell his friend would not see anything out of the ordinary.

“Yeah”, he said with a coarse voice. “Need to go to the bathroom first.”

Your father just nodded as he sauntered towards the living room and Joel almost let go a sigh of relief. You simply chortled as you put your left thumb in your mouth, making it obvious that you were tasting his precum.

Joel’s cock jerked on his lap as he whispered a blasphemy. Quickly he tucked away his painful dick back in his boxers and zipped his jeans as he stood up. Then he retreated to the bathroom, needing a fucking moment to find his composure again.

Until he heard you.

“Gonna go get my phone charger, be back in a jiffy!”

Before Joel could close the door behind him, you slipped your hand in the door gap to stop him from shutting it. You caught him off guard, because he stepped back, brows knitting when he saw you under the door frame.

“What’cha doing?”, he questioned you.

You could feel the rigidity radiating from him. You entered the small bathroom and silently closed the door behind you, both of your hands holding onto the doorknob on your back.

“I came to finish what I started.”

You didn’t give him time to think ― if you did, you knew he would put an end to this. You were too turned on, your cunt beating every time your heart did. Your pussy lips were all wet and puffy ― you could feel your slick trapped between your folds, almost seeping into your panties. You had unleashed the beast and wanted it all for yourself.

So you threw yourself into Joel’s chest, your teeth softly scratching his Adam’s apple as one of your hands found its way back to his cock. He tilted his chin up and groaned at your touch. His pounding dick felt warm and velvety against your palm, so hard from working him under the kitchen counter a minute before.

Once he opened his eyes again, he looked down at you as you gripped his erection with both hands. Slowly you jerked him off, feeling powerful with him on the palm of your hands. Every time you pumped him, your clit would twitch in response. He had not touched you yet and your pussy was already palpitating for him. You could not wait to feel him inside you, stuffing you full.

“We shouldn’t, your father is right there―”

You could not care less. And to make it evident, you sunk to your knees in front of him, still holding his cock, now at eye level.

Your tongue darted out and you leaned his dick forward until the tip rested flat against your tongue, your hands still working his veiny shaft.

“You were saying?” You asked before briefly pecking his glans.

“Fuck”, was the only thing he managed to mumble.

That was your cue to give free rein to your lust. You nudged his column with the tip of your nose as your mouth drifted down to kiss his balls. Then your tongue slid out in its full extension, and you flattened it against the underside of his cock, slowly lapping at it until you reached the top and sealed your lips around his mushroom head.

Glancing up at him, you saw pleasure softening his features as you took him in further and further down, until his cock reached the natural resistance at the end of your throat. When his tip bottomed out in your mouth, Joel’s eyes found yours. His jaw visibly clenched at the sight of you kneeling in front of him, cock burrowed in between your lips, tears gathering on your bottom eyelids because of how his dick was outstretching you.

You moaned as Joel pulled his hips back, his shaft leaving your wet cavity, now full of precum and saliva. You swallowed to make room as you avidly tipped your head towards him, your lips hunting down his dick again. Slurping so you wouldn’t drown in fluids, you ate his cock like if it was the last edible thing on earth.

At that moment, something shifted in the air. As if Joel, finally, let go of his prejudices and accepted what you were giving him: your mouth to use as he pleased. His fingers hovered over your temples and then they clamped down on your skull as he held you in place.

“Stay still”, he commanded, and you nodded, his cock sitting snugly in your mouth.

His hips moved back and then forward, rocking his dick in and out of your lips. First slow, then picking up a pace. You stayed put throughout while he fucked your mouth mercilessly, palms against your knees like the good girl you were. Then his glans breached your uvula and you inevitably gagged at the intrusion.

He forced you to remain still as he tried to go further down, but there was nowhere for him to go. Your eyes welled up while you fought back the need to cough, almost unable to breathe.

Joel snapped his hips back and your mouth became free. You started panting while trying to catch a breath. Joel cupped your chin up so you would look at him. His sly grin told you he was enjoying himself a bit too much.

“Can tell you’ve not eaten many cocks, have you? Despite pretending to be this slutty brat in front of everyone, hm?” He asked, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“Well, I―” He didn’t let you finish the sentence because as soon as you opened your mouth, he slotted his dick back in between your plump lips.

“I actually don’t wanna hear it.”

Inevitably your cunt gushed at his roughness. He was right though ― you had only given head to two guys before and their cocks did not measure up to his. Your jaw had actually started to hurt now due to the effort you were making to house his dick in your mouth.

Joel quickly resumed his pounding, fucking your mouth relentlessly ― his hips swaying back and forth in front of you.

“Sweetie! Can you bring my charger too please?” Your father’s question forced both of you to snap out of the sexual haziness you both were feeling.

You two froze in place, Joel’s cock still in your mouth.

“Or I can come get it.” Then you heard his booted steps coming up the corridor.

In a panic, Joel stumbled back and you sprang to your feet, eyes widened with fear.

“No! Don’t worry! I’m coming!” You shouted back, hoping that your voice sounded far away enough to him.

The steps stopped and you both listened to him walking back to the living room. “Thank you, sweetie!”

You turned to look at Joel, who had grabbed a bunch of toilet roll to clean off the mess on his still throbbing cock.

“Joel, I’m sorry, b―”

“Just go before he changes his mind and comes looking for you”, his voice was strained with effort. His erection had to be painful by now without any relief.

But he was right. You couldn’t risk it. Neither of you could. So with apologetic eyes, you slithered out the bathroom door and ran to your room to snatch a couple of phone chargers.

Fucking torture that was.

Joel had never been in a worse position than that. Sat on the couch with you, your father on the recliner just a couple of meters away ― and his dick still pulsating, his balls full of unspent cum. His cock would writhe in his boxers, asking for a relief that never came. He was in excruciating pain and was not able to concentrate at all. All the small talk your father did went over his head, didn’t pay attention to the TV’s commentary either.

From time to time, you would graze his thigh lightly ― and on one occasion you slid your naughty hand towards his groin. Luckily the living room was dark, the TV being the only source of light, so your father didn’t pay much attention to your provocations. You quietly kneaded his bulge, curling your fingers around his erection underneath, and it got to a point where Joel had to force your hand away, because he was too close to coming.

So, when he waved you both goodbye and got into his truck, he could literally not wait to get home. Under the dim light of the lampposts that filtered through the windows into the truck’s cabin, Joel freed his aching dick and fisted it from the base. With his head tilted back against the headrest, he furiously jerked off ― fast and with no measure, to the point it was almost hurting. Tension built up from his nuts upwards and when Joel finally got relief, he groaned audibly as his cum spurted out in white, thick streaks.

With a heavy sigh and some laboured breathing, he opened his eyes, looking for some tissues to clean the mess on his lap. As he was putting his cock back in his boxers, something caught his attention.

The darkness camouflaged you well, but he spotted you on the window of your room, watching him eagerly with half-lidded eyes and chewing your bottom lip. Then your head leaned forward, your chin almost touching your chest, and Joel suddenly understood what was happening. You had been touching yourself while observing him do the same thing, until you orgasmed too.

Your eyes locked on each other’s through the blackness, something dark and perverted floating in the atmosphere. The whole thing felt wrong. The right kind of wrong.

The next week had been a continuous dance between the two of you. You too suggestive, him too evasive. After you had seen him wanking in his car, you had thought you had him under your spell. He had looked like a damn teenager chasing his release, unable to contain it much longer.

But you couldn’t blame him ― you had had him on edge for almost five hours. First touching him under the counter, then sucking his dick in the bathroom, and finally kneading him on the couch with your dad only two meters away.

It all had affected you too, because as soon as you had scurried away to your room and had looked out the window, you fingered yourself with your eyes locked on him. You came so hard, that you had to steady yourself on the windowsill, trembling knees and all. And once the orgasm softened its grip on you, you had realised he had been watching you as you rode the last wave of your climax.

So yes, for a week you tried to seduce him again, because you needed to know how it all ended. Having him burrowed down to your guts was a necessity now. However, it got to a point where you almost gave up ― it was draining having to follow him around like a bitch in heat. You still had one ace up your sleeve though. One that you hoped to play this afternoon. Because if you didn’t fuck him today, you were going to lose your shit.

You focused on your task, which was rubbing the soaked sponge on the bodywork of the car. Two other people were doing the same thing on the back, while you were slightly bent over the hood trying to reach the middle. Your breasts brushed against the metalwork, your white tank top completely wet with soapy water, almost transparent now. The coldness was refreshing in the asphyxiating Texan heat and your nipples especially welcomed it, wrinkling tightly and showing through the fabric.

When you straightened, you caught a glimpse of Joel eyeing you intently. But you pretended you didn’t ― maybe you needed to play difficult, show him no interest. Reverse psychology. So for the rest of your shift you just ignored him, fully conscious of how his sight followed you at all times. Let him brew.

Joel didn’t say a word though, didn’t come close to you either. But you heard him wicker while you were openly teasing one of your teammates. Were you trying to make him jealous? Absolutely. So, you giggled and played with your hair at the tasteless joke your colleague told you. It wasn’t funny, but you wanted Joel to listen to your flirting.

Midday came around and the other two people working on the hand wash business said their goodbyes. Joel employed a father and son in the shop too, who left the garage to go home for lunch. And then it was only you and Joel left. Just as you had planned.

“Joel? Can you help me with this, please?” You politely asked him after lifting a bucket full of water up to your chest.

You took a couple of steps forward and the water spilt all over, soaking your shirt completely.

“Shit”, you heard him say under his breath, jogging towards you.

He slipped his arms underneath the bucket to release you from its weight and then placed it back down between both of you.

“What are you doing? You’re gonna hurt your back with such terrible manual handling.” He reprimanded you, tutting.

“Something hurts and it’s not my back, Joel.” You muttered, your fingers wrapping around his wrist to haul him closer to you.

You were done with subtlety. You guided his hand to your pussy and pressed it gently.

“Hurts right here.” The low, needy mumble poured from your lips like honey.

Joel’s eyes squinted just a tad, and his nostrils flared. You saw the inner battle in his chocolate eyes, and you fucking hoped he lost.

Soon you had the answer you had been looking for. The palm of his hand flattened against your crotch, holding you possessively, and pulled you against his broad chest. You couldn’t help but moan when your breasts pressed against him, your taut nipples aching with sensitivity.

“You’re so fucking nasty, kiddo. Been watching you all week, trying to get me hard all over again, haven’t you?” You shyly nodded, biting down your bottom lip as you glanced up at him, his palm rubbing your cunt with determination. “Of course you have, you’re so cock drunk. You loved sucking me, didn’t you?”

You shook your head yes, holding onto the waistband of his jeans. You whimpered when his thumb burrowed in your pants, trying to find your slit over all that clothing unsuccessfully.

“Joel, please.” You begged for mercy, for relief, for something ― anything he could give you, you would take.

“You want me to fuck you, kiddo?” His free hand cupped your chin, tilting your head up, while his thumb kept nudging your damp slit. His mouth hovered over yours as you simply nodded again. “Hm? You want me to destroy your pussy?”

“Yes, yes, YES.” You were already gushing at his dirty talk.

With no more prodding, Joel bowed down and sunk his tongue in your mouth, darting in with the ferocity only a man on the edge could feel. He swept your entire cavity in an open-mouth kiss that left your knees shaking and your pussy throbbing. You moaned into his breath and your tongue lapped at his, the span on his fingers gently covering your neck and squeezing lightly.

Joel’s hand between your legs moved to your ass, pressing you into him. His swollen lump poked at your lower belly intimately and you couldn’t resist the urge to dip your hand in his boxers. He audibly groaned as you attempted to circle his whole girth and failed. Just like a week before, you would need both of your hands around his shaft to properly grip him. You pumped him once, very slow, your hand gliding down till it found his balls.

Joel grunted in the middle of the sloppy kiss and pushed you to go backwards until your body met the back of his pickup truck, which was parked at the end of the driveway. Out of prying eyes, you hoped. Not that you cared that much at this precise moment, anyway.

His beard scratched the skin on your cheek as his lips drifted down to your neck. You looked up to the clear sky before you closed your eyes, giving his pulsing cock a light squeeze that snatched a moan out of him.

Without warning, Joel broke the messy kiss and knelt before you, his hands tugging at the waistband of your shorts with no difficulty. Soon your pants were around your ankles, your panties quickly following, leaving you naked from the waist down. Joel helped you take them off but left your tennis on.

Still on his knees, he peeked up with a devilish smile, then leaned forward and lapped at your mound. A heavy sigh slipped from your lips as your fingers raked his salt and pepper curls. The tip of his tongue brushed the point where your slit started and then licked upwards, his tongue skidding through your skin until it reached your belly button.

You pursed your lips, wanting him to go down, not up. In fact, you pushed him down ever so slightly and the cold of his breath against your wet skin when he laughed made you look down, frustrated.

He kissed the beginning of your slit again and when you thought he was going in, he stopped. You whimpered, thwarted, as he got back up to his feet and towered above you.

“You want me to touch you where it hurts, hm?” He questioned with his lips ghosting yours. “Your pussy? That’s where?”

Not waiting for your reply, his index dunked in your pearly furrow and traced it in its entirety, from your quivering hole to your thumping clit. And then he did it again, for good measure.

“You’re soaking, kiddo. I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping.” To emphasize his words, Joel suddenly dived his finger in your opening, a squelching sound making it obvious that you were, in fact, dripping. “You hear that?” He forced his finger out and then back in, the wet, sucking noise even louder this time.

You frantically nodded as he fingered you, his thumb caressing your begging clit as he did. You mewled into his chest, eyes shut, trying to calm the fluttering of your inner walls around his lonely finger. Lonely not for long, because Joel then introduced a second. You held onto his sides, his tee shirt scrunching in your fists, the orgasm building up.

“C’mon, squeeze your cunt for me. Show me how tight you are”, he whispered in your ear as his relentless fingering picked up a faster pace between your legs.

You happily obliged and squashed your walls together around his fingers as he dextrously stroked your g-spot. All of a sudden, a firing sensation built in your clit without warning and the haziness of pleasure took over your senses abruptly. You came hard, very hard, wailing his name as he kept on fingering you until the last wave of your climax washed over you.

What the actual fuck? You thought to yourself, amazed. You rested your forehead against his chest, catching a breath and feeling your arousal wetting your inner thighs.

Still recovering from your unexpected orgasm, Joel picked you up and settled you down on the edge of his truck’s cargo bed. Your feet dangled in front of you, and you parted your legs to make room for him while you wrapped his neck with your arms and licked into his mouth.

“Now I’m gonna eat you raw, kiddo. Give you some of your own medicine.” His hoarse tone gave you goosebumps. Palming both of your breasts over your wet tank top, he pushed you down until your back met the floor of the cargo bed, your legs hanging freely from your knees down. “Is that what you want? This old man feasting on your pussy, on her? ‘S she gonna like it?”

“Joel, please, just― Yes, eat my pussy. Eat her, eat me, please.” You begged with a small voice while you pinched your nipples over your shirt, eyes closed.

And finally, he did. With his hands on your knees to keep them apart, Joel lapped at your cunt in one sweet sweep. Your body trembled with elation, shivers firing down your spine. His tongue caressed all the crevices in your shiny slit, lips puffy and reddened. His thumb found your clit as the tip of his tongue played with your leaking hole, going in and out a few times ― fucking you with his tongue.

You were not able to take it for much longer ― with Joel’s tongue lodged in your creamy fold and your fingers playing with your nipples, you were done for. Soon you came undone, tension growing in your lower belly and molten lava finding its way out. You howled his name, your knees pressing against his head, holding him in place as you came in his mouth. Joel sipped from your fountain, leaving not even one drop behind, your pussy licked clean of your own discharge.

His turn to find relief.

Even though Joel had been fisting himself while eating you raw, the roughness of his palm could not compare to your warmth. He just knew your pussy would hug his cock just right. And he was dying to find out.

Pushing his work jeans and boxers down to his ankles, he kicked his feet until they came off. Soon his security shoes and socks were kicked to the side too. With renewed energy, Joel jumped on to the cargo bed. You propped your torso up with the help of your elbows to study his erection, wetting your lips unknowingly.

Your eyes lingered on his cock for too damn long and it twitched on his hand.

“Spread your legs, kiddo.”

And so you did without complaints. You stretched your legs, Joel having a perfect view of your glistening pussy. You were so horny, he could literally see your cunt palpitating from this angle. Knelt between your legs, he leaned forward until the tip of his dick brushed against your slit, so damp again it just slid off. Jerking himself off, he nudged your soaked entrance with his mushroom head and your mouth opened, shaping a perfect O.

“So needy, isn’t she? Aren’t you? Playing difficult to catch today, trying to make me jealous with that stupid boy, but in reality, you’re just a desperate brat wanting to get her pussy drilled by her dad’s best friend.” His dirty talk did not stop while he pushed in, your flesh parting to house him until he bottomed out.

Joel moaned, sweat gathering on his brow, his hands on either side of your head. He stood still for a long minute while your cunt fluttered around him, sheathing his whole length. He could feel your inner muscles adjusting to him.

You were so cockstruck you didn’t even reply.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, so take it well, kiddo.” He warned before tilting his hips back and abruptly back in.

You wailed loudly at the first thrust, and Joel had to muffle your screams by covering your mouth with his hand. You licked his palm, but he didn’t let go. He did not want you to alert the neighbours around the garage. His hips bucked against yours and then, after a few teasing shoves, Joel started jackhammering you fast and viciously hard.

You draped your legs around his waist, the heels of your white tennis pushing on his ass cheeks, encouraging to go deeper and quicker. And so he did, uncovering your mouth to replace it with his.

Joel fucked you mercilessly, filthily. He drove his dick in and out of you in quick succession, drilling your tacky pussy. And he knew you were loving every single second of it. Your soft sobs only spurred him on and when your moist pussy clutched around his drumming cock announcing your orgasm, he couldn’t restraint himself for much longer.

He stoically let you come while riding your own climax. His balls tightened and his belly muscles strained, signalling his own relief.

“Where?”, was the only word that he managed to whisper.

Your eyes were still closed, a languid smile lingering on your lips, all blissful and satisfied while he was still fucking suffering.

“In my mouth.” Your reply was almost his undoing.

Joel snapped his hips back, his hard, throbbing cock slipping out. He dragged his body across yours until his thick, hairy thighs were on each side of your head and his nuts were resting on your chin, his ass hanging over your breasts.

“Open”, he husked, raspy and throaty.

Still with your eyes closed, you parted your lips, and Joel shoved his beating cock down your throat unceremoniously. He leaned forward over you ― his hands holding his weight off you, flat against the cargo bed’s floor. And then Joel started fucking your mouth mindlessly, as if it was your cunt ― his testicles slapping against your chin and your eyes welling up.

He could feel your head almost rocking up and down below him with the strength of his thrusts. You only stopped swaying underneath him when your hands grabbed his buttocks, your fingers sinking in his flesh.

With a guttural growl, Joel came undone and his thick cum filled your mouth. You stayed still while the last white ropes spurted out the slit on his tip, finally reaching the bliss he had been chasing for a week.

Joel lifted his hips off your face and his dick came out of your mouth with a pop.

“Eat it, kiddo.” He requested of you, towering above you.

From this angle, flat on your back and with Joel almost sat on your face, you saw first his balls and then his soft cock hovering over your eyes. What had just happened was filthy, and you loved it, even though you were sure that your throat would hurt tomorrow.

“It’s $300 if I swallow”, you kidded out of nowhere, almost gargling with his cum as your mouth was full of it.

Joel chuckled as he came off you, sitting down on your left.

“Deal”, he agreed.

And so you gulped his cum down, letting it slip down your throat until it landed in your belly. You smiled at him before opening your mouth to show him it was empty.

Joel’s chest rumbled with satisfaction.

“Good girl.”

552 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 3 days

Note

Hi doll! I love ur new theme btw.

could I request Spencer Reid with (number 3) hands stained with pen ink 🐤? x

Hi baby! Thank you <3

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 454 words

“Breaker locale.” You tap beside your mouth absentmindedly. “Three letters.”

“Locale?” Spencer checks.

“Mhm.”

“Do we have any letters?”

“If we’re right about sixteen down, then there’s an A in the middle.”

You’re definitely right about sixteen down. Spencer had gotten that one, and you’ve yet to see the day where he has to scratch something out in the crossword. He’s done most of it, actually, leaving the final few to you while you munch on your toast and he makes coffee.

“Could it be like an electrical breaker?” you wonder aloud. “Like a breaker box? The breakers live in the box, don’t they?”

“Not if the second letter is A…” Spencer sounds stumped. You raise your eyebrows at his back and he puts down the bag of coffee grounds, staring at nothing for a few seconds. “Breaker locale…”

“Maybe it’s like a place where people who break stuff live? Is there a city like that?”

Spencer shakes his head wordlessly. He finishes messing with the coffee machine and turns it on, coming around the counter to look over your shoulder.

He exhales a soft laugh. “Lab.”

“Lab?” You don’t get it even remotely, but you’re already filling the letters in. “How?”

“It says beaker locale.”

You find the clue and read it again. “Oh,” you laugh, pressing your fingers to your eyes. “Dumb.”

“Not dumb,” Spencer chides lightly. “You just misread it. Hey.” He knuckles the corner of your lips. “Be careful not to get ink in your mouth.”

You blink, then wipe the spot with your thumb. It comes away tinged blue. “Oh, god.” You roll your eyes. “I didn’t even realize I was tapping it with my pen. Guess I’m really not having my most intellectual morning.”

“Don’t say that,” Spencer admonishes you again, but he’s smiling, fingers grasping your jaw as he comes in for a kiss. It’s soft and sweet and feels like the glowy yellow your apartment turns in the morning light. When he pulls away after a few seconds, his smile slips before righting itself again. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Hm?”

“You’ve got…” He grimaces sheepishly, holding up the hand that had been on your face. Three of his fingertips are blue.

“Oh my god.” You laugh, going to the bathroom to see. And yup, there are three blue splotches spread along your jaw, two on one side and one on the other. “Spencer!”

“I’m sorry,” you hear him laugh from the kitchen. “You already had the ones by your mouth anyway, though. They’ll wash off.”

“These are worse than hickeys, you know that, right?”

“I don’t really see how…but if they don’t come off and you want a hickey to divert attention from them, I can do that.”

291 notes · View notes

soaps-mohawk · 2 days

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

What Could Have Been

Summary: You've reached the age you can be chosen. Little do you know your future has been planned out from the start.

Pairing: Philip Graves x reader

Word Count: 7, 358 words

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, a/b/o, Omegaverse, Alternate Universe, AU of an AU, suggestive content, mentioned predatory behaviors towards a minor, Philip Graves is a major creep, reader has a set age for plot (she is an adult), dubcon (pushing noncon at the end) but it's muddy water because a/b/o, kissing, touching, lingerie, panic, coercion, virginity and purity culture, fade to black because I couldn't write smut for this

A/N: I am...very sorry for this. Honestly I've been debating posting it but I wrote 7k words and I don't want that to go to waste. This is very...dark. A lot is implied but there's still some fairly disturbing content because of those things. The reader is 18 in this because of plot, but it still feels very...icky. Definitely recommend reading Chapter 34 before reading this to understand the context. Not necessary to read. Just an AU what if kind of bit for the story.

Also if you're finding this and you've never seen my stuff before, Hi! I highly recommend reading Cherry Red, Crimson Blood first before this for context otherwise some things might not make sense. I suppose it could be read as a stand alone but still, context is nice to have

What Ifs Masterlist | Directory

“You’ve been chosen.”

You had barely managed to get a bite in of breakfast when one of the staff members had pulled you away and led you to the director’s office. None of the omegas at FIOT particularly like him. He’s a small man, middle aged and balding. His scent is...not pleasant. Nutty with undertones of wet animals and whatever he ate for his meals that day. Every omega in the institute dreads being called to his office, being closed in with the offensive smell he permeates.

You would have been experiencing that same disgust had it not been for your shock at his words. “What?” You breathe, eyes wide.

“You’ve been chosen.” He repeats, folding his hands on his desk over a thin file.

“So soon?” You ask, forgetting all decorum and manners you’ve had drilled into your head for two years.

It’s your eighteenth birthday today. You just became old enough to be chosen a matter of hours ago.

“This pack is very eager to claim you as their omega.” He says. “One of their betas will be by tomorrow to interview you.”

Your heart flutters in your chest. While it’s shocking you were chosen so soon, this is what you had hoped for. Two years of training and drilling perfection into your head did pay off. You’ve hardly been on the available list more than a few hours and already there’s a pack interested in you. Something about it has a chill running down your spine, tickling at the base of your neck. You brush it off as shock at this all happening so soon.

“You may return to breakfast.” The director says, going back to his paperwork.

“Thank you, sir.” You say, exiting his office.

It doesn’t feel like your feet touch the floor as you walk back to the mess hall, your body floating as you make your way through the halls. If tomorrow goes well, this will be the last day you spend in this building, this prison you’ve been confined to. They’ll be here as early as they can be tomorrow, if they’re this eager to choose you.

The thought has something prickling in the back of your mind still.

Who are they? Who is this eager to choose you? The must have known about you before you even showed up in the registry as being available. You’ve heard rumors that institutes will supply information about omegas to packs for the right price under the table. Information on omegas that aren’t old enough to be chosen.

You wouldn’t be surprised if FIOT was one of those institutes. The packs that get their omegas here are packs that can pay a hefty price. There’s usually a waiting period while background checks are done and information has to be verified and packs have to interview with the director before omegas themselves can even be interviewed by the pack. You’ve seen it take weeks before.

Whoever the alpha of this pack is...they knew about you before you became available.

“What did the director want?” One of the omegas in your age group asks as you take your seat at the table again. Amanda. She cried for five days when she was brought in.

The others at the table lean in close, like you’re about to reveal some big secret.

“I’ve been chosen.” You tell them. The words almost seem like a foreign language on your tongue.

They all cheer happily, getting looks from the wardens around the mess hall.

“That’s amazing!” Chelsea says, wrapping her arms around you to squeeze you in a tight hug.

“So soon?” Amanda asks as the congratulations die down.

“Yeah.” You say. “They’re interviewing me tomorrow.”

They all share looks, and you know they’re thinking the same thing you are.

The rumors are true.

“Impressive, isn’t she?” The warden for your dorm group says, as if you’re not sitting there too. She’s responsible for overseeing the small group of eight omegas you’re a part of. She’s the most knowledgeable about the omegas under her watchful eyes, and it’s standard practice for the wardens to sit in on the interviews between the pack beta and the omega being chosen.

“Quite.” The beta says, looking over your thick file. Bryan, he’d introduced himself as. He’d shaken your hand, something you hadn’t been expecting. He acknowledged you as existing right away, something that doesn’t happen often in the stories you’ve heard about interviews, stories from omegas that had made it this far in the process, but were rejected in the end. “Excellent scores, quite extensive essays.” He says, flipping through the file. He’s not really looking at it. You can see his eyes just scanning the pages. He already knows. He came into the building with his answer.

Whoever his alpha is has already seen your file.

He closes the file, pushing it forward on the table. He’s looking at you. You can feel his eyes on you. Yours are lowered respectfully, no matter how badly you want to stare back at him.

“To be honest, my alpha already made his decision before I got here.” Bryan says, leaning his arms on the table. “Your profile was enough to convince him.”

“So, you’d like to move forward with the process?” Warden Jameson asks.

“Yes.” He says, nodding. “She’s going to be a perfect fit.”

You glance up at him, a warm smile on his face as he stares at you. It’s really happening. You really have been chosen.

The next hour is a flurry of paperwork and signatures. None from you, of course, but from the beta of your new pack. The paperwork would be sent to your new alpha to sign off on and to finalize the decision once you meet him. No one has ever been sent back after that point, yet you can’t help the nervous flutter in your stomach. What if they don’t like you after all? What if they made a hasty decision and regret it as soon as they meet you? What if you mess everything up?

You follow Bryan and the director towards the entrance to the building, something you haven’t seen since your tour after your arrival. It’s off limits to omegas, several locked doors standing between them and freedom.

Or more like to keep others out.

There’s someone at the front desk as you pass by, and you turn to look out of curiosity. It’s a middle aged woman with blonde hair, dressed in a business suit. “Kate Laswell, here for an appointment with Director Jones.”

You don’t get to hear anything else, ushered out into the world by the director. You’ve heard how giddy he gets about omegas leaving from staff, though you supposed that’s because it’s extra money in his pockets. The more omegas he can match and get out of FIOT, the more the government pays him.

“I’m looking forward to hearing how she’s settling in.” The director says to Bryan as he hands off your small bag of meager belongings.

“Of course.” Bryan says, setting it in the front seat of the car waiting out front. “My alpha will be in touch.”

“Good.” He shakes Bryan’s hand before turning to you. “Good luck. I expect the best from you.”

“Thank you, sir.” You say, dropping your gaze out of respect.

Bryan opens the car door for you and you slide in, smoothing out your skirt. You’re still in your uniform, and you won’t be able to change until you get to where you’re going. If they let you change. It’s important they remember where you came from, where you were taught the things you’re supposed to know, where you were trained to be the perfect omega. As if they could forget where they paid for you.

Bryan drives away from the institute, taking you away from the place that’s been your home for the last two years. It’s the first time you’ve been outside those walls since you were forced in, ripped away from your home the day after your presentation. You’ve thought about your family many times over the last two years. Where are they now? How are they doing? What have your siblings been up to? Have any of them presented as omegas too?

Maybe your new alpha will let you contact them again.

It’s wishful thinking. Most don’t. Not the kinds of alphas that buy from FIOT.

“Nervous?” Bryan asks, glancing at you through the rearview mirror.

“Yes, sir.” You say, smoothing your hands over your skirt. You’re projecting your scent without even realizing it. “Sorry, sir.”

He smiles. “I don’t blame you. I’d be nervous too. Don’t worry, though. You’re going to a good place.”

Despite his well meaning words, you can’t help but feel a bit of trepidation. Is it a good place? Or is it only a good place by beta’s standards? He can’t possibly know, he can’t possibly understand, unless there’s other omegas.

You’re almost excited by the thought of being around other omegas in a pack. Having that chance to have friends and bond with others like you who know. Those who understand.

You can’t help but stare as Bryan pulls into the parking garage of a very nice hotel. The cars in the parking garage are some of the most expensive you’ve ever seen. You’re not surprised, given the types of alphas that choose omegas from FIOT. Rich, important alphas looking for trophies to wave around.

Look at me, look at my perfect omega.

Bryan opens your door for you, helping you out of the car. He’s holding your bag in his hand, using the other to guide you towards the elevator. His hand is warm, even though your back is beginning to sweat a bit. You’re really nervous now, but you try to keep your scent under control.

Your new life is about to begin, the life of a claimed omega.

Unless they don’t like you.

You have to do everything in your power to make sure they do.

The elevator ride seems to take a lifetime as you go up to a high floor overlooking the city. You’ve never stayed in a hotel this nice before. You’ve never even been in a building with this many floors before.

Bryan leads you down the hall to a door, using the keycard to open it. He gives you a reassuring smile before pushing it open and guiding you through. It’s a suite, possibly the nicest hotel room you’ve ever seen. Bryan leads you to the small living area, the man you assume is your alpha seated on one of the couches. He’s sitting there casually, ankle crossed over his knee, his arm thrown over the back of the couch. There’s a grin on his face, your eyes widening as you stare at him.

“Phil?”

It comes out before you can stop it, all training and decorum leaving as you stare at him in shock. His smile widens, showing off perfect white teeth and dimples. He’s a bit older now than he had been back then, but it is him.

“Hi darlin’.” He says, pushing himself up to stand. “Been a while.”

Ten years or so. He was your dad’s best friend while he was stationed in Texas. He was at your house constantly, sitting around watching sports and standing in the backyard while your father barbequed. He was always friendly to you, always sitting just a little too close, always hovering. You hadn’t thought anything about it back then. You were too young to understand.

Now you do.

You drop your gaze as he approaches, trying to recover from your shock. You still have an impression to make, a role to fill. Calloused fingers cup your chin, lifting your face back up. You stare up into Phil’s bright blue eyes, just as friendly as you remember them being.

“None of that.” He says softly. “We’re familiar with each other, aren’t we?”

“Yes, sir.” You say, swallowing thickly.

A small smile tugs at his lips before he releases you. “Come on, make yourself comfortable.” He motions to the couches. “We've got a few things to discuss.”

Nerves twist in your stomach as you move to the couches, tucking your skirt under you before you sit. The couch is comfortable, your body sinking into the cushion. It's far more comfortable than the chairs and benches at the institute. He takes a seat right next to you, draping an arm across the back of the couch behind you.

His fingers curl under your chin again, turning your head so you're looking at him. Those bright blue eyes scan your face, taking in every detail.

“Those pictures didn't do you any justice.” He says. Your file is sitting on the table in front of you. “You've always been a pretty little thing.” His thumb traces your jaw, your stomach churning. “Look like your mom more than your dad. That's certainly not a bad thing.” He smirks.

He holds you there for a moment staring into your eyes. Something tickles in the back of your mind as he stares at you, something instinctual like a warning. He releases you, dropping his hand back onto his lap.

“It's good to see you again.” He says, the fingers of the hand behind you playing with the strands of your hair. “A lot has changed, hasn't it? I got old, you became an omega. I always knew you would. Your temperament wasn't right for an alpha. Always so calm and eager to please. You weren't rowdy like your brothers. Always such a sweet little thing.” His fingers trail over the back of one of your hands where it's draped in your lap. Your stomach clenches at his touch, something churning inside you, something you haven't felt since the last time you were around him. “You didn't deserve the way he treated you. It wasn't your fault for becoming what you are.”

He's talking about your father.

“How did you-”

“I was the one he called.” Phil says simply. “Raging and carrying on about his useless child presenting as an omega.” He shakes his head. “So I pulled some strings, promised some favors, and got you into FIOT immediately, with the stipulation that you would be mine as soon as you were old enough.” He grins. “Now here we are!”

You swallow thickly, staring at him. “It was you?”

He nods. “Had to make sure you'd be taken care of until I could come yet you myself. Now you’re here.” His arm wraps tighter around you, the hand that had been brushing yours dropping to wrap around your thigh. You stare up at him as he leans down slightly closer to you. He smells just like you remember. Woody with the rich scent of chocolate underneath. “I will take care of you.” He says, looking pointedly into your eyes. “You'll want for nothing and you'll be happy.”

Will you?

You break away first, your eyes dropping to stare at the hand that’s gripping your thigh, fingers indenting the skin through your tights. It feels like a threat, a silent reminder of the power dynamic between you, something he won’t say out loud. He’s an alpha, you’re only an omega. He has control over you, he can dictate your entire life now that you’ve been chosen by him. You belong to him, just as he’s wanted.

He’s been waiting longer than two years.

“You hungry?” He asks, his entire demeanor suddenly shifting.

You are hungry. You had left the institute just before lunch, and you had barely been able to eat breakfast because of the nerves. You nod, deciding telling the truth is better than to try to lie to him early on. “Yes, sir.”

He gives you a grin. “You don’t have to be so formal. You can call me Phil, just like old times.” He finally releases you, leaning forward to grab a tri-fold menu off the table. “Pick whatever you like.” He says, putting it in your hands. “I’ll be right back.”

He gets up from the couch and you watch him go before turning back to the menu. The prices make your stomach churn. Your family wasn’t necessarily poor, but with so many of you, you certainly weren’t taking very many vacations very often. Your family moved around so much there wasn’t much of a need to take vacations either.

You’re not even sure what to do, looking at the menu. What was acceptable? What if you ordered something too expensive. With a hotel room like this, you’re not sure you could order something too expensive. You’re not even quite sure what Phil does anymore. You remember overhearing a conversation he had with your dad about joining MARSOC before he disappeared from your lives. Is he still involved with the military? Did he leave and enter a new career field, one that allows him to stay in places like this?

You might never know. It’s not your job to know things like that.

You just need to know how to serve your alpha and take care of him, follow his orders and give him pups when he desires them. Be a good omega and do whatever it is he wants. Your wants don’t matter, only your alpha’s.

“Decide what you want?” Phil asks, appearing in front of you again.

You jump in surprise, having been so caught up in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed him approaching. You’ll have to break that habit and fast. “Yes.” You say, even though you hadn’t even read through the menu in its entirety.

You try to stop your hands from shaking, picking out the first thing your eyes land on. You’re not even quite sure what it is or if you’ll like it. You needed an answer and you gave it to him. Just exactly what he wanted.

That is your job, after all.

Give him exactly what he wants.

The bed looks plush and comfortable, larger than you’ve slept on in a long time. The beds at FIOT weren’t too terribly uncomfortable, but you’ve gotten so used to sharing a room it seems strange to be sleeping on your own.

That’s not the only reason it feels strange.

“Are you not going to-”

Phil cuts you off before you can finish, not even needing to know what you were going to ask. “No. Not here.” He says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s for when we’re at home. Besides,” He smooths a hand over your hair. “You’ve had a long day.”

He stares down at you for a moment, and you almost think he’s changing his mind, deciding he can’t wait until you’re back in Texas. Instead he takes a step back, turning to the dresser your bag had been set on. There’s other shopping bags next to it, things you hadn't even noticed when you walked in.

You had been too focused on the bed.

“Bryan picked up some clothes.” He turns back to look at you, his hand trailing down your back. “As cute as the uniform is, I’d rather you be comfortable.”

You can see it in his eyes. He’s picturing you in it, and not standing before him. It makes your skin crawl.

“Get some sleep.” He says, moving his hand from your lower back. “We’ve got an early flight tomorrow. You need anything, I’m across the hall and Bryan’s next door.”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thank you, Phil.”

He grins down at you, dimples indenting in his cheeks. “Of course, darlin’.”

You stare at the door for a minute after he closes it, holding your breath. You half expect him to come back in, change his mind and decide he’d rather do it here. He could barge in, force you down on the bed and you wouldn’t be able to do anything. You’re not supposed to do anything.

Good omegas do as they’re told. Good omegas don’t fight back.

You wish the door had a lock on it.

You jolt awake as you’re jostled in your seat. You let out a quiet sound, not quite sure where you even are, much less what’s going on.

“Just a bit of turbulence.” A voice says, pushing your head to rest against a shoulder again.

Right. You’re on a plane heading towards Dallas. You didn’t realize you fell asleep, your head resting on Phil’s shoulder. He smells like scent blockers, all three of you do. The plane is a cocktail of scents, the chemical burn of scent blocker mixed with the ugly mesh of too many scents in one confined space. Not everyone has the decency to use scent blockers while traveling. You’ve always hated planes for that reason.

You stretch your legs out as much as you can, your knee bumping the tray lightly. It had been lowered, you assume, at some point while you were asleep. Your book is sitting on it, the book you had been reading before you fell asleep. It’s the only one you own, a worn out copy you stole from FIOT’s library during your first week and never returned. The cover is faded and nearly falling off, the pages yellowed and stiff from how many times it’s been read over the last two years.

You’d had a brief discussion about it before you descended into silence, Phil promising you all the books your heart desires once you get to his home. Your home.

It’s your home now too. You’re no longer attached to your family, no longer attached to the institute. Phil is your world now, and you exist solely in his sphere. You’re dependent on him, and once the claim is made and the paperwork is filed, you will be his forever.

There won’t be any going back.

Phil will never change his mind.

The plane jostles again and you grip the arm resting on your leg out of instinct.

“Easy.” Phil shushes you, his lips brushing your forehead. His hand closes around yours, squeezing it gently. “Haven’t flown much, have you?”

“Twice.” You say, your fully awake brain realizing you’re still leaning against his shoulder, but you’re not sure you should move. He obviously likes it if he let it happen. Will he get mad if you try to move? Would he reprimand you on the plane, even if you are quite spaced out in first class?

He hums, resting his cheek on your head. “We’ll go on lots of flights together. I’ll take you all over the world.”

Would he take you to see your family again?

They were friends once. He has to at least know where they are and what they’re doing. Would he do that for you? Or is he going to keep you isolated as expected to prevent those bonds from forming again. Your only bonds should be with him and his pack. Not your old pack that you left behind for a reason.

You don’t know anything about his pack.

You know he has a beta, Bryan, his most trusted beta, from the looks of it. How many others are there? How many other alphas and betas? Is he head alpha, or is there someone else? You can’t imagine Phil not being in charge. He always seemed to take command of a room, even with other alphas. Even with your dad.

Are there other omegas in his pack? Or will you be alone, surrounded by alphas and betas?

Can you even ask him? Or is he saving that for later, when you’re at his home. Would he get annoyed if you asked? Would it ruin his plan that he obviously has laid out?

Your name being said brings you back to reality, your head tilting to look up at Phil. He’s staring down at you, his eyebrows raised.

“Welcome back.” He says, and for a second you wonder if you fell asleep again. “Lost in your head there, huh?”

You swallow thickly. “Yeah. My instructors said I have a lot of strengths, but my one fault is I think too much. Sometimes they’d say I’m sucking all the thoughts out of the room. Though, I think that was less of an insult towards me.”

Phil chuckles. “Got a lot of things going on in that head of yours. Just don’t let it get you too distracted. Hate for something to happen to you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead again as the plane begins its descent.

His words almost feel like a threat again, like a silent warning that something will happen if you don’t stop thinking so much. Will he try to fix that habit for you? Will he try to break you of that? Good omegas don’t have to think, they know and they act. An omega with too many thoughts is too independent. Alphas don’t like independent omegas. They want someone to listen and do as they're told, not question their orders.

You can’t help but sense the silent threat that radiates from him, the undertone of danger that has warning bells going off in your head. He’s been nice and polite and caring so far.

How long will that last once you’re in the privacy of his home?

It’s a nice neighborhood. Nicer than you’ve ever lived in, at least. The houses are big, the cars parked outside are nice, the lawns are pristine. It’s all very picturesque, it all feels very...manufactured.

Phil drives to the end of the cul de sac, pulling into the driveway of one of the two houses facing the rest of the street. There’s an American flag hung up on the porch rustling with the soft breeze. It’s warm outside, something you haven’t missed. It’s been years since you’ve lived in Texas, ten almost. You had been eight years old when your father received his next change of station orders and your family packed up and moved again.

That had just been shortly after Phil disappeared from your family’s lives.

Phil pulls into the garage, parking the SUV next to a rather expensive looking classic sports car. You stare at it for a moment, questioning just what Phil does and how much he makes from doing it. You’re not sure you want to know.

You fumble with the seatbelt as Bryan opens the door for you, blinking yourself out of your haze. He offers a hand and you let him help you out of the car to not seem rude. Phil gives you a small smile as you approach him.

He cups your chin, staring down at your face. “Jet lagged?” He asks, his thumb stroking your jaw before letting you go.

Jet lagged, confused, uncomfortable, unsure. All of the above.

“Yes.” You nod.

“Come on. I’ll give you a tour and then you can nap.” He says, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

He opens the door into the house, unlocked, you note. The inside is nice. Clean, pristine, staged looking. You’re not sure if anyone even lives in the house. You can’t help but wonder if Phil bought this house just for this moment.

“Cleaners come twice a week.” He says as he leads you around the first floor. “This whole space is yours, except for this room.” He says pointing out a door at the end of one hallway. “This is my office. Door’s always locked at all times. No one is allowed in besides me. You see anyone trying to get in, you tell me right away. Understood?”

You nod. The idea of what could be behind that door has a shiver running down your spine.

“Good girl.” He says, booping your nose. “Now, for the best part.”

He leads you upstairs, giving you a quick tour of guest bedrooms that don’t look like they’ve been touched, bathrooms far too clean to have ever been used. Why he needs so much space is beyond you.

No, you know why.

He leads you down to the end of a hallway, a door looming in front of you. You know what’s behind it. It’s what’s been clawing at you since the plane landed, since the drive from the airport, since you stepped foot in Phil’s home. Your home.

It’s nice inside. Clean, well organized. It looks like a stage in a movie. The bed is large, larger than necessary you think. The comforter is a deep navy with nothing but the necessary amount of pillows on it. There’s a chair in the corner that doesn’t look like it’s ever been sat in. A TV hangs on the wall across from the bed and a dresser sits between two doors on the far wall. The closet and bathroom you assume. It’s spacious, but not comforting.

That’s your job.

“Don’t worry, you can add your womanly touch to it later.” Phil says, stepping up behind you. You can’t hide the way your body tenses as his hands slide up your arms. His breath fans over your ear as he leans down, pressing his face against your neck. “We’re going to make good use of this room.” His lips brush your throat, tongue darting out to lick your scent gland. He hums appreciatively. “Sweeter than I remember, those strawberries.” His arms wrap around you, pinning your back against his chest. “We were made for each other.”

Your stomach clenches as his scent intensifies, blending with yours. You try not to panic as his lips drag up the side of your neck. There’s no stopping him. There’s no convincing him to wait.

He presses his nose into your hair, taking a deep breath in. “Get some rest.” He finally releases you. “I’ve got some things to take care of, and I don’t doubt the girls will want to take you shopping.”

“Girls?” You frown, turning to face him.

“The other pack omegas. They’re excited to finally meet you.”

Oh. You haven’t even thought about the pack or how big it is or its dynamics. Everything has happened so quickly, there’s been no time for discussions like that. You suppose you should have that conversation soon. Though, it’s been a long day already and he’s not wrong. You do need some rest.

‘A good night’s sleep is essential for omegas to do their jobs effectively. No alpha wants a whiny omega.’

He brushes his hand over your hair, giving you a soft smile. “Take a nap. You look like you need one.” He presses a kiss to your forehead before he leaves, closing the door behind him. You stare at it for a long moment, half expecting him to change his mind, but you can hear him going down the stairs. You can hear everything in the silence of the house. It’s almost too quiet after the constant noise of the institute. There’s always someone talking, moving around, making noise. Even at night it was never truly quiet.

Now the silence is almost loud in your ears.

It won’t be silent forever.

You stare at the bed, half tempted to just curl up on the floor. He would be mad if you slept in one of the guest rooms. He’d know immediately. You’ll have to brave the bed. Better to do it now than when you have no choice.

“Look at you!” Hands squeeze your arms. There’s so many scents floating around you, yet it’s comforting. You’re among your own again. “Oh, you’re just a baby aren’t you?”

Natalie, her name is. You had been introduced in a flurry of excitement, and you had lost track of most of their names. Doesn’t matter, you’ll learn them all eventually.

Her alpha is Osmond, ‘Oz’ as he’d told you to call him, Phil’s second alpha. Not necessarily a large man, but highly intimidating nonetheless. You’d guess Natalie to be in her 30s, though you’ve never been good at guessing ages.

“How old are you, sweetie?” She asks, squeezing your arms again. She’s trying to comfort you in your obvious state of overwhelm.

“Eighteen.” You answer, staring up at her.

Something flashes across her face, but it disappears as quickly as it arrived. “You are a baby.” She wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Come on, we’ve got a lot to cover and we’ve got some errands to run.”

There’s a lot of omegas. Phil had finally broken down the pack and its dynamics over a late lunch, even introducing you to a few members on your way to Oz’s house. You had your suspicions that Phil was pack alpha, and you were right. His presence, the kind of power he radiates. You’re going to be the head omega once Phil has claimed you. Natalie has been serving that position, as second alpha’s omega.

You’re not sure you want to take it from her.

They’re all older than you, if by only a couple of years. You do feel like a baby in their midst, so unprepared and unsure. It’s natural to feel that way, you were taught. There’s a shift, a change in dynamics, an adjustment period in the pack when a new omega is added.

Why couldn’t Phil have just been the family alpha type?

“Phil says you’ve known him for a while.” Anna, Marcus’ omega, says.

You nod. “He was friends with my dad when he was stationed in Fort Worth.”

“That was a while ago.” Jenny says.

“About ten years.” You say.

Silence falls in the room for a moment. It’s a tense silence, speaking volumes of their understanding and the realization of the situation. They won’t say anything. They can’t say anything.

“Well,” Natalie says, breaking the silence. “We’re glad you’re here. If you need anything at all, you’ve got us now.” She wraps her arms around you again. She reminds you a bit of your mother, perhaps if your mother hadn’t been constrained by the controlling nature of your father. “All omegas truly have is each other, right?”

The others agree with her, and you can’t deny it. What do omegas really have? Nothing their alphas don’t want them to have. Nothing parents, institutes, anyone in control don’t want them to have.

All we really have is each other.

“I mean it.” Natalie says. “Anything at all.”

They are excited to take you shopping, despite the heaviness of the conversation that had transpired. They spoil you, throwing bags and bags in the back of the SUV, brushing off any concerns about money. Anything you want or need, you get several of them. It’s overwhelming after never getting anything but the bare necessities and what the institute wants you to have.

Marcus, one of the higher ranking alphas in the pack, follows everyone around like a security detail. You had been concerned upon hearing only one alpha was accompanying you...until you saw Marcus for the first time. He’s big. Very big. Tall and bulky, he’s the perfect specimen of an alpha. Many young omegas’ dream alpha. Marcus is intimidating, letting off a dangerous air which causes most that pass your group to not even give you a second glance.

He escorts your small group around, offering up no question or complaint. You almost wish he was going to be your alpha, but then again, you know almost nothing about him. You don’t even really know that much about Phil. Most of the things you know are things you overheard from conversations he had with your father. But how trustworthy are those things, really? You hadn’t understood much until now. Now it all makes sense.

A lot of things make sense now.

Natalie stands with you on the sidewalk as Marcus and Bryan carry load after load of bags into Phil’s house. Your house. You’re scared for what’s coming tonight. Phil won’t wait. He won’t put things off, he won’t hold off until your first heat. He’ll want to make things official now, stake his claim as soon as possible. He’s waited ten years for this.

Natalie smiles softly down at you, a knowing look in her eyes. “Nervous?” She asks, picking up on your uneasy energy.

You nod, trying to stop the tears from pooling in your eyes. Good omegas serve their alphas, no matter what.

“I know what that’s like. I was scared shitless too.” She laughs quietly. “I think Oz was just as nervous too. Just relax and breathe. Phil will take care of you. That I can be confident about.” Her smile turns almost bittersweet. She knows. She understands. “You’ll be alright. I’ll come by tomorrow morning, okay?”

You nod, trying to suppress your nervousness. Natalie will understand, though you’re not so sure Phil will.

You look terrified as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You bathed an hour ago and yet you still can’t quite bring yourself to leave the bathroom. You smooth your hands over the silk hugging your skin for the thousandth time. You’re shocked you haven’t worn through the thin fabric yet with your sweaty palms.

Your eyes dart down to the sink, your stomach churning wildly as the bedroom door closes. Phil is back. You’ll have to leave the bathroom soon. You can’t spend the whole night behind the locked door.

You don’t doubt he’d break it down eventually.

Then he’ll be angry.

You let out a long breath, curling your hands into fists to stop them from shaking. You have to do this. This is your job, your duty as an omega. Serve your alpha and make him happy. Be a good omega and do what he says. Obedience is an omega’s purpose. This is always what was going to happen, be it with Phil or with a stranger. Perhaps there is a small comfort in the fact you know Phil. You’re familiar with him. Why would he wait ten years for you just to hurt you?

The little food you managed to eat churns uncomfortably in your stomach. Phil had treated you to dinner before he’d left again, giving you time to clean up and prepare yourself for tonight. For right now.

You spritz more scent-enhancing perfume on your skin before you let out a long breath. You try to fix your face, not look quite so terrified, but you’re not sure you can hold it as you unlock the door, turning the knob.

The light in the closet is on, the door half open. Phil must be in there, likely having to maneuver around bags. You’d unpacked some things and put them away, but you’d nearly had a breakdown when you reached the lingerie store bags. You’re wearing some of it now, the silk robe and little white number your fellow omegas had gotten you. Specifically for tonight, you think. You won’t be wearing it again.

The closet door opens fully, Phil standing there in nothing but his jeans. His eyes trail your body as you stand there awkwardly in the middle of the room. His teeth sink into his lip, his scent thickening. You’re trying to look anywhere but at him but you can’t help the way your eyes are drawn to his form. He’s just as tall and muscular as you remember, more lean than bulky like your father had been. His skin is pale, though you can’t imagine him spending much time lounging in the backyard by the pool. Under the awning at the grill with a beer in hand as he used to do, that you can picture.

“Look at you.” He says, turning off the light before stepping fully out of the closet. “All wrapped up like a present just for me.”

You feel like vomiting as he approaches you slowly. You feel like a rabbit trapped in the sights of a hungry wolf, too afraid to run, too afraid to fight back. You’re going to be devoured and there’s no stopping it.

You jump as his hand cups your face, your eyes darting up to his. There’s a soft look in them, an attempt at soothing your fear. There’s nothing he can do to make this easier, though, other than just get it over with.

It’ll get easier. That’s what Anna told you. Eventually your omega will be happy, content with a good alpha and a pack. It’s just an adjustment. That’s why it’s recommended to wait when adding a new omega. Get past the adjustment period before reaching this stage.

How do you stop an alpha that’s been waiting ten years?

Most alphas don’t wait anyway.

“Don’t be scared, darlin’.” He says, lips tilting up in a smile. “I’ll take good care of you.”

His fingers tug at the ties of the robe around your waist, your heart thudding in your chest. You’re shocked he can’t hear it. It’s pulsing in your ears, nearly blocking out all sound as he pulls the tie free, revealing your lacy lingerie underneath. He lets out a low whistle as he pushes the robe off your shoulders, letting it drop to the floor.

“Look. At. You.” He says, enunciating each word. His hands slide down your sides, brushing lace and smooth skin. “Can’t wait much longer.” He nearly groans, his gaze darkening. He steps up closer to you, your gaze locked on his. You can’t look down, you can’t stare at the tent in his jeans, you can’t stare at the bulge that’s brushing against your pelvis with every breath. “You ever done this before?” He asks.

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “N-No.”

“No?” He raises a brow. “Not even a kiss?”

You shake your head.

“Pure little thing, all for me.” He nearly growls, pushing his body fully against yours. His hand cups the side of your neck, something tingling in the back of your brain as his fingers brush the sensitive skin on the back of your neck.

You’re distracted from that tingle though as he kisses you, his lips rough against yours. You’re not sure what to do, but he doesn’t seem to care. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you tight against him. Your stomach is churning, not entirely from nerves anymore as his scent completely takes over, clouding your mind. Despite your nerves and hesitation, your omega purrs appreciatively. He smells good, like alpha. It’s exactly what your omega wants, what she’s been craving.

“Fuck,” He groans against your lips, hands tugging at the lace covering your lower back. “So fucking sweet.” He bites at your lower lip, harder than you're expecting. You let out a quiet nose but that only seems to encourage him.

He pulls away from you, turning you towards the bed. Your palms fall against the mattress to catch yourself. The comforter has been pulled down, your hands falling against the sheets. White sheets.

Phil’s hands drag up your back until it reaches the top of the lace. He rips it easily, tearing it down the back before he pushes it off your shoulders. His hands run over your skin as he pushes the lace from your body, his back meeting your chest. His skin is warm against yours, his bulge pushing up against your ass at this angle.

“Sweet little omega.” He growls, pressing his face into your neck, inhaling deeply. “All for me. All mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes, alpha.” You say, fingers curling into the sheet beneath your hands.

He hums appreciatively, nipping at the skin over your scent gland. You can’t help but begin to feel a stirring in your stomach. It feels good, despite everything. Your omega is growing complacent, the promise of what’s coming not nearly quite so frightening.

It gets easier.

Phil’s hands rest on your stomach, pushing your body tight against his. “Can’t wait for your next heat.” He groans, pushing his hips against your ass. “Gonna pump you full until it takes, give you a pup like you’ll be begging for. Keep you pumped full, just like your mama, huh. You’ll give me a big pack, won’t you?”

You’re glad he can’t see your face as he holds you there, your eyes glued to the white sheet in front of you. You desperately fight back the tears blurring your vision.

“Yes, alpha.”

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #philip graves x reader #graves x reader #alternate universe #au of an au #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse #alpha philip graves #omega reader

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yourstarstruckbeloved · 3 days

Text

how far can we go? — one | next

“what’s a lassie like yourself doing all the way out here?”

your pace quickens and you try your best to ignore the constant pestering from the man who has been following you for the past ten minutes.

“all alone...”

you don’t have the time for this.

“surely i can help you with whatever it is?”

you take a deep breath and turn around to finally face your pursuer - a man clad in blue, clearly from meztli. he stops in his tracks, and so do you. you reach for the dagger behind you, strapped to your waist, as you slowly back away from him. “i’m not sure it is anything you can help with, i’m sorry.”

“come on, you’re not going to give me a chance?”

you survey your surroundings, and then yourself. there was nothing you could have done, you’re not a fast enough runner — but you are also not in a place that a lot of people go to. all you wanted was to get the embercore flowers that grow next to the phlogiston rivers underground, and right now it looks like it’s either the man or the phlogiston river that would end it all for you. you really should have listened to chief wayna when he told you not to go alone.

the grip on the hilt of your dagger tightens as you pull it out in front of you, and your heart quickens. “whoa, isn’t threatening me with violence a bit too much? all i wanted was your name, you know.”

“you don’t need to know my name.” you click your tongue.

“too bad then, i’ll just have to get it out of mualani.” he smirks, and inches closer towards you; closer and closer until you’re backed up against the walls of an old ruin behind you. he’s seen you with mualani before. your legs turn to jelly as you imagine what this man might try to pull with mualani. although you probably don’t have to worry about her as much as you need to worry about yourself, because she is strong enough. you? your combat prowess is average at best.

“d-don’t come any closer, i will stab you!” you warn, and his face visibly turns into one of frustration. “why don’t you just give up?” he says, teeth gritted in an awkward smile.

and then you say the magic words.

“i already have a boyfriend.”

the magic did not work.

“come on, pretty, your boyfriend doesn’t have to know,”

you click your tongue in annoyance. “i am very much in love with him, you know,” you don’t drop your defensive stance, and contemplate just making a run for it. and then you see familiar amber green eyes and the tension in your body dissipates, ever so slightly. “he is right behind you, by the way.”

“oh, stop trying to make a fool out of me— OW!” the man groans as kinich throws a dart at him and walks over to your side. a little too close. but you allow it. “are you alright, _____?”

“kinich!” you throw your arms around him and bury your face in his chest and shaking ever so slightly, ignoring the man who’s fallen to his knees in front of you two. “i was- i was so scared!” kinich slightly stiffens but only momentarily; and then he pats your back in an attempt to calm you down.

“there is no way this guy is your boyfriend? what have you done to me?!”

you want to reply but kinich shakes his head. he breaks away from you and pulls out another dart. “want another shot? this is a toxin that paralyses your skeletal muscles, so you’re not going to be moving for at least two hours.”

“i— no thank you, but are you really going to leave me all alone here?”

“surely you can hold out for two hours. let’s get going, _____.”

taglist !

@yuriisclumsy

[please send me an ask or DM if you would like to be added ♡]

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #kinich x reader #kinich x you #kinich #fake dating

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gomu-fer · 2 days

Text

The phrase “silence is louder than words” never meant anything to Sanji

Until now

You have been quiet. Terribly so. For the last 20 minutes and it’s driving him insane. Somehow he has missed you during this time, even if you’re sitting just a couple steps away

Your eyes are glued to your notebook, a steady hand that clenches at the poor pencil glides thorough the page. Usually, you enjoy this activity, a twinkle in your eye that hangs brightly illuminating the room. But now… you wear a pout, a scowl, eyebrows looking down in anger. Steam almost comes out your ears

You’re upset

I mean, clearly, but Sanji still hasn’t build up the courage to ask what’s going on. Because he knows the answer

When you started dating the cook, you knew his tendencies with women wouldn’t just disappear. But it didn’t made you happy either

You had talked about his behavior several times, asking for nothing more than respect which is the bare minimum really. Sanji had dramatically stated that he had no eyes for no other than his sweet angel which, was true in a way

So when you turned around in the market and spotted him salivating at a belly dancer that just happened to be nearby you weren’t surprised

But you also weren’t thrilled

Sanji adores you. You’re his light, his angel, his rock, his goddess, his life . He would do anything for you, hell, he’ll bring down the stars above if you just asked. But who wouldn’t feel insecure after their partner looks at another woman like that?

He hates himself for it, he’ll allow you to spit and step on him like gum if that’s what grant him your forgiveness. He needs to change. He knows it, he will do it a thousand times over, just for you

Slowly, he makes his way to sit in front of you, your movements come to a halt as you heard him plop down onto the chair, but you don’t spare him a glance

Ouch

“Hi” his voice comes out strained, frightened

You remain frozen, thinking on what to do… lash out? Curse at him? Stay quiet for another hour? Leave?

You just answer

“Hi”

A shiver runs down Sanji’s spine at your answer, the sound of your voice making him giddy, oh how has he missed you

“You’re mad”

“How observant”

“At me”

“Clearly”- finally, your eyes leave your page and find Sanji’s. He looks pale like a ghost, breathing irregular as he awaits his destiny

There’s another silence, this one is different, your annoyed tone sits on top of it leaving a sour taste behind your tongues, a silence that resembles a ticking bomb

“I am sorry” the cook fidgets with his hands, eyes pooling slightly at the thought of what will you do

“Your apology means nothing to me, actions speak for themselves Sanji…” your gaze is heavy, nothing like he usually meets it. You’re so light like the sea breeze, like a fresh lemonade drink on a sweet sunny day. Right now? You burn, hot like a spicy hot sauce that makes your nose run

You shake your head and sigh, a long tired one that makes Sanji’s heart tear at the seams

“I just don’t understand you Sanji… I would never do that to you”

This, this is the moment where you defeat him. Your sad puppy eyes looking up at him, the hurt behind your voice and the truth. Oh the truth of it all breaks him completely, of course you wouldn’t do that to him, you’re the most loyal kindhearted beautiful human being on earth

He swallows

Sanji considers throwing himself overboard for the sea kings to devour him whole, and that still wouldn’t be enough

He suddenly gets up and holds both your hands with such tenderness as he kneels before you

An offering at your benevolent temple

“My love, I know I did wrong and disrespected you and our relationship. No fancy sweet words could ever make a difference. So now I promise you, not empty promise but real this time, that I will change to he the man you deserve”

You shake your head once more. You don’t believe him? Are you finally done with him? There’s nothing he can do I if you decide to do so because he messed up big time

“I know I deserve better” Sanji closes his eyes and scrunches his nose at the statement, your voice drilling through his head and making him dizzy

It hurts, because it’s true

“But I don’t want better on anyone else but you”

His head that had dropped raises to find your face, you’re still mad, but even mad you offer him another chance while holding his hand through it all. Because that’s who you are, you believe in him, you trust him

“This is the last time-“

“Yes! Yes! I promise you my angel, you can kick me out of the crew If I ever even glance at the opposite direction of you, I will be better”

“Sanji” another shiver runs up and down his form, he loves the way you say his name

“Hurting my feelings and getting my forgiveness every single time is not okay. I would only continue to be with you if you show me change”

His golden locks rise and fall rapidly as he shakes bis head up and down. Carefully, he takes your left hand and kisses the promise ring atop of one of your fingers, a reminder of his undying love and devotion

A reminder that your love is stronger than anything else. Even jealousy and disrespect

The cold material meeting his lips makes him giddy. You’re way too good, he’ll spend the rest of his life making it up to you

“I am sorry, so deeply sorry sweetheart, and I’ll repay you being the best man, your man”

A giggle scapes you at the absurdity of it all. You don’t know when had Sanji wrapped you around his finger. If it were anyone else you would’ve walked a long time ago

But you know him, at his core, he needs you

And you love him, and he does too

Nami scoffs loudly making Robin laugh covering her mouth as to not drawn any attention, they can’t see your face but they can imagine both of you on the other side of the door

“I swear she forgives him too easy”

“Love is work” Robin says, whispers to the wind and Nami hates it

Because it’s true

#one piece #sanji x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #sanji oneshot #sanji imagine #vinsmoke sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #op sanji #one piece one shot #he will be good i promise #that’s just how he is #fanfic

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kachowden · 2 days

Text

Gonna start calling these late night drabbles or something at this point.

You know those ASMR videos, where it’s two people, and one of them has like different fluffy brushes and oils and stuff that they rub on the person laying down? Like a massage? Visual ASMR?

I’m thinking about a yandere asmrtist who brought you in for one those videos. Maybe you won a giveaway or something, but realistically I think you were originally a fan. So he didn’t know you at all.

But then of course, you showed up at his studio. Stunning. Gorgeous. Irresistible. The whole package really. And he felt something deep in his stomach. Maybe butterflies. Maybe indigestion. Regardless, despite having done this before, he’s nervous. Off the bat it’s awkward.

But he’s a professional. So he powers through. A few moments of idle chat, and various prep work goes by, before you’re lying on the cot, surrounded by herbal candles and oils that already send you into a deep state of relaxation.

He starts the video as he always does, jumping right into it. Brushing your hair back, smoothing down the skin on your shoulders. Tracing your features with a soft fluffy stick thingy. Goes the whole nine yards. And the entire time he is sweating buckets from how aroused he is.

At some point through the session he starts to wonder if his heavy breathing is as visible as he thinks it is. If you can feel the sweat dripping down his arms and forehead. And his composure starts to wane. The way your breathing slows, the way your muscles relax. It’s driving him a little crazy. You’re so…comfortable. Because of him. He made you comfortable.

That means something doesn’t it? I mean you were a fan of his anyway. So obviously you liked him. He liked you too of course. It made him have a new thankfulness for his career. How would he have met you otherwise? His soulmate. No. He wanted to believe no matter what you two would have found each other. This feeling in his chest was so deep and passionate. Surely you guys were past lovers too right? You would’ve found each other.

And since you’ve loved each other before…it should be easy to love again? It’d be natural. Perfect. So when he hands start to squeeze a little more sensually, and his eyes began to lower. He doesn’t feel particularly guilty anymore. Your skin is familiar to his deluded mind. The way his fingers began to dig and mold into your soft skin and flesh, sliding up and down, the fabric of your shirt getting pushed lower…and lower..it’s all familiar. Yes he’s sure of it. You’ve both done this before. Your bodies have collapsed together dozens of times. That’s the only explanation, so there’s no room for guilt.

riiiiiiinnnnngg

And he jumps back, ripped away from his hazey day dream: your eyes fluttering open with a slightly exaggerated yawn that hopefully mutes the sound of his racing heart.

“Wow…” you laugh, and he would’ve taken a moment to appreciate it more if not for his own existing panic. “I totally fell asleep…sorry if that ruined the take.”

He pauses, swallowing thickly as his gaze quickly switches to the green light that beeps atop the camera. Right. He had been recording. He’d have to edit that later.

“No..no it was perfect. I’m sure it’ll make the viewers feel the same ease you were feeling…” his voice is as silky and gentle as always, oozing with the honey that enraptured his audience.

You smiled and hummed with a nod, groggily lifting yourself from the cot you had laid on, and grabbing your things form the chair you had set them on, you lift your hand in a wave. “Well, this was really nice! I totally needed it, and it was super cool meeting you in person! Thanks again-“

“Wait!” He jolted, a blush burning his cheeks at his own over eager behavior. “You did a really good job today, so..I was hoping we could keep in contact if the video does well..”

“Oh..sure thing!”

God you were a total blessing.

#yandere #yandere x reader #x oc #x reader #yandere asmrtist #Yandere YouTuber #yandere x darling #reader darling

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ohtobeleah · 2 days

Note

touch starved Logan with a physical touch reader… yeah….

Touch Starved is a good way to describe Logan in two words. I think after so many years of only ever being touched when someone was trying to inflict some sort of physical pain on him, he just decides touch isn't something he's inherently interested in. It's worth more trouble than its worth seeking.

But I can see it now. Logan would be sitting on the floor with his back against the couch. Your legs, are spread on either side of him as you sit on top of the very couch that Logan spends most of his nights on.

“Can I let you in on a secret?” You coo all the while you card your fingers through Logan's hair. Your hands tend to wander absentmindedly down his next and to his exposed shoulders from time to time.

“Huh?” Logan barely hears you speak. He's so tuned out right now. He's floating on cloud nine because he's never had a massage like this before. One that's so nonchalant. One that's so casual and unintentionally intimate when he lets out a sigh of a moan at your handiwork. “Sure, yeah—sorry, I wasn't here for a moment.” You take it as a compliment while your eyes remain trained on the TV ahead as your hands work magic into Logan's scalp, neck and shoulders.

“That first day,” You begin. “When you came into the cafe looking for Wade but he wasn't around?” Logans listening, he swears. But your touch has always been something that could captivate his every sense and have him completely under your control. He'd never craved something so natural before. Your touch. “I think that's one of my top five days, ever.” You admit.

“How so?” Is all Logans mumbled back. His voice is deep and full of gruff undertones.

“Because I'm just really grateful I got to me you is all,” You shrug. It's not that big of a deal. Whatever you and Logan were was something that wasn't defined by traditional labels. But he knew you loved him. And you knew Logan loved you back. You couldn't explain it, but that mutual understanding that you'd show up for each other when it mattered the most made your heart ache at the thought that until now, Logan never felt that level of love, compassion or understanding. “For the worst Logan, I think you go alright.”

Logan had never had someone in his corner the way he knew you were. And he feels that in every aspect of your relationship. But the thing he notices the most…is your touch. How you aren't afraid to touch him. How you value his body for more than just its mutant abilities. You see him, Logan Howlett, for the man he is and wants to be and not the weapon they designed him to be.

Your hugs ignite his skin like a solar flare. Your kisses, your lips on his, set his heartbeat into overdrive. Sixth gear overdrive. The way you cling to him when you fall asleep at night soothes his soul until he decides the couch is a safer place for him.

The way you weren't afraid to hold his hand when no one had ever done so before made Logan's head spin. His brain couldn't compute the sensation on another persons fingers intertwined with his in the way yours fit so perfectly between his. Like you weren't afraid of what you were arresting your hands on. Adamantium claws.

It wasn't until Logan met you, that he realised just how long it had been since he'd experienced the loving and gentle touch of a woman who truly loved him. And once that thought had materialised, Logan realised further that he'd never actually felt the gentle touch of a woman who loved him…because no woman had ever loved him before. Not like you.

“You’re still betting on losing dogs I see?” The corner of Logan's mouth curved up into a smile when you reach down to wrap your around around his shoulders. His heart skips a single best inside his chest when he felt your lips against his scruff-covered cheek.

“What can I say, I’m always a sucker for a stray.”

Ilya

#logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett drabble #logan howlett x reader #james logan howlett #wolverine xmen #logan wolverine #logan howlett

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n0tamused · 2 days

Note

Hello! I wanna send a req if u don't mind! Separate hcs/headcanons for Blade & Jing Yuan with gn!reader where the reader is being dense when another man tries to flirt with them. That's all & thx!

Contents: fluff, gn reader, hope you enjoy! Sorry for the long wait

Jing Yuan:

-The General of the Luofu and his lover are what people see as an example of a stable relationship, considering just how long you’ve been together, and not just as romantic partners either. Jing Yuan trusts you without a doubt, and you trust him all the same in equal measure, if not even more.

-Trust is not something either of you debate, and you are both happy to know of one another’s ability to trust and rely on the other, but that same trust can, in no way, be applied to the people outside of the relationship - strangers especially.

-From this, there were a few instances where a stranger might have tried to approach the General, even if you were nearby, sputtering flowery words or playing with the locks of their hair. Jing Yuan never entertained such actions, brushing them aside and making clear mention how he “had to return to his beloved” before leaving the person aside. He knows how many people swoon over him and makes it a point to give you even more love to reassure you that he’d never look at any of them as fondly as he looks at you. You’re the only one that has a place in his heart.

-But what Jing Yuan is not exactly fond of experiencing is you going through the same thing. Even from afar he can see how your lips press into a thin uncomfortable line, your eyes gazing at this stranger in caution, unblinking with unease. He sees you try, and vaguely hears as he approaches, how you try and get out of the conversation without making much of a fuss, and although you are firm too - the other is way too stubborn to back off

-The large hands of Jing Yuan find their way onto your sides, and he’s now peering at the person over your shoulder with that coy smile on his face. He doesn’t look threatening per se, but one would have to be a fool to not understand the mistake of their doings now

-He greets the person just as amiably, asking you what is going on, a curious little cat he is, he wants to know. But he doesn’t linger, he knows you want to get away, just as much as he wants to remove you from this situation. He tells the person something rather cryptic, rather poisoned honey for words, and the person understands - that much he makes sure off before he politely excuses you both away

-The General isn’t someone people fear and he doesn’t ever feel the need to present himself as a figure that needs to herald any unease of fear. He only dislikes his partner being put in such an unfavorable position and he will use his vast vocabulary to hide little threats for such behavior skillfully. His partner’s comfort is up on his priority list and he doesn’t play around with that

Blade:

-Blade is not one to beat around the bush or pray for forgiveness from anyone he might offend with his bluntness, and he certainly keeps this demeanor even after forgetting certain things due to Mara or Kafka’s Spirit Whisper

-As a lover he is rather distant and although he cares somewhere deep down in his old, scarred heart, a stranger wouldn’t be able to guess you’re even friends out in the open world. He doesn’t like standing in one place for too long, and if there’s intel that needs to be gathered or something that needs to be done, he puts a reasonable distance between the two of you as well, safety reasons mainly come to mind, but a part of him doesn’t want you to be involved in this business anyway so subconsciously he is trying to distance you from the operations as a whole. He tries and he fails, but he tries again next time and fails again.

-He always has an eye out for you, like a sixth sense ingrained into his mind.

-Along the lines of his work he vaguely does remember a few bold individuals that have tried to “hit on him”, but they were either not completely sober or were easily ignored. He wasn’t the person to entertain any flirtatious remarks and he isn’t the easiest person to approach. He scares people easily, so he doesn’t have much of a problem with people getting in his way just to say his eyes are pretty or something else.

-You, on the other hand, are not nearly as blunt or scary as he is, everyone’s aware of that.

-He doesn’t waste time either. Once he senses you may be uncomfortable by another person’s approach to you, he’s already stepping in and making the person scurry off with a few rash choice of words that definitely sting at best.

-Similarly to Jing Yuan, he values the peace your own peace of mind brings, and he doesn’t play around when it comes to your comfort. If someone disturbs you, he will make sure they stop and never do so again.

-He’s rather protective of you, even in those moments where he seems to forget the connection you two share.

-Just imagine: You’re talking to this unpleasant stranger, alcohol is clinging to them like perfume and they’re talking about how they’d love to invite you over for dinner, but suddenly they look over your shoulder where Blade is now taking a step towards you. He seemingly appeared out of thin air, merged from the crowd and he’s wearing the darkest of expressions, but he is unbothered truly. You don’t have to look behind you to know it is him either, he radiates that certain atmosphere that is hard to mistake. “Is there something wrong here?” he asks plainly, stiffly even, the question more pointed to you as he glares the stranger down. The stranger, unsure if this was alcohol's doing or reality is quick to scurry away with plenty of excuses bubbling up to their lips and farewells.

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noosayog · 1 day

Text

gravitate ft. miya atsumu

wc: 4.1k, part 1 of 2

contents/warnings: fwb dynamic, fluff, heavy on angst, suggestive but sfw, reader uses she/her prns, referred to as girlfriend, wife, reader has minor social anxiety

when i said this, i was referring to this

Of course it’d be the one time you say yes to the many invitations you get from Hinata to celebrate a post-game win with his teammates and other close friends.

Even though you’ve met a handful of Hinata’s volleyball friends and teammates before, the prospect of being in an enclosed space with people you don’t know still makes you anxious. You pay a bit closer attention to your outfit before heading out.

A 15-minute commute and one deep breath at the door later, you’re sat next to Hinata at the table as he introduces you to the rest of his current Black Jackals teammates.

“You know Kageyama and my old high school teammates already. That’s Bokuto-”

“Hey!”

“That’s Sakusa-san,”

A silent nod.

“Hoshiumi-san,”

“Hello.”

“And Miya Atsumu-kun, our setter.”

“Hi,” you nod shyly to everyone. The immediate halt in the conversation leaves you feeling like you need to bust out a joke or something. Luckily, everyone quickly turns their attention back to the menu, leaving you to catch your breath even though all you’ve done was say a one-syllable greeting.

You spend much of the first half of dinner talking only to Hinata, racking your brain for topics for small talk, and speaking up only when you’ve been talked to first.

A few drinks help loosen you up a bit and dinner ends without a hitch before the group decides to move to a nearby bar.

You’re content to watch the group and their antics quietly, before excusing yourself to get another drink at the bar.

“‘Scuse me.”

“”Oh,” you say, shying away from the voice. “I’ll move over.”

“Thanks,” the unfamiliar voice responds.

You stand awkwardly at the bar as you and the stranger try to flag down the bartender. You feel the prickly sensation of a stare at the side of your face and when you glance over, you find the stranger’s gaze on you.

You give him an uncomfortable smile, before averting your eyes again.

“Busy night, huh?”

You glance at him again, giving him one nod of acknowledgement.

“What’cha drinking?”

“Oh, uh… just a beer, I think.”

“Yeah? What kind?”

“Uh… I don’t know. Just whatever,” you say, hoping he takes the hint.

“Can I make a suggestion then? What do you usually like to drink?” You glance back towards your group and accidentally make eye contact with Miya Atsumu, the setter you had met at dinner. He looks away just as quickly.

You close your eyes in defeat before turning back to the bar, being careful not to make eye contact with the man beside you. “No, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

He inches closer, arm almost touching yours now. “Aww, c’mon. Just tell me. It’ll be on me.”

You lean further away, the back of your thighs now pressing against the bar chair behind you. “I-”

“Hey! Gettin’ another drink?”

The said bar chair suddenly gets yanked away, leaving you stumbling back a few steps, but a hand comes up on your shoulder to steady you. You look up to see Miya Atsumu. He places one arm between you and the other man, angling his body to face you.

“Oh! Atsumu. Yes, I am,” you can’t contain the relief in your exhale.

You notice Atsumu inching backwards to give you more space and simultaneously box out the other guy. His back pushes into the other guy’s arm, who gives a weak protest.

Atsumu looks behind him and offers a flippant, “sorry, buddy,” before flagging the bartender down with no issues.

“Another beer for me and…” Atsumu looks to you.

“Make it two.”

The two of you stand side by side while the bartender fills up the mugs and you rack your brain for things to say.

“Sorry if I was bein’ a busybody,” Atsumu speaks first. “Just didn’t look like you were enjoyin’ it.”

He juts a thumb behind his back to gesture at the guy, now a distance away.

“Oh yeah- I mean, no. Uh, thanks. Yeah…”

Atsumu laughs. “No worries and… there’s no need to be nervous around the guys. We’re a rowdy bunch, but all good people, I promise.”

You pick at your fingers. “Was I that obvious?”

“Little bit,” he chuckles. “Seems that the drinks are loosenin’ you up a bit though.” He gestures at the glass that the bartender dropped off in front of him and hands his card over.

“I can pay…”

“Nah, on me. You can take the next one if you feel bad.”

You thank him and take the glass.

Atsumu sits down on one of the bar chairs facing you. “So, how do you know Shoyo-kun?”

Still standing, your eyes flicker to your group, still huddled around the same table where you left them.

“Are…” we not going back? The question dies on your tongue when you turn back to Atsumu and see the way he stares, eyebrows raised as if he knows what you’re thinking and curious as to what decision you’ll make.

You sit down in the bar chair next to him and he’s so easy to talk to and one thing leads to another and before you know it, you end up in his bed later that night.

–

You wake up the next morning with foreign sheets tangled around your legs and an unfamiliar body warmth under your cheek. When you tilt your head up, you're met with Atsumu’s brown eyes. He’s awake and blinking lazily down at you, one arm still wrapped around your waist.

It’s instinct, the way you look back down, embarrassed at having been caught and shy despite the state of your undress.

A raspy chuckle shakes from his chest where you have one palm flat against as your brain awakens its overthinking engine.

You have no experience with hooking up with strangers, but he wouldn’t be looking for a no-strings attached type situation if he’s cuddling you in the morning, right? Or maybe you should’ve left last night?

But at the same time, isn’t poor etiquette to kick your partner out of bed the second you’re done? So maybe he’s just being polite by letting you crash here? And the cuddling, as comfortable as it is, is just him being a decent man?

“Hey,” his gentle voice shakes you from your thoughts, one finger coming below your chin to meet his eyes. “Good mornin��”

“Morning,” you mumble demurely, eyes desperately looking anywhere but him, even as he holds your face close.

He drops a light kiss on your lips. “Last night was great. You feelin’ okay?”

Your legs twitch in response. You belatedly realize that your legs are pushed between his. “A little sore, but I’m okay.”

“Good. Wanna take a shower and we can talk over breakfast?”

“‘Mkay.”

You reluctantly take your legs back, relishing the last bit of his body heat, but Atsumu has other ideas. In one sweeping motion, he flips his duvet off and tosses you over his shoulder.

“Atsumu!”

He gives your thighs a pat before walking you over to the bathroom. You thank every god out there that you had some sense to pull your panties and one of his shirts on before passing out.

He drops you off on the toilet seat. “Use anything you want. Fresh towels are in that drawer. There should be a new toothbrush under the sink.”

“I could’ve walked myself.”

He presses another kiss to your lips, the contact making you realize you’ve been pouting. “I know. Take your time, darlin’.”

You make sure the door clicks shut behind him before you grab a fresh towel, hold it tight against your face and scream into the abyss.

–

A hot shower revives you. The ache between your legs stays but the hot water helped, so you wobble your way to the kitchen. Two plates of toast and eggs sit on the dining table already as you watch Atsumu fill up a glass of water. When he sees you, he gestures for you to sit.

“Hey, how was the shower?”

You give your own body a once over before frowning at him. “I could’ve worn my clothes from yesterday.”

A clean t-shirt was sitting folded for you on the toilet seat when you came out of the shower, so that’s all you were wearing over yesterday’s underwear.

“And can you put on a shirt?” you add.

He grins. You’re already getting used to seeing that expression on him. “Why? Am I distractin’ you? And in case you forgot, you spilled water all over yourself at the bar yesterday, so your clothes are still wet.”

“We should’ve put them in the dryer or at least hung them up last night…”

He walks over to you and pulls you towards the dining table. You let him coax you into a chair. “Well, we were a bit preoccupied when we got inside, yeah?”

“Whatever…” you deflect, jabbing at the scrambled eggs on your plate.

“So…” he starts, after putting the dishes in the sink and refusing your attempts to clean up. “About last night.”

You tense up, clenching your fists.

“I had a really good time and I really enjoyed talking to you.”

Enjoyed, past tense. A part of you relaxes. At least you know the general direction he wanted to take this in.

“Me too,” you respond.

“And I don’t wanna give you the wrong idea, but I’m not looking for a committed relationship right now. I need to focus on volleyball and I mean, you’re Shoyo-kun’s friend, so I don’t want that to be weird either.”

You nod. “I get it.”

He looks startled at your easy response. “Really?”

“Yeah. I really enjoyed talking to you too, but I’m not expecting us to start dating or anything.”

He blinks.

“Why do you look so surprised?” you ask, wondering if you should be offended by the reaction.

“It’s not that I’m surprised. Well,I guess I am a bit. You don’t really seem like the type who’s used to casual hook ups.”

“Excuse me?”

“I just mean-”

You laugh. “I know what you mean. I’m just playing with you.” He relaxes a bit. “You’re right. I don’t really do this,” you gesture between the two of you, “often. But like you said, I think we both really enjoyed each others’ company and we can leave it at that.”

“Okay, then.”

“Yep.”

An awkward breath passes before he speaks up again. “I hung your clothes up to dry earlier this morning. They should be good now.”

You’re not positive that he means it this way, but you take the hint anyway. “Thanks. I’ll get changed and get going.”

He gets up after you. “Can I walk you back?”

You put a hand out to keep some distance between you two. “Atsumu. I think I can manage.”

He smiles, unsure, but nods anyway.

At the door, he opens his arms and you file in robotically, giving him a loose hug before saying goodbye.

You feel slightly bad at the obvious distance you were putting between the two of you, and you’re sure Atsumu can pick up on it, but it’d be far better to make things a little awkward than to let him get any closer than he already has in just one night.

–

It takes another afterparty hosted by Hinata for you to see him again. You had kind of figured that the unspoken rule was that if neither of you reached out, it really meant nothing. Even though the two of you never exchanged numbers or social media, you’d be lying if you didn’t have a little hope that he’d ask someone for your social and DM you. But days, weeks, went by with your messages and DMs dry, so you packed up your foolish hopes and chucked them to the furthest corner of your brain.

This time, the gathering is hosted at Bokuto’s beautiful lofty apartment, fully furnished with a modern kitchen, balcony overlooking Tokyo, and massive living area.

Even though you know pretty much all the attendees today, it doesn’t keep you from feeling a bit nauseous on the elevator ride up. Once again, at the front door, you raise your finger to press on the doorbell, pausing to take a deep breath before pushing the button.

When the door swings open, the loud chatter of the inside makes it clear that this was not the small gathering you were expecting. The apartment is packed with people, many of whom you don’t recognize.

“Hey! You made it!”

“Welcome to my place!”

Hinata and Bokuto, with one arm around each other, greet you loudly at the door.

You awkwardly push your gift of red bean mochi in front of you. “I’m so sorry… I thought it was going to be a small thing, so I only brought a pack of 12.”

Bokuto laughs heartily, plucking the gift from your hands. “This is great! Akaashi loves red bean mochi, so thanks! We’ll just keep it to our close friends instead of sharing it with the entire party,” he winks at you.

Hinata grabs your arm and ushers you to the kitchen area, which is slightly less packed than the living room and balcony. “Are you drinking tonight?”

“Yep, I’ll have something.”

He produces a can of beer and pops the tab for you.

“Lemme introduce you to some of the people here. You already know the usual Karasuno alum. You met most of my current BJ teammates last time. Oh, yeah,” he interrupts himself. “What happened to you last time by the way? We were all at the bar and then I don’t really remember seeing you go home at some point.”

Not seeing any particular reason to keep it a secret, you tell him about going home with his setter.

“Ah.” Hinata says.

“What?” you ask warily. “Maybe… has Atsumu asked about me?”

Hinata shakes his head. “No, not really?”

You scowl. “Then why’d you say ‘ah’ like that?”

“Did I? My bad!”

You roll your eyes, having momentarily forgotten that your friend hardly thinks about much else other than volleyball.

He introduces you to some other people, mostly other volleyball players before dropping you off at the kitchen since you said you needed another drink.

“You sure you’re going to be alright on your own?”

You try to smile reassuringly. “I’ll be fine. Go have fun.”

He leaves, so you busy yourself rummaging through the fridge for another drink. When you find nothing of interest, you look around the room, eyeing what people have in their drinks. The longer you spend looking around without a drink in your hand and in your own company in the crowded room, the more you feel out of place. With that, you grab the first unopened drink on the counter and snake your way through the crowd in search of a familiar face.

And it just so happens that the first familiar face you find is Atsumu.

“Hey, stranger,” he says easily to you.

“I’m not the one who’s a stranger,” you blurt out the first quippy line you could think of.

His eyes widen. “What-”

“It’s just a joke.” you cut him off. “I didn’t mean it in any special way.”

He doesn’t buy it, expression sobering up quickly. “Didn’t sound like a joke to me.”

You scramble for words, your social anxiety not helping. “I really just blurted out the first thing that came to mind. You know I get really nervous at these group things…”

He stares at you. A couple of seconds go by and you contemplate just turning around and walking away to mourn your social ineptitude somewhere private. But Atsumu breaks out in a small smile.

“You were pretty nervous at that time, huh?”

“Exactly!” you eagerly add on. “Atsumu, I really didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I believe you. But…”

You stiffen.

“Wouldn’t blame you if you meant it in a special way. I hear I’m pretty unforgettable.”

You punch him in the arm.

He laughs good-naturedly and offers a crooked arm. “Another drink?”

You look down to see your bottle empty. You take his arm and let him lead you to another drink which turns into four.

Atsumu’s presence is massive and it makes meeting new people easier. He introduces you (as Hinata’s childhood friend, of course) to new people, resting a heavy arm over your shoulder as he gets more drinks in his system.

The gesture doesn’t alarm you. After all, men who are interested in someone would put an arm around your waist, right? Friends do shoulders, just like how Hintata and Bokuto had greeted you at the door.

But just like last time, he melts your worries away and before long, the two of you are giggling into each others lips and sneaking out to go do something other than talk.

–

And it happens again, and again, and again. Before you know it, every single dinner, afterparty, night out becomes an opportunity for the two of you to get together. You always somehow find yourselves all alone where you always talk for hours and enjoy each others’ company too much, and fail to resist the temptation of falling into bed together. And each morning, you wake up, act like lovers until breakfast, before parting ways to radio silence until the next time.

Your mutual count of offenses gets into the double digits before you really realize you’re in hot water.

–

The next time it happens, it’s when Hinata invites you to watch an official game. You show up wearing a plain black top to show your support for the Jackals. As you settle into the seats Hinata offers up to you and some ex-teammates, he spots your group and gives you his usual sunny smile.

The rest of his team notices you and now that you’ve met them a couple of times, a natural smile comes easier when you meet each of their eyes. When your gaze finally falls upon Atsumu, he gives you a silly grin, not unlike the one you’re getting used to seeing over breakfast, and holds his fingers up in a corny heart. You roll your eyes playfully and he clutches his heart dramatically in response.

A giggle escapes your lips, keeping a ghost of a smile on your lips until Tsukishima, who decided to join you to watch the game, catches you with one eyebrow raised.

“What?” you ask defensively.

“Nothing.”

From there, you make sure to keep your expressions reigned in. Sure, your eyes may follow him a bit more than any other player, but that’s not something to read into. He’s the setter, after all. They touch the ball the most so it only makes sense that anyone watching the game would watch him the most.

The Jackals end up losing in the close third set. You meet the players outside afterwards to tell them it was a great game and when the group emerges, it’s sans the setter. Mustering up a reassuring smile, you give each one of them a hug before sneaking away back to the gym to check up on the one you’re most concerned about.

After your first hookup with Atsumu, he had told you that volleyball was the reason he couldn’t be in a committed relationship at the moment. To anyone, that would have sounded like an excuse. But after getting to know him more, you could tell he really meant it. So it’s not a surprise to you when you find him still on the court, practicing serves even when his eyes are rimmed red.

“Atsumu,” you call out.

He jumps and slams another serve, as if he hadn’t heard you.

“Atsumu,” you say a bit louder.

You step closer and closer, taking tentative steps until you’re right behind him. As he picks up another ball, you put your hand on his arm to stop him.

“Atsumu,” you say softly.

He doesn’t shake you off so you take the chance to pry the ball out of his hand, letting it bounce to the ground as you circle around to face him. His eyes stayed glued to the floor, fists clenched. You bring your fingers to his, lightly uncurling them from where they make angry crescent imprints in his palm. When his hands relent, you let them fall limply back to his side before pulling him in for a hug. It only takes one second of hesitation before he returns the embrace fiercely, crushing you against him. You swear you can feel a dampness on your shoulder that isn’t sweat.

“You need to rest,’ you whisper.

He nods, letting you guide him home, where something in him seems to snap. His hands and lips are all over you even in the hallway of his buildings and it leaves you with barely enough sanity to dig his keys out of his gym bag to unlock the door before he takes you against the door, on his couch, and one last time in bed. Maybe you imagined the “thank you” he whispers to you before you pass out cold.

It’s sometime in the middle of the night when you come to, somewhere between awake and asleep. You stir to the sensation of Atsumu’s fingers brushing against the crown of your head.

“Hey sleepy,” you hear him murmur.

You hear yourself make some incoherent noise, curling your body closer into the warmth of his body.

“You awake?”

“No.”

He chuckles. “Up for another round?”

“‘Tsumu… I’m tired.”

“I like you calling me that.”

You open one eye. “‘Tsumu?”

“Yeah,” he says before leaning down and kissing you. It’s not a close lipped, innocent kiss that he often gives you the morning after. It’s languid but still urgent. You can feel your reservations slipping away. He slips a warm palm under your shirt and as he ghosts over your stomach, ribcage, then higher.

There’s something intensely intimate about the way he touches you tonight: his forehead pressed to yours, vocal in the way he insists that you keep your eyes open. That intimacy fills your insides with something warm, and at the same time, dangerously hot. It trips some sort of alarm in your mind, but all your reservations fly out the window as he starts to move. You can’t think.

Definitely not when he keeps kissing you up until the moment you fall asleep and you fade away to the feeling of his lips pressed to yours.

–

For one of the first times ever, you wake up dreading the morning-after routine with Atsumu. Because this one feels different. The way he says good morning with a lazy smile, the way he strokes your forehead, the way he stares when you stretch, the way he carries you like a princess to the bathroom.

By the time it’s time for you to make your exit, you’re convinced he feels it too. His stares linger too long, too hot to be casual. He says goodbye with a longing that is hard for even you, in all your inexperience, to ignore.

And you have to know.

You turn back right as you’re leaving. “Atsumu.”

“What happened to ‘Tsumu?” he teases.

“Can I come watch your next game?”

“Hm? ‘Course you can. Shoyo-kun usually gets you tickets right?”

You test the waters: something subtle but gets the message across.

“Would it be okay if I wore your jersey?”

His laughing stops abruptly.

If he laughs it off and makes a joke about you joining his army of fans, you’d take the hint. This would still be casual and you’d need to re-rectify your barriers. But if by chance…

He looks at you for a long, excruciating moment, before offering a small, shuttered smile.

You tense up. It’s not the answer you wanted, but you always knew there was a chance this would happen anyway. You’re just grateful you waited until it was time to leave before bringing it up.

“No… I don’t think you should.”

That takes you by surprise.

“I mean, I don’t want our friends to think that-”

“That what?” you bite back with a bit more aggression that you wanted.

Atsumu stands up straight from where he was leaning lazily in the doorway. A quiet, but stern calling of your name snaps you out of whatever reverie you’ve been in for the past couple of months. “I thought we both agreed that this was a casual thing. It goes without saying that I don’t want our friends to think we’re together. That would only complicate things.”

Complicate? You want to scoff. As if being the outlet for his frustration last night wasn’t complicating things already. As if every kiss and touch from just a couple hours ago wasn’t complicating everything.

But, you take a breath, composing yourself.

“Right, sorry. I just wanted to… let you know I’m here for you. Like last night.” you bite out.

He winces slightly.

“See you around, Atsumu.”

He doesn’t stop you when you walk off. In fact, everything remains the same. No texts, no calls, no messages.

#noos writes #haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq x reader #hq x y/n #hq fluff #hq imagines #hq angst #miya atsumu #miya atsumu fluff #miya atsumu angst #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu x reader

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hatsukeii · 2 days

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think fast / childhood bsf!tsukshima kei x reader

genre(s): childhood best friends x soulmates???? past lives and normal people by sally rooney coded im a sally rooney MEATRIDER!! angsty, gut-wrenching longing, bittersweet / hopeful ending so it's not all bad!! nostalgia is going to carry this fic so hard it's going to be a fun, fun time...

warning(s): eventual smut!! all characters are aged up to 21!!MDNI (at least up until the observatory)!! wrap it before you tap it!! (sorry kids), female leaning anatomy because smut but pronouns are gn all throughout and honestly you could read it as gn anyways:)) dead dad warning (my dad is NOT dead this was just convenient to kick off the thing), i fw the timeline of the world??? pretend flip phones were still in use in like 2012 or something idk

wc: ~6.3k

tldr; time has a way of reminding Kei of its presence, and its escape. you are the reminder it has been sending to him for six years.

Fate: A power believed to cause and control all events, so that one cannot change or determine the way things will happen.

It is a sunny afternoon when you step foot into Sendai, Miyagi. A beautiful day of golden warmth beaming onto petals of pink, red, and white, wrapped in coffee-stained newspapers and tied together with a spool of twine. The bouquet lies on browning grass, a contemptible reminder of the time that has passed since your last appearance here, six years ago, and you crouch down to the ground. Now face to face with the engraving of a full name on a slab of polished granite, you hesitate. Your father lived in a language that you can no longer speak, died in a country you no longer call your home. When you whisper blessings and apologies at the gravestone in broken Japanese and slurred syllables, you sound like a stranger. A stranger who sits in a graveyard at noon, with nothing but a bouquet from the nearby florist in hand, and a promise, stuttered out in half-decent Japanese, to return again the next year.

When a second bouquet falls to the ground behind you, and you turn around, Tsukishima Kei thinks this is what English speakers like you would call fate. He’s a little taller now, and bulkier too, and you have to crane your head higher than you remember just to meet his eyes. You don’t recognise the glasses he dons anymore, the black rectangles from his teenage years swapped out for rounded squares and silver frames. But he has a towel in his hand, a towel that has his initials poorly stitched into the corner with red string. You wonder if the matching one he made you, eleven years ago, is collecting dust somewhere in your dormitory, halfway across the world.

“You’re back.”

“It’s been a while, Kei.”

You can no longer differentiate Japanese syllables clearly, and your statement jumbles into nonsense in your head. Kei hears the English woven into your accent in the way you roll your tongue like foreigners do, and in the odd intonations that don’t exist in your mother tongue. You don’t even remember your father’s dislike for white flowers. London has truly done a number on you.

“Why? Why now?”

You bite your nail, a persistent habit that Kei frowns at. He picks up his flowers, and steps towards the gravestone, just close enough for your knee to brush against him for a moment. The bouquet in his hand is wrapped in plastic and filled with red and pink, the white from your own sticking out like a sore thumb when he places his flowers gently on the grass beside yours. He tosses the towel in his hand, opening it up against his palm, and you take it from him. If you cannot get the language right, or the flowers, this is the least you can do. Cobwebs stick to the fabric as you sweep at the granite slab, watching soot and dust fall to the grass. The curves and dips of the gravestone are familiar once again, and you dig the towel into every nook and cranny. You feel Kei’s body shift, before his knee is touching yours and his face is finally level with your peripheral vision. He glances at you, waiting. His knees bounce in anticipation.

“Never had the chance, college has been a lot.”

Your phone rings as you finish cleaning. The ringtone is familiar, unchanged from when you used to have a flip phone, in fact. Kei hums along to the jingle for the four seconds that the call is left unanswered, before it cuts off into a flurry of English. He catches something about research, and a thesis, his shabby English unable to fill in any more than that. He’s never known you were interested in research, let alone what it is that you’re researching. All he’s known is your aspiration of becoming a librarian when you were six, and his promise to borrow books from you for the museum that he swore he would one day work at. Now, he works at the museum, sorts antique scripts and yellowed books into cabinets and display shelves. He does not borrow books from you. Now, you talk, but nothing makes sense to him.

You end the call, mumbling foreign curses as you shove your phone back into your pocket. Clicking your tongue, you turn to Kei, who stares at the flowers on the ground. He pushes his glasses up when they slide down his nose, and you resist the familiar urge to nag him about buying the right frames for his face.

“Yeah, college has been mostly phone calls like that.”

He nods, a half-hearted chuckle huffing from his nose. He’s forgotten what it’s like to sit at a graveyard with somebody else, the annual reminder of a lonely death replaced by another this year as you dust off his towel, and drop it onto his thigh. He swipes it from his leg, folding it into quarters and sliding it into his pocket.

“So you choose to come now, without a word? Not even a heads up? Six years after leaving?” Kei’s voice rises at each question, the same way it did six years ago when you broke the news of leaving Japan to him. This hurts him to ask, that much you can still recognise.

“I would have come sooner if I had the chance. I’ve missed everyone so much.”

You pluck a petal from a white flower in your bouquet, then another, until all that remains is the naked bulb, and scatter them onto the ground beside you. Perhaps the next person that’s been buried under six feet of dirt used to have a liking for them. Kei remains unmoving, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. His knee stops bouncing.

“How long will you stay for?”

“Today, then Friday and Saturday too. Flight back is Sunday night.”

Six years of waiting, and this is what it amounts to. A weekend and a bit. Despite that, Kei still thinks this must be fate, in all the languages that it exists in. Six years of life, and love, and hurt, all to be condensed into four measly days. Yet as Kei pushes himself off the ground, dusting his trousers off, he still thinks that this unlikely, yet conveniently timed visit must be the answer to his pleas for your return. That this must be some heavenly reward, good karma for visiting your father’s grave annually on your behalf. You watch him turn to leave, and he calls out to you as he walks away from your father’s grave.

“Everyone’s at Hinata’s old place tomorrow. You should come by if you can.”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Change: to replace (something) with something else, especially something of the same kind that is newer or better; substitute one thing for (another).

All it takes is one coincidental exchange of panicked glances at the first throw up of the night for you and Kei to leave together. Hinata slurs a drunken farewell, tries to embrace you as you slip your sneakers on at the door, and you make a note to yourself that you really do not miss most of the people here, spare for the volleyball team. Kei waits at the door, holding it open for when you finally shake Hinata off of your back, and step through. The night is chilly, the warmth in your skin from the indoor heating system emanating into the midnight air. You kick rocks along the pavement as you walk, scattering pigeons that remain awake and active at this time, and Kei smiles at your antics. You still hate birds, and you still remember the trick he taught you when you were nine for chasing away pigeons that flocked around you for food.

“Who are you staying with?”

“My mom’s.”

The road leads the two of you to a high school. Kei has not come back to Karasuno since graduation. You squint in the dark, scanning the school, and you don’t recognise the new building that stands in place of the old auditorium. He watches you crouch at the plaque next to the front gate, tracing the letters engraved on it with the pad of your thumb. Some part of him blames Karasuno for being a bad place to you, the other parts blame himself for not being good enough to outweigh it.

“It’s changed.”

“Everything has.”

You rattle the locked entrance, the chain and padlock hitting against cold metal. It won’t open, so you look up through the gap of the gate. Six years ago, on that rooftop, was where you stood over a cold lunch box and emptied convenience store drinks, back against the wire fence, saying to Kei, I’m leaving tomorrow. On that day, you had packed yakisoba for his lunch, and nothing for yourself. He could barely respond to your announcement, only dropping his chopsticks and asking you, why? You told him something along the lines of being an expat, and a better school for what you wanted, all in the fluent Japanese you once spoke. Nothing made sense to him anyways.

When you turn back to him, his hands are in the pockets of his jacket, and his nose is red from the cold air. You stand beside him, staring aimlessly at Karasuno from outside its barriers.

“Do you still play volleyball?”

“Yeah, Sendai Frogs.”

You hum, and then wonder why you only asked tonight, and why you’re surprised. He shrugs, clouds of white puffing from his mouth when he breathes out. He tries to blow a wisp of hair away from his face, and you suddenly realise that his hair has grown too, along with his height. It fails, and he tries again. You reach up to swipe at his bangs, before running your fingers backwards through his hair. It parts itself as you lift your hands from his head, and falls into place neatly. A cold breeze whizzes by, and undoes your work, sending strands of gold into his face once again. You snicker a little.

“You know, you could ask my mom to trim it for you like she used to.”

“Nah, I prefer this.”

It isn’t until you turn to look at him properly that you see how much time has passed. He likes his hair longer these days, the choppy hairdo of his teenage years now nothing but an old preference, and you wonder if he is still a loyal customer of your mother’s salon. When he pulls his hands from his pockets and blows hot air into them, calluses line the bases of his fingers, the blisters of his high school years hardened by trials of time and effort. There are bags under his eyes, eyes that are now a little rounder, and softer too. When he speaks, monotone and tired, you realise his snarkiness has dissipated into general frustration. You stare until his eyes dart to you, and turn away quickly, ashamed. Leaving Karasuno has taken your hand and led you to a purpose that you never knew you were capable of. You wonder what the hell it has done to Tsukishima Kei.

“It looks good.”

He breathes in sharply, then exhales with a huff, shoulders relaxing as he stuffs his hands back into his pockets. You suddenly realise that your fingers have gone numb from the cold of the night, fingertips tingling like a million frost-bitten needles poking into your skin. You also stuff your hands into your pockets, rubbing your fingers against each other to generate some heat. Then, Kei’s looping his arm around yours, and pulling you away from Karasuno High School. He keeps on his straight path, and you stumble along behind his leaping steps. When you round a corner, the night breeze grows into something less imperturbable, and more vicious, pushing the two of you forward from behind in slashes of cold. The sea is near.

“Is this the beach we used to go to?”

“You still remember it.”

He drags you down a flight of stairs to Fukanuma Beach, and the misty sea air rushes to your head. When he leads you to the shoreline, you hesitate. The sea has been off limits since the two of you were five, a regulation put in place in remembrance of the Great Sendai Earthquake. An earthquake that saw Kei and yourself hunched beneath the same table in the middle of class, huddled next to each other as you cried for your parents. Now, in your final years of college, as the water slips beneath the soles of his shoes, pushing and receding in layers of aqua and bubbles of white, it seems that time has slipped by just as easily too. Time, that saw the fading of the earthquake’s devastation, despite the loss of thousands, including your father. Time, that frayed the string connecting yourself to Kei as you moved through life halfway across the world from Japan. Time, that passes through you like sand spilling between your fingers on a beach you once thought you knew, but has changed like the unprohibited water that seems to push further up into the shore at each tidal wave.

“They lifted the ban?”

“A few months ago, yeah.”

You step into the next wave that fizzles into foam, and the water crashes into the toe of your shoes. Crouching, you push mounds of wet sand into a cylinder, flattening the top and pushing divots in equal intervals. Kei joins, moulding shorter ones beside your own and drawing windows into the side. You finish, and he stands, smiling at the creation. You cover the top, afraid he will stomp on it, a trademark of Kei’s whenever you built sandcastles with him in childhood. Instead, he laughs, and walks further into the water. When you get up to join him, the hems of his trousers are soaked, shoes also covered in a sheen of wetness. You hop over the castle, and the next wave that comes sends its foundations crumbling back into the sea.

“We used to do that. You’d destroy it every time.”

Kei chuckles, and looks back to see the half destroyed castle. Clicking his tongue, he returns to the rubble, and you watch his hands push mounds of sand towards what is left standing.

“I’d always build a better one for you afterwards though.”

He dusts his hands off when he finishes, and the waves fizzle out just before they hit the two-tiered sandcastle. You sniff, holding your arms close to your chest. When Kei looks up, he feels like the summer of being seven years old again, smiling at you with his missing front tooth when you sniffle and laugh at the improved castle he’s put together for you. Now, it is winter. He only grins with the corners of his lips. You only sniff because it’s cold.

“Kei.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s really been a while. How have you been?”

He steps over the castle towards you, careful not to break it. Your hair blows in your face from the beach breeze and your eyes squint from the sand that flies into the air, and Kei takes it all in when you’re face to face with him. When he opens his mouth, some selfish part of him thinks about casting his words into shackles of regret, so heavy that they weigh you down and keep you in Japan, in Sendai, on this beach, somewhere close to him.

“Do you want to stay the night? Like you used to?”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Nostalgia: A sentimental longing, or wistful yearning for a return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition.

Kei does not take you to his family house. He leads you up stairs that make no sense, and hallways that stretch on forever, until you finally reach his flat. He wipes his shoes on the doormat, throws his keys into a glass bowl upon entry, and hangs his jacket on a hook mounted to his front door instead of the coathanger that used to stand beside it. You look around, searching for the shells you once collected in a jar for his tenth birthday. When your eyes land on a jar filled with conches and cowries, you let go of a breath you were unaware of holding. They sit on the top of his bookshelf, above textbooks and file organisers. A knot forms in your throat at the realisation that the jar sits alone in its compartment, with nothing beside it. You’ve done the same to the jazz vinyl Kei gifted you at the airport before your departure. You don’t realise that he’s disappeared somewhere as you stare at the shells, until a shirt and a pair of shorts are thrown into your chest. He stands at the entrance to a hallway, donning sweatpants and an old hoodie, one that’s clearly a size too small. The pocket is lousily sewn on, a result of a mishap that occurred when you had borrowed it once. He doesn’t know that you spent the night learning to sew fabric just to fix it.

“Change. It’ll be more comfortable.”

You scurry through the hallway to his bathroom, pulling the shirt and shorts on hastily, before balling up your clothes and returning to the living room. Kei sits at his couch, now bound in leather instead of fabric, and clicks at the television. You join beside him, legs splaying across his own subconsciously. He doesn’t move. He stops at a movie, one you’ve seen hundreds of times before at his old house. It drones on in the background as he watches in silence, his arms now draped over your knees. The first time he watched this movie, it was in his old home, cross-legged on the carpeted ground with you on the couch behind him. Your hands used to press into his shoulders from above, shake them whenever your favourite scenes came on, squeeze them when you laughed until tears rolled from your eyes. Now that his new flat lacks a rug, he’s willing to settle with your legs on his own. Flashing lights illuminate the dark room in sequences that you can still recall perfectly from memory. He watches the movie. You watch him.

“Have you been doing good, Kei?”

Turning to you, he pushes his glasses up into his hair, leaning further back. You shuffle closer, legs bending as your shoulder digs into the leather couch. A strand of blond falls into his face, and you lift his glasses to tuck it back, before smoothing your hands over his mess of hair, combing and pushing with your fingertips.The words from the television melt into gibberish when he hums in satisfaction, what is unspoken between you two is more glaring than ever.

“I’ve been okay.” He cuts off, then finds himself thinking of what to tell you first, amongst the recollections of life that rush through his head. “Started working at the museum a couple years ago.” He wishes that you still remember the building, where the marble floors squeaked beneath your slippers, and glass panels lined the walls, hiding away treasures and artefacts that have withstood centuries, maybe even eons of erosion and weathering.

You nod, mind filling with the many museum visits you had with him there. He’s always liked the dinosaurs more than the shells. When you breathe out a chuckle, he knows you’re recalling the time he almost pissed himself at a life-sized, moving tyrannosaurus rex model.

“What about you?”

“Research. I’ve been doing research about…” you sign in the air, searching for the Japanese words that have slipped from your mind. Surrendering, you whip your phone out, searching for a translation.

“Archaeology?”

“Yeah, that. No more librarian dreams for me. More dinosaurs, though.”

A smile finds its way onto Kei’s face, one that softens his cheeks and flattens his eyes into crescents. He wonders if amongst the silver plaques and digital displays, your work is engraved in there somewhere. If each time he explains something to some bright-eyed child, who scuttles around the museum as you and him once did, he is unknowingly speaking in your language, translated until he can decipher the thoughts that run through your mind in your research, your memories, your dreams too.

“Maybe it’s in the museum somewhere. I’m willing to bet.”

“I hope it is.”

Your conversation fizzles back into silence, and the characters on the television do too. The two on the screen sit in a field, mere inches apart. The two of you look at each other, your knees now leaned into Kei’s chest and one of his arms draped along the back of the couch. When he pulls his glasses back to his eyes, and studies you all over again, it hits him that you really haven’t changed all that much, even after your six year separation. Six years older, with the exhaustion of a functioning adult, but you still gnaw on your cheeks, and tilt your head as you ask questions. Six years apart, and you are still you, who taught him to build sandcastles, and introduced him to his favourite movie, and fixed his hair whenever it stuck up in stubborn peaks of gold. When you let your eyes close, and drop your head onto his shoulder, you wait for lost time to tick backwards, until you’re on the rooftop with him once again. In this version of time, you blush when you tell him that you’ve chosen to stay in Japan instead. Pushing your head further into the crook of his neck, Kei’s chin reaches over to rest on the top of your crown. The credits of the movie roll in the background, and you mumble into the skin of his pulse.

“Can you take me there? I’ve missed it.” Your words send vibrations down his spine, sending his head into a frenzy as he pushes his hands against the couch harder.

“The museum?” It will be closed for the weekend, but Kei nods anyway. He’s sure he can find his way in through the back. Maybe he’ll take you to the fossils again, let you run your fingers along smooth amber and stone engravings. Perhaps he could show you the new exhibitions, ones that you won’t miss this time, as you have for the past six years. For now, he thinks he will let you sleep on his shoulder, listen to your soft snores, tremble at every hot breath that fans onto his neck.

The credits roll to the end, and come to a stop. Kei removes his arm from the couch to grab the remote from his coffee table. He rewinds the movie to the start.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

思慕 [しぼ, shibo]: yearning; deep longing, especially when accompanied by tenderness or sadness.

On the final night of your stay, you learn that Kei still giggles when he breaks rules, as he drags you through the back entrance of the closed museum. He maneuvers through hallways of antique paintings and repurposed junk, slips into dark stairwells illuminated by the flashlight of his phone, traps your wrist between his fingers and chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he takes you higher, and higher, and higher. You’ve lost count of how many flights of stairs have gone by when he taps his keycard against a sensor by a backdoor, and pushes it open. The museum observatory, once a mess of bamboo scaffolding and green covers, now allows silver moonlight through its glass dome, boasting billions of iridescent stars nestled in a blanket of hazy midnight. A decade of your anticipation has resulted in a circular space, hundreds of plush recliners lining the circumference of the room, and you wonder how many eyes have watched the stars from those seats before you ever had the chance to. When Kei leads you further into the observatory, you step foot onto the north star plastered on the ground in the centre of the room, where nothing but a telescope remains in a ten-foot radius. He takes a spot on the ground, back pressed against the cushioned edge of a seat.

“I figured this is the best spot. Better than any of the seats, actually.” He plants his feet on the ground, bending his knees and spreading them just wide enough for you to sit in between. You cross your legs, wagging them up and down as your hands hold your shins, and he lowers his legs, stretching them out in front of him. Leaning back, your spine hits a spot between his ribs, the same way it did when you were thirteen, and fourteen, and fifteen, staring at stars from the grass of his backyard. You pity the visitors that have yet to discover the simplicity of stargazing from the ground, hands pushed into the ground for stability, dirt and moisture seeping into the fabric of clothing. Pushing further into him, his breathing is heavy against your back, chest rising in rhythmic ups and downs. For what feels like hours, you sit in silence, eyes trained on your fingers that pick and fiddle. At the realisation that you haven’t looked at the stars in years, something bubbles in your stomach, pervasive, relentless. When you finally loll your head backwards to fall on his shoulder, and the tip of Kei’s nose grazes your cheekbone, you wonder how long he has not looked at the stars for as well.

“Why’d you stop calling?” His sudden question sends a haze rushing into your head.

You swallow thickly. If the passage of time were a sin, you’d burden it with all your explanations. Telling him that now would seem like some lousy excuse.

“It stopped going to your line a year after I left.” You pause, searching for the right words to use amidst the sea of Japanese and English that you must now sort out. “I only stopped trying after another month, the voicemail just said your number was no longer in use.”

Kei wishes he could dig his fingers into his chest and rip his heart out. If only he hadn’t stupidly broken his phone that night, five years ago during volleyball practice. If only he had checked his pockets before entering the court, just as he has done hundreds of times before. If only he had this, if only he had that, he might just torment himself for the rest of his life. His breath hitches, shoulder freezing rigid. Time does not differentiate between the knowing and oblivious. It slips and leaks beneath the noses of all that it encompasses, and it is but the cautious few that know to grab it, and join in on its journey. He knows now that he is not one of them, not after he’s cursed at the passage of time over and over and over for his own blunder.

“I broke my phone in a game. Got a new one so the number changed as well, fuck me.”

You laugh dryly into the empty observatory. The occasional twinkling of the stars above do nothing to make his explanation any easier. You think you’ll blame it all on doomed fate that you’ve spent five years trying to find somebody that felt the same as Kei did, to no avail. Blame it on cursed luck that you’ve clawed and grabbed at anything familiar enough, archaeology, jazz vinyls, old DVDs of the movie shared between two, all to remind yourself that he too, was once within grasp. You say nothing, because you don’t see a reason to. Instead, you push your head into his neck, drown in the scent of his cologne, ease yourself into his now grown body. You don’t see him wipe a hand across his mouth, then rub his eyes with pinched fingers.

When Kei decides to speak again, it is what feels like another hour later. He’s readjusted his posture about fifty times by now, arms removed from the ground and draped over your shoulders. The sensation of your hair against his skin is suddenly more prominent than ever when your hands find his own, holding them closer to yourself.

“If I didn’t find you at the grave, would you have looked for me?” His question is heavy, weighing his chest down as the words leave his throat in a hesitant cluster. You turn to look at him, and your eyes linger on his own when you squeeze his hands once, twice, then a third time.

“I’ve been looking for five years. Nobody else could take me home.” Your heart rushes to your mouth at your confession, and the bob of Kei’s throat does not go unnoticed. One of his hands comes up to hold your shoulder, pushing it towards himself until your body twists, rubbing against his. You let go of him, pressing your fingers into the ground between his legs instead, and he breathes out shakily, his windpipe suddenly cleared of its uncertainty.

“You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes, I am.”

His fingers slide down to grab your wrist, before going numb completely. His unoccupied hand peels itself from the floor and settles on the side of your waist. Your mouth goes dry when Kei breathes, hot and heavy, his eyes travelling to every inch of you. A bout of heat rushes from his chest to his head, and his legs, and his arms too. The air between the two of you is thick, and it sends your head into a feverish blur. The ground collapses beneath your knees as they shift to press into the floor, and you come face to face with Tsukishima Kei, who prefers his hair parted in bangs on the sides of his face, and wears silver frames instead of black ones. Tsukishima Kei, who has been visiting your father’s grave on your behalf for six years, and still plays volleyball even in his adulthood. Tsukishima Kei, whose eyes are finally finished with their ventures across your figure, that is pushed up against him on the ground of an observatory, and is learning whatever he can about you when his fingers tighten around your wrists and he kisses you without a warning.

Once, at the young, innocent age of seven, Tsukishima Kei kissed you in this museum. You had run a little too fast, stepped on your loose laces and fallen onto the ground face first. You sulked at a bench facing some random painting of melting clocks, red dots scattered across a purple patch right beneath your eye. When he kneeled in front of you to grab your face, and pressed his lips onto the bruise for a fraction of a second, he must have kissed the pain away, mending the leaking capillaries beneath your skin as he separated from your cheeks with a pop. Now, he pulls against your wrists to push himself closer, traps you in the embrace of his legs around the back of your thighs, wheezes and stutters against your lips at the lack of oxygen in his lungs. His head is running in circles instead of straight paths, and everything is spinning. When your hands reach to grab at his shirt, and palm at his chest, he pulls away only to rip his glasses off and toss them to the ground. Beneath the glow of the moon from above, everything but your flushed cheeks and swollen lips is a blur. You take half a breath in, before it is interrupted by Kei’s palms pulling you in by the sides of your neck, and his mouth on yours again. At seven years old, he ripped bruising pain away from your face with a kiss. At twenty-one, he forces his pain, and grief, and regret rushing into your heart by pushing himself against you, fingers tangling themselves into your hair as he kisses you, desperate, almost distressed. Every tug at your lips is a confession left unspoken, every time Kei opens his mouth apologies spill out into you in choked groans and sighs. At the sensation of his hand leaving your neck, your arm searches for him aimlessly, before he’s palming at you through your pants. He swallows your sudden gasp, and your fingers grip his wrist until your knuckles go white.

“Did you ever like me?” You can do nothing but choke out a question against his lips, one you’ve pondered about, day in and day out, since your departure from Japan.

By the way that Kei nods frantically, you’re certain that this is what six years of separation has amounted to.

Sparing no time, your fingers tug at the hem of his boxers, pulling them down just enough to release himself from the fabric constraints. He does the same, hands roaming until they find the waistband of your pants to push them down, fingers tugging your underwear to the side with a flick. He grabs you by the waist beneath your shirt, yanks your body towards him until something feels right and he can’t help but let out a trembling sigh into your shoulder. And when you finally begin to sink yourself onto him, agonisingly slow, you wish that you had never left Japan in the first place. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you wish that you could spend the rest of your life in this observatory with Kei, your hands wrapped around the back of his sweat-slicked neck.

When he pulls you down to push further, more pervasively, you fall into him, head hanging over his shoulder and arms squeezing around his neck. His inexperienced hands rock you back and forth against his hips, pulling a flurry of gasps and moans from your throat. He lets himself learn how you taste when his teeth tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it down to expose your bare shoulder. His lips latch onto your collarbone, biting and sucking a trail of red marks up to the side of your neck. You shudder at his advances, and he studies the way your walls flutter around him, the erratic pulses that draw stars around his head, how your nails dig into his shoulders, and send his mind into a senseless orbit.

When he pushes and pulls at you a little harder, you whimper his name into his ear, reduced to nothing but a babbling mess that nibbles at his neck and kisses up his jaw feverishly. First friend, first kiss, first love. The notion that this is another first that Tsukishima Kei has brought upon you sends your mind spiralling. He should have been your first prom date, first roommate, first dance too. If only you hadn’t left him first. You push your head off his shoulder, hands moving to hold his face instead. A wave of pleasure washes over you when his palm presses against your stomach, and you hang your head low again, a shaky sigh released from your chest.

When you look up, there are tears in Kei’s eyes. He rolls his head back onto the plush seat behind him, hands lifting you off himself fully, just to push you back onto him again. You collapse into his body, palms pressing against his heaving chest.

“I- fuck! I fucking loved you! I still do!” He speaks it into the glass ceiling as one hand reaches for his face. He wipes his palm across his eyes, only for more tears to form. They are uncontrollable, relentless as he turns his head away from you. He isn’t sure how he will live again tomorrow, not when he’s finally come to a reckoning with the pang in his chest at every thought of you. He thinks he could die the second you step onto that flight back to London, ripped away from him once again. The reality that he cannot stay buried inside you for any longer than the next couple of minutes haunts him to no end, the idea of being separated from you a second time unbearable to even imagine. When he turns back to see you, head on his chest and fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, he decides that reality can wait until he’s finished with you.

“I love you too- shit, Kei! I never stopped!”

You rut against his hips senselessly now, chasing some unfamiliar high as your vision fades to black and you scream his name until your throat goes hoarse. Kei barely gives you time to breathe, before he’s coming undone from right beneath you, shuddering and groaning as you relax against his body and go limp. He holds you against him, one hand pushing your head against his chest and the other wrapped around your back. He tucks your damp hair behind your ears, places kisses along your temple so he can hear the hums of satisfaction that sound from your curled lips.

“Can you stay forever?” He mumbles into your hair, and you turn to press your ear against his chest. His heart pounds as he pushes his cheek into the crown of your head, and your hands crawl up his chest to wrap around his neck. When he looks up through the glass ceiling, the stars have not moved one bit.

“I’ll find you again, wherever you are.”

Time may slip away from Tsukishima Kei like petals that fall off the buds of flowers, water that seeps beneath the soles of his sneakers, stardust that hovers above the atmosphere. Yet he has learned that it has a way of always coming back to remind him of its presence, and its escape. You are the reminder that it has been sending to him for six years.

author's note:

ERM! never writing nsfw again that's for sure but this piece defs had some stuff that i was very, VERY proud of coming up with!! sorry to my minor moots who probably won't read this in its entirety bc of the big MDNI warning... but I honestly don't know how to feel about this piece as a whole... i was super excited to write it but i think i got a little impatient towards the end esp since im always writing at like 3am LOL but i hope you guys liked it anyways!!! i tried really hard to make the dynamic work and i hope it did!!!!!

also ps they exchange numbers again js a little extra bonus that i didn’t get to put into the actual thing

anyways tags!!

@staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @akaakeis @laughingfcx @writingsofanomnivore @t0rchknight @bailey-reeds @wyrcan @hiraethwa @fiannee @catsoupki @anonymity-222 @wishi-selfships @kuroppiii

ok love u guys thank u for being patient

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ohsc · 2 days

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requested by @prentissluvr | basic but completely adorable is sam trying to do his little girl's hair with his big hands and she's so small and he's like argh why is this so difficult T_T but he's trying so hard and he's so concentrated until she gets squirmy and he has to give up and do pigtails before she gets annoyed LOL

tysm for the request sweetheart this was SO soft to write i love your brain so so much <3 | juno verse, single dad sam winchester x fem!reader, 1.2k, fluff, pining, not proof read, requests only open for juno fics

“Like Fawn, daddy.” Juno told him, sat with her legs crossed on the bathroom counter, looking up at him through the mirror as she messed with the barbie she had held in her hands.

“Like who?” Sam asked, frowning in confusion as he brushed through her hair as gently as he could. Since she’d woken up that morning — and in turn woke him up by climbing into his bed and tugging on his hair — she’d insisted that she needed to look pretty for when Y/N visited. She was already dressed in one of her pretty dresses, a puffy blue thing covered in flowers. It was a little big for her, he’d had to roll up the sleeves, but there was no convincing her to wait until she’d had a growth spurt to wear it. On top of the dress, she wanted her hair to look pretty, too.

It was getting a little long, Sam knew that. They’d been living paycheck to paycheck for the past few weeks, he hadn’t had the money or the time to go and get it cut, and he was not going to attempt to do it himself.

“Fawn,” she scowled at him through the mirror like he was stupid. “Fairy. She likes Tink.”

Ah, the fairies. A week ago she’d decided that she was too big for princess and she liked fairies instead. The idea of her getting too big for anything made his chest squeeze uncomfortably with the idea that his baby was getting older. He could remember when she could fit comfortably in the palm of one hand.

“I thought you wanted a braid, Junebug.”

“Mhm.”

“Fawn has a braid?”

“Yes.” She scowled again and he almost laughed at how cranky she got sometimes.

“Sorry, baby, I forgot,” he leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “You want one or two?”

She held up two fingers before she went back to playing with her barbie.

Sam honestly thought it would be easy. He could kind of remember how Jess used to braid hers — though he tried not to think of her much anymore — and since Juno had less hair it seemed easier.

It took him five minutes to even part her hair as she kept moving around, and by the time he had a section in his hands strands kept slipping out of his fingers. His hands felt clunky, eyebrows scrunched in concentration as he tried to braid the three strands.

“Daddy,” she’d started squirming, and he bit his tongue to stop himself from complaining when she moved her head and he dropped one of the strands, the entire braid falling loose. “Done?”

He let out a breath through his nose. It wasn’t her fault, he usually just put her hair in a ponytail and tied a bow around it. “Not done, sit still please.”

He combed out the braid with his fingers and tried again, honestly a little irritated at how difficult it was.

She moved again and he tried to lean forwards as she did so not to pull her hair, but just ended up braiding the wrong strand of hair through.

“Juno, please,” he breathed out, letting go of her hair to shift her back in place on the counter. “You need to stop moving sweetheart.”

“Wanna play.” She whined, and when he glanced up at the time he sighed. He wanted to clean up a little and get some food going for when Y/N got there, and time was getting a little tight.

“Okay, alright Junie,” he leaned down and kissed her head, gave her sides a gentle squeeze as he looked back at her in the mirror. “Why don’t I just do some pigtails, hm?” She pouted and his heart aches. “It’s quick, and you can go play until lunch, okay?”

She nodded, and he kissed her head again with an apology before he brushed her hair and tied them into pigtails, securing two blue bows into her hair in the hopes that she’d find it just as pretty. It was a win when it earned him a sloppy kiss on the cheek as he lifted her up from the counter to get her down.

One of the bows was missing by the time Y/N got there.

She’d used the spare key to get in — she’d been doing that more recently, and he tried not to think about how it made his heart thump a little harder — and he’d been at the stove stirring the macaroni he was cooking, so he didn’t have time to stop Juno from running straight into her legs as she walked in.

“Hey princess!” Her voice was cheery despite almost getting knocked off of her feet, and Sam could hear his daughter giggling down the hall as he made sure the water wouldn’t bubble over before stepping out of the kitchen and into the hall. She had Juno on her hip, not even out of her coat yet, little arms tight around her neck with a tight hug. The sight made his heart swell, a dopey little smile on his face as he watched them for a moment.

“Are you all dressed up for me, Junie?” She cooed, hugged her to her chest, and beamed at Sam when she looked up and met his eyes.

His poor heart couldn’t take much more.

“Yes, s’my pretty dress,” Juno informed, chubby cheeks and a toothy smile. “Daddy did my hair wrong.”

He rolled his eyes. “Tattle-tale.” He scoffed, walking over to take his daughter into his own arms so Y/N could shrug her coat off. Juno didn’t seem to mind, just didn’t take her eyes off of the other.

“He did? Oh no,” she hung her coat up on the hook, and was smiling in far too much entertainment when she turned back around and faced them. “What did he do wrong? Is it the missing bow?”

“Want Fawn hair.”

Sam mouthed braids over the top of her head at her look of confusion.

“Ah, I see,” she reached out and gently combed her fingers through the ends of Juno’s pigtails. “Well, do you wanna know a secret, Junie?”

Juno nodded enthusiastically, and Sam almost dropped her when she leaned forwards fast to hear her.

“I know how to do braids,” she told her as if it was a secret, leaned down a little to be at her level. “Maybe you could go and get me your hairbrush and some pretty bows and I can do them for you, hm?”

“Okay!” Juno immediately started squirming and Sam laughed as he put her down, watched her run down the hall and into her bedroom, before he turned back to face Y/N.

“Thanks,” he breathed out a little laugh, a hand pushing through his hair. “Wasn’t gonna hear the end of that one.”

She giggled, smiled so pretty he thought his heart might give out. “Figured as much,” she stepped forwards and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, and he was definitely on the road towards a heart attack. “Maybe after lunch I could teach you how to do it? If she sits still for long enough.”

Sam practically grinned as he nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

Oh he was so in danger.

#juno verse !!#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester drabble #sam winchester oneshot #sam winchester fic #sam winchester fanfiction #spn #spn x reader #spn one shot #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural one shot

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waywardxrhea · 2 days

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Better Late Than Never - Matt Murdock

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Detective!reader

Your teamwork with Daredevil to take down a dangerous gun trafficking gang leads to your life being on the line more than once.

word count: 6,280

content: hurt/comfort, two idiots in love, canon typical violence, guns, blood, car violence, forced sedative use, binds and gags (not the fun kind lol), beating as an interrogation tactic, knife use

a/n: this was done for an anon request! i was given lots of free reign with this one so this is what i came up with for the request of Reader getting captured and Matt/Daredevil has to attempt to rescue!

ps idk why, but i pictured Tom Ellis as the face and voice claim of the gang leader? not the intention, but it just kinda happened lol picture whoever you would like!

“Thank you for your time, and again, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding,” you said to the young woman you had arrested the week prior as she walked out of the precinct, shooting you a dirty look on her way through the door.

You had found her in possession of a weapon that was unregistered and untraceable, so you took her in and had the gun run against the database to confirm your suspicions about the weapon. Captain Mahoney had recently assigned you to work on a case of an organized crime gang who were trafficking guns, so you were on high alert for any weapons that matched their MO. Turned out your hunch was right and the gun matched up with the weapon used in a murder a few weeks prior to her arrest. The detectives on the case were having trouble tracking down who the killer was, so when the gun’s tool marks matched up exactly, everyone was happy to have someone in custody for the crime.

The woman never once swayed from her story of innocence though, so naturally, she lawyered up. Her innocence was proven just hours before by a pair of talented attorneys from the law offices of Nelson, Murdock, and Page. You looked up to see one of her lawyers coming toward you with a smug look on his face as he approached, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his cane not unfamiliar to you at this point. “I guess you can’t be right all the time, Detective,” Matt Murdock said to you as he came to a halt mere feet from you.

You looked out at the bustling New York sidewalk where the woman had been moments before, and told him, “I’m just glad she didn’t go away for something she didn’t do. She ended up having a solid alibi and we found grainy footage of some thug slipping the gun into her purse the night I arrested her. I don’t think we would have known to look if it wasn’t for you and Foggy.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” he said, a small smile teasing the corners of his lips. There was a moment of silence before Matt spoke again, telling you, “Nice job, by the way, taking down that serial mugger last week. The streets already feel safer because of you.”

“Oh, you heard about that?” you asked curiously. Truthfully, it had been such a cut and dry case, you never followed up on what happened after the arrest.

“Yeah, when he hired us as his lawyers. Obviously, he was guilty, so we got him to take a deal,” Matt replied with a quiet chuckle. You watched as an almost cocky smirk curled up one side of his lips before he added quietly, “He said you were a little rough with the handcuffs?”

You leaned casually onto the wall beside you, crossing your arms loosely with a cheeky smile plastering your lips as you asked, “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you, Murdock?”

Before he could respond, an older officer who was wandering past barked out your last name and said, “Hey! What are you doing fraternizing with the enemy? He’s the reason so many of my arrests walk, you know!”

“Are you encouraging her not to listen to serious concerns from a constituent in her jurisdiction? I was just telling her how safe I feel now that she's on the case and taking serial criminals off our streets,” Matt said to him, his quick defense of you and the lawyer-speak making your heart flutter in your chest. He straightened his tie with his free hand not holding his cane and added, “Maybe if your arrests would actually hold up in court, they wouldn’t walk.”

The other officer stalked off, mumbling something you couldn’t quite make out, but you guessed that Matt could judging by the way his jaw was working in frustration. Wanting to take his attention away from the stressor, you quietly cleared your throat and told him, “You look really nice today, by the way. The tie really flatters you.”

His gaze finally tore away from the man when you said this and the muscles in his jaw relaxed, a smile returning to his features as he said, “Well, I’m glad it isn’t horribly obscene.”

“You could wear the gaudiest of hats and a neon orange tie and you’d still look amazing, Counselor,” you told him, a playfulness in your tone as a smile teased your lips.

Matt leaned in toward you slightly, his voice lowered and almost with a sultry quality to it as he asked, “Are you flirting with me, Detective?”

The gesture and his proximity made your heart start pounding in your chest, the sound reverberating loudly in your ears as your eyes quickly darted down to his lips before focusing back on his eyes behind his red lenses. Your voice sounded foreign in your own ears as you breathlessly said, “And if I-”

“Okay you two! No more puppy eyes at each other! You’re cut off for the day!” came Foggy Nelson’s voice as he approached with Captain Mahoney beside him. Both you and Matt straightened up in response to his interruption, the space between you growing once more to one of more professional standards as the two men approached.

Captain Mahoney playfully tsked at the pair of you before telling Matt, “Come on, Murdock! I need her sharp for the case we’re working on! I can’t have her daydreaming about you the whole time!”

“I don’t daydream…” you mumbled, averting your gaze to the ground in the hopes that the furious blush now taking over your cheeks would be less obvious that way.

“And I don’t need you to start now,” Captain Mahoney said, a quiet chuckle leaving his chest. You glanced up to see him giving Foggy a pointed look before telling him and Matt, “Now, you two get out of my precinct! And don’t come back unless you have to!”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be back with cigars for your mom soon!” Foggy said as he and Matt turned to leave the building.

“Oh, no you won’t!” Captain Mahoney shouted back.

“They totally will,” you said with a quiet laugh as you watched them disappear into the bustling crowd on the sidewalk.

Before you could return to your desk, the Captain’s voice caught your attention as he asked, “When are the two of you gonna finally go on a date?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you told him, shocked that he was discussing this with you.

“Uh-huh, sure,” he said, not even trying to hide his smirk.

Wanting the conversation to be off of your painfully obvious crush on Matt, you cleared your throat and asked, “Did you get a team together to head to the potential drop site with me tonight?”

“Yeah. It’ll be you, Stewart, Greene, and Campos,” he replied, relenting on his teasing, at least for now. “I had to make it a small team so you won’t be so obvious. You’ll go in plain clothes with bulletproof vests underneath. The four of you will have body cameras on at all times and I’ll be nearby in a van watching the feed with backup in case you need it.”

“Sounds good, do the others know yet?”

“No, I was just about to find you all,” he said. “Meet me in my office in ten and we’ll discuss the full plan.”

That night once the sun had set and things were settling down as much as they could in New York City, you and your team of officers were making your way to the site where you were told the latest shipment of illegal guns was coming in. Dressed in plainclothes, the four of you ambled toward the site, Greene’s arm slung around your shoulders as she pretended to drunkenly stumble down the sidewalk while you brought a water bottle in a brown paper sack to your lips and took a long drink before pulling a face as if the contents tasted like cheap liquor on your tongue. Campos and Stewart flanked the two of you on either side, both of them also pretending to be unsteady on their feet as the four of you made your way toward the docks.

Once the four of you got to a mostly hidden spot near where the shipment was supposed to be delivered, the act was dropped and you all crouched silently as you stared at the dock. The boat was scheduled to arrive in the next thirty minutes. As the time got closer, Campos leaned over and whispered, “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“This is where my source told me they would be,” you told him.

Stewart, a slightly older officer, scoffed quietly and said sarcastically, “Yeah, Daredevil? Look, I know that after what happened with Fisk, Mahoney trusts him, but me personally? I think-”

“You should really listen to the detective in charge,” came the gravelly voice of the man in question as he perched on the structure across from the four of you. “Ghallagar got spooked since you’ve been onto his trail, so he moved the shipment a few docks down. If you hurry, you’ll be able to make it before the sale’s done.”

“And what’re you gonna do, huh?” Steward sneered.

“Let New York’s Finest do their work,” Daredevil replied. “All I came here to do is make sure you can do your job.”

“Thank you, Daredevil,” you told the man in red graciously. He simply nodded before silently turning and making his way in the opposite direction. “Well, you heard the man, let’s go!” you told the others before gesturing for them to start getting up and heading in the direction of the new stakeout location. Before you could head off though, you spoke aloud so Captain Mahoney could hear, telling him, “The shipment’s being dropped off a few docks down. We’re heading there now. Control van can stay in place, it shouldn’t be too far from the original location.”

“Control van staying put, copy,” came the captain’s voice. “If you need backup just call.”

“Will do,” you said before creeping your way to the front of the small pack. You had your service weapon drawn and pointed to the ground, but it was ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

When the four of you arrived, the van for transport had just pulled up and you saw three men get out, heading over to meet with three more emerging from a small boat anchored at the dock. They were all armed to the teeth. It was clear that Ghallagar was not messing around. Before the guns could exchange hands, you motioned your crew forward. Staying slightly ahead of them, but fanned out, you raised your weapon and shouted firmly, “NYPD! Put the weapons down! Now!”

“Shit, we gotta go!” you heard one of the men from the boat crew shout before turning tail and running back to get the boat started.

“Stop running! Put your hands where I can see them!” you shouted, firmer yet, as the four of you slowly creeped toward the men.

“Get the guns! Now! We’ll hold ‘em off!” one of the gang men roared while gesturing for the shippers to grab their boxes.

“Weapons down!” you warned.

“I don’t think so!” the man in charge of the street crew snarled before opening fire.

“Get to safety! I’ll provide cover!” you shouted at the other officers who quickly obeyed your command and hid behind shipping containers. In case Captain Mahoney hadn’t heard the gunfire, you shouted, ”Shots fired! I repeat, shots fired!” You heard more gunshots firing off from your side and watched as one man from the boat who was still on the dock got shot, a crimson spray of blood misting the air as the bullet made contact.

Before you could make a move to back up and into an area of cover of your own, a rapid spray of bullets came flying toward you! You barely registered it as a second man from the street crew who had taken the heavy artillery weapon out of the van before the wind was knocked out of you completely and you were knocked onto your back. As you lay on the ground struggling to breathe due to the impact of so many bullets on your kevlar vest, you saw a blur of red dash past you and toward the dock.

You barely registered the shouts of, “Officer down! Officer down!” from Greene as your heart pounded in your ears. Adrenaline rushed through your veins, but rather than pushing you up like it normally would, it froze you to the ground.

When you were finally able to turn your head to see what was going on because you could no longer rely on your hearing, you saw the red-clad figure of Daredevil standing over a bloodied man who had crumpled to the ground. You saw his shoulders moving up and down as his chest heaved with the effort of the fight, his fists clenched at his sides as he stood menacingly over the body. His head jerked up as the van peeled away from the dock without their fallen man and the boat zoomed away into the water.

Closing your eyes, you breathed a sigh of relief to know the fire fight was over. “Take care of him,” you heard Daredevil’s voice bark to the other officers. It sounded like he was getting closer to you. You attempted to take a deep breath, but groaned in pain as you did, earning a concerned, “What hurts?” from Daredevil as he came to crouch beside you on the cold ground.

“Ribs. Stomach. Bullets to kevlar,” you managed to get out between shallow breaths, squeezing your eyes shut as more pain burst forward with every word.

“I’ve got-” Daredevil started to say, but stopped abruptly. When he did, your tightly closed eyes were suddenly engulfed by light before more excruciating pain radiated throughout your body as you were lifted up and into Daredevil’s arms. As you moved through the air with your eyes snapped shut, you felt Daredevil nearly lose his balance as a blast of air jostled him. Opening your eyes for a brief moment, you saw the gang’s van flying past you, missing the pair of you by mere inches!

You came to a crashing halt right into his armored chest with a cry of pain a few moments later, your knees buckling under the weight of your body and the pain. “I’m right here, you’re okay. You’re safe,” he whispered, pulling you gently back up into his chest, his gloved hand supporting the back of your neck as he did.

Through the ringing in your ears, you barely heard your name being called out as officer Greene and Captain Mahoney made their way over to you and the masked man. “Are you okay?!” Greene asked exasperatedly. “Those guys are maniacs! Santos barely got out of the way before he got hit!”

“I’ll-” you tried before groaning in pain once again.

“Greene, make sure that bus is on the way and get an ETA, I can handle this,” Mahoney told her before you felt another set of hands on you to give support as you were peeled away from Daredevil’s chest. “I can’t believe they tried to hit you!” he grumbled. When you were able to open your eyes for a few moments you saw the deep scowl on his face as he shook his head, mumbling something you couldn’t quite make out through the cotton in your ears as your heart continued to pound relentlessly.

It felt like mere moments before you were being put onto the gurney and being stabilized by the EMTs as you guarded your midsection while they worked. Glancing over, you noticed that since you were out of his arms, Daredevil was about to leave. Not wanting him to go without an acknowledgement of being the reason you were still alive, you managed to get out a weak, “Thank you. For saving me.” In response, he offered you a nod before sprinting off, leaving you to be taken to Metro General to be checked over.

A few hours and exams later, you were released by the doctors at the hospital, being cleared of any breaks or concussion. You were simply sent home with massive bruising and told to take it easy the next few days with some pain killers. And although you protested, Captain Mahoney benched you for the next few days, telling you to stay home and heal up before returning for desk duty at the end of the week.

It was understandable, being told that you would come back for desk duty after what happened, though. You were shot at by a heavy weapon and almost mowed down by a van, for Pete’s sake! You cheated death. Twice! But it still felt like a punishment. Riding the desk hadn’t ever been your style, and you hated to start now…

Reaching over to the nightstand near your bed in your apartment, you felt around for the bottle of Advil that had become your best friend the past couple of days. When you finally made contact with it, you opened the lid and turned the bottle in order to drop a couple pills into your hand, but nothing came out. Groaning in pain and frustration, you realized that you were out and hadn’t bought any before coming home after the hospital visit… Shit. You would have to go to the bodega down the street and get a new bottle.

Getting dressed was a task, and it took you a long time to get your sweats and t-shirt on in order to go to the shop. You didn’t even bother with sneakers, slipping into a pair of slides sitting by the door as you grabbed your purse off the hook and began making your way out of your apartment building. The walk was slow going and painful, the constant bustle of people around you on the sidewalk not helping as they shoved past you, your tender ribs and bruised abdomen taking hits that had you wanting to scream.

The bodega thankfully had the medicine you were seeking. After paying for it and a bottle of water, you were taking the pills as you left the store, not wanting to wait a second longer for the pain relief you desperately sought. Before you could close up the pill bottle though, from the alleyway beside you, a pair of arms reached out and grabbed you! The pills scattered all around as you struggled to go into a defensive move you knew by heart in order to get out of the attacker’s grasp. But almost as if they knew you had bruised ribs, they squeezed your midsection, igniting your whole body in a searing pain that had you seeing stars. Taking a deep breath to scream turned out to be fruitless as only a weak cry tumbled out when your expanding ribcage violently protested the intake of air.

“Gotcha,” said a gruff voice, their breath hot beside your ear as they spoke. After he did, you felt a needle enter your arm as he muttered, “Night, night. The boss can’t wait to see ya, Detective.”

When you came to, you blinked hard a few times, thinking that maybe it was all just a pain-induced nightmare. Reality hit you though when you tried to move your arms but couldn’t because they were tied behind you as you slumped over in an uncomfortable chair. Trying to remain as still as possible so as to not notify your captors of your conscious state, you took in your surroundings.

You were shoved into a corner of the room, so you had a pretty good view of the space around you. Lining two of the four walls were crates upon crates, each marked with the symbol of the gun runners you had been tracking. So, that confirmed your suspicions about who had snatched you… On top of each box was a display of what gun was inside, small spotlights illuminating the weapon as if it was an art piece in a museum. Two men stood guard near the boxes with guns of their own holstered to keep the product safe. Another man sat in a chair nearby on his cell phone. Because of his proximity, you assumed he was supposed to be keeping an eye out for you to wake up.

There was a musty smell that permeated the air and the occasional drip of water echoing in the distance. It was a narrow room with a slightly rounded off ceiling, which you thought was odd. There was graffiti on the wall that seemed vaguely familiar to you, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on where you had seen the tag before… The far wall looked like it had collapsed long ago, and it held the only entrance to the area that you could see. It didn’t even have a door, it was just an opening in the collapse. Something more promising though that clued you into where you may be located was the unfinished rail tracks peeking out from under the collapsed rubble and the unused tracks that had been used as makeshift barriers to protect the guns.

You must be in the tunnel where the city had tried building an additional subway line a few years before, but it collapsed before they could get too far. Neither you nor Daredevil had been able to figure out where the gang’s base of operations was located, and now it made total sense. The area the city had accessed to get into the underground area was sealed and forgotten about by the population at large. You didn’t even know where the entrance was, although you had your guesses. Any time you would chase a group of troubled teens you caught harassing a street vendor or tagging the window of a business, they would just disappear into thin air near 45th and 9th. That was where you knew the graffiti tag from! There must be an entrance into this place somewhere near there! Not that knowing where you were particularly helped you at the moment, but… If you made it out of here somehow, at least you knew the best way to get to safety.

“Hey, look who finally decided to wake up,” said the man near you. A shiver zipped down your spine as you realized that it was the same voice that spoke in your ear when you were taken. “Thought we overdosed you there for a little while. Guess I’m not as good at calculating drug doses as I thought. Oh, well.”

“What do you want with me?” you tried to ask firmly, but your voice came out broken and scratchy from lack of use over however long you had been out.

“You’re asking the wrong guy questions,” the man said in a bored sort of tone. “Hey, Reg! Call the boss-man and tell him she’s awake. He’ll want to talk to her.”

“That he will,” came a new voice. Your head turned toward the opening in the collapse and saw a man in a white button up and pressed slacks walking in, flanked on either side by burly looking men who you assumed were his guard.

“Ghallagar…” you mumbled, narrowing your eyes at the man you had only ever seen in pictures from the original brief you were given on the case. The whole time he had been in the Kitchen, the man was practically a ghost, so this was your first time getting a good look at him.

“Detective,” he said with a certain smugness in his voice as he approached you. He held your gaze for a few moments before asking his men, “May we have the room? I need some time alone with the detective. There are buyers coming in an hour. Make sure we have materials to hide this section of the space. We don’t need them to see what I’m about to do. Bad for business.”

“Yes sir,” one of the burly men replied before turning away and gesturing for all of the men in the room to follow.

When it was just the two of you again, Ghallagar rolled up his sleeves as he said, “I bet you’re wondering why I had you taken.”

“The thought may have crossed my mind,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. What did he plan on doing to you? What did he-

A sharp slap across the face pulled you out of your thoughts. “You seem to have something I want.” Another slap in the other direction nearly toppled you out of the chair before he snarled, “And I intend on getting the information out of you.”

“What do you want?” you asked through gritted teeth, trying not to show any weakness to the man standing tall over you. You may be in the compromised position, but there was no way you were going to let this man break you. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

“Tell me Daredevil’s identity,” Ghallagar said as if it was the most simple question in the world. As if he was asking the name of the cashier at your favorite bodega.

“I don’t-” you tried, but stopped to let out a cry of pain when he sent a kick into your bruised midsection.

“You’ve worked with him for months! Trying to find me, finding the gang whose place I took, taking down that mugger together. I could go on with all of the cases you’ve figured out with his help, Detective.” Before you could contain your emotions, your eyes widened momentarily, and that reaction caused a smirk to twist Ghallagar’s lips. “Yeah, that’s right. I know your case files. I have a folder with the names of every criminal you’ve taken down since you got out of the Academy.” He circled around to stand behind you and dug his thumbs into painful pressure points in your shoulders as he said, “You got to do your homework on me, I got to do my homework on you. It’s only fair, isn’t it? And it’s also fair for you to tell me who you’ve been working with since you’ve been such a thorn in my side!”

When he said that last part, a white-hot pain seared over your shoulder as he ran a knife over the skin there. You tried to bite your cheek to muffle your scream of pain, but only drew more blood than was already trickling out of the wound on your shoulder. Taking a deep breath to control yourself only made things worse and you let out another groan of pain as he circled back to stand in front of you. “I don’t know-” you tried again, but were cut off when he shoved the whole chair over with you in it.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he shouted as he sent another kick into your ribs, causing more pain to rock your already battered body. “The way he saved you that night on the docks! He made sure to go to you! The way he held you when he saved you from my men’s van! You know who he is, and it’s just a matter of time until I get it out of you!”

“She was supposed to get back to work today, I haven’t seen her though. Not like her to be late…” was Brett’s response to Matt’s question about where you were. It was the morning you were supposed to be back after the incident at the docks, and Karen had suggested bringing you flowers. He didn’t hear you inside the building on his way there, though, so he hadn’t grabbed any before heading in to speak with a new client.

“Have you tried calling her?” Matt asked.

“Straight to voicemail. I was thinking of doing a welfare check myself here in a little bit if she doesn’t show up by noon,” Brett said with a sigh. A quiet chuckle left his chest before he added, “Don’t worry, I’ll get a hold of her, Lover Boy.”

Matt shook his head and laughed light-heartedly at the joke, telling Brett, “I appreciate it,” before he and Foggy left the precinct and headed to their office for the afternoon of case file sifting.

Running his fingers over the braille case file in front of him, Matt had been fully engrossed in the complexities of this case for hours. Foggy had already called it quits for the night and went home, but he and Karen were still there, working to find an angle they could win this case at. “What if we played up the jury’s-” came Karen’s voice, but Matt tuned her out when he heard your name mentioned in the police chatter from a nearby cop cruiser.

Officer missing after welfare check. Cameras show the officer’s last known location outside of a bodega before disappearing into an alleyway. Three days ago.

Matt was out of his office chair and hurtling toward the door before Karen could even ask where he was going, calling over his shoulder that there was an emergency that he needed to deal with. He didn’t even bother with the cane as he ran, he and Karen were the only ones in the building anyway at this hour. He needed to get to his suit and he needed to get to it now. Your life may well depend on it.

You weren’t sure how long the beatings went on for. There was no light that got into the collapsed tunnel so you couldn’t tell day from night. There didn’t seem to be any patterns on when guards entered or exited the room. There was no specific time when Ghallagar came in or out to beat answers you didn’t have out of you. And there was no use shouting. You felt doomed.

The only reprieve from the onslaught of pain was when buyers came in. When they were there, you were gagged and concealed from sight by a room divider, left to bleed and suffer in pain before more was inflicted when they were gone. Besides the pain, the only thing you knew for sure was that you didn’t have the information he wanted. You didn’t know who Daredevil was. No one did. You just worked with him on the recommendation from Captain Mahoney. That’s all. The way the masked vigilante saved you that night and held you to his chest made you feel safe, yes, but why that made Ghallagar think you knew his identity was beyond you. You wished there was some way for you to prove that you were telling the truth. Some way for him to know-

Your thoughts were interrupted by the loud sound of gunfire in the front of the room. The enclosed space made everything louder and you squeezed your eyes closed in a feeble attempt to shut everything out. You were afraid of the ricocheting bullets making their way over here. Although, if one hit you, this could all be over… You wouldn’t have to endure anymore pain. There would be no more pain. And boy, did that sound great right now.

The sound of fighting got closer and closer, Ghallagar’s voice barking orders before suddenly going silent along with the rest of the room. The only thing you heard was the sound of fists hitting flesh and groans of pain from the victims of whoever was dealing the blows. Already conditioned to fear the punches of your captors, you cowered inward as much as you could, a weak and unintentional whimper leaving your throat as you did.

Within seconds of making the noise, the pounding of fists stopped and you heard a thud as a body landed on the floor, their skull hitting the pavement hard. Your heart pounded in your throat as you heard heavy footfalls approaching you and you wished the person away with all your might. Your wish didn’t come true though as the room barrier was shoved aside, causing you to tuck your head down to be as small as possible in the eyes of the unknown person in front of you.

Your name was whispered in a gravelly voice, and you shook your head in some sort of attempt to deter the person from you. Instead of another beating that you were accustomed to though, suddenly your hands were free of their confines and you were being hauled up and into the embrace of the person now standing in front of you. You were too weak to fight, but when you felt the texture of the armor adorning the person holding you, you let out a sob and tightened your arms around the man. Around Daredevil. He came to rescue you. He saved your life again.

“I’m here. I’m right here. You’re safe now,” he mumbled as he held you as gently as he could. With one arm still wrapped around you, you felt one pull away before he spoke again a few moments later, saying, “Tell Mahoney I found her. Collapsed subway tunnel near 45th and 9th. Ghallagar and his men are incapacitated. Get an ambulance here, now. She’s in bad shape.”

It was as if your body instantly switched out of survival mode when he ended the call. The moment you knew that an ambulance was on the way and you were safe in Daredevil’s arms, you collapsed. Every muscle fiber in your body gave out and your joints folded under all the weight and suddenly everything went black once more.

When you began to regain consciousness, you instantly knew you were in a different environment. Rather than the sound of dripping water and gruff men speaking, there was the occasional beeping sound and soft spoken voices. You were in a somewhat comfortable bed with pillows surrounding you in an effort to soften the mattress and your hands weren’t bound behind you. There was no steady trickle of blood leaking from your body. You were in the hospital. You were safe.

Your eyelids fluttered open when you heard movement from beside you, and you realized that one of the soft spoken voices was coming from right beside you in the form of Matt Murdock praying. Looking down, you realized that one of your hands was grasped in his as he prayed, and a deep blush creeped onto your cheeks - the moment was far more intimate than any you had shared before. “Hey,” you whispered once he said amen.

“You’re awake. Thank God,” he said, the emotion obvious in his voice and smile. “You had me scared there for a few days.”

“A-a few days?” you asked, eyes widening.

“Yeah. It’s been three days since they brought you in,” Matt replied, squeezing your hand gently. “Brett and Daredevil took care of Ghallagar. He and his men are going away for a long time.”

“Good,” you said, your voice breaking with emotion as you remembered what you endured at his hand. Wanting to change the subject off of the man in question, you looked at the gorgeous bouquet of flowers on your bedside table and asked, “Did you bring those flowers?”

A bashful smile made its way onto Matt’s lips as he nodded, telling you, “I was hoping you’d wake up before they wilted. Was I right?”

“Yeah. They’re gorgeous. Thank you, Matt,” you said, voice wobbly as you spoke. “And thank you for coming to see me. I- You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Matt replied softly.

“Oh hey! You’re awake!” came the voice of Foggy as he peeked into the room. “I hate to break up this happy little reunion, but we gotta go, buddy. Client needs us, like, yesterday.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” Matt told him.

During the whole exchange you were left staring at yours and Matt’s intertwined hands and got to thinking. Why hadn’t you ever just made a move with him? Before, you were convinced that he was just playing along with your flirting. That he didn’t have feelings for you like you did for him and that he just didn’t want to be rude. But now, frankly, you didn’t care about your overthought reasoning. After the last week, you realized how fleeting life was and just how lucky you were that you were still alive. So, before Matt could stand up and say his goodbyes as Foggy stepped out of the room, you leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek.

The gesture ignited pain in your battered body and a furious blush on your cheeks as you relaxed back into the mattress. The boyish grin that lit up Matt’s face made your heart flutter, and you swore it almost stopped when he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” was your instant response in a breathy tone with a wide smile on your lips as well.

The kiss was brief and gentle with both you and Matt unable to hold back your smiles as it happened. You felt rays of happiness flowing out of you and couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips when he pulled away mere moments later. He squeezed your hand once again as he said, “I’ve wanted to do that for a while. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize…”

“Better late than never,” you replied, a content smile on your lips as you remembered his soft ones on yours, already craving the next. You hoped that this would be the start of something magical with Matt.

big shoutout to my beta readers in the tuna tank for helping me out with this, especially @sunflowersandsapphires for some of the dialogue pieces as well as @justvalkyrie and @thornbushrose for help with plot points and clarity!

ps: the flirty comment with the handcuffs made me giggle so much! it happened very organically too (even though i am a terrible flirt and needed to ask for help in the server for inspo) also the bit at the end with Matt holding Reader's hand and praying?? i teared up, whoops!

as usual, likes and comments are appreciated! xo, brooke <3

taglist: @reidmarieprentiss

dividers by @firefly-graphics as always!

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock hurt/comfort #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil hurt/comfort #daredevil angst

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valerie-is-in-the-cupboard · 2 days

Note

Hi, I have a request. I was hoping if you can do a one-shot or short story of Alastor x reader with telekinetic powers that's similar to Carrie White? It can be romantic or platonic, which ever fits better is up to you.

It can go something like this; the reader fell into hell because they did something really bad with their newborn powers, and it was during extermination day. When the exorcist angels were going to kill the reader, they use their TK powers to defend themselves against the angels and manage to kill one before getting away from them. This was caught on news and immediately caught the attention of all the sinners in hell to see the reader has telekinetic powers and manages to fight off the angels. This even caught the attention of all the overlords, including the three Vee's, the Hazbin Hotel crew and Alastor.

That was honestly all I got 😅, I'm sorry if it sounds confusing, but I was hoping you can do something like that, if that's OK with you, because your work is very amazing to read.

Welcome to Hell! - Alastor x reader

Helloo!! I’ve decided to keep this as a one-shot for now since I want to focus on finishing my ongoing stories. However, if inspiration strikes, I might dive deeper into this idea in the future! In the meantime, it was a wonderful request, and I hope you enjoy it! ❤️ A/N: I was supposed to post this tomorrow but I accidentaly clicked post instead of schedule so... here you have it. Warning: Not proofread!

Words: ~2300 TW: none.

Your hands were shaking.

What had you done?

Your heart was racing, your breathing erratic.

You’ve killed someone again.

You only wanted to protect yourself… you always had!

You're a monster.

The golden blood splattered all over you, all over the ground, awakening memories. It happened so fast, so quickly that you still believed it was all a dream. They attacked you, didn't they? It wasn't your fault. You just wanted to survive. Doesn't everyone?

What was this place? Why is everyone so panicked? Why are these beings attacking you?

The sound of a bell rang across the strange city you woke up in, the weird beings flying in the sky. The streets echoed in screams and cries, grunts of pain and suffering sending shivers down your spine.

Once the panic subsided, creatures surrounded you, whispering and watching with wide eyes.

"You... You killed an exorcist?" one of them asked.

"What?" you couldn't understand. What was happening? Was this a joke?

"We're gonna die!" another screamed.

"What? No, I-" You tried to protect yourself, but fear overwhelmed you. You noticed them approaching you, your eyes falling on a nearby wrecked car.

A loud noise echoed as the car blasted through the crowd, giving you a chance to escape. Corpses of these things surrounded you, and blood splattered all over the streets. What was this place? What happened here?

You felt threatened, like prey running from unknown hunters in unfamiliar territory. What was happening? Were you dreaming?

Am I dead?

"Welcome back to 666 News, the premiere station for all things Hell! I'm Katie Killjoy with today's top stories!" Katie's voice echoed through the TV in the hotel's lobby, mere moments after Extermination Day was over.

"Extermination day has just ended, and as usual, demon parts and blood litter the streets of Hell, as clean-up crews get to work."

Charlie watched the news, Vaggie's hand slowly caressing her shoulder. "You want me to change it?" she asked her.

"No... I need to know the damage..." Charlie said, sighing, clearly distressed about her people getting killed once again. Vaggie hugged her tightly, knowing how painful it must be. She'd erase that smile on Katie's face if she could - always so happy to announce the death of other Sinners every year.

"But the news doesn't end there! As it turns out, a newcomer has been reported for recently killing an Angel - using telekinesis, no less!"

They both watched with wide eyes, as Husker joined, his curiosity getting the best of him too. The images of you blasting a car through the car appeared on the screen, screams of people echoing through it.

"Holy shit!" Vaggie said, not quite believing what she was seeing. "They must be confused."

"And what a hell of a start..." Husker said, not phased by the events.

The doors of the hotel burst open, Angel frantically looked around as he tried to catch his breath. "We... We need- Oh, shit..." he tried to say, but running as fast as he could all the way there surely took a toll on him.

"Angel, what happened?" Charlie asked.

He took a deep breath, trying to let the words come out. "We need to take that sinner... I've heard Vox and Valentino talk... They want them!"

"No! If The Vees have them, especially with that power..." Charlie said, worry on her face. It would've been a catastrophe. Having someone like you, powerful and confused controlled by The Vees... It couldn't happen.

A laugh echoed in the room, as everyone's attention shifted. Alastor appeared in the room, shadows emerging everywhere, the smirk on his face wider than usual. He clearly heard what happened, lurking in silence for the perfect time to make his presence known.

"My, my... What an interesting little situation we've managed to find ourselves in! It seems our new arrival has made quite the impression." he said, excitement filling his tone.

"Alastor, you need to help us-" Charlie pleaded, only to be cut off by Vaggie.

"Hold on, Charlie... I don't think Alastor is the best to handle this situation."

"Let me disagree, my dear!" Alastor intervened quickly, stepping closer to them. "I think my skills in... persuasion must be of good help, don't you agree?"

"Manipulation, you mean," Vaggie said harshly, making his eye twitch a bit.

"Ah, that's such a negative word, my dear... I think my term is a little bit more friendly, hmm?" He pushed her aside, wrapping his arm around Charlie's shoulder. "Now my dearest Charlie, let's think about this for a moment, shall we?"

"Charlie, no!"

Charlie fiddled for a moment, thinking about it, but as much as she hated to disagree with Vaggie, Alastor was right... He always managed to convince people to do different things, and right now, having the newcomer come to the hotel was all that mattered. She sighed, turning to face Vaggie. "I think we should let Alastor try..."

A small chuckle escaped Alastor's lips, his smile growing even wider as he heard Charlie's words. "Excellent choice, my dear Charlie! I promise not to disappoint you!" He clasped his hands together, his eyes sparkling happily as he was clearly enjoying this.

"Ugh, fine..." Vaggie groaned. "But if you fuck up"

"No need for threats, my dear! I assure you there's no need for you to worry!" his eyes turned to Angel, a glim of mischief into them. "Now, where do I find this little dearie of ours?"

You walked the halls of the huge building that the demon took you, still shivering from the... unconventional way you were brought there.

"Ah, I truly apologize for my assistant's... way of bringing you here." The TV demon, who presented himself as Vox, said, resting his arm on the small of your back as he guided you from one corridor to another. "I specifically told them that shoving people in that... black van is surely not the best idea." he laughed a bit nervously.

Your heart was beating so fast, a knot in your stomach as you didn't know what to expect. You took a moment to gather your thoughts, confusion still washing over you.

"Am I in Hell?" you asked, things starting to make sense.

"Yes, you're unfortunately in Hell darlin'," he answered, his voice smooth and almost melodic. You weren't surprised to be here, not after what you've done. Not after how many people you've hurt. "But don't worry, you're safe here with me." He chuckled a bit, his clawed hand brushing slightly on your back. "Now, I don't want to pressure you into anything, but I do look forward to finding out more about you. I think we could really help each other."

"I guess..." you said, realising it was better than roaming around this strange city without knowing anything.

Your eyes fell on your reflection whenever you would pass the big windows. You didn't look much different from your human self, but you seemed to resemble a rabbit, rather than anything else. A reminder that you'll always be what you've been your whole life - a prey, something meant to run and hide, in order to survive.

Vox eyed you closely, humming to himself as a smirk slowly formed on his screen. "Looks like you've figured out what you are," he said, his arm still resting on your back. "A rabbit, huh? Cute."

You blushed at his words, trying to hide your face. You felt so cornered right now, so vulnerable to him, not knowing if he was really going to protect you or give you a much worse fate.

"No need to be so shy, doll," he teased lightly, his arm gently tightening his grip around you. "I promise you're safe here. You're under my protection now, after all."

You watched as he unlocked a door, keeping it open for you. You swirled inside, taking in the huge apartment, looking rather luxurious. Vox followed you, shutting the door behind him. The apartment was lavish and spacious, with large windows at the end of the room, and the city lights glowing underneath it.

"Welcome to your new home," he said, his voice slightly echoing through the empty space. "Make yourself comfortable."

"Is this all mine?" you asked, still not believing.

"Yes, darlin', everything in this apartment is yours," he answered, watching as you looked around in wonder. "Consider yourself lucky. Not everyone in Hell gets to have a place like this." He stepped a bit closer, pride lingering inside of him as he watched your reaction. "Velvette will take care of your attire while you're here, so really no need to worry about anything."

You turned to face him, a bit puzzled by this entire situation. "Why are you helping me?"

Vox’s smile widened as he leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. "I'm a businessman, sweetheart," he said, his tone almost playful. "And I always have an eye out for potential investments. As for you..."

He walked toward you, striding over to you. He slowly trailed a finger along your chin, making you look up at him. "You're something... special. I couldn't let such a precious little thing get lost in this shithole of a city."

Your cheeks burned. You weren't used to being treated with such kindness, a warm feeling settling in your soul. He looked at the watch on his wrist, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration. "Ugh, have a meeting to attend to," he explained, moving away from you. "Settle in and think about my offer!"

"What about Valentino?" you asked, recalling the man you’d encountered upon your arrival, unbeknownst to Vox.

"What about Valentino?" He repeated, chuckling nervously.

"He said he has an offer for me too..."

You watched him sigh, his screen glitching slightly. "Just... don't. Ok?" You nodded, not sure if you should ask more questions or just keep quiet. Vox left, leaving you alone in your thoughts, a lingering sensation of loneliness filling your soul once again.

You walked around a bit, looking at how neat and beautiful everything seemed. You didn't expect to be like this and you surely didn't expect to be met with kindness, not here at least. With small steps, you took in the sight of the city. Was this how you were going to spend eternity? Was this all real?

"Impressive." a voice echoed behind you, making you jump. Your heartbeat quickened as you watched a demon that resembled a deer stand in front of you, his eyes fixed on your figure. "I have to admit, Vox really outdone himself with this one."

"Who are you?" you asked, your voice coming out more weak than you expected. Your ears flattened against your head, as you tried to distance yourself from the stranger, only to be met with the cold glass.

"Quite the frightened little bunny, aren't you?" he teased, a low chuckle echoing in your ears as static accompanied his voice. "My name is Alastor, it's a pleasure to meet you."

You just stood there frightened. In a moment, you made a lamp fly towards him, a frail attempt to protect yourself without making a big mess again. But just mere moments before hitting him, the lamp disappeared into a portal, nowhere to be seen anymore.

He chuckled, taking another step closer, almost towering over you. Alastor watched you from head to toe, clearly evaluating the situation and you. "Very interesting."

"I... Are you Vox's assistant?" you asked, feeling cornered by the deer demon.

He raised an eyebrow at your question, letting out a huff. "Well, of course not, my dear. I am actually here to make an offer." he crouched down to your level, his smile sending shivers down your spine. "You made quite a show for your first day... Those powers of yours..." he seemed almost lost in his thoughts, the possibilities you might offer pleasing him, but first, he had to make you leave Vox. "I know a place where you'll be safe, my dear. And perhaps..." he paused a bit, your ears perking up a bit in curiosity. "... perhaps even leave this place forever..."

Your face lit up for a moment. "Leave... Could I leave Hell?"

"Well, of course!" he said, getting up, his tone cheerful once again. "Is that something that you'd want?" You thought for a moment - you didn't think it was fair for you to end up in Hell... all you did was protect yourself, but... having the chance to go to Heaven? He smiled at your hesitation. "I take that you'd be interested, hmm?" he offered you his hand, helping you get back up.

"But... What about Vox?"

"Oh, don't worry about him. He just wants to use you to his advantage, dear. I can actually help you!" The static in his voice grew slightly when he spoke.

"How can I trust you?" you asked, making him sigh at the question, clearly frustrated by your questions.

"How about a deal, my dear, hm?"

"A deal?"

"Well, yes. I always respect my deals! You come with me and I guarantee you that one day, you will go to Heaven." he raised his hand, green flames engulfing it as you looked at it. "What would it be?"

"The fuck you mean she left?!" Vox asked, slamming the door to the apartment open.

"I told you, Vox! I came in, and she was gone!" Velvette protested. "I told you we can't trust the bitch!"

Vox walked around the apartment, his screen glitching from time to time. He was so angry, it felt like he was about to crash. "Ok, ok.... We can find her..." he tried to calm himself down, but his eyes fell on a little piece of paper on the counter. He quickly grabbed it and as soon as he read it, his screen almost overheated and froze.

"Maybe you should try harder than that, old pal."

"Um... Vox?" Velvette asked, a bit afraid he might have a short circuit again.

"I'm... gonna... kill... that fucker..."

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