#the eyes turn a little and control the volume and track skip

[clpdee]

Going through some old school bins (2005-2010ish), this mp3 player is inspired

[mystic-writings]

wherever i go (you bring me home)

PAIRING — wilbur soot x fem!reader

SUMMARY — you and wilbur get into your first major fight

WARNINGS — angst, hurt/comfort, arguments, wilbur’s a heat of the moment asshole

WORD COUNT — 2,078

SONG — sweet creature - harry styles

NOTES — writing this took forever lol sorry i've been gone for like 3 months <3

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“Wilbur, you can’t just keep ignoring this!” You’d been trying not to raise your voice for almost an hour now, but it just wasn’t working. 

The man turned away from you and played with the hem of his button up. “I told you, I’ve got it under control.” He spoke at a low volume, keeping his eyes downcast. “I’ll deal with it. I don’t even know if I’m going back next year, okay?” 

“Why not?” You asked, settling on the couch beside your boyfriend. 

“Because, I don’t see a point in it anymore!” His voice raised with every word, until he turned to face you and began shouting. Quickly, he stood up and paced the room. “I don’t see a point in getting a business degree, or working an office job until I die. I don’t want to do that!” 

He made a start for the door, and you stood, following him. “Wilbur, that’s okay! But you can’t keep skipping class, either! You can work out what you want to do and still go to school!” 

“No, I can’t!” He turned, whipping around at lightning speed. You took a step back. “Because I don’t have that kind of money! I can’t afford to go through university twice. Not everyone has the privilege of using their parent’s money to pay for school, unlike you.” 

Wilbur was seething by the time he finished. Your shoulders sagged and your eyes began to well with tears. As much as he was right, it was still painful. He scoffed at your lack of a response, pulling his shoes on and grabbing his jacket from the hook by the door and left you alone in the apartment, silence pressing in on you. 

You managed to bring yourself to the couch, falling onto it with your head in your hands. You knew you shouldn’t have pressured him, but it was his final year of school, and enrollment was coming up soon. You just wanted him to make sure he had made his choice. 

The room felt both too large and too small when you were in it by yourself. At some point, the guilt and regret dragged you down into a lying position, and it didn’t take long for your mind to lull itself to sleep wondering when Wilbur would come back. If he’d come back.

Anxiety stuck like a boulder on your chest, guilt and the unknown creeping in on you like the monsters you were scared of as a child. But this time, there was no one to hold you, to comfort you and tell you it was okay. That you had nothing to worry about. Because you did have something to worry about. And that was where Wilbur had gone. If he was okay. If he was still your boyfriend.

Eventually, the little tears your body was able to produce and the whirring of your constantly changing thoughts brought you to sleep, curled into yourself on the couch with tear-tracks marking your cheeks. 

By the time you’d woken up that morning, Wilbur still hadn’t come home. The pit in your stomach expanded larger and deeper than you ever thought it could, consuming your entire being as you wondered what his absence was beginning to mean. 

Was it just… over? No goodbyes, no real ending, just… the end? 

It was all you could think about as you forced yourself to go about your normal routine, ignoring the twinge in your back from sleeping on the couch. 

Going out in public felt so odd. None of these strangers knew the state of your relationship, of your mind. Then again, you weren’t sure if you did, either. Still, your routine continued, heading to class as though you weren’t a wreck.

Wilbur knew just how fucked he was as soon as he stormed out of the house. He knew he didn’t mean any of the bullshit he’d told you, but he was still fuming and couldn’t be at home. At least, not at home with you, at the moment. 

The small, reasonable voice in the back of his head was telling him what an idiot he was being, that his anger would subside and he would regret everything he’d done and everything he was going to do, but he didn’t listen to it. Especially when it told him to march back inside and apologise to you. 

Before he knew it, Wilbur had gotten on a bus that carried him to Canada Water station, and a thousand thoughts were cropping up all at once as he stood on the escalator, too fast for him to process, but all of them underlined with one, booming thought. What had he just done? 

It was all he could think about as he boarded the train headed toward the London Bridge station, letting his feet take him wherever they needed to go. Right now, all he knew was 3 things: The stress of next year being his last year at uni was unbearable, he took said stress out on you even though he swore he’d never do anything like it from the moment he met you, and that he needed to apologise.

But how? By the time he realised it, Wilbur was almost an hour away from you, with no cell service, and only three stops away from King’s Cross. He could picture you now, distraught on the couch like he’d seen his mother so many times after she’d fought with his dad when he was a kid, and it killed him to know that he’d been the one to cause it. That he’d broken the promise he made to himself a very long time ago. 

Even as all these thoughts came to a head in his mind, battling on which one he needed to process first, Wilbur managed to make it to King’s Cross St. Pancras station. And as he bought a ticket from the handler at King’s Cross station, and began the trek to his platform, where a train would eventually come and carry him back to his mother’s embrace, he was mindless. The ticket was cheap, but the train wouldn’t be coming in until later in the morning - all the other trains to Ipswich were full. It was after midnight, and Wilbur wondered if you fell asleep on the couch, or if you ended up wandering into bed at some point during his travels. 

Wilbur ended up finding a bench to sit on at his platform, ticket in hand as he awaited his train. 

Time seemed to stretch on forever by the time Wilbur’s train arrived at the platform. It was going to be almost completely empty; after all, the only people on the platform were stragglers. His mind felt empty, like he wasn’t fully there. It was like he was torn, half of him on the platform, the other half of him at home. Most of the people waiting for the train had shown up, but even then he felt entirely alone, arms wrapped around himself, clutching the sides of his sweater, desperately trying to think straight. 

It felt like an eternity, his mind running loops, laughing as he tried to get it on a sane path of thought. But when it did, when he finally felt like he had some sense of clarity, the train was breezing past him, pulling into the station, awaiting his boarding. But as he stood from where he sat on the bench he’d been on for ages, he couldn’t bring his feet to move him toward the train. He had the ticket, and he was mere feet away - it was so easy. It should’ve been easy. 

But all he could think about was you. Was the hurt he put in your chest with the words he spoke - however true they seemed to be at the time. All he could feel was regret weighing him down, guilt piercing his lungs and making it harder to breathe. Puncturing his heart and tearing it apart. 

And with tears beginning to build up, Wilbur turned. And as he walked away from the platform, he dropped his ticket in the bin, and checked his watch. You were in class right now, if you even went, and would long be home by the time he got back. But it didn’t matter right now, what mattered to Wilbur was that he made things right. 

He’d arrived back at your shared flat almost an hour and a half later with shaking hands, unsure of whether you were home or not. His phone died along the northern line, and his leg bounced with anxiety every time he was seated. 

With a slow exhale, Wilbur reached for the door handle. It twisted mercifully in his grasp, and he knew in an instant: you were home. The door creaked, Wilbur cringed. He hadn’t been able to hear any signs of your location in the flat, but the unlocked door told him at least that you were inside. As he stepped inside, he felt almost like a stranger in his own home. It was deafeningly silent, and it felt as though there was no warmth flowing through. Like you’d simply disappeared, and he had, too. 

Still, Wilbur persisted. He slipped off his shoes, shrugged off his jacket, and tiptoed to the bedroom. His confusion began growing with every step, as there was no sign of you, but when he pushed the bedroom door open, only to still find no signs of your presence, it nearly doubled. He made his way to the bed to plug in his phone, and startled himself when he turned around, finding you in the doorway. 

“Where were you?” 

“Y/n, I-”

“Where have you been, Will?” You asked. Your voice tried to sound stern, and your eyebrows remained furrowed, but the crack in your voice and the tears in your eyes told Wilbur everything you didn’t want him to know. “You didn’t come home. I was worried.” 

“I’m sorry.” He breathed, and your heart cracked. 

“No.” You shook your head. “You’re not the only one. I pushed you too far.” 

He followed you as you turned, heading back into the living room. “It wasn’t just you, okay? I have some blame in the fight, too.” Wilbur sighed, watching as you stood by the coffee table, arms crossed, lip between your teeth. “Look, darling, I- I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry. I was an idiot. Hell, I am an idiot. But I’m your idiot, and I love you. I was so caught up in leaving that I ended up at King’s Cross somehow. I had a ticket in my hand, and I almost went back home - back to Suffolk - but I didn’t. I didn’t because I hurt you, and it wasn’t fair of me to hurt you the way I did and leave without a word. I’m sorry.” Wilbur’s head bowed, chest almost heaving from the pace with which the words tumbled from his lips.

“You love me?”

Wilbur’s head snapped back up, eyes locking with your soft ones. Had he said that? “I-” his mind ran for miles in the span of a second, processing what he previously said. But it didn’t matter. He did love you. “Yeah, I do. I love you, Y/n.”

“Then you’ll let me take some of the blame,” you said, voice soft as a small smile started stretching across your face. “I pushed too far, Will, and that wasn’t fair of me, either. And I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to. I just want what’s best for you, and that’s up to you to decide, not me. I just did it because I love you, too, and I want you to be sure in your decisions.”

Wilbur smiled back at you, not wanting to waste a second as he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around you and shoving his face in the crook of your neck - nose buried in your hair. Without missing a beat, you wrapped your arms around his torso, breathing him in. His warmth spread through you in an instant, and your heart stuttered with emotion. There was no need to worry. 

Wilbur was home. You were his home. 

Tangled up in your limbs, head resting on your chest, calmed by your heartbeat and the fingers in his hair, scratching ever-so-gently at his scalp, was his home. And home is where he spent the rest of the night, watching movies until he fell asleep, comforted by your presence. 

hba taglist: @z0vamp @blancastans @vanillaarr @chillidaquack

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[kanonsarchivedblog]

Burn For You

Word Count: 5856 Genre: Smut Rating: E Characters: Uchiha Madara, fem!Senju Tobirama, Uzumaki Mito (briefly) Ship: Uchiha Madara/Senju Tobirama Warnings: Unprotected Sex Author's Note: You can read it on my ao3 here! This was inspired by Burn For You by Abigail Barlow! It suits Tobirama and Madara really well, imo. Also, this was just fourteen pages of smut. I hope you all enjoy this! ━━━━━━━━━━━━ It all started with a confession.

“I burn for you.”

The admission had taken her off guard. She’d agreed to stay behind after a meeting, going over the development plans for the Nara clan to settle in the North Eastern part of the village outside of the gates so that their deer would have plenty of space to roam and not fear the wrath of hunters. Madara had additional ideas that needed to be looked at by a different pair of eyes- constructive criticism before presenting it officially to the council. The night had grown long, the candles burned so long that they were more melted wax than actual candles. She’d ended up sitting atop the table, her legs crossed as she read over Madara’s ideas, comparing them with her brother’s. Truth be told, Hashirama seemed to be distracted- his plans were barely finished, whereas Madara’s were completely finalized. It was nice to see work actually getting done.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I might just think you actually fancy me, Uchiha,” Tobirama had taunted, a smirk curling wine colored lips as she glanced over. However, unlike their normal banter, he hadn’t responded. “... That was a joke. You’re supposed to laugh now. Ha-ha.” She mumbled, lips turning down into a pout as she turned her gaze back to the papers.

“Senju.” His voice was soft, low- nearly resembling a growl as he stepped closer. Instinctually, her legs spread slightly, the cloth of her kimono parting with the movement, feet barely meeting the ground. Prepared to run, to bolt, Madara noticed. Or perhaps to fight, with how her hands gripped the edge of the table. “You’re a nuisance, you realize that, yes?”

“A nuisance?!” She exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise. “You've some nerve, calling me- what are you doing?” All heat vanished as he settled between her spread thighs, his hands braced upon the wood of the table on either side of her hips. “Madara, are you ill? Is something the matter?” A hand reached up to touch her wrist to his forehead to see if he’d come down with a fever, only for his hand to capture it-

And press a searing kiss to her wrist.

“I burn for you,” he murmured against the pale skin, lips brushing so gently, delicately- as if afraid that the mere movement would cause her pain. “I burn for you, day in and day out.”

“Madara-” her voice was barely above a whisper, chest rising and falling quickly as her heart began to race. When he looked up at her, her breath halted all together: three black tomoe stood out against ruby irises, yet she could not look away. Heat gathered in her cheeks- and lower, much lower, to her own embarrassment. “This is- inappropriate.” Even so, she did not pull her hand away.

She leaned closer.

That is, until the sound of footsteps approaching had Madara backing away, Tobirama cradling her wrist delicately as the door opened, revealing Mito. “Pardon the intrusion,” she murmured, giving a small bow. “My husband forgot his files, and instead of coming back himself, he sent me.” A sharp roll of the eyes showed her annoyance, even if her smile was soft.

“You could have told him to fuck off,” Tobirama stated simply, shoulders rising in a shrug.

Mito let out a bark of laughter at her sister-in-law. “I think that would have given him a heart attack!” Shaking her head, she flashed the pair a smile before turning on her heel. “Don’t work too late, you two.”

“We won’t,” Madara called after her, though his gaze was trained on Tobirama. The only way she could describe what she saw in his gaze was hunger. Pure hunger.

A fire had been started- and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to douse the flames, or fan them.

“We should… Head home for the night, yes?” Tobirama asked, scooting off of the top of the table to settle her feet on the floor once more, gathering her scrolls. She could sense Madara lingering behind her, yet he did not touch. His gaze was akin to their famed fireball jutsu, scorching the back of her neck. “Do get some rest, Madara.”

“You as well,” Madara murmured, though he made no move to follow her out of the door. Her footsteps were calm at first, until she was outside of the Hokage’s office. Only then did she sprint, pressing chakra into her legs to make her move faster, to get back to the Senju compound quicker. Alone, she needed to be alone to process what just occurred. ━━━━━━━━━━━━ That had been a fortnight ago. Ever since, she’d been busy overseeing the building of the Nara compound while Madara saw to his own clan, making sure they were comfortable as the Uchiha compound began to expand. And every night since, her thoughts had been consumed with the feeling of his lips against her skin, his gaze boring into her own, the feeling of his hips settled between her thighs-

A sharp shake of the head causes wild snowy locks to sway with the movement. Not now, not while she’s reading reports. Even so, her foot tapped on the floor, a movement that spoke volumes of her unease, her need to get up, to demand to know why he’d done it. His office was across from her own. All she’d need to do is rise from her desk, walk across the hall, and demand an answer.

Burn for you.

The words held weight, especially for an Uchiha- known for their innate ability to control fire. To burn for someone is to be completely overwhelmed by the flames of passion, of lust. To think only of them.

Her thighs pressed together beneath her desk.

“Fuck,” she groaned, leaning back in her chair, head flopping back as her eyes closed. This was annoying, she decided. A nuisance. Yet, the Uchiha had kept her thoughts entertained. The night prior had been spent with her face pressed to her pillow, her hand between her thighs, working herself over and wishing it had been something much thicker.

The current bane of her existence knocked on the door before opening it, his gaze settled upon the paper he held. “Did you know that Hashirama put in for an expansion of the Senju compound?” He asked, annoyance clear in his voice as Tobirama forced herself to focus.

“I had no idea,” she replied dryly, her brow furrowing. “We don’t need more space. We’ve got plenty already.” Her gaze drifted, studying Madara for a moment. He wore no armor- they never did when in office. The summer yukata did little to hide what lay beneath.

Perhaps that was why her underlings were so distracted.

“Hm,” a sigh escaped his lips as he set the paper down onto her desk, only to pause for a moment. “Can we speak?”

“We’re speaking now.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to be a bit clearer.”

“About what I said.” Madara caved, shaking his head at the Senju. “It was uncalled for, and I was out of pocket-”

“Tonight,” Tobirama cut in, raising a hand, causing Madara to pause. “Meet me in my quarters tonight, and we will talk about what you said. Not now- I’m busy.”

“Busy.” He repeated, gaze trailing over the stack of papers to be signed. “Right. Tonight, then.”

“Tonight,” Tobirama agreed, her gaze never lifting from her paper. “You’re dismissed.”

“Dismissed?! I-”

“Out of my office, Uchiha.” She snapped, feeling a touch smug as Madara turned on his heel and marched out, all but slamming the door on his way out. A snort escaped her as she leaned back. Tonight, they would speak. Tonight, the truth would come out- one way or another.

The day had passed quickly, leaving her spinning in the aftermath. Tobirama drug a hand through her hair, down from it’s normal high ponytail, the wild, curling tresses free for once. Her footsteps carried her across the room in a quick pace, her heart a staccato beat within her chest. Any moment now, she’d be able to feel the familiar flicker of Madara’s chakra entering the compound. To the East, Mito sat with Hashirama- no doubt the pair beginning to bed down for the night.

There, at the southern edge- the flicker of warmth, of red-tinged chakra that felt like standing too close to a bonfire. Her breath skipped a beat as she turned, studying her reflection in the mirror across from her bed. The sleeping yukata did little to give modesty. In a last moment effort to try to compose herself, she snags a robe and quickly ties it around her waist.

The sound of footsteps had her turning, studying the door the moment before it opened, revealing Madara. “Right on time,” she commented idly as she reached back, pulling her hair out from beneath the robe, inadvertently causing the fabric of both robe and sleeping yukata to rise.

“I hope it’s not too late?” Madara asks, head tilting, gaze drifting to the pale skin that was revealed. The barest hint of red on those thighs- did the tattoos stretch that far down? “I’m afraid I was caught up in clan business.”

“Not too late at all,” Tobirama replies with a shake of her head. “Please, come in- close the door, too?” She adds as an afterthought, moving to where she’d set up sakazuki. Her room was nice- it got the morning sun, and the afternoon shade, causing it to be cooler compared to the other sections of the compound’s main house.

Madara walked over to the low table, settling down into an improper sitting position, crossing his legs. Tobirama settles across from him, easing herself into a polite seiza, though the yukata and robe part to reveal how her thighs press together. Such pale skin… “I’m surprised you would even want to meet to discuss what was said,” he commented idly, head tilting as his gaze tracked her movements; sake was poured first for him, and then for herself. “I’d figured you’d want to ignore it.”

“Why ignore it,” she asked as she raised her sakazuki to her lips, careful not to spill a single drop, “when it’s the truth for myself as well?”

Madara nearly choked on the sake- and not from the taste. “Pardon?” He asked, blinking rapidly. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“How did you phrase it?” Tobirama’s head tilts, her gaze narrowing, ruby hues settling upon Madara’s face- flushed, eyes wide, caught off guard. “I burn for you.”

“You burn for me?”

“I burn.”

“You… Burn,” he murmured, gaze growing heavy- hungry. “For me.”

“I burn, day in and day out,” she nodded, sipping her sake once more. “I would be lying if I said I hadn’t envisioned you in my quarters.”

A moment of silence passed before Madara was reaching across the table, taking hold of the collar of her yukata to tug her over, their lips meeting in a kiss that was equally teeth and lips. Biting, hungry, her hands reached up to tangle in wild dark locks, tugging none-too-gently. A groan spilled free from Madara as he pulled back, her lip caught between his teeth in a gentle bite before he released her.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve pictured this moment,” his words were barely above a growl as Tobirama rose to her feet, the robe discarded, the collar of her yukata disheveled, baring a pale collarbone and shoulder. “How many times I’ve thought of you in my own quarters.”

“I think mine are more comfortable,” she teases as she settles atop his lap, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her nails gently scraping at the back of his neck. “After all, my bed is made to fit… Multiple.”

Multiple. Oh. Madara’s gaze grows distant as he envisions just what she insinuated for a moment, lips parting slightly. “Multiple.”

“Come now- you didn’t take me for a prude, did you?” She murmured, leaning in to kiss along his jaw, lips trailing up to his left ear. “After all, you just admitted that you’ve thought of me. Tell me, Madara- what have you thought of? What positions?” The shell of his ear is nipped before he reaches up, gripping her jaw to tug her head back.

“Do you truly want to know?” He asks, leaning back as if surveying her. His other hand reached up to brush her hair back from her face before his fingers began to drift, tracing the collar of her yukata slowly, gently nudging the fabric to cause it to fall back, baring more pale skin and red ink.

Such flimsy things, yukata.

“Senju Tobirama wants to hear how I’ve thought of her at night?” His fingers leave her jaw to brush knuckles gently against her cheek. “How I’ve thought of her on her knees beneath my desk, her lips around my cock? Or how I’ve pictured her laying on her back, pleasuring herself in front of me?” His lips quirked into a smirk as Tobirama whined softly at that, her eyes fluttering shut. “Or how I’ve spent so many nights picturing you laying beneath me, begging for my cock, begging for me to fuck you harder, faster?”

“Please,” she whispered, eyes opening into slits, her cheeks flushed. “My fingers could never be enough.”

Fingers. Her fingers? Oh- oh, a groan spilled free as he leaned in, stealing a kiss that had Tobirama’s head swimming. His hands smoothed down her back, pulling her closer, causing her to rise onto her knees. No words were exchanged as his hands slipped to grip her thighs, holding her up as he rose to his knees, then his feet.

Huh. Tobirama pulled back from the kiss to glance down at the floor for a moment. “... One day, take me against the wall.” She spoke quietly, as if to herself, though it got a chuckle out of Madara as he carried her to her bed.

It was large, he noted- larger than his own. “Anywhere you want,” he murmured as he settled her down, not bothering to part as his lips began to kiss and bite a scorching trail down her neck. “Your office, mine- my compound- wherever you want, just say the word.” A soft moan filled the air as his hand came up to settle atop her left breast, gently massaging through the fabric of the yukata. Her hands tangle in his hair as she keens, her eyes closed, head tilted back against the pillows. He pulled back long enough to make quick work of the tie that held the yukata together before parting the thin fabric, baring Tobirama to the chill of the room. She doesn’t cover herself.

No, her legs settle down against the silken sheets. Nothing beneath. Oh, she’d been prepared for this! The realization draws a chuckle from him as his hands smooth across her thighs, marveling at the way the red ink settles into her skin. Her chest- oh, how it encircles both breasts, ending in a circle in the center of chest. The bands around her biceps, encircling her shoulders, how they encircle her throat. That’s why she preferred the high mandarin collars. The ink stretches further down, encircling both thighs. His fingers trace their paths, drawing forth gentle shudders that dance across her skin.

“Beautiful,” Madara whispers, leaning down to press a kiss in the center of the circle that laid upon her chest. “Every inch.”

“Who knew you’d be a sap?” Tobirama teased, though the flush in her cheeks gave away how affected she was by his ministrations- and the slickness between her thighs.

She receives no verbal response; instead, he continues to kiss a trail lower, feeling her stomach tense beneath his lips. A smile curls them as he glances up, meeting her gaze the same moment his tongue lolls out, dragging a slow trail back up towards her chest. His lips enclose around her right nipple as his fingers begin to toy with the left, pinching gently the same time his teeth graze against the other.

“I always- oh- knew you had a thing for breasts,” Tobirama snickers before flinching at the swat he gave to her thigh. Huh. “What with how much you try to- watch your damned teeth-” another swat, though he pulls back from her breast, “-try to peek down my clothes.”

“What can I say?” Madara muses, a cheeky grin curling his lips as he leans in to steal a kiss, his hand soothing the area he’d swatted mere moments before. “I’m a simple man with simple likes.”

“Gross.”

“Fuck off.”

“Take your yukata off and I will,” Tobirama mutters, reaching out to drag her nails down the portion of his chest that was revealed. “I’ve always wondered if you’ve got the dick to back up how cocky you are.”

“You little shit,” he hissed, falling for her words as he made quick work of his yukata, leaving him in his undergarments- which hid nothing, Tobirama noted, her eyes widening in surprise. “Ha! See? I can actually back my shit- oh,” whatever he’d intended to say died on his tongue as Tobirama had reached out, palming at him through his underwear, her eyes wide in curiosity.

Wordlessly, she sat up, gaze intense as she leaned in to lick a slow line down the center of his abdominals- a mirror of what he’d done to her, he realized belatedly. “Lay down,” she murmured against the sensitive skin of his stomach. He obeyed, settling back against the large bed, hair spreading out beneath him like a dark halo. She went to crawl between his legs, only for Madara to grunt.

“No.”

A blink. “Why not?”

“Come here.”

“Wh- oh.” Realization struck, and her cheeks burned as she swallowed roughly. “Right,” carefully, as if afraid she’d somehow crush him, she crawled up and turned. It was an intimate position, one that she didn’t often find herself in with her previous partners, yet Madara didn’t complain. This way, it left them both open- vulnerable, but gave her the perfect angle to reach out and tug his underwear down far enough to free his cock. “... Are all the Uchiha built like this?” She asked, half joking as she gazed down at it.

She couldn’t lie- it wasn’t a bad dick. Not at all- no, it was veiny, but not outwardly awful to look at. Thick; the stretch would hurt, she had no doubt about that. But a part of her thrilled at the idea of the pain. A jolt danced through her, drawing forth a startled gasp at the feeling of his tongue licking a slow stripe up her slit. “No, we aren’t,” he finally answered as his hands raised, settling on her most intimate part and spreading her wide. “I’m just fuckin’ lucky.”

Her eyes rolled, but any retort she had died the moment his tongue pressed against her clit. Gaze closing, she enjoyed the feeling for a moment longer, hips grinding back against his mouth, moans spilling free. Damn him- he was talented. Perhaps the rumors she’d heard were true. Reaching out, she cupped his cock, giving a light stroke before leaning forward, tongue lolling out to give sweet kitten licks at the head, enjoying the way his thighs tensed at the feeling. Two could play at this game, she decided as she opened her mouth wider, taking the head in to suckle on.

Madara groaned against her, lips closed around her clit before he pulled back for a moment, letting his thumb circle her clit in quick, tight circles. “What, is it too big for you?” He teased, only to eat his words a moment later as wet heat encircled over half of his length-

And she swallowed around him. His head fell back against the pillows, a groan filling the room as she began to bob her head in earnest. His fingers didn’t pause, tormenting her clit. Neither would last like this, not with how pent up they were. And as tempting as it was to let her finish him off like this, or to have her finish against his mouth-

That could come another time.

“To-Tobirama, stop, stop,” he murmured, tapping her thigh gently to get her attention. One last slow lick is given before she lifts her head.

“What?” Was she not good? She hadn’t gotten any sort of complaints before, but there was certainly a first time for everything. Her answer was given the next moment as he rolled her off of him.

“As much as I’d love to continue this,” he mused, pushing himself up, his gaze drifting over her form, “I’d much rather have you coming around my fingers than my tongue. This time, at least.”

A shiver danced across her skin at the implication that there would be more than just this. That this wouldn’t be a simple one-night stand. A smile curled her lips as she adjusted herself, settling back against the pillows. Reaching out, she snagged his wrist and tugged him closer, pulling him in for a slow kiss, much more sensual than their initial- the heat still there, certainly, but no longer a fight of dominance. Her hand slipped beneath her pillows, retrieving the small glass vial of oil. “I’m sure you know what to do with this,” she murmured into the kiss, giving his bottom lip a nip.

A chuckle rumbled free from his chest as he plucked the vial from her grasp, settling back on his knees between her thighs. “I think I have an idea,” he agreed, uncorking the bottle with his teeth before letting the oil drizzle out over his fingers, coating two and letting a small stream drip onto her already-soaked cunt. With his clean hand, he replaced the cork before carefully setting the vial aside.

It might be needed again later.

His clean hand settled atop her thigh, massaging it as he eased a finger in, drawing a pleased gasp from Tobirama’s lips. Her eyes fluttered shut, cheeks a rosy hue as he crooked his finger, slowly drawing it back out before pushing back in- a slow pace. She was soaked- realistically, he didn’t believe she needed much prep, but he’d dreamed of this moment for too long to even consider speeding through this.

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the inside of her left thigh while his right hand continued to work, thumb rubbing clockwise circles against her clit as a second finger eased in beside the first, stretching her out. She was relaxed, sure- but not enough, not to his standards. “Tobi,” he murmured, watching as her gaze fluttered open, brows draw inwards, lips parted to allow soft moans and whispers of “Yes,” and “right there,” to spill free. “Eyes on me,” the command had her tightening around his fingers, a pulse of arousal. He felt the shift when his Sharingan activated, the strain on the veins around his eyes and within as everything swam into a sharper view.

He wanted to remember this.

“The great Tobirama Senju, getting fucked by none of than Uchiha Madara- her sworn enemy,” he taunted, crooking his fingers up, pressing against the most sensitive part of her. A whine- loud, long- escaped, her thighs tensing on either side of him as his hand sped up suddenly. Wet, so very wet. “How lewd,” he crooned, giving her thigh a nip, enjoying the way the muscle jumped beneath his touch. “So fucking wet for me already- listen, Tobirama.”

“Sh-shut up,” Tobirama gasped, her hands gripping at her chest. Good, so good- she was drawing close. “Stop- ‘Dara, stop, too close,” she warned, but his fingers didn’t slow down. “Madara- oh, Madara, there, there, don’t-” her words cut off as her orgasm swept over her. Her head fell back against the pillows, snowy tresses spread about the dark sheets like a halo as she pulsed around his fingers, coating them and his hand.

A pleased hum rumbled free as Madara leaned down, pressing a kiss to her over-sensitive clit. “Good girl,” he murmured, giving it a lick, succeeding in drawing out a broken whine as his fingers withdrew. Sitting back, he reached out to grasp the vial once more to open it, using the remaining oil to slick his cock up. He gave it a few slow strokes, thumb drifting over the sensitive slit in the head to gather the bit of precum that had gathered.

“Don’t treat me like I’m made of glass,” Tobirama murmured, reaching out to take hold of one of Madara’s hands. “I’m anything but glass.”

“I’m aware,” he replied, scooting forward to settle his hips against hers. A groan fell from both at the sensation of his cock rutting against her cunt. “You’ve never been glass. Iron is a much better word to describe you,” murmuring, he took a moment to enjoy the sensation of being so close to her. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as his other guided his cock to her entrance. A slow push of his hips had the head slipping in, a gasp breaking free from Tobirama’s lips, her eyes squeezing shut at the intrusion.

Not made of glass, but still very much human.

The stretch was wonderful- the slight sting of pain eased by his thumb on her clit, by his hips slowly moving forward and not deciding to seat himself in her all at once. So much- almost too much, but she’d be the last to admit that. His hips settled against her own, his hand leaving hers to grip at her hips instead, thumbs rubbing small circles into the soft, unscarred skin. “Good,” she whispered, gaze opening to reveal hazy ruby hues. A moment passed as they both grew used to the sensation- her to how filled she felt, him to the wet heat that encased his cock. Curiously, she shifted her hips, a low moan leaving at the feeling of him moving within.

Madara took that as his sign, hips drawing back before shifting forward slowly, testing the waters. Tobirama’s breath hitched, her brow drawing inward, hands slowly gripping at the sheets beneath her. “Please,” she whispered, tongue slipping out to wet her lips. “Fuck me.”

“Gladly,” he grinned, shifting his knees before he began to thrust harder, faster, causing Tobirama to moan- a much louder sound than anything she’d given him before. Wordless little sounds, but gaining in pitch as his hips met hers, as he pulled her back onto his cock. “If I didn’t know any better,” he panted, gaze trained on her face, “I’d almost mistake you for a common oiran.” The way she tightened around him at the slight degradation had his hips slowing for a moment, much to her annoyance. “Oh, yes, I could see it so easily,” he continued, hips grinding, barely pulling out before pushing back in, rubbing against that spot that had her breath catching in her throat. “You in one of those little Tea Houses that have settled here, wearing a pretty little kimono, your lips stained red- laying on your back just like this, letting men use you like the whore you really are,” his voice dipped into a growl as he leaned forward, resting his weight on his forearms while the position shifted, her hips rising with his.

Bordering so closely to the mating press, he noted in the back of his mind. But that didn’t matter, not with Tobirama gasping out his name. “Madara,” she whined, a hand rising to cover her mouth- as if it would hide what they were doing. “Don’t stop, sweet Gods do not stop, ah-right there!” Her thighs tensed around his hips, her cunt pulsing around his cock. Oh, she wouldn’t last long- but that was fine.

He would.

His fingers dug into her hips as he pressed close, hips grinding against hers. A moment to catch his breath- and to have her last just a touch longer. Being so close, he could just… Tongue lolling out, he licked a slow stripe up the valley of her breasts, drawing a surprised gasp from her lips, a breathless smile rising to settle across her features. “I could stay like this for ages,” he murmured against her skin, pressing lingering kisses to the smattering of scars across her chest- small, given by shrapnel during their darker days, “just like this, fucking you until you cried, until you can’t remember your name.”

Tobirama shifted her hips, brow furrowed as Madara spoke. She could hear him, certainly- could understand him, but the words didn’t register, not with how close she was to her own end. “Then do it,” she whispered, reaching down to cup his cheeks, drawing his face up- and for once, didn’t flinch away from the triad of tomoe within his ruby gaze. “Make me forget my name. Make me only remember yours.”

Something seemed to switch, then- as Madara studied her flushed features, the way her hair spread out beneath her head like a silver halo and wings. Leaning in, he captured her lips in a slow, sensual kiss that ended in him nipping at her lower lip as he shifted, his hands smoothing up her sides before settling atop the blankets, holding his weight up. This position was far more intimate than their previous positions, yet he found that it didn’t bother him. No, rather, he preferred this- to see her face so clearly, to hear her whispers of his name as he began to thrust once more. Her legs shifted, coming to settle around his hips, her ankles crossing at the small of his back.

Closer, stirring the embers of the flame that had been waiting to come to life for some time, now. What had been a small campfire was quickly spreading, consuming like a wildfire, flames licking at their skin, settling in their veins.

His lips brushed against her chin as her head tilted back, the position allowing for Madara to push deeper. “Tobirama,” he murmured, brow furrowing. Perhaps he wouldn’t last long, not now, not with how she gripped his cock. “By the Gods,” he gasped softly, hips rolling, chasing both hers and his own release. Her hands reached up, one tangling in thick onyx locks, the other scrapping blunt nails down the expanse of his back. The sharp shock of pain drew a surprised groan out of him, much to her amusement.

“Good boy,” she teased, only to gasp a moment later at the feeling of teeth digging into the sensitive flesh of her neck. “Mad-” her voice cut off by a loud moan as he moved his weight onto one arm, his free hand slipping between them to brush against her clit. Wordless sighs and moans spilled free as she rolled her hips against his, creating a wonderful fiction that had them both beginning to become consumed with the flames that threatened to burn them alive.

Madara pressed heated kisses along her throat as he felt her shudder beneath him. “Close, darling?” He murmured in her ear, lips brushing against the shell as she whimpered. “Will you be a good girl and come for me, then? Come around my cock like I know you want to?” His voice was no longer smooth, growing more haggard as his own completion began to burn at the base of his spine. “Come on, Tobi, you know you want to.”

“Shut- shut up,” Tobirama panted, even as she tossed her head back as he gave a particularly hard thrust. So close, so close. “Don’t stop, Madara- oh- oh, there! Please,” her voice pitched into a whine as her hand abandoned his hair to clutch at his back. Her walls pulsed around him once, twice, three times before she stilled, her back arching, mouth dropping open to release a sob of his name, tears spilling free at last from garnet hues.

Madara pushed himself up to watch, searing the image of her coming around his cock into his memory. The way her cheeks were flushed red, her brows furrowed, her nose scrunching up- she was beautiful in that moment. She was always beautiful, but this was a new type of beauty, something so delicate and precious that he hadn’t ever imagined being privy to. He moved slowly, the thrusts dragging against her walls, dragging out her pleasure and inching him close to his own. It hit suddenly, coming over him like wildfire consuming brush that lay in its path. He stilled above her, his head hanging low as he groaned out her name like a prayer.

She lay beneath him, panting and whining at the feeling of him filling her- hot, so very hot, it threatened to send her over the edge by the feeling alone. Shaky hands reached up to brush through surprisingly soft onyx tresses as he began to slowly gather himself. A moment longer, she thought to herself- let this last for a moment longer. The feeling of him settled over her, shuddering, panting, the heat that radiated from his skin so very pleasant, it had her relaxing into her bed.

But all good things must come to an end. Madara was careful as he pulled out, rolling his weight to the side to settle beside her with a breathless laugh. “Oops,” he hummed, reaching over to drag his fingertips along her thigh, watching as her leg jumped. He traced the red tattoo up, along the top of her thigh and onto her hip. “Was I supposed to pull out?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she murmured, reaching over to brush her fingers against his cheek, brushing away his hair. So messy… “Mito taught me how to make tea that will… Ensure it won’t take.”

“How soon do you need to drink it?” An innocent question as he rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his palm.

Tobirama hummed, shifting and grimacing at the feeling of his seed leaking. Oh, that’s why she hated it. “I’ll have it with my breakfast,” comes the simple response as she dips a hand down between her thighs to drag her fingers through the mess. “No wonder why there are so many of you Uchiha,” she comments idly.

A snort escapes Madara as he sits up, gaze drifting to the apex of her thighs. “Could always clean it up for you,” his fingers tap a slow rhythm on her thigh.

“Who said I wanted to be cleaned up?” Tobirama shoots back, legs slowly spreading. “Or are you just a one-and-done kinda guy?”

A grin spread across Madara’s lips as he slipped back between her thighs, pressing kisses along her stomach. “Do I look like the kind of man to leave a woman unsatisfied?”

“No,” she sighs, reaching down with her clean hand to brush his hair back from his face. “I feel that I will never be unsatisfied with you around- oh!” The feeling of his tongue brushing against her slit had her jolting in surprise, a chuckle rising to meet her ears.

Fires are awfully hard to extinguish once they grow out of control and consume everything within its sight.

[faelid]

Games

Minhyuk x Reader drabble

WC: 1.3k

Warnings: a touch of spice

Summary: Reader just wants to unwind with her boyfriend, but first she has to pull him away from the computer.

Forget the extra toothbrush.

Forget the underwear drawer.

Forget having a spare key, the abandoned clothes, and the stash of your favorite snacks in the pantry.

Intimacy with Minhyuk, intimacy for you, just doesn't work that way - though you do appreciate the snacks.

You knew the relationship had gotten serious the moment he set you up with your own battlestation, a space for you next to him in his game room.

It didn't stand up to your personal computer, the one at home in your living room, the one you'd lovingly built and rebuilt since college, but it was here, in Minhyuk's apartment, and if it didn't have customized lighting and liquid cooling it was special nonetheless.

Really, really special.

He'd built you a computer. He'd given you a desk. Peripherals.

It was so much better than roses and empty promises. He wanted you there.

And it was wonderfully convenient. Maybe too convenient, because if he was trying to convince you to move in, he was on the right track.

You didn't have to leave anymore. You didn't have to get up on the weekends and drag yourself home to indulge your hobby, didn't have to choose between playing games together and sex after a night out, because now you could “hang” in person.

There's something romantic, infinitely intimate and simultaneously satisfying, about being together, playing together, without being together, without needing to play with each other.

The casual adjacency was rewarding all by itself, for both of you.

You'd long since become accustomed to Minhyuk and his noise. He wasn't exactly quiet even when he wasn't playing games, and very, very enthusiastic when he was.

You'd given him special volume settings two weeks into dating.

But it was fun seeing him, hearing him, in person, being able to laugh when he blew up after a thrown game or feel the satisfaction when he bitterly turned over the controller after losing the same boss fight over and over – he might be decent at first person shooters, but a total lost cause when it came to problem solving in RPGs – but he always cheered you on after.

He enjoyed the weird faces you made, biting and pursing your lips when things got heated, because you were as quiet as he was loud - thankfully, because otherwise no one would ever hear anything but the two of you yelling.

And most of the time, it was wonderful.

Minhyuk’s attention span for video games had always vastly out-scaled yours. He could play all night if given the chance, hardly noticing the sunrise until the glare on his screen threw him off.

But today had been tedious and you didn’t have it in you to play games all night, didn’t want to play games by yourself, because even though there were tens of games in your steam account waiting to be played, none of them seemed appealing at the moment.

The moment was suggesting a little more active togetherness, maybe some deliberate emotional interaction.

A little physical contact wouldn’t go amiss, either.

It was a Friday night, date night, and it came as no surprise that you could hear the yelling before you’d even let yourself in through the side door. Minhyuk was playing a new game, a pseudo-anime RPG by the look of it, the art much airier and more fantastical than the gory first-person shooters you were used to seeing him play. It might even have a storyline, but it was hard to tell when he was skipping past all the dialogue.

It seemed like he’d been throwing himself at this fight for a while now.

You draped your arms over his shoulders, chin resting on his head, and waited patiently. Mid-fight, he was an immovable object, and he didn’t so much as look at you until after he was returned to the autosave checkpoint for the fourth time since you’d come inside.

You’d counted, watching from the corner of your eye as you changed into more comfortable clothes, a sweatshirt of his and a pair of lounge pants.

He sulked for a moment, throwing his controller down with more force than was strictly necessary, but he did finally tilt his head back to greet you, and you leaned down to meet him in an upside-down kiss that wiped the pout off his face. When you pulled away, he was all shining eyes and smiles.

“Hi.” He said, and even though the greeting was short he didn’t need to say much else, because you still heard welcome home; how was your day; I’m happy to see you, still felt it when he spun around to face you, hands on your hips as you braced yourself on the armrests and gave him a proper kiss this time.

He pulled you into his lap, deepening the kiss, and when his hands started to roam you knew he was looking for a distraction from his frustration, an outlet for pent-up energy.

Minhyuk loved when you talked to dirty to him, and it was far too easy to get him riled up. You pressed a kiss to the base of his neck, smelling his cologne, a scent you now associated with comfort, with home, and worked your way up his neck, teasing him, tugging gently at his earlobe with your teeth.

“You suck at this game.” You whispered, and promptly stuck your tongue in his ear. He yelped, pushing you away as he clamped a hand to the offending orifice, and you sat back, trying to get the taste of earwax off your tongue but otherwise pleased with yourself.

“What was that for?!”

“Lee Minhyuk, fucking me will not help you finish this game any faster. And you said we could duo queue when you’re done.”

He was still rubbing his ear, cringing at the lingering wetness. “My girlfriend is a bully.”

“She is.” You agreed, and his jaw dropped. He’d expected an insult, more banter, but you were just calmly accepting his remark, and suddenly he noticed how drained you looked. “But she might be persuaded to help, if you ask nicely.”

“…will you help me get past this level?”

“Only if you promise to watch a movie with me afterwards. And you owe me dinner. I don’t feel like cooking.”

“Done.” He moved to get up from his chair, expecting you to take the driver's seat like you normally do, but you spun around and sat down on him, instead. He was surprised, but kept his mouth shut.

You were usually too into the game to be cuddly, kicking him out of his seat without remorse. Personally, he liked being this close to you, being in constant contact, and he didn’t wait for an invitation to wrap his arms around your waist, nuzzling your neck while he watched you play.

But he couldn’t keep quiet for long.

“Watch out, there’s a trap - !”

“He’s going to hit you!”

“You’re going to fall!” He flinched, burying his face in your neck, unable to watch as you barely cleared the ledge. He didn’t look up again until the victory track sounded as you dealt the killing blow, a direct hit to the weakspot in the back of the boss’ armor.

You made it look so easy.

It would have been hot, if he wasn’t so envious.

…maybe it was still hot.

But you’d upheld your end of the bargain, and that meant it was time for him to pay-up for dinner and a movie, something he probably would have done anyway just to thank you for saving him from his self-induced torture.

Besides, you hadn’t actually said no to sex... you’d just objected to being used as a distraction.

Wanting sex because his girlfriend's video game skills were a total turn-on and because she was hot was a totally different story.

He’s definitely deluding himself, but that’s normal.

He doesn’t mind, though, because when your feet are in his lap and the movie is on, he forgets about seducing you for a while. He’s not in a rush. After all...

He’s got all night.

And maybe someday soon, it’ll always be that way.

A/N: setting this WIP free. It was supposed to go with the V-day set, but didn't really fit.

[usmsgutterson]

Yellow- Pin Hawthorne

OKAY, YES-- I’ve wanted to write for Pin Hawthorne since having finished the show, and I’ve decided to do it, because I simply can’t resist and Pin is my favorite moody horseboi, plus, this blurb (imagine? I don’t know how long it’s gonna go yet!) is entirely inspired by the songs Yellow and Sparks by Coldplay, because the show is modern and the songs were released W A Y before the years that show is set in, so yay! 

Pins aged up in this, as well. In the show he’s around 16-17? In this, he and the reader are both 20!

I might have Pins characterization a little off because I’ve only watched the show once (I’m gonna rewatch it before I do a shadow and bone rewatch,, moody pin is just a bit too endearing) but other than that, lets do it!

The reader is American for this, and I did mostly keep it gender neutral, aside from an outfit description! Even then, though, I did try to keep it androgynous

Fic type- fluff

Warnings-none

It took a ton of convincing on Pins part to get his dad to let him use the castle for something that, to anyone else, might’ve seemed small. He’d known it might’ve, and started the process a good month before the event was even to happen. A decision that he’d made that wound up working in his favor. 

“You really love them, don’t you?” His father asked, pressing the keys into his palm as Pin gave a nod. “Even with all the stupid nicknames?” Pin grimaced, but nodded again. 

“Even the stupid nicknames, Dad,” he assured. “All of them.” His father broke out into a smile, pulling Pin in for a hug as he tucked the key away into his jacket pocket.

“Well then, happy anniversary,” his father mumbled. “Five years? Gotta admit, I had faith, but I didn’t think you’d make it this far. Not with someone like them.”

“I know,” Pin retorted. “I’m pretty lucky.” Pin knew that ‘pretty lucky’ might as well have been understatement of the year, but went along with it anyway, pulling away from his father and slowly approaching Elvis, patting his side a few times before climbing onto the saddle and riding down to the castle that he, as the duke, could technically call home. 

The castle was big and at times, tough to get around, but he made his way just fine, letting Elvis move at a slow gallop rather than a run, figuring that he had the time, considering you’d agreed to meet at 8 and it was barely 7:15.

When he arrived, he put Elvis away safely, and made his way through the entrance and up to the outdoor balcony, which had a view outlooking the expansive land on which the castle was built, and the trees that went around the outerrim of the space.

He grabbed his bag off the chair on which he’d had his butler leave it the day previous, almost grinning to himself as he sat at the glass table, rummaging through the bag for everything that he’d put in it.

A bottle of wine, because why not, several sweets, a ton of the polaroids you’d taken in the seven years you’d known each other, some fairy lights that he’d hang up so that you weren’t totally and completely in the dark, and a bluetooth speaker that Becky had gotten him that Christmas; one that he’d still not bothered to use, despite the fact that it was almost June. 

“Can I get you anything sir?” Arthur poked his head through the balcony door way, and Pin found himself startled. 

“Uh, yes please. Wine glasses,” Arthur gave a single, solitary nod.

“The dinner that you requested will be here by the time you requested for it,” he responded. “Though, are you really sure fast food is what you want? It doesn’t seem right to celebrate an anniversary with fast food.” Pin forced his gaze to his lap so that Arthur wouldn’t glimpse his smile. 

You’d come from America, just like Zoe had, but you’d moved with your family to the island when you were eleven. You’d met Pin when you were thirteen. 

One summer, Pins father was insistent that he get away from the stables, spend some time somewhere he’d not gone before, travel a little, and your family had agreed to let him spend the eight weeks of summer with you in the united states. 

You’d had your first date in a McDonalds that same summer, when you and Pin were fifteen. He’d felt weirded out, at first. The fact that he’d never eaten from a McDonalds, despite there having been a couple on the island, almost made him confused. You’d gotten chicken nuggets to split and a couple of the pastries to count as a desert of sorts, and thus sparked the relationship.

“No reason,” Pin murmured. “It’s quick. It’s easy, and the last meal that they ate was lunch.” Arthur gave another nod, and Pin began fiddling with the speaker as he heard Arthurs footsteps grow farther and farther away. 

It was a speaker that was almost the size of his hand and designed to look like a vintage radio. Forest green was the color, and the dial on the right side would control volume. The three buttons below the dial were the power button, the on/off button, and the skip button. Pin turned it on, checking the sound quality by playing two MCR songs, silently bopping his head as Arthur returned, the supplies that Pin had asked Arthur to gather in a bag perched neatly on his arm.

Arthur placed the bag on the table wordlessly, leaving Pin to do his thing as he stopped using the speaker,  deciding that the sounds of nature; the river, the rustling of trees and the beautiful view of the sky as the sun grew closer and closer to setting was much better company than Gerard Way scream-singing his lungs out. 

He’d spent the remainder of the time he had working on your gift. At the end of it, he felt proud of himself, even despite how dumb he’d thought the idea was at first.

It was all of his favorite photos of you--polaroids he’d taken via polaroid camera and polaroids that became polaroids when he’d used a polaroid printer alike-- neatly put into a big picture frame, plus a couple of his sweaters that you liked to steal, some of your favorite sweets, and a journal he knew you’d been eyeing at one of the shops. 

Arthur put the McDonalds onto the table in the last ten minutes before eight, putting the wine glasses beside the bag. “I’ll send them here when they’ve arrived,” he murmured, shooting Pin a smile as he turned and walked away. 

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Pin had the dinner mostly set up, the chicken nuggets at the center of the table, fries on either side, wine glasses filled the appropriate amount. 

“You’re lucky I love you, Hawthorne,” Pin was almost breathless as he glanced over to you, putting the bag that he’d put your gift in on the ground to his right. “If you were anyone else, I’d not have waited so long to eat dinner.” You’d worn a simple pair of black jeans, with a black turtleneck and a dark gray blazer overtop. You styled your hair like you always did, and your smile was bright, eyes warm as you looked at him.

“McDonalds and wine,” you sat, putting the gift you’d gotten Pin on the ground to your left, reaching across the table and taking his hand in yours. “The perfect way to a persons heart.”

“Do you like it?” He asked, gesturing to the fairy lights Arthur must’ve put up while he was busy in the world of gift making. They weren’t lit yet, as the sun had barely begun to dip over the horizon, but he’d light them once it grew darker. You nodded.

“It’s absolutely lovely,” you responded. “I didn’t think you’d put this much effort in, to be totally honest.” You were poking at him, pricking gently at his work ethic in the hopes of getting a kiss across the table. 

“I’d have been fine just cuddling the day away,” you admitted. “And I know you would’ve, but thank you. For everything.” He smiled, feeling grateful for Zoe’s suggestion that he use the castles balcony to his advantage when he’d brought his plans up to her and Marcus. 

“You’re welcome,” he responded. 

After that, you lapsed into a comfortable silence, making occasional conversation as you ate and drank. You let Pin ramble about the sick horses at Bright Fields and made a mental note to visit the hospital part of the stables, see how they were doing and make sure they knew that they were loved. As you cleaned up, putting your garbage back into the McDonalds bag, you gave Pin updates on some of the horses around the stables and the wild horses that you and Jade had been tracking. 

“There’s a foal, too!” Pin loved seeing you get so excited, and that was no exception. “I know that we shouldn’t name the wild horses, but I couldn’t help myself, so I named the horse November.”

“Why November?”

“The foals coat is white. Snow is white, and snow happens in November. It just seemed fitting!” You grabbed the bag, going inside only briefly to put it into the nearest trash bin before walking back out and sitting back down. 

Pin grabbed the bag with your gift in it at the same time you grabbed the bag with his. He slid yours to you with a bright smile, and you slid his to him with the same.

You opened yours first. “Your hoodies!” You yelled out, smile turning into a full on beam, “Pin, you know that we’re moving in together in the fall, right? You’re just gonna get these back!” Pin shrugged.

“You get them until the fall, I’ll wash them, wear them a couple of times, and then they’re yours again. I get to see you in my clothes and you get to be warm and comfortable constantly! I call it a win-win situation!” 

“Can’t disagree with that!” You put the sweaters back in the bag, grabbing the photo frame next. 

You sighed, feeling your legs turn to jello as your heart melted. You looked up at him, feeling tears well up in your eyes as you did. “Five years of polaroids,” you whispered. “And you’re giving them back to me?” Pin just shrugged, feeling tempted to round the table, crouch next to you and kiss you senseless, but he resisted. 

“I took photos of them,” he responded, pulling his phone out of his pants pocket and waving it around. “I can always get more copies from the polaroid printer.” You laughed lightly.

“Thank you, Pin, so much.” You’d never stop saying it. You had so much to thank him for. Every smile, every laugh, every dinner date, every ride out into the countryside and every kiss. 

“You don’t need to thank me, love,” he responded. “Theres one more thing in there for you.” He gestured to the bag as you put the photo frame back into it, pulling out the journal you’d been eying a moment later. 

“No fucking way!” You cursed, turning it over in your hands. Pin leaned back into his chair, shrugging while he nodded. 

It was a simple journal: a brown leather bound thing that was the same color as Elvis’s fur, but it had pages that were suitable for practically anything.

“I know you’ve wanted it for a while, and, well, I figured you could use it for just about anything. Sketches, diary entries, even putting bank statements in the thing would make a good use for it,” You slightly stood, planting a kiss to his nose across the table. 

You put the journal back into the bag and gestured to the bag he’d put in his lap. “It’s your turn, duke.”

“Don’t call me that,” he whispered. He narrowed his eyes at you, but the smirk that followed after told you he’d not been serious. 

The first thing he’d pulled out was a scrapbook of the years that you’d spent together. From photos like the victory one that Ted had taken after you’d completed riding lessons, Pin doing a thumbs up on the right side of your horse while you sat on it still, throwing a peace sign and smiling, to random photos you’d taken together. 

Blurry ones that’d been taken with the timer feature. You flipping off the camera while Pin flopped back onto his bed. One from when you were both sixteen, in the middle of turning around, his arms snaked around your waist and yours resting on his shoulders as you kissed, the screen blurred but not so blurred that you couldn’t tell what was happening. 

A couple that Zoe, Jade, Becky and Marcus had taken. You, exhausted, with your head in Pins lap as he fiddled with a camera, curled up and almost hidden from sight in the haybales. You and Pin at the pony prom, slow dancing, looking at each other with nothing but love in your eyes. A shot taken as you and Pin left the stables, backs to the camera, hands interlocked. A photo of you and Pin in the haybales again, you with your head on his chest, his arm around your shoulders, hay in your hair. A laptop sat discarded beside Pins sleeping body, playing old episodes of Criminal Minds. Both of you had sleepy smiles on your faces. 

Pin laughed as he saw more than one picture of you two asleep in the haybales, some taken by Jade, most taken by Zoe, though there were a few shots that’d been taken by his father. 

“I love this,” he glanced up at you, then to the speaker that sat on the edge of the table. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, horse-boy!” He snorted, putting the scrapbook on the table and grabbing the next thing in the bag.

It was a sweater; one that he’d not seen since before his eighteenth birthday. “Thief,” he murmured, folding the sweater and putting it atop the scrapbook. 

“You’re my favorite person,” was your lovestruck retort. He blushed as he grabbed the last thing in the bag.

It was a camera; a polaroid to replace the one that’d been broken in the months before, and it was vintage. 

“You didn’t,” he looks up at you, face showing disbelief as clearly as his voice did. In response, you just shrugged.

“We’ve taken a lot of photos, and you loved the polaroid camera. I used a connection or two that I have and I grabbed it for you.”

“How much was it?” He asked. “We had a limit! No more than fifty pounds!” 

“It was forty nine pounds, and the taming of a wild horse found just outside the coast of Maine. She comes in a couple of days, by the way.” Pin put the things back in the bag and stood, grabbing the speaker and turning it on, connecting his phone to it a minute later.

“You love chaos,” he teased. “But I love you, so I love it by association.” He held his hand out to you, and you took it, giggling as he pulled you in close, bringing you into a passionate kiss that lingered on your lips even after it’d ended. 

He paused only to have Yellow by Coldplay stream through the speaker, putting his phone on the table next to it.

“May I have this dance?” He asked, emphasizing more on his accent in a silly way to get you to laugh. It worked, to his delight, as you nodded, cheeks flushing bright red.

“You may have every dance, if you so wish it,” he felt his cheeks heat up as he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead and gently swaying with you as your arms moved to rest at his shoulders and his moved to your waist, wrapping around it, his hands meeting and folding at the small of your back. ‘

He’d found a way to loop the song so that it played a couple of times back to back, but you didn’t mind. You had Pin. You had Pin and his sarcasm, his smiles, his voice, still drenched with sleep in the mornings and his peaceful face while he slept. You had tea in the mornings, quiet afternoons spent riding or in helping horses, and evenings laughing with your friends, Pin at your side. 

You’d known Pin for seven years, and you’d been dating him for five. He was like the lgiht at the end of a very long, very dark tunnel, and he embraced you tightly as you finally escaped it. 

“What makes you happy?” he asked you absentmindedly, just to get to hear the melodic sound of your voice again. You laughed, meeting his gaze with a smile. 

“You, Pin,” you responded. “You make me happy.” He stared at you for a long moment, wishing that he had what he’d kept in his sock drawer since Christmas. 

“What makes you happy?” You repeated.

“You, Y/N. Always you,” you leaned up, pressing your lips to his without so much as thinking twice.

The kiss was messy, and you stumbled backward a little, but you giggled as you did. When you pulled away, you were delighted to find that Pins cheeks were burning as bright as yours, the same red that coated some parts the sky as the sun dipped down the horizon. 

“You’re the love of my life,” Pin was almost in awe at how easily you said it, like you’d been reading off a grocery list or ingredients for a recipe. Pin had wanted to say it since he’d bought the thing that sat in that pathetic little sock drawer, but he’d still not figured out how to say it and make it worthwhile.

“Do you want forever?” The closest he’d get, but he was fine with that, and relieved as you’d nodded. “I promise you forever then, Y/N.”

[meganlpie]

Soulmates are the Devil

Based on this request from Wattpad:  Hi! For your spn book, could you do a lucifer imagine where the reader is the Winchester’s sister but also his soulmate. And when they meet (any scenario, preferably in one of the later season timelines though) Lucifer accidentally blurts it out, when Sam and Dean walk in and are really overprotective. Thanks I love your imagines!

Here you are, lovelies!

Warnings: Angst. It’s Lucifer. Soulmate AU

Pairings: Lucifer x fem!Winchester reader

"Eyes open, Y/N. We don't know if Lucifer is using the same vessel," Sam warned, prompting you to roll your eyes. You knew that already. You hated when you brothers talked to you like you didn't know what you were doing. You were raised the exact same way they were even if you'd never met the fallen angel before. Still, you held your tongue and followed after them, as always.

         You entered the room behind Sam and Dean, trying desperately to focus on your mission instead of the crowd all around the place. Your eyes went to the rock star in the middle of the room. "That's him," you said suddenly. Your brothers looked at you in surprise and Dean asked how you knew. You didn't know how to explain it. There was something that just told you it was him.

         "I don't know. I can just tell. It's him, Dean." You caught Castiel's gaze to see him looking at you in confusion. "What?" He didn't reply. You looked back at Lucifer's vessel to find him already staring at you. Before you could say anything, he bolted. You and your brothers chased after him, but knew it was useless. He was the Devil after all. This was going to take a lot longer than you thought.

*time skip*

         You spent weeks chasing after Lucifer. You lost track of how many different vessels he used. It wasn't until he somehow found his way back to his original vessel, Nick, that you were able to catch him. Nick was clearly the only vessel besides Sam that could contain him for long. When Sam and Dean brought him in, you were surprised at how easy a time they had and you wondered if he wanted to be caught.

         You entered the dungeon of the bunker and came face-to-face with Lucifer. Your eyes met and he scoffed. "So it's true. I finally meet my soulmate and it's a Winchester. Dad has a sick sense of humor." You stared at him, arms dropping to your sides. You heard something fall to the concrete floor of the dungeon, but you couldn't pull your eyes away from Lucifer to see what had happened.

         "Your what?" you asked in a small voice. Never before had you felt so out of control or scared. "His soulmate," Castiel's voice came from behind you. "Bull. She is not that monster's soulmate!" Dean growled out. Castiel took a step up next to you and put his hand on your shoulder. You were finally able to look away from Lucifer to meet Castiel's eyes.

         "How did you know it was Lucifer when we saw him the first time?" Your brows furrowed as you thought back to it. "I don't know. I looked at him and saw his-his aura I guess or maybe it was shadow of his wings. I don't know!" Castiel gave you a small smile. "It's alright, Y/N," he told you before turning to your brothers and continuing, "She is his soulmate. She saw who he was through his vessel when no one else could. Only a soulmate can do that when we don't want humans to know what we are."

         Your brothers started arguing and you were suddenly being pushed behind Dean. You nearly shrank back when you saw Lucifer's eyes glow. "Get your hands off her!" You flinched at his volume. "She's our sister. You won't have anything to do with her," Sam threatened. The tension in the room was high with your brothers protecting you and Castiel stepping in between you all and Lucifer.

         "I think we all need to calm down," you offered softly. Your brothers looked at you with irritation written all over their faces. "It's not up to you," you whispered. You glanced back at Lucifer to see that, while he still looked furious at the fact that Sam and Dean, his eyes were no longer glowing and he had calmed a little.

         "I need to talk to him," you said a little more loudly. Once again, Sam and Dean began to argue. "No freakin' way. I'm not leaving you alone with him," Dean growled. You put your hand on his shoulder. "De, he's not going to hurt me. He's chained up. And…if I am really his soulmate, I don't think he'd hurt me anyway. So, please. Just let me talk to him. Alone." Dean opened his mouth, but Castiel placed a hand on his other arm. "She's correct, Dean. Lucifer won't hurt her and they need to talk about this."

         Dean wasn't happy about it, but he agreed. After dropping a kiss to your forehead and whispering for you to be careful, Sam lead Dean and Castiel out of the dungeon. That left you alone with Lucifer.

         "What do you want? Now that you know, what do you want?" was the first thing you asked. Lucifer looked confused, almost like he didn't know what to say. "You know, I actually don't know. I had this plan. Big plans and now I can't," he said with a chuckle, "I guess that's what Dad had planned for me all along. One of his 'mysterious' plans."

         "And what do you expect me to do with this? My brothers and I have been chasing you for weeks now. You've been creating chaos. We should put you back in the cage and throw away the key. That's what I want to do. That's what my brothers want to do. But I can't ignore the fact that you're my soulmate. So what do we do? I won't stop hunting and I can't trust that you're going to suddenly become a good guy. So where does that leave us, Lucifer?"

         Lucifer closed his eyes, clearly enjoying the way his name dripped off your tongue. "LUCIFER! FOCUS!" He opened his eyes to meet your gaze again. "I don't know, Y/N. It's been so long. I don't think I can change." You let out a sigh and nodded. "I thought you might say that. I-I can't be with you like this. I never know what's going to happen with you. I'm scared," you admitted.

         "I can protect you." You let out a scoff. "I'm sure you could. But who's going to protect me from you when you go off the rails and try to end the world again?" He didn't say anything and you nodded. "I can't do this. Soulmate or not, I can't handle this. I'm sorry." With that, you turned to leave the room. You looked back at him as you closed the door, you saw his eyes glowing again. You could practically feel his rage building. It was enough to feel stifling.

         As the door closed, cutting your sight of him off, you felt tears pricking your eyes. "You okay?" Sam asked and you shook your head. "Why? Don't we already have crap luck in love? Why did it have to be me?" you sniffled. You let your brothers wrap their arms around you and they asked what they could do. "Just get him out of here. I don't want to see him." You pulled away and walked to your room, not knowing that Lucifer could feel every step you took away from him and that he was, in that moment, hatching a new plan.

(a/n: I hope you all enjoy it!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard​ @brewsthespirit-blog​ @sirkekselord​ @aikibriarrose​ @lady-of-lies​ @esoltis280​ @stories-by-shanna-p​ @motleymoose​

SPN Tags: @jotink78​

[laurensprentiss]

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 13:

Gif credit: @hqtchner

A/N: I toyed with several ideas for this one, but I wanted the reader to be strong in her own right which is why this takes the direction it does.

Warnings: Strong depictions of violence, assault, blood, vomiting. Graphic injury, choking, gun violence.

———

“What you remember saves you.” - W.S Merwin

———

“You don’t like what I’ve done with the place?” 

“Jordan.” You breathe. “What did you do?” 

His jaw sets. His expression goes from glee to fury and he’s next to you in a flash, nose to nose, dragging your head back by the hair on the nape of your neck. A wince escapes your mouth when the pulling sends a sting up your scalp. 

“What do you mean, what did I do? Isn’t it obvious?” He sneers, punctuating his words with another pull of your hair. 

You cry out in pain, your neck straining. The rabid look in his eyes and his bared teeth send shivers down your spine.

He continues, “I made sure you were going to stay all...mine.” He whispers, releasing his grip, smoothing the top of your head. “Isn’t it sweet? I did it all so I could have you all to myself… and instead of thanking me, you’re acting like you’re above me. Like you always do. Maybe I need to teach you how to be grateful-” 

“I’ll be grateful.” You offer in a quick breath. “I mean- I am. I am grateful. I was just so…” You swallow thickly, tearing your eyes away from the pictures, “Surprised that you did all this. For me.” You fight the tears pricking your eyes. 

“You mean that?” 

You swallow the bile rising in your throat. “Yes. I do.” 

“Good. Y’know all I ever wanted was us to be together? When you broke up with me, I admit, I was angry. I thought you were fucking somebody else.” He paces the length of the room and that’s when your gaze falls to the gun he has tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “But I realised you couldn’t possibly.”

You brace yourself when his gaze falls to his handiwork on the walls. 

“But then…” He inhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I saw you with him.” His volume rises steadily. “I send you gifts, I send you letters, I give you clues, I even draw blood for you and you repay me by parading around another man?!” 

You cry out when he delivers a blow to the left side of your face, a crack resounding in the room. Your skin blisters red hot where he strikes you, you swear he’s torn open some skin on your cheek. It sends your head spinning, you figure you’re already nursing a concussion, this just makes it worse. 

“That’s not-”

“Don’t you interrupt me.” He spits, his face close enough for you to smell the bourbon on his breath. “You had him come to my house today, try to scare me? He thinks he’s a big powerful man, FBI… that badge doesn’t mean shit, he doesn’t know who I am.” 

“Jordan-”

“What was it about him anyway? You could’ve had me, you know, we could’ve been a dynasty.” He’s grandstanding. Always did have a problem with his fragile ego. He turns his back to you, scanning the pictures on the wall. “He’ll get what’s coming to him. I’m having it taken care of.” He mutters.

Your blood runs cold. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re not stupid, you couldn’t possible have thought that I’d let him live?” 

Your heart skips. The ‘other guy’ that was to be taken care of - Hotch.

“Jordan, no. It wasn’t like that, I swear.” He turns slowly, rage behind his eyes that’s only thinly veiled by a psychotic smile. “There’s nothing between us! Please don’t do this. I’m begging you, don’t do this.” You plead.

“Why do you care?”

“-What?”

“Why… do you… care?” His eyes are fanatical, nostrils flared. “If nothing happened between you, why do you care what happens to him?” 

You know why now.

“Because I don’t want anyone to die! Him, Emily, anybody! I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” You stutter through your sobs. “Please don’t do this.” 

“You don’t want him to die? How stupid do you think I am?” He grabs the back of your head and directs you to a picture of you and Hotch on the gazebo - the day you’d met. “You look at him like that because he’s a friend?” He spits. 

He’s right, though - that’s the thing. 

You don’t know how you didn’t realise sooner, how you didn’t see it sooner. Maybe it’s because you couldn’t see your own face when you were around him, but the way you look at him, your smile. 

You don’t think you’ve looked at anybody like that before. 

Tears roll down your cheeks now, eyes welling over. 

He smooths over your hair, straightening out his own shirt. “I will make it quick though. Humane. I owe him that much.” 

“What?” 

“I owe him. How do you think you got here?” When you can’t formulate the words he continues, “Hm, let me spell it out for you.” He continues his rapid pacing, fingers compulsively scratching his neck. “We break up, you betray me, so I leave the country. I come back, try to get you back, you betray me, again. FBI man comes into the picture, his girlfriend feels neglected, said girlfriend then conveniently runs into me at a bar after an argument, confides in me and starts sleeping with me. She’s a real peach, though. Total Type-A, wouldn’t let me fuck her raw.” He adds, rolling his eyes. 

You feel nauseous. 

You wonder if Hotch knows. 

He goes on, “I fuck her, she tells me everything I want to know. Including the fact that she thought he was cheating on her.” He laughs bitterly. “I thought we might have had something when you called me a few months ago, remember that? That was a good time.” Your stomach turns when you think back to the worst mistake you’d ever made. “But then you stopped taking my calls, I put two together from there, figured you were fucking him. I knew then that he had to die.” He rolls his eyes. 

His smile reveals a row of eerily straight teeth but there’s nothing behind his eyes except a sick kind of glee. 

“It wasn’t like that, I swear to you, he never touched me.” You plead with him, desperately. You reckon with the fact that if you couldn’t regain control of this situation, Hotch would die. “Look, I’ll do anything.” 

“Anything?” 

“I swear. Anything. Just call it off, please.” He considers your statement for a moment, kneeling down between your knees again. He makes a point to flash you his gun, the silver glinting, before reaching for a switchblade that’s tucked into his back pocket. You flinch when he brings it purposely closer to you but he cuts you free. 

“I’m going to test you. Stay here with me. You run, I kill him.” He lays the knife flat against your bruised cheek, “Then I kill you.” He whispers. You wince when the sharp edge breaks a thin layer of skin and you feel a warm trail of blood on your cheek. 

You nod desperately, agreeing. “I swear. I’ll do anything, just call it off.” 

Just as he finishes cutting you free, his phone vibrates against the wooden table under the window. He excuses himself, face lighting up for a moment. You try your best to hear, but the voice on the other end is indistinguishable. 

Jordan’s responses are short. 

“Fitz.”

“Hello?” He presses the phone closer to his ear. “Lawrence? It’s done?” He smiles at the response from the other side. 

“30 minutes.” He hangs up and rattles off a quick text message before setting the phone down again. 

He sighs, concealing his unhinged glee when he turns to look at you. “Bad news babe.” He says tutting, knowingly with a disturbing smile. “I know I said I’d call it off but,” he waves the phone in the air, “it’s already done. Your friend, Aaron?”

Oh please, no. Don’t say it. 

“He’s dead.” 

———

Once the first bang reverberates in the nurses’ station, time seems to move in slow motion. McCall yells for everybody to get down, cocking his gun. Panic erupts for a moment before everybody falls to the ground, the first shot already fired. 

Where it comes from, who fires first, it isn’t clear, the whole thing in reality is over in a matter of seconds but time still seems to stop. 

Now, McCall kneels over a dead body, hyper-aware of eyes on him, “He’s gone.” He whispers. 

A hand grips his shoulder from behind as he stares down at the corpse in front of him laying in a pool of blood, three bullet holes in the chest. 

His ears still ring. 

“Hey. Emily’s fine. I had two cops posted outside her door.” He turns to find Hotch, who can’t tear his eyes away from Officer Lawrence’s dead body in front of them. 

They’re about to let medical personnel clear out the area and wheel him away in a body bag when Hotch spots something in Lawrence’s scrub pockets. 

“Wait! Hold it a sec?” He asks, retrieving a piece of paper and cellphone from Lawrence. They make their way back to Emily’s hospital room in unison.

McCall looks at him, puzzled. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, why?”

“That was the first person you ever shot, right? He’s dead. You’re allowed to not be okay.” 

“I’m fine - I need to focus. I need to get her back.” He’d be lying if he said his hands weren’t trembling but he has more pressing matters on his hand. The need to get you back safe and sound outweighs any personal conflict for him. He unfolds the piece of paper, muttering aloud a series of numbers. “It’s a phone number. What’d you wanna bet it’s Jordan?” He does a double take when he sees his own name written in capital letters on the other side of the paper, passing it to McCall. 

“Some vendetta, hm? He was sent to kill you.” McCall takes the phone from Hotch and starts to dial when Hotch places a stalling arm on his. 

“Wait.”

He dials Garcia’s number deftly, asks her to search for a location on the number before they call it, but to his disappointment, it’s a prepaid. He then has Garcia set up a track and trace before he lets McCall dial the number.

“Ready, Garcia?” 

The phone rings three times before it’s answered, Jordan’s voice curt and straight to the point, assuming it’s Lawrence. Hotch can hear Garcia’s typing and beeping but when McCall doesn’t say anything, Jordan takes matters into his own hands. 

“It’s done?” Jordan asks outright. 

“Yes.” McCall replies with little inflection, keeping his voice even so as to not arouse suspicion. Jordan gives McCall a time - 30 minutes, before snapping the phone shut. 

McCall tries the number again, but it’s dead. Destroyed. 

“Garcia, anything?” Hotch asks desperately. 

“No, sir, it was barely long enough to triangulate the call, I’m sorry.” 

“Keep searching, Garcia, we need this address. Look for something in isolation, out of the way. It’s gotta mean something to him.”

“Yes, sir. Typing as we speak.”

Hotch rubs an exasperated hand over his beard, “Y’know the media can’t get wind of this, if he has access to a TV or radio and sees I’m alive? He’ll kill her.” He shudders as the words leave his mouth, making way for the possibility that he does not want to reckon with. 

You might already be dead. 

He dials quickly “Chief Barnes? I need a favour.”

———

He’s been pacing the length of Emily’s hospital room for the past twenty minutes, waiting for Chief Barnes to call in every favour he can to keep the media at bay so they can keep up the charade. He increases the TV volume opposite Emily’s bed when he sees a news report flash across the scene. 

“Good evening, everybody. We come to you live tonight with some breaking news.” 

He braces himself. Did Barnes manage to cover the hit on him?

“The daughters of two US Ambassadors have reportedly been involved in what appears to be a multi-car collision in the Virginia countryside, earlier tonight.” 

Two pictures appear side by side of you and Emily. 

“The daughter of Ambassador Prentiss was rushed to hospital earlier tonight and remains in critical condition at Bridgepoint Hospital after sustaining multiple injuries. The daughter of the US Ambassador to France however, is reported to be missing. The Ambassador himself is reportedly unaware of his daughter’s condition, presumed to be en-route to Paris tonight. Three people were pronounced dead at the scene, including Metro PD officers Evan Matthews and Howard Denton.”

He waits anxiously for any mention of his own name or Jordan, Lawrence, but the anchor passes over to the correspondent.

He sighs in relief, just as his phone rings. 

“Garcia?”

“I think I finally have a location on Fitzgerald. I checked for any and all properties under Senator Fitzgerald’s name, his second and third wives, his spawn’s name, even the Fitzgerald Family Trust. Nada.” She pauses for breath. “So. I dug down deeper. I searched instead for any properties under Sloan Marie Fitzgerald - still nothing. But then I chanced a search under her maiden name, Hamilton, and wouldn’t you know - the Hamilton family had a cabin between Rock Creek Park and Montgomery County. The late Mrs. Fitzgerald would take him to said cabin most summers before she died.”

“Alright, good work. Send us-”

“I'm not even going to let you finish that sentence, because it’s quite frankly insulting. Coordinates are on their way to you now, Sirs.”

Hotch huffs a laugh, it’s the most he can muster right now. He knows he owes Garcia a massive bouquet of flowers after all this is over. 

He grabs McCall by his jacket. “Suit up. We’ve got an address.” 

———

‘He’s dead.’ 

The onset of shock and unmistakable rise of nausea had caused you to retch violently and empty the contents of your stomach into the nearest toilet. 

Your legs had given out then, and you’re now planted on a dusty armchair, finding yourself staring into nothingness, your body still stinging with the shock and injuries you’d sustained. 

It’s all you’ve done for the past fourty something minutes. The blood stays rushing in your ears, and the pounding in your head is unrelenting. You haven’t said a word since, your body’s energy drained. You’re almost catatonic, unable to even shed a few tears for Hotch’s death. 

He’s dead. He’s dead because of you. 

You think back to the first time you met, he’d been so bright eyed and optimistic. Disarming. You think about the way he’d told you about his hopes and dreams, his plans for the future as a profiler. He’d had so much to live for. All of that had been ripped away from him because he’d gotten involved in your case. It was your fault he was dead. 

And you didn’t know how you were going to make it out of this. Your limbs feel like concrete - fatigue, shock and grief make it hard to formulate any kind of rational thought. Jordan’s hand comes to smooth the top of your head once again, but the gesture is far from comforting or loving. 

“It’s okay. You’ll see in time, this was for the best. This way, there aren’t any distractions.” He whispers. He’s been pacing the length of the cabin, repeatedly checking his second burner as though he’s awaiting some news. 

He resumes his pacing when you finally break your silence, your voice hoarse. 

“You killed a man.” You whisper. 

“What’s that?” 

“You killed a man.” You sob quietly. “You had someone killed, that doesn’t mean anything to you?” 

“Oh I did more than just have your little lover killed. I made sure your father and that Prentiss bitch were taken care of too.” 

Your vision tunnels, a high-pitched whine penetrating your skull. You feel like the ground has just been ripped from under you, like you’re falling. You can feel your heart shatter, the splintering fragments of your life piercing your skin. 

“My father? He’s not here. He’s-”

He glances at his watch. “-On his way to Paris?” You feel the bile rising again. “I know. Like I said, I’m having it all taken care of. They’re all dead, babe - or will be, soon.” He brings a hand to your face, brushing his thumb over your cut. “Don’t you see? I did it so I could have you all to myself.” 

The glee in his voice provokes something in you, a rage you’ve never felt before. You figure you have nothing else to lose, everything and everyone you ever loved is dead, you’d either fight and die quicker, or you’d stay and die slowly. 

In a move that stuns even you, you spit on Jordan’s face and bring your hand up to strike him notwithstanding the piercing pain in your ribs. The flat of your palm makes sharp contact with his bearded cheek. The sound echoes in the room, and your own hand stings from the force, but a minute satisfaction settles into your bones. 

He takes a minute to steady himself, but when he turns to look at you, his eyes flash with something you’ve never seen in a person before. In one fell swoop, he drags you to stand by your hair, pushing you into a glass frame against the wall. 

The glass shatters, puncturing the skin on your cheek and forearm where you bear the brunt of the impact. He lands two blows to your stomach, causing you to keel over, winding you. The pain blooms to your already bruised ribs, your breaths ragged. He grabs you then by the throat, pinning you against the wall, your breaths coming short and constricted. 

He shakes you against the wall, his hand tight around your throat, cutting off your air. “You ever pull something like that again, I’ll kill you in ways you couldn’t possibly imagine.” He growls in a low voice. “Do you understand me?” You can feel the blood pumping in your face, your eyes starting to bulge. 

You drive your knee into his crotch with all the force you can muster, exactly like Hotch had taught you. You then go for his shin that only gives you mere seconds to grab your breath when he lets you go in pain. 

You fall with him, knees giving out when you gasp for breath, and when you see him charging towards you again, you reach to your right for a dusty glass vase that sits on a single table. You manage to get yourself back on your feet right as he’s about to make contact with you again, the butt of the vase smashing into his skull. 

He cries out in pain as he falls to the ground again on all fours, blood streaming down his face. A gash on his forehead seeps blood and several pieces of glass are embedded in his face. 

You’re still trying to catch your own breath when you spot the silver glint of his 9mm catch the light in his back pocket. 

This is your chance.

You half-crawl, half-run to him, landing a violent kick to his stomach to strike him down. You grab the gun from his back pocket, stumbling a little from the adrenaline coursing through your veins, your hands trembling. You check the magazine and load it as fast as your hands will allow.

You grip the Beretta just as Hotch had taught you, wrapping your dominant hand around the magazine, your index finger parallel to the chamber. Your other hand wraps around your dominant, as you stand over him.

“Get up.” You snarl. “Get up, NOW!” You order him through your coughs. 

He turns around slowly, slipping twice on his way up, groaning with the exertion. His face mirrors your own, a gash on his lip and forehead, blood streaming down his cheek. 

He chuckles darkly, revealing a set of shark-like teeth that are covered in his blood. “Oh… you think you’re hot shit. You even know how to use that thing? Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” 

Your body aches feverishly and you swear you could pass out at any minute, vision blurry. You can feel your grip loosening and you’re trying to centre yourself when Jordan takes advantage of your momentary slip. 

He lunges for you in a flash, knife in hand. 

———

“We’re about a mile out, I want sirens and lights off. He can’t know we’re coming.” Hotch says into his radio. He’s watching the road ahead as they get deeper into the woods, the off-road terrain making it hard to keep control of the SUV. 

They’re backed up at rear by three MPD police cars, Chief Fuller’s attempt at making nice with Hotch after their earlier altercation.

He swallows thickly, his mouth like cotton. He knows he can’t afford one wrong move, not here. Not with you. He needs to get you back. He made a promise to Emily. 

He’ll die trying. 

He keeps a firm grip on your chain, rubbing it one last time for steady luck before tucking it into his shirt pocket. 

A clearing of trees reveals another path to them. It leads off into the distance, to a small wooden cabin around 80 feet away. It’s illuminated by amber light emanating from a single window. 

“Alright, guys. Nice and slow, headlights off, we’re gonna dismount now. Everybody out.” He whispers into the comms once they clear another 50 feet. 

Leaves rustle underneath their feet as they stealthily approach the cabin, guns cocked. Hotch has three cops flanking him and McCall brings up the rear, covering the back exit. 

They’re almost at the entrance when a loud bang resounds from inside, and Hotch short circuits, his knuckles white around his glock. 

Inside the cabin, you send Jordan flying with a shot to his shoulder, the smell of gun smoke burning your nostrils. Your hands tremble violently, your mind temporarily blanking - you feel like you’re swimming. Your ears ring from the noise, a high-pitched whine piercing your brain. 

There’s another bang almost immediately after Jordan stumbles backwards but you’re sure you only fired one shot. 

Jordan’s body in front of you is your only focal point, so much so that it’s only when you see McCall and two cops approach him writhing on the floor that you come back into your body. 

You realise the second bang had been them kicking down the front door. Your hands on the Beretta loosen just slightly and you let out a deep exhale. The voices in the room are still swimming as your brain slowly catches up. 

“Grab her.” McCall’s voice calls out. He shouts into the comms that he needs medics, and suddenly there’s a distinct feeling of a hand on your wrist and a body next to you. You reassure yourself that Jordan is on the ground so you let your hands fall limp, dropping the gun and it falls to the ground with a sharp clack. Your eyes are still trained on McCall pressing on Jordan’s wound. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” The voice cuts through your still-ringing ears. 

You know that voice. 

You’d know that voice anywhere. 

Your heart thunders, and your lips start to tremble as you try to reconcile everything you thought was reality with what’s really in front of you. 

You turn slowly to find an achingly familiar pair of warm hazel eyes. 

He’s alive. 

“Aaron?” You sob. You reach out for him but he catches you before you can stumble, his arms steady around your waist. He whispers into your hair, bringing a protective hand up to cradle your head as you sob into his chest. 

“It’s okay. I got you. I told you I’d come for you.” 

His voice is the last thing you hear before you black out, your body finally offering you some well-earned reprieve.

———

Tags:​ @oreogutz @andromedasstarship @galacticnerd-78 @izzyl13 @bananabucky @crying-river @purpledragonturtles @gabbysblogthingy​ @archiveofadragon​ @yoshigguk @acidicbloody @jeor @ivebeenthinkingboutu​ @bauslut @averyhotchner @vashanatasha @hotchwhore15 @pjmjams @slxtherinchxser

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[bxngchxn]

strawberries and red wine || l. minho (lee know)

this is a fic that I have re-uploaded from my old blog, @ethereal-bang . I’ll be reuploading all of my old works here and deleting my old blog soon. hope you enjoy!

characters: minho x fem reader

wc: 4.8k

genre: SMUT, dilf!minho, some fluff

warnings: slight hard dom themes, unprotected sex (always wear a condom!), oral (male receiving)

THE FIRST OF THE DILF!SKZ SERIES IS FINALLY HERE!!

This contains mature content and is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18.

    　∞༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧

“No, Mina what did I tell you we do NOT pull people’s hai- wait, BENJAMIN, where did you get that frog from?!? Let it go!!” You scramble around the classroom as you try and control the chaos that is your 4s classroom. Being the lead teacher in a room full of toddlers is nowhere near easy, but you’ve always had an affinity for kids. It started out with babysitting your cousins on the weekends, then volunteering as a counselor at summer camp. Eventually it led to you, taking early education classes in college and graduating with a degree in Early Childhood Education. Now, you find yourself here, making sure these kids keep the sand IN the sand box, for the third time this week.

No matter how frustrated you got, though, you could never get genuinely angry. They’re just babies, after all. They have no real concept of right and wrong (or object permanence for that matter), therefore their decision making skills are ~slightly~ off. Plus, they look so cute with their innocent, bright smiles and big eyes. How could you not love them?

The day is just about over, and you’re trying to get everything as clean as possible before the kids leave, that way you don’t have to stay too late to finish it all. It’s Friday, and the thought of going home to your quiet apartment for some much needed me time is all you’re thinking about as you wipe down the snack table. You survey the other children to make sure no one is causing trouble, and you smile as you take in the sight of everyone (finally) sitting in their assigned seats, various hobbies distracting them as they wait for their parents to arrive.

You hear a slight crash, and a teeny tiny voice accompany it.

“Shit!”

That single word, coming from such a small mouth catches you off guard. You want to laugh– but you know better than to encourage it. Shocked expression on your face, you walk over to the table where the two girls are playing Jenga. The tower has been knocked down, and you can only assume that the expletive was said by the loser of the game. A sweet little girl, brown hair almost nearing her waist and big eyes that still held stars in them, was looking up at you in confusion. “Now sweetie, where did you learn that word from?” You ask incredulously.

The way she was looking at you screamed innocence, her smile never faltering. “From my daddy! He said it when he dropped the casserole on the ground the other night. But it’s okay! He ordered us a pizza instead!” She says and you can’t help but giggle, while simultaneously making a note to speak to the girl’s father. Kids tend to overshare way too much, and it reminds you of all the crazy things you’ve heard over the years– those poor parents.

Before you know it, the day has ended and it’s time to walk the children outside. Calling your students to form a line at the door, you double check for backpacks and blankies and stuffed animals. Once everyone (and everything) is settled, you lead the children outside to their parents who are standing with open arms, ready to have their babies back with them for the night. The sight is always so endearing, the little ones getting overly excited and jumping into their parents’ arms.

 As you watch everyone begin to leave, you notice a certain brunette toddler waddling up to her father, who scoops her up into his arms and immediately puts her on his shoulders.

She looks like him, the way that his eyes seem to shine reminiscent of the sparkle you get to see in hers every morning. He’s rocking her back and forth as she’s sat atop him, her giggles ringing out through the daycare’s playground and bringing a sense of calm and happiness to the air. Making your way over to the two of them, your breath catches in your throat when you realize the height difference between the two of you. He’s at least a head taller than you, making you feel small as you get his attention. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lee? Would it be okay if I had a word with you for just a moment?” You ask him quietly.

He looks at you, and you can feel your heartbeat skip when a small smile graces his lips. Taking his daughter off of his shoulders, he ushers her over toward another parent, and the child runs off with Kim Seungmin and his daughter, with promises of ice cream from the truck down the road. “Absolutely, is everything okay Ms….?” He says, realizing (embarrassingly) that he’s never gotten your name. “Y/N! My name is Y/N.” You say with a smile, and he nods, wanting to commit your name to memory.

Minho has seen you day in and day out, greeting the kids in the morning at drop off, and bringing them outside to release to their parents. He’s spoken to you maybe once? Maybe twice? He really wasn’t sure, but something about your soft smile and the way you take care of the children is hitting him differently today. He has a mix of curiosity and slight panic running through his system, afraid his daughter had gotten into big trouble. She’s his whole world, and although raising her on his own definitely isn’t easy, it’s just as equally rewarding. She’s just like him, her personality so big and so funny for someone so little.

“Everything is okay! I just wanted to tell you, your daughter did something today…” you started, and you can see the look in his eyes shift from panic to humor as you explain the situation from earlier today. He chuckles a little once you finish speaking, and you’re laughing too. “Ah, oh my goodness I am so sorry…” he trails off. “It’s alright, Mr. Lee, dont wo-” “Minho,” he cuts you off. “You can call me Minho,” he says, and you nod your head in agreement. “It’s okay, Minho. It actually was pretty funny..just be a little more careful around her, okay?” You giggle, and you could’ve sworn you saw his cheeks blush pink.

After that, talking to Minho when he came to pick up his daughter became a daily occurrence. It was never for long, maybe two or three minutes of conversation at a time, but it was something you looked forward to. He seemed so carefree, always coming in with a smile on his face. Each day his little girl runs to him and demands to be put on his shoulders, and he always obliges.

It would be a lie to say you didn’t form some type of crush on the man in question. You would find yourself hiding your smile after every little interaction, and you weren’t sure how to feel about the fact that you fell for him so easily. It had been a long time since you had decided to focus on your love life, so every time you get those butterflies in your chest you’re unsure of how to react.

Minho, on the other hand, is absolutely smitten. He never took this kind of interest in his daughter’s teachers before. He couldn’t explain it, but the feeling he gets when he witnesses his little girl run up to hug you in the mornings as you head to class fills him with a lighthearted emotion. Plus, the more he spoke to you, the more he came to find out that the two of you are fairly similar. He knew that he needed to take you out on a date. It was the only thing he could think about.

Would it be inappropriate? Absolutely. For as long as you were her teacher, there was no way he’d be able to openly express his feelings. So, he waits. He keeps his feelings at bay for the remainder of the year, waiting for summer to come so he can ask you out on an actual date. And when he does, it’s in the most unexpected way possible.

You see, Minho had a plan. Your birthday was coming up soon, and he was going to get you a small gift and a card with some cheesy pick up line, asking you to do him the honor of going to dinner with him. His daughter, however, has a (very unfiltered) mind of her own.

The summer months were in full swing, the heat and humidity taking over the town as people rode their bikes through the streets, and everyone who drove a car with their windows down, music playing at full volume. It was one of your favorite things about summer, you loved seeing everyone enjoying themselves, alongside the nostalgic feeling of freedom that comes with the warmer weather. This is why you decide one Saturday morning to get up early and head to the Farmer’s Market. The big, open air market held fond memories from your childhood, and going there to shop for your groceries became a stress reliever for you ever since you started college. The older women selling produce were the sweetest, always giving you free samples when you came round.

Today was one of those days, the smells of spices and different street foods filling your noose as you looked at some apples at a produce stand. You pick up what seems like the perfect apple. Round, shiny, no bruises anywhere. That is, until you feel a little someone bump into your legs.

The apple falls to the ground when you’re knocked over, and you hear a small, familiar voice give you an apology. It’s almost a shock when you hear Minho’s voice, too, as you turn around. “Oh my god, miss, I am so…Y/N?” He apologizes, stopping in his tracks when he realizes that it’s you who is standing in front of the two of them. “Oh! Minho, hello! And hi there sweetheart! It’s alright, you didn’t hurt me,” you say in a small voice, dropping down to her level so you can meet her eyes. “But I made you drop your apple! I’m really sorry,” she pouts, and your heart absolutely melts at the sweetness. “It’s okay, I can just get another one! Why don’t you help me pick it out, yeah?” You ask, and her eyes light up with their familiar brightness.

She nods her head furiously and you laugh, picking her up when she raises her arms. You hold her on your hip and lean down just enough for her to grab a new apple to put in your bag. On the sidelines, Minho is trying so hard not to die at the sight in front of him. His daughter looks so happy, and so do you, bonding over the differences between the fruits. He just smiles as he watches in the interaction.

“This one looks perfect! Don’t you agree, sweetie?” You ask the little girl, and she giggles and takes it from your hands. “Yeah! Daddy, look at the apple~~” she says, and Minho’s attention is brought back to the girl in your arms. “Y-yes pumpkin, it looks really perfect! Red apples are a lot sweeter than green apples, they’re your favorite right? Why don’t we get some too?” Minho rambles rather quickly, and it makes you laugh as you watch him clumsily put some apples into a produce bag and hand money to the lady working at the register.

Once you also pay for your apples, Minho invites you to come have lunch with the two of them in the picnic area. You can’t bring yourself to tell them no, so you follow them to an area of grass that is filled with families eating, playing and just enjoying the summer weather. You and Minho help his daughter with her lunch, all the while enjoying the time together, as well. It had been a while since you’d seen each other, because the little girl was no longer in your 4’s class. You spent a few hours with the two of them, and when it was time to go, his little girl scrambles into your lap before you can even make a move to get up.

“I figured something out!” She says, proudly. “Yes, dear, what is it?” Minho asks her, and you crane your head to look over at her. “I think daddy likes you, Miss Y/N,” she blurts out. Your cheeks turn pink, and Minho starts stuttering. “W-what makes you think that, love?” You ask her, and she shrugs her head, completely unbothered by the fact that the two of you look like you’ve been caught, even though nothing has happened.

“Well,” she says, determined. “Daddy talks reaaaallyyyy fast when he talks about me, or soonie doongie and dori, because he likes us a lot. And he does the same thing when he talks to you, or talks about you. I just figured that because he talks fast like that, it must mean he really likes you. Because daddy talks reeeaaally fast about you.” She says, and then goes back to eating a strawberry out of the container that Minho brought with him. The blush on your cheeks turns even darker, and Minho’s face isn’t too far behind, either.

“Aaah, I see. You must be really smart to have figured that out, huh?” You ask her as you laugh, trying to make your nervousness go away. Minho has since taken interest in his hands, not being able to look you in the eye. “Well,” you start, getting the girl’s attention. You lean in close, but still far enough away that Minho can hear, too. “I think that I like your daddy just as much,” You “whisper” in her ear. Her eyes go wide, and Minho’s face shoots up from looking at his hands. “Really?!” The girl squeals, and you just smile and pat her head.

“Really.”

The three of you wander the market for a little while longer, before you notice Minho’s daughter getting sleepy. Once she asks Minho to pick her up, he carries her on his back and she’s out cold within two minutes. He laughs at the snoring toddler, and looks down at the ground before he looks at you. “Did you mean it?” he asks, and you feel your heart explode when you look into his eyes. “About liking me, did you really mean it?” He repeats, and you can’t bring yourself to hide the truth anymore. “Mhm, I did mean it.” You say quietly. His smile brightens ten fold, and if he wasn’t hauling a sleeping child on his back, he would’ve taken your hand. “Well in that case, would it be out of pocket to ask you over for dinner this weekend? She’s going to a slumber party at Seungmin’s house, so we can have an actual conversation,” he asks sheepishly.

“I would love that.”

__________

The rest of the week flies by, and you can feel the nerves gathering in your stomach as you arrive at Minho’s house. Walking inside, it’s exactly how you could imagine it to be. It’s cozy, and you can definitely tell that a toddler lives there. Toys are in the living room corner, stacked neatly next to a two story dollhouse. Sippy cups align the kitchen sink, and you see cat shaped sandwich cutters sitting in the dish drainer. The sight makes you smile, as you remember cooing over the cute shapes at lunch time.

Minho looks absolutely stunning, you think to yourself. He’s dressed casually, but his button down shirt makes his shoulders look broad and the way his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows makes your knees feel weak. He greets you with a warm smile and a small hug, leading you into the kitchen. He really pulled out all the stops for this– candles at the center of the dining table, two glasses with red wine sitting next to empty plates as he brings the food to the table. “Wow, this looks amazing,” you tell him as you take a seat across from him, sipping your wine. “Thank you, I really hope you like it,” he laughs.

Dinner goes well, just as you expected it to. The two of you never run out of things to talk about, and the wine is definitely helping the two of you loosen up a little bit. Once dinner is over, you insist that you help with the dishes. Minho tries to decline, but you bump him out of the way with your hip, picking up a towel to dry the clean dishes with. He laughs and mimics the action, except his arm wraps around your waist in an attempt to catch you if you fall over. You feel electricity shoot through you at the action, and you turn to face him as you laugh.

He doesn’t let go, and the look in his eyes has you dropping your towel onto the kitchen counter. The air in the room feels charged, and you can’t help but reach up to wrap your arms around his neck. Everything just felt natural, with him. Like you were supposed to be this way all along. His other hand drops the dish he was holding into the sink, and he decides to wrap it around your waist instead. The feeling of finally being encapsulated in his arms makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

The two of you stay like that, for just a moment longer. It’s Minho who breaks the silence first, tightening his hold on you. “Is it..is it okay if I kiss you?” he asks softly. The action is so sweet, you smile as you pull him closer to you. “Please,” you ask, right before his lips crash onto yours. The kiss is soft, slow, everything you could have wanted. His lips still taste like the wine you’ve been drinking, and it makes you want to deepen the kiss. So you do.

Minho feels your tongue at his lips, and he immediately grants you entrance but quickly gains dominance over you. A hand of his moves from your waist up into your hair as he pushes you into the kitchen counter. Your hands roam his body, his broad shoulders and toned arms feeling like heaven under your fingertips. When your hands find his hair, you tug on it slightly and that’s enough to prompt Minho to lift you onto the counter. He’s standing between your legs, his hands falling to your hips once again. He traces light circles into the skin under your sweater as you start trailing kisses down his neck.

“I’ve been waiting so long for this,” you say breathily, and it makes Minho chuckle. “You really want this?” He asks, confirming that it’s okay for him to take it further. “I want all of it.” You say while looking him in the eyes. They darken, and you can tell that you’ve just awoken something inside the man. His hands bunch under your shirt, slowly lifting it up to reveal the royal purple bra that you were wearing. Thanking god that you chose a matching set, you take the initiative to take your sweater off the rest of the way, throwing it on a chair near the table.

Minho wastes no time attacking your neck, biting marks near your collarbone and trailing them down towards your breast. He takes one in his hands, feeling the fabric underneath his hands and relishing in the quiet noises you’re making. His fingers ghost over your nipples, the texture of the fabric bringing you an added sensation. You subconsciously move your hips against his, feeling how hard he is through his jeans. Minho sighs, and the sound is music to your ears. You continue to move your hips against his, and Minho quickly grabs the back of your legs. “Someone’s eager, aren’t they?” he teases, telling you to hold on as he picks you up and takes you in the direction of his bedroom. His lips never leave your neck, at least not until he has you lying comfortably on top of the pillows on his bead. The look in his eyes is almost primal, and it mirrors every feeling that is running through your body in the moment.

You sit up quickly, unbuttoning his shirt slowly as you kiss each inch of exposed skin. Minho helps you as he shrugs his shirt off his shoulders, and you take in the sight of the gorgeous man sitting in front of you. You look down to his jeans and then back into his eyes, as if asking for permission. He grabs your hand and guides it to his belt, and that’s a sure fire sign that you can continue.

You expertly undo his jeans, pulling the zipper down with your teeth in a teasing way. “Fuck, baby,” he says at the sight, and his little praise just spurs you on. You move him to sit on the edge of the bed, and you sink to your knees in front of him as you pull down his jeans. His cock is something to behold– the perfect size, pink and standing at attention. Tempting. You grab the base in your hand, and bring your tongue out to lick at the head. Minho melts into your touch, his fingers going to your hair instantly. You begin slowly, sucking on the head and using your hand to stroke the rest of his cock. It’s taking every ounce of self control from Minho to not fuck into your mouth, wanting to savor the first of hopefully many encounters with you.

You look so gorgeous on your knees for him, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you begin to sink lower onto his cock. He can feel your tongue on the underside of his dick, tracing the vein and making sure to swirl your tongue at his head with each pass you make. If you keep this up, he’s going to cum fast.

“As much as I enjoy the feeling of your pretty little mouth, baby, I don’t want to cum inside it this time.” He says, pulling you back up onto the bed. You feel excitement rise in your chest at the idea of a “next time”. You giggle as he hovers over you, pulling you into another kiss. He can taste you on his tongue, and there’s something so inherently dirty about it that makes him impatient.

He starts working on your jeans, undoing the buttons with ease and sliding them down your legs. He stares at the matching purple underwear that you’re in, and he chuckles darkly. “Seems like someone had something certain on their mind when getting dressed today, huh love?” He teases, tracing slow circles over your clit in a teasing way. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” you say as you try to keep your noises to a minimum. He’s going at a pace that is way too slow for your liking, but you’re not ready to beg for it. At least not yet.

“Hm? Feigning innocence now are we? That’s not very nice of you, baby. Tell me, what were you thinking when you put this on today, hm? Were you thinking that I’d take you like a good girl tonight?” He asks. His eyes never leave yours, and you try your hardest to keep your voice level. “Maybe,” you tease, and his pace quickens for just a moment, just enough to have you keening, but then he returns to the torturously slow pace. “Trying to be a brat, are we? Don’t worry, I can have that attitude fixed in no time,” he warns. You want to test him, see how far he’ll go. “Really? I don’t see you doing anything about it,” you fight back.

Bad idea.

Before you can even blink, your underwear are ripped off and thrown across the room, and Minho’s hand is now around your throat. The sweet feeling of the air leaving your lungs has you dizzy, not able to form coherent words. “Oh? Where’s that mouth of yours now huh?” He says, his tone condescending. His fingers return to your core, but this time his pace is rough and fast. You try to move, but the grip on your neck is tight. “Tell me what you want, love. Use your words,” he says. He decides to loosen his grip to let you speak.

“Please, Minho God just-just fuck me,” you finally speak out, voice shaky as your high is quickly approaching you. “That’s all the permission I need, baby doll.” He laughs as he pulls you closer to him. Reaching down, Minho grabs his cock in his hands and runs the head up and down your labia, teasing you before giving you the real thing. “You’re so wet, this is all for me right? I’m the only one who makes you feel like this?” He asks, knowing that you’re slowly losing your cool.

“Yes! Yes it’s only fo- only for you, Minho please” you beg, and it quickly turns into a moan as he enters you. Your back arches, and a low groan comes from Minho’s throat as he feels how tight you are around him. He stills for a moment, giving you time to adjust, but once you rock your hips into him even a little, he sets off at a steady pace. The feeling is euphoric, he’s stretching you in just the right places and somehow knows exactly how to make you see stars.

He’s panting, and when you whine a quiet “Harder, please,” he loses all control. Slamming into you quickly, he brings his hand back to your throat. “You’re so perfect for me, baby. Jesus. Only for me,” he says over and over again. He’s leaned close to you now, mouth against your ear and you can hear every ounce of praise that comes from his mouth. Your high is approaching, and you clench around Minho when he starts drawing fast circles on your clit once again.

“Minho I- I’m so close, please make me cum,” you moan, and with a certain swivel of his hips he’s hitting a spot that’s making you see stars. “Cum for me then, baby. Let me feel you,” he says, quickening his pace once again, so fast you didn’t think it was possible.

The only sounds in the room are skin slapping and your labored breathing, moans loud as you finally feel the knot in your core tighten and then burst. His name leaves your lips in a long, drawn out whine, and you feel him fill you up not long after your orgasm starts wearing off. He’s panting in your ear, grip tightening around your throat once again as you feel him spill into you.

Riding out both of your highs, Minho’s thrusts slowly come to a stop. The two of you lay there, basking in the glow of the events that just unfolded. You stay like that for a few minutes, and then Minho gets up to run the shower, placing a kiss on your forehead as he leaves the bedroom.

You end up going for another round in the shower, and then straight to bed as the two of you are too worn out to do anything else.

You wake up the next morning in one of his tshirts, and you can smell pancakes being made in the kitchen. You look over and realize that Minho is no longer next to you, and you smile as you hear the radio playing and a sweet voice singing along.

Aware that his daughter could be coming home at any minute, you throw your own jeans on as you walk into the kitchen, Minho’s shirt still falling off your shoulder. Quietly padding behind him, he jumps as you wrap your arms around his waist. “Good morning,” you giggle, and he quickly turns to place a kiss on your cheek. “Good morning to you too, doll.” He says. The name brings back memories of last night and you feel a blush on your cheeks.

You help him finish making pancakes, and when the front door opens, you hear little feet making their way to the kitchen, followed by the sound of Seungmin’s voice. “Hey, Minho I figured I’d stop in and say hi since I’m dropping off your- oh. Hello.” Seungmin says as he sees you at the counter with said man. “Hi,” you say quietly, giggling at his expression.

 “Y/N!!!!!!!!!!” you hear from behind him. You lean over and see Minho’s daughter coming at you full force. You quickly scoop her up into your arms, spinning her around as her bright laugh fills the room. It makes Minho’s heart explode, and he immediately feels embarrassed as he looks over at Seungmin. “I’m not judging, good for you bro.” The younger man says, sticking out his fist for Minho to bump. He laughs, but does it anyway, his attention turning back to your and his daughter.

“Are you here to have breakfast with us?!?! Daddy makes the best pancakes!!” The girl exclaims, and you laugh as you look over to Minho, sharing a secret glance.

“I sure am, sweetheart.”  

   ✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧ ✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧

@dom--minnie @sparklemin @minholuvs @hanflix @moonlit-lixie @feliix

[ethereal-bang]

Strawberries and Red Wine

Characters: Minho x fem reader

Words: 4.8k 

Type: SMUT, dilf!minho, some fluff

Warnings: slight hard dom themes, unprotected sex (always wear a condom!), oral (male receiving) 

THE FIRST OF THE DILF!SKZ SERIES IS FINALLY HERE!! 

This contains mature content and is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. 

“No, Mina what did I tell you we do NOT pull people’s hai- wait, BENJAMIN, where did you get that frog from?!? Let it go!!” You scramble around the classroom as you try and control the chaos that is your 4s classroom. Being the lead teacher in a room full of toddlers is nowhere near easy, but you’ve always had an affinity for kids. It started out with babysitting your cousins on the weekends, then volunteering as a counselor at summer camp. Eventually it led to you, taking early education classes in college and graduating with a degree in Early Childhood Education. Now, you find yourself here, making sure these kids keep the sand IN the sand box, for the third time this week. 

No matter how frustrated you got, though, you could never get genuinely angry. They’re just babies, after all. They have no real concept of right and wrong (or object permanence for that matter), therefore their decision making skills are ~slightly~ off. Plus, they look so cute with their innocent, bright smiles and big eyes. How could you not love them?

The day is just about over, and you’re trying to get everything as clean as possible before the kids leave, that way you don’t have to stay too late to finish it all. It’s Friday, and the thought of going home to your quiet apartment for some much needed me time is all you’re thinking about as you wipe down the snack table. You survey the other children to make sure no one is causing trouble, and you smile as you take in the sight of everyone (finally) sitting in their assigned seats, various hobbies distracting them as they wait for their parents to arrive.

You hear a slight crash, and a teeny tiny voice accompany it. 

“Shit!”

That single word, coming from such a small mouth catches you off guard. You want to laugh-- but you know better than to encourage it. Shocked expression on your face, you walk over to the table where the two girls are playing Jenga. The tower has been knocked down, and you can only assume that the expletive was said by the loser of the game. A sweet little girl, brown hair almost nearing her waist and big eyes that still held stars in them, was looking up at you in confusion. “Now sweetie, where did you learn that word from?” You ask incredulously. 

The way she was looking at you screamed innocence, her smile never faltering. “From my daddy! He said it when he dropped the casserole on the ground the other night. But it’s okay! He ordered us a pizza instead!” She says and you can’t help but giggle, while simultaneously making a note to speak to the girl’s father. Kids tend to overshare way too much, and it reminds you of all the crazy things you’ve heard over the years-- those poor parents. 

Before you know it, the day has ended and it’s time to walk the children outside. Calling your students to form a line at the door, you double check for backpacks and blankies and stuffed animals. Once everyone (and everything) is settled, you lead the children outside to their parents who are standing with open arms, ready to have their babies back with them for the night. The sight is always so endearing, the little ones getting overly excited and jumping into their parents’ arms. As you watch everyone begin to leave, you notice a certain brunette toddler waddling up to her father, who scoops her up into his arms and immediately puts her on his shoulders.

She looks like him, the way that his eyes seem to shine reminiscent of the sparkle you get to see in hers every morning. He’s rocking her back and forth as she’s sat atop him, her giggles ringing out through the daycare’s playground and bringing a sense of calm and happiness to the air. Making your way over to the two of them, your breath catches in your throat when you realize the height difference between the two of you. He’s at least a head taller than you, making you feel small as you get his attention. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lee? Would it be okay if I had a word with you for just a moment?” You ask him quietly. 

He looks at you, and you can feel your heartbeat skip when a small smile graces his lips. Taking his daughter off of his shoulders, he ushers her over toward another parent, and the child runs off with Kim Seungmin and his daughter, with promises of ice cream from the truck down the road. “Absolutely, is everything okay Ms….?” He says, realizing (embarrassingly) that he’s never gotten your name. “Y/N! My name is Y/N.” You say with a smile, and he nods, wanting to commit your name to memory.

Minho has seen you day in and day out, greeting the kids in the morning at drop off, and bringing them outside to release to their parents. He’s spoken to you maybe once? Maybe twice? He really wasn’t sure, but something about your soft smile and the way you take care of the children is hitting him differently today. He has a mix of curiosity and slight panic running through his system, afraid his daughter had gotten into big trouble. She’s his whole world, and although raising her on his own definitely isn’t easy, it’s just as equally rewarding. She’s just like him, her personality so big and so funny for someone so little. 

“Everything is okay! I just wanted to tell you, your daughter did something today...” you started, and you can see the look in his eyes shift from panic to humor as you explain the situation from earlier today. He chuckles a little once you finish speaking, and you’re laughing too. “Ah, oh my goodness I am so sorry…” he trails off. “It’s alright, Mr. Lee, dont wo-” “Minho,” he cuts you off. “You can call me Minho,” he says, and you nod your head in agreement. “It’s okay, Minho. It actually was pretty funny..just be a little more careful around her, okay?” You giggle, and you could’ve sworn you saw his cheeks blush pink.

After that, talking to Minho when he came to pick up his daughter became a daily occurrence. It was never for long, maybe two or three minutes of conversation at a time, but it was something you looked forward to. He seemed so carefree, always coming in with a smile on his face. Each day his little girl runs to him and demands to be put on his shoulders, and he always obliges. 

It would be a lie to say you didn’t form some type of crush on the man in question. You would find yourself hiding your smile after every little interaction, and you weren’t sure how to feel about the fact that you fell for him so easily. It had been a long time since you had decided to focus on your love life, so every time you get those butterflies in your chest you’re unsure of how to react. 

Minho, on the other hand, is absolutely smitten. He never took this kind of interest in his daughter’s teachers before. He couldn’t explain it, but the feeling he gets when he witnesses his little girl run up to hug you in the mornings as you head to class fills him with a lighthearted emotion. Plus, the more he spoke to you, the more he came to find out that the two of you are fairly similar. He knew that he needed to take you out on a date. It was the only thing he could think about.

Would it be inappropriate? Absolutely. For as long as you were her teacher, there was no way he’d be able to openly express his feelings. So, he waits. He keeps his feelings at bay for the remainder of the year, waiting for summer to come so he can ask you out on an actual date. And when he does, it’s in the most unexpected way possible.

You see, Minho had a plan. Your birthday was coming up soon, and he was going to get you a small gift and a card with some cheesy pick up line, asking you to do him the honor of going to dinner with him. His daughter, however, has a (very unfiltered) mind of her own.

The summer months were in full swing, the heat and humidity taking over the town as people rode their bikes through the streets, and everyone who drove a car with their windows down, music playing at full volume. It was one of your favorite things about summer, you loved seeing everyone enjoying themselves, alongside the nostalgic feeling of freedom that comes with the warmer weather. This is why you decide one Saturday morning to get up early and head to the Farmer’s Market. The big, open air market held fond memories from your childhood, and going there to shop for your groceries became a stress reliever for you ever since you started college. The older women selling produce were the sweetest, always giving you free samples when you came round. 

Today was one of those days, the smells of spices and different street foods filling your noose as you looked at some apples at a produce stand. You pick up what seems like the perfect apple. Round, shiny, no bruises anywhere. That is, until you feel a little someone bump into your legs. 

The apple falls to the ground when you’re knocked over, and you hear a small, familiar voice give you an apology. It’s almost a shock when you hear Minho’s voice, too, as you turn around. “Oh my god, miss, I am so...Y/N?” He apologizes, stopping in his tracks when he realizes that it’s you who is standing in front of the two of them. “Oh! Minho, hello! And hi there sweetheart! It’s alright, you didn’t hurt me,” you say in a small voice, dropping down to her level so you can meet her eyes. “But I made you drop your apple! I’m really sorry,” she pouts, and your heart absolutely melts at the sweetness. “It’s okay, I can just get another one! Why don’t you help me pick it out, yeah?” You ask, and her eyes light up with their familiar brightness. 

She nods her head furiously and you laugh, picking her up when she raises her arms. You hold her on your hip and lean down just enough for her to grab a new apple to put in your bag. On the sidelines, Minho is trying so hard not to die at the sight in front of him. His daughter looks so happy, and so do you, bonding over the differences between the fruits. He just smiles as he watches in the interaction.

“This one looks perfect! Don’t you agree, sweetie?” You ask the little girl, and she giggles and takes it from your hands. “Yeah! Daddy, look at the apple~~” she says, and Minho’s attention is brought back to the girl in your arms. “Y-yes pumpkin, it looks really perfect! Red apples are a lot sweeter than green apples, they’re your favorite right? Why don’t we get some too?” Minho rambles rather quickly, and it makes you laugh as you watch him clumsily put some apples into a produce bag and hand money to the lady working at the register. 

Once you also pay for your apples, Minho invites you to come have lunch with the two of them in the picnic area. You can’t bring yourself to tell them no, so you follow them to an area of grass that is filled with families eating, playing and just enjoying the summer weather. You and Minho help his daughter with her lunch, all the while enjoying the time together, as well. It had been a while since you’d seen each other, because the little girl was no longer in your 4’s class. You spent a few hours with the two of them, and when it was time to go, his little girl scrambles into your lap before you can even make a move to get up.

“I figured something out!” She says, proudly. “Yes, dear, what is it?” Minho asks her, and you crane your head to look over at her. “I think daddy likes you, Miss Y/N,” she blurts out. Your cheeks turn pink, and Minho starts stuttering. “W-what makes you think that, love?” You ask her, and she shrugs her head, completely unbothered by the fact that the two of you look like you’ve been caught, even though nothing has happened.

“Well,” she says, determined. “Daddy talks reaaaallyyyy fast when he talks about me, or soonie doongie and dori, because he likes us a lot. And he does the same thing when he talks to you, or talks about you. I just figured that because he talks fast like that, it must mean he really likes you. Because daddy talks reeeaaally fast about you.” She says, and then goes back to eating a strawberry out of the container that Minho brought with him. The blush on your cheeks turns even darker, and Minho’s face isn’t too far behind, either. 

“Aaah, I see. You must be really smart to have figured that out, huh?” You ask her as you laugh, trying to make your nervousness go away. Minho has since taken interest in his hands, not being able to look you in the eye. “Well,” you start, getting the girl’s attention. You lean in close, but still far enough away that Minho can hear, too. “I think that I like your daddy just as much,” You “whisper” in her ear. Her eyes go wide, and Minho’s face shoots up from looking at his hands. “Really?!” The girl squeals, and you just smile and pat her head. 

“Really.”

The three of you wander the market for a little while longer, before you notice Minho’s daughter getting sleepy. Once she asks Minho to pick her up, he carries her on his back and she’s out cold within two minutes. He laughs at the snoring toddler, and looks down at the ground before he looks at you. “Did you mean it?” he asks, and you feel your heart explode when you look into his eyes. “About liking me, did you really mean it?” He repeats, and you can’t bring yourself to hide the truth anymore. “Mhm, I did mean it.” You say quietly. His smile brightens ten fold, and if he wasn’t hauling a sleeping child on his back, he would’ve taken your hand. “Well in that case, would it be out of pocket to ask you over for dinner this weekend? She’s going to a slumber party at Seungmin’s house, so we can have an actual conversation,” he asks sheepishly.

“I would love that.”

__________

The rest of the week flies by, and you can feel the nerves gathering in your stomach as you arrive at Minho’s house. Walking inside, it’s exactly how you could imagine it to be. It’s cozy, and you can definitely tell that a toddler lives there. Toys are in the living room corner, stacked neatly next to a two story dollhouse. Sippy cups align the kitchen sink, and you see cat shaped sandwich cutters sitting in the dish drainer. The sight makes you smile, as you remember cooing over the cute shapes at lunch time. 

Minho looks absolutely stunning, you think to yourself. He’s dressed casually, but his button down shirt makes his shoulders look broad and the way his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows makes your knees feel weak. He greets you with a warm smile and a small hug, leading you into the kitchen. He really pulled out all the stops for this-- candles at the center of the dining table, two glasses with red wine sitting next to empty plates as he brings the food to the table. “Wow, this looks amazing,” you tell him as you take a seat across from him, sipping your wine. “Thank you, I really hope you like it,” he laughs.

Dinner goes well, just as you expected it to. The two of you never run out of things to talk about, and the wine is definitely helping the two of you loosen up a little bit. Once dinner is over, you insist that you help with the dishes. Minho tries to decline, but you bump him out of the way with your hip, picking up a towel to dry the clean dishes with. He laughs and mimics the action, except his arm wraps around your waist in an attempt to catch you if you fall over. You feel electricity shoot through you at the action, and you turn to face him as you laugh.

He doesn’t let go, and the look in his eyes has you dropping your towel onto the kitchen counter. The air in the room feels charged, and you can’t help but reach up to wrap your arms around his neck. Everything just felt natural, with him. Like you were supposed to be this way all along. His other hand drops the dish he was holding into the sink, and he decides to wrap it around your waist instead. The feeling of finally being encapsulated in his arms makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

The two of you stay like that, for just a moment longer. It's Minho who breaks the silence first, tightening his hold on you. “Is it..is it okay if I kiss you?” he asks softly. The action is so sweet, you smile as you pull him closer to you. “Please,” you ask, right before his lips crash onto yours. The kiss is soft, slow, everything you could have wanted. His lips still taste like the wine you’ve been drinking, and it makes you want to deepen the kiss. So you do. 

Minho feels your tongue at his lips, and he immediately grants you entrance but quickly gains dominance over you. A hand of his moves from your waist up into your hair as he pushes you into the kitchen counter. Your hands roam his body, his broad shoulders and toned arms feeling like heaven under your fingertips. When your hands find his hair, you tug on it slightly and that’s enough to prompt Minho to lift you onto the counter. He’s standing between your legs, his hands falling to your hips once again. He traces light circles into the skin under your sweater as you start trailing kisses down his neck.

“I’ve been waiting so long for this,” you say breathily, and it makes Minho chuckle. “You really want this?” He asks, confirming that it’s okay for him to take it further. “I want all of it.” You say while looking him in the eyes. They darken, and you can tell that you’ve just awoken something inside the man. His hands bunch under your shirt, slowly lifting it up to reveal the royal purple bra that you were wearing. Thanking god that you chose a matching set, you take the initiative to take your sweater off the rest of the way, throwing it on a chair near the table. 

Minho wastes no time attacking your neck, biting marks near your collarbone and trailing them down towards your breast. He takes one in his hands, feeling the fabric underneath his hands and relishing in the quiet noises you’re making. His fingers ghost over your nipples, the texture of the fabric bringing you an added sensation. You subconsciously move your hips against his, feeling how hard he is through his jeans. Minho sighs, and the sound is music to your ears. You continue to move your hips against his, and Minho quickly grabs the back of your legs. “Someone’s eager, aren’t they?” he teases, telling you to hold on as he picks you up and takes you in the direction of his bedroom. His lips never leave your neck, at least not until he has you lying comfortably on top of the pillows on his bead. The look in his eyes is almost primal, and it mirrors every feeling that is running through your body in the moment.

You sit up quickly, unbuttoning his shirt slowly as you kiss each inch of exposed skin. Minho helps you as he shrugs his shirt off his shoulders, and you take in the sight of the gorgeous man sitting in front of you. You look down to his jeans and then back into his eyes, as if asking for permission. He grabs your hand and guides it to his belt, and that’s a sure fire sign that you can continue.

You expertly undo his jeans, pulling the zipper down with your teeth in a teasing way. “Fuck, baby,” he says at the sight, and his little praise just spurs you on. You move him to sit on the edge of the bed, and you sink to your knees in front of him as you pull down his jeans. His cock is something to behold-- the perfect size, pink and standing at attention. Tempting. You grab the base in your hand, and bring your tongue out to lick at the head. Minho melts into your touch, his fingers going to your hair instantly. You begin slowly, sucking on the head and using your hand to stroke the rest of his cock. It’s taking every ounce of self control from Minho to not fuck into your mouth, wanting to savor the first of hopefully many encounters with you.

You look so gorgeous on your knees for him, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you begin to sink lower onto his cock. He can feel your tongue on the underside of his dick, tracing the vein and making sure to swirl your tongue at his head with each pass you make. If you keep this up, he’s going to cum fast. 

“As much as I enjoy the feeling of your pretty little mouth, baby, I don’t want to cum inside it this time.” He says, pulling you back up onto the bed. You feel excitement rise in your chest at the idea of a “next time”. You giggle as he hovers over you, pulling you into another kiss. He can taste you on his tongue, and there’s something so inherently dirty about it that makes him impatient. 

He starts working on your jeans, undoing the buttons with ease and sliding them down your legs. He stares at the matching purple underwear that you’re in, and he chuckles darkly. “Seems like someone had something certain on their mind when getting dressed today, huh love?” He teases, tracing slow circles over your clit in a teasing way. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” you say as you try to keep your noises to a minimum. He’s going at a pace that is way too slow for your liking, but you’re not ready to beg for it. At least not yet.

“Hm? Feigning innocence now are we? That’s not very nice of you, baby. Tell me, what were you thinking when you put this on today, hm? Were you thinking that I’d take you like a good girl tonight?” He asks. His eyes never leave yours, and you try your hardest to keep your voice level. “Maybe,” you tease, and his pace quickens for just a moment, just enough to have you keening, but then he returns to the torturously slow pace. “Trying to be a brat, are we? Don’t worry, I can have that attitude fixed in no time,” he warns. You want to test him, see how far he’ll go. “Really? I don’t see you doing anything about it,” you fight back.

Bad idea.

Before you can even blink, your underwear are ripped off and thrown across the room, and Minho’s hand is now around your throat. The sweet feeling of the air leaving your lungs has you dizzy, not able to form coherent words. “Oh? Where’s that mouth of yours now huh?” He says, his tone condescending. His fingers return to your core, but this time his pace is rough and fast. You try to move, but the grip on your neck is tight. “Tell me what you want, love. Use your words,” he says. He decides to loosen his grip to let you speak.

“Please, Minho God just-just fuck me,” you finally speak out, voice shaky as your high is quickly approaching you. “That’s all the permission I need, baby doll.” He laughs as he pulls you closer to him. Reaching down, Minho grabs his cock in his hands and runs the head up and down your labia, teasing you before giving you the real thing. “You’re so wet, this is all for me right? I’m the only one who makes you feel like this?” He asks, knowing that you’re slowly losing your cool.

“Yes! Yes it’s only fo- only for you, Minho please” you beg, and it quickly turns into a moan as he enters you. Your back arches, and a low groan comes from Minho’s throat as he feels how tight you are around him. He stills for a moment, giving you time to adjust, but once you rock your hips into him even a little, he sets off at a steady pace. The feeling is euphoric, he’s stretching you in just the right places and somehow knows exactly how to make you see stars.

He’s panting, and when you whine a quiet “Harder, please,” he loses all control. Slamming into you quickly, he brings his hand back to your throat. “You’re so perfect for me, baby. Jesus. Only for me,” he says over and over again. He’s leaned close to you now, mouth against your ear and you can hear every ounce of praise that comes from his mouth. Your high is approaching, and you clench around Minho when he starts drawing fast circles on your clit once again. 

“Minho I- I’m so close, please make me cum,” you moan, and with a certain swivel of his hips he’s hitting a spot that’s making you see stars. “Cum for me then, baby. Let me feel you,” he says, quickening his pace once again, so fast you didn’t think it was possible.

The only sounds in the room are skin slapping and your labored breathing, moans loud as you finally feel the knot in your core tighten and then burst. His name leaves your lips in a long, drawn out whine, and you feel him fill you up not long after your orgasm starts wearing off. He’s panting in your ear, grip tightening around your throat once again as you feel him spill into you. 

Riding out both of your highs, Minho’s thrusts slowly come to a stop. The two of you lay there, basking in the glow of the events that just unfolded. You stay like that for a few minutes, and then Minho gets up to run the shower, placing a kiss on your forehead as he leaves the bedroom.

You end up going for another round in the shower, and then straight to bed as the two of you are too worn out to do anything else.

You wake up the next morning in one of his tshirts, and you can smell pancakes being made in the kitchen. You look over and realize that Minho is no longer next to you, and you smile as you hear the radio playing and a sweet voice singing along. 

Aware that his daughter could be coming home at any minute, you throw your own jeans on as you walk into the kitchen, Minho’s shirt still falling off your shoulder. Quietly padding behind him, he jumps as you wrap your arms around his waist. “Good morning,” you giggle, and he quickly turns to place a kiss on your cheek. “Good morning to you too, doll.” He says. The name brings back memories of last night and you feel a blush on your cheeks. 

You help him finish making pancakes, and when the front door opens, you hear little feet making their way to the kitchen, followed by the sound of Seungmin’s voice. “Hey, Minho I figured I’d stop in and say hi since I’m dropping off your- oh. Hello.” Seungmin says as he sees you at the counter with said man. “Hi,” you say quietly, giggling at his expression. “Y/N!!!!!!!!!!” you hear from behind him. You lean over and see Minho’s daughter coming at you full force. You quickly scoop her up into your arms, spinning her around as her bright laugh fills the room. It makes Minho’s heart explode, and he immediately feels embarrassed as he looks over at Seungmin. “I’m not judging, good for you bro.” The younger man says, sticking out his fist for Minho to bump. He laughs, but does it anyway, his attention turning back to your and his daughter.

“Are you here to have breakfast with us?!?! Daddy makes the best pancakes!!” The girl exclaims, and you laugh as you look over to Minho, sharing a secret glance.

“I sure am, sweetheart.”  

________________________________________________________________

Masterlist

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Silly Little Symphony - Bakugou Katsuki

Track 1: Paralyzer- Finger Eleven

—/—

Bakugou is not a fan of half-assing things.

He hates it, despises it actually. Bakugou feels like anything worth doing deserves 100% effort, and if you give it any less than that you might as well not even attempt it in the first place. That’s his motto and that’s what he sticks with and that’s what he’s doing right now, too. Obviously.

Except- why does it feel like he has to convince himself?

It’s like there’s this lingering feeling in his mind that he’s taking the easy way out. That he’s taking the cheater’s way out, but it’s- there’s just no other choice, alright?

Bakugou knows he’s a brave guy, knows that he could shred anything he set his sights on, but by that very same logic, he’s knows even more that he’s not a very soft guy. His feelings for you are his feelings, and yes he might acknowledge them, but that doesn’t mean he could ever communicate them delicately. Even when he runs fantasy scenarios in his head, the words still come out all wrong. They’re too loud and too brash and too forceful and you always end up offended.

Bakugou doesn’t want you to end up offended- at leasy more than you already have. So, he quickly decided on a different method of communication.

A playlist.

A playlist full of songs that convey what he’s been wanting to, but also sound angry and scary and tough- because he’s a tough guy who listens to nothing but rock and punk and metal, and has definitely has not searched up songs with your name in the title before, and has definitely not then added those songs to his library. Because that’s ridiculous and soft, and like determined before, Bakugou Katsuki is not soft.

What he actually is, is a guy with a playlist full of specially-curated songs. And a guy with absolutely no idea how to give them to you.

The thing is, he’s read manga and watched movies and read all sorts of articles about these types of confessions (not that he’d ever admit that), but none of those felt like him. He was not a smooth talker or a brazen flirt or even just a kind guy- no, Bakugou was mean and loud, and he knew full well that he’d much sooner be cast as the antagonist than the romantic lead.

So all of that was a problem, and then you also currently didn’t even like him. You made it very clear, though every sneer and comment and biting comeback, that only feeling you held for him was begrudging respect- and even that was only on the battlefield. Once he stepped out of the hero uniform than you were back to hating him, and he only made it worse with every childish insult he threw your way. Bakugou knew it was a stupid way to get your attention, but it was also the most efficient one; and he was a man of efficiency.

So that left him here- pining the same way he had been for weeks, staring down into a playlist full of songs he couldn’t figure out how to play for you.

He sneaks a look at you, red eyes just barely skimming over top of the bus seats. You’re sitting a few rows ahead, sharing a snack with Tsuyu.

Bakugou thinks you’re stupid. He thinks you’re stupid for eating junk food right before a day of training, and he thinks you’re stupid for choosing to sit all the way in front like a nerd, and most of all he thinks you’re stupid for sharing your snack with that damn frog face when he’s right there. And obviously much better in every comparable, concievable way. Obviously.

Bakugou presses his headphones more securely into ears, and slouches down deep into his seat. All he can see now is the back of the seat, and he thinks that’s a better alternative. At least it won’t piss him off- not like the sight of you, sitting up front and laughing where he can’t hear, will.

With a grunt, he hits shuffle on his playlist, turning the volume to max. He closes his eyes dropping his head against the window. Drum fills and a guitar riff flood his ears, and he’s relaxing a bit, sinking into the sound, and all is well and good until-

Well just look at that girl with the lights coming up in her eyes. She's got to be somebody's baby.

God dammit.

Fuck Phantom Planet. Bakugou thinks. Fuck them.

Then he’s growling as he hits the skip button, throwing his phone onto the seat next to him.

—/—

As it turns out, all Bakugou needed was to beat the ever-loving shit out of something.

Cracking his palms and shaking his limbs, Bakugou launches at another robot. He thinks the machines feel weak under his explosions, almost offensively feeble in their construction. Like all of U.A’s staff went braindead that morning- like they couldn’t even bother to cook him up a worthy opponent.

When Bakugou looks around, that’s clearly not a shared statement. There’s the usual standouts of course, stupid deku and stupid icyhot and even stupid dunce face is doing well for once, but the rest of them are average. Mediocre. Completely and utterly inferior to him- and then you enter.

Your quirk, blink, is a bit useless in this scenario, but you’re not letting that stop you. There’s purpose in your movements, quick and controlled actions as you strap your home-made bombs around the base of each robot’s leg. Machines don’t blink, so you’re shit out of luck for your main speed ability, but your training makes up the difference. With practiced ease you’ve darted out from beneath the robot’s feet, and then you’re hitting the detonate on your remote.

Bakugou thinks you look unreasonably fucking cool as you sprint away from the blast. So cool in fact, that he might even consider your tech explosions as cool as his quirk ones. Maybe.

Bakugou wipes his palms, muffling a yawn. He’d blown up all his assigned robots ages ago, and now was left kicking rocks and generally doing nothing.

This training was supposed to act as a benchmark test- the idea was to drop a similar opponent into the ring, one that emulated the entrance exam, to test how far everyone had come since the beginning of the semester. It could’ve been good in theory, but Bakugou thought it was just a waste of time. Robot’s were easy for him then and they sure as hell were easy for him now.

Still though, he was the first one to kill all his robots, so not all was lost. Bakugou still walked away a winner and that meant he was feeling much better than earlier.

Smirking with shameless pride, Bakugou saunted to the exit area. More students began to file in after him, and he kept mostly quiet, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut when you walked past him.

“Fuckin’ fifth? With your overpowered-ass quirk?” He sneers, voice loud. “Waste of talent.”

Bakugou watches spin on your heels, watches your face melt into something deadly. You’re storming towards him, and he can’t even think past hoping you’d get a little closer.

“Robot’s don’t fucking blink, you jackass.” You’re red in the face and glaring, hands curling into fists at your sides. “You try getting. anything done without your quirk. Asshole.”

Then you’re stomping away, hardly giving him a second look as you cheer on your friends.

Bakugou can’t even begin to decipher what possessed him, to say those words, but he’s also not surprised. His words always come out wrong and he can’t say anything nice without wanting to scratch away his skin.

What he really wanted to say was that you were impressive even without your quirk. That you were admirably smart and tactical and well-prepared with your own bombs, and he thought that you looked really hot sprinting away from the wreckage- but that’s not what he said. Of course that’s not what he said.

Well, there goes his good mood. No amount of previous wins could ever distract him from how much of a loss that interaction was.

Eventually the rest of the class finishes, and then they’re all gathering breathless and tired back to the bus. Unfortunately, Kaminari fried himself completely and Mineta managed to break an ankle and that meant that they needed their own seats. That also meant that two people who had their own seats on the ride there, would now be sharing on the way back.

As shitty luck would have it, the class chose drawing straws as the deciding factor, and even worse than that, Bakugou got the shortest straw. The day was already shaping up to be pretty frustrating, but when you pulled the second-shortest straw it got even worse.

“We can always share instead, L/n!” Tsuyu’s says, hand on your shoulder and voice mediating. “Really. I don’t mind.”

Bakugou watched you sigh for a moment, and then you’re turning your head towards him. Your eyes meet his and Bakugou can’t help the smirk that rolls across his face- you’re looking at him and paying attention to him and even if it’s just you making a point he still likes that attention. He watches you squint your eyes at him in response, voice hard and steely as you speak to Tsuyu.

“No. It’s alright. We picked staws, and fair is fair.” Your squint morphs into a glare. “And besides, I’m not gonna let that smug bastard throw a fit into getting out of this.”

The statement should piss him off, and if anyone else said it it would’ve, but Bakugou finds it does the opposite. It just reaffirms how brave you are and how you’re not scared of him like everyone else is and how much he likes you for it- not that he’d ever tell you any of those things.

To save face, Bakugou instead pretends to be pissed about your words, his palms popping and crackling as he glares right back. He hopes it looks like a genuine threat and not a panic reaction, because really he just thinks you look so cool talking back to him directly like that and he definitely doesn’t know what to do with that. So instead he does what always works; what always makes him feel better when he gets a feeling too big to handle- he preps to blow shit up.

“Calm down, man. It’s just a seat.” Kirishima comes up behind him, pressing a water bottle into Bakugou’s crackling palms. “Here, take this and please don’t blow up the bus. Or L/n. That’d be so totally not heroic of you.”

“Shut the hell up.”

“No I’m serious, dude. Chill out, okay? L/n’s actually pretty nice once you get to know her.”

“I said, shut the hell up, Shitty Hair!” Bakugou barks, gritting his teeth.

Then he’s shoving his palms into his pockets, leaving Kirishima and the water behind, and stalking towards the bus before anyone else does. Bakugou figures that if he’s got to share a seat, then at least he’s going to be the one sat next to the window. He’ll make sure of it.

Still, there’s something sitting heavy in his stomach though- how does Kirishima know you’re nice?

The comment made his blood boil. Bakugou thinks it’s strange because usually he’s pretty tolerant of his friend, and even finds himself enjoying his company sometimes, but those words pissed Bakugou off. Pissed him off a lot.

”Wow, don’t look so goddamn thrilled.” You say sardonically, and Bakugou watches you drop into the seat next to him. “Might accidentally think you tolerate me, blasty.”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that. Useless extra.”

Bakugou wants to smash his head into a wall- because why the fuck did he just say that?

Oh yeah, because apparently his jealousy was plastered all over his face, clear enough for you to comment on it. And even if you didn’t know that’s what the expression was, he’d still rather bite your head clean off than admit it was there in the first place.

“Yeah, whatever. I don’t want to fight.” You say, clenching your jaw as you settle back into the seat. “Look, it’ll be easier for both of us if we don’t talk, so I’ll just sit here and not bother you, alright?”

“Fine. Shut the hell up then.”

Once again, Bakugou wants to obliterate himself.

He doesn’t know why he can’t just tell you- why he can’t just say that he wants you to keep talking to him and that he wants you to keep snarking back at him. Why he can’t just say that he thinks your voice is one of the least grating ones in the whole class.

He thinks all of those things, but says none. Instead he keeps a fist clenched as his sides, scowling as he pulls out his headphones. He makes an intentional effort not to play your playlist and instead hits shuffle on all his music. He’d hoped that the loud drums and guitars would settle his emotions, but they didn’t. Nearly 10 minutes have passed and Bakugou’s as riled up as ever, but he’s also now completely convinced you’re trying to kill him.

You’re shifting in your seat, your arms extending out as you slip on your jacket. There’s little room, and every time you shuffle the sleeves to adjust them, you’re knocking your shoulders into his.

Then you stop.

You just stop and you go still and his skin isn’t tingling anymore and Bakugou is all kinds of pissed all over again. Because of you he’s nervous and flustered and you have the audacity to just sit there, unaffected. He has to snarl just to keep himself from blushing when he speaks.

“Why the fuck were you touching me?”

“It’s a small seat and I was putting on a jacket.” You reply, short and clipped. “I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”

“Tch. Just don’t do it again. And shut up the fuck up already.”

“You- you talked to me first!”

“And? Who the fuck cares?” Bakugou grunts, turning the volume of his music up. “Now shut up.”

Jesus christ. Bakugou thinks to himself. Maybe I should just blow myself up for once.

Another few minutes pass, and Bakugou swears he’s really is dying. You’re still so close to him and he’s feeling very, very flustered, and while he doesn’t love the idea that you’re mad at him, he can’t say he hates the look on your face right now either. You’ve got your jaw clenched and your eyebrows set low and your hands are balled into fists as you steadfastly ignore him. Bakugou thinks you look scary- fucking terrifying.

He likes terrifying.

“Hey.” You suddenly nudge him with your shoulder, pointing to his earbuds. “I can hear it- your music. Turn it down.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Because that’s basic courtesy.”

“What the fuck makes you think I have that, hah?”

“Oh my god, you’re fucking impossible.” You rolls your eyes, heaving a frustrated sigh. “Listen, if you’re gonna keep it up that loud then at least skip that song. It’s shit.”

Bakugou glances down at his screen.

Fucking Nickleback.

Jesus, could his day get any worse?

“Shut the hell up.” He snaps, squinting his eyes. “What the fuck do you know about good music? You don’t know shit.”

“I know that song sucks, so skip it. If you’re gonna accost me with loud music at least make it good.” You bite back, and then Bakugou watches as your face melts into an easy smirk. “Unless... all your music is that terrible?”

“Sounds like you’re pickin’ a fuckin’ fight!”

“I am, you asshole!”

Bakugou doesn’t know when the two of you got so close, but now you’re only inches away. He’s got his palms up and you’ve got your lips pulled back into a snarl and suddenly the bus seat seems so much smaller. It’s so much smaller and all Bakugou can think about is the red in your cheeks and the fire in your eyes and how much he likes the sight of both.

“Just skip the song or turn it down.” You finally huff, falling back in your seat, and all Bakugou can think about is how that breathe would’ve been on his cheek if it was two seconds ago.

Bakugou is mad. He’s mad at you and your stupid witch powers that leave the air feeling cold and your stupid breaths that he can’t stop focusing on and your stupid comment. Your stupid comment that had his blood burning in his veins and irritation settling in his temple.

Bakugou listened to cool music, okay? Cool, loud music for cool, loud guys. You just insulted that, insulted him so this wasn’t just a means of confessing feelings anymore, it was a pride thing and that’s why he says what he said next. It’s definitely not because this was the golden chance he’d been waiting for.

“My music is fuckin’ good.” He growls, and then he’s yanking an earbud out and shoving it towards you. “I’ll fucking show you. Now shut up and listen.”

“So goddamn pushy, jesus.”

“You gonna fuckin’ take it or not?”

“Oh my god. Fine.”

Bakugou watches you fit the earbud into your ear, his mouth set into a determined line. He knew he’d fucked up every other part of this conversation, monumentally fucked them up even, but he wouldn’t mess this up. He was prepared and this was the chance he was waiting for. Only an absolute idiot could mess this up and Bakugou Katsuki was not an idiot.

So he plays the first song he’d added to your playlist. Paralyzer.

To his surprise, you start nodding your head almost immeadiately. You know this song. The drum fill starts and then you’re looking over at him, giving him the tiniest little smirk of approval.

“Not bad, blasty.”

“Fucking told ya.” He can’t help the pride that swells in him at your validation. It’s warm and heavy in his chest, nearly drawing a smile out of him- and then he remembers he’s supposed to be mad. “And I told you, don’t fucking call me that.”

“I’ll call you by your name when you call me by mine.”

“Wipe the smirk off your stupid fucking face,” Bakugou growls. “Or I’ll blast it off.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes! Fuckin’ try me, extra!”

“Okay.” You huff a laugh at him. “Don’t blink then. Champ.”

Then you’re raising your hand, shoving it in his face and snapping before he can stop you. Bakugou flinches out of reflex and by the time he’s opened his eyes, you’ve already used your super-speed ability.

You’re sitting back against the seat, calm and collected and smirking, with both of Bakugou’s earbuds in your ears. You’ve got his phone in your hand and he watches you twist the cord around your finger, cross your legs casually and he’s stunned. He’s pissed that you got the better of him, but he also just really thinks you’re hot when you’ve won. He watches in dazed silence as you turn up the volume on his phone to max.

Well I'm not paralyzed, but I seem to be struck by you. I want to make you move because you're standing still.

Bakugou decides two things in that moment: One, he fucking hates Finger Eleven. And two, he wants to blow the entire fucking bus to smithereens.

—/—

eee i hope u all enjoy, but especially u @bakugouswh0r3 and @definitelynottrin :))

[mc-lukanette]

Ladybug had long since gotten used to the monotony of her superhero life, though perhaps it was more accurate to say that she'd gone numb to it. There were only so many akuma one could take without seeing it as something formulaic, and she'd seen more than she could count.

Even when she went out on patrol, she didn't think about it, merely hopping to wherever the next rooftop was and surveying the area. Thinking about the life she'd been roped into wasn't productive and only succeeded in making her imagine unnecessary what-ifs. Paris didn't need that kind of hero; they needed one devoid of attachment or longing.

And the more time passed, the more she tried to be exactly that.

In the midst of her patrol that particular day, late into the night as it always was, she stopped as she suddenly heard the sound of a guitar. Granted, it wasn't rare for her to hear someone blasting music or playing an instrument in the evening, but there was something inherently familiar about the way the guitar was being played.

Deep down, she knew that there was only one person who could play guitar like that.

Ladybug turned her head towards the source of the sound, her heart involuntarily skipping a beat when she saw him, sitting on the balcony of a house she didn't recognize.

Luka. He was just as she remembered: the highlights, the guitar, and the gentle blue eyes.

Ladybug sat on her heels, staring down at him curiously. How long had it been since she'd seen him? She knew it had to have been at least a few years, though she didn't know the exact amount.

She wondered if that was his house. She wondered if the guitar in his arms was brand new or was cared for with years of love and attention. She wondered if he chose the balcony because he was playing for the night itself.

She wondered how he'd been doing since she'd cut him and everyone else out of her life.

Almost as if he'd sensed her, Luka suddenly glanced up to the rooftop she was on, his fingers bringing the song to a sudden end. She stiffened, just as his eyebrows rose at the sight of her.

He glanced down at his guitar, seeming to make the connection, then smiled up at her. Raising the volume of his voice so she'd hear, he asked, "Do you want a front-row seat, Ladybug?"

She blushed lightly, standing up and waving her hands dismissively. "Uh—no, I'm just passing by!"

But she couldn't deny that he looked really inviting sitting there, and he had already noticed and spoken to her. She debated with herself for a good few seconds before deciding that a small conversation would be okay.

Patrols were supposed to be unpredictable in timing, after all, or else people could plan around them. Getting a little side-tracked helped with that, she supposed.

She took a few steps back, then took a running leap onto the balcony that Luka was seated at, just barely missing the table and chairs next to her. Glancing over at his welcoming smile, she put on her best superhero demeanor and simply asked, "Have you seen anything strange going on recently?"

He shook his head, though his expression didn't change. "I haven't." He looked down at the neck of his guitar, running his hand along it. "Sorry I can't be of more help."

"Oh! No, it's okay!" She frowned. She knew he meant patrol, but she couldn't help thinking of when his identity had been compromised. "...It's Viperion, right?"

He seemed pleasantly surprised. "I'm glad you remember."

She bit back the ’of course I do’ and opted for a more formal, "It's part of the job. Even if I can't call on certain heroes anymore, I always remember them." She glanced at his guitar. "It's the same with your music, isn't it?"

He chuckled. "You could say that."

He played a quick melody that she recognized but didn't dare put a name to. She'd only arrived to talk, not to be reminded of the past, so she averted her gaze to the fence around the balcony, idling running her fingers along the railing.

Reminded of one of her earlier musings, she commented, "This is a nice place. Is it yours?"

He hummed with a nod. "I bought it a few weeks ago."

That explained why she'd never heard him play there before. "And the balcony?" She paused in thought, realizing after a moment, "I guess it's no replacement for playing on a deck, but it's the closest you can get to it?"

"Mm." He leaned his chair back, propping his feet up on the railing. "It's something. Nothing will ever beat the Liberty though."

She understood to some degree. She'd moved out of the bakery as soon as she could and it took time to stop missing the warmth and scents. "But you're happy at least?"

"Yeah," he replied, though the look on his face was less "happy" than she would've expected from him. She supposed it was her memory failing her, given all their time away from each other.

"What about you?"

Her shoulder went stiff. "W-what?" Did he really just ask her for personal—

"Are you happy too?" he clarified, offering her a smile. "You deserve to be."

She relaxed, though turned back to the fence to look at the night sky instead of him. It might've been a long time since they'd seen each other, but she was afraid that he'd read her somehow.

Happy. She supposed that it depended on the definition one might use for it.

"...I'm happy that Paris is happy under my watch," she finally answered. Eyes giving off a hint of a sparkle, she added, "I'm happy that it's safe enough for musicians like you to stay up past their bedtime to play me songs."

That earned her a chuckle, and she couldn't help turning back to him to see what his face looked like. If it made her feel happy at all, she didn't acknowledge it, the only hint being the wide smile on her face.

Luka had always been a special case. He was so unlike everyone else she knew, not only in the way he acted, but how he treated her. While she was never able to figure out how she felt about him, there was a gentle tug he had on her that she couldn't deny.

Not that she missed him though. She didn't, and she wasn't lonely either.

She wasn't lonely at all.

After his brief giggling fit was over, Luka dropped his feet from the railing, settling his chair back down before getting up. He turned, walking to the sliding glass door and pushing it open. "Do you want a drink before you go?"

She tilted her head at him. "A drink? Are you sure?"

In response, he slipped inside, the gentle tug urging her to follow after him. She was hesitant, but supposed it'd be rude to refuse him, so she walked into his house and closed the glass door behind her.

She couldn't help smiling at the casual way he'd simply invited a superhero into his house.

The living room and kitchen weren't separated by any wall, Luka heading towards the latter from the former after setting his guitar back on its stand. Ladybug took a look at her surroundings, noting that it wasn't unlike his room on the Liberty. Anarka was messy, Juleka was more controlled, and Luka himself was cleanest just out of not having a ton of belongings.

There were a few instruments, of course, but she also noticed the same Jagged Stone poster from back in the day. In addition, there were two pictures hanging on the wall, one of his family and one of the time she'd taken a photo of Kitty Section for their contest entry. The family picture seemed to be from a time she wasn't around him for, as he looked older than how she'd remembered.

Luka called from the kitchen, "What do you like?"

She turned to him. "Oh, tea's fine, thank you." Then, approaching the photos, she observed aloud, "You must be really close to your family and friends."

"I am," he replied, a smile in his voice. "Are you? You care so much about Paris that—"

"No," she cut in. "I don't have anyone like that." She could tell that Luka was thrown off and continued, "It's for the best."

Luka didn't reply, an awkward silence stretching on. She looked over at him, wondering if maybe he was pitying her, but he was occupying himself with making her tea. She turned away, walking over to his couch and taking a seat on it.

A few minutes passed. Luka returned to her with two mugs and offered her one. She took it, giving him a grateful nod, but waited until he sat down next to her to say, "You think it's strange."

"No," Luka assured. "I'm just surprised. I've never been alone, so I don't know how it must be for you." He took a sip of his drink, then stared thoughtfully into the mug. "...And everyone already knows about Chat Noir having a girlfriend."

She shrugged. "Chat Noir can afford to blurt out those kinds of things; to have those kinds of things. He doesn't have the responsibilities that I do."

On a basic level, she knew that she should've left it there. She'd held everything in for so long that she could do it for a few minutes longer, at least as long as she was staying there.

But it was always different with Luka. With Luka, all of her secrets and pent-up emotion grew wings and fluttered around her stomach like a swarm of her magical ladybugs, begging to come out and heal some unknown damage. Any attempt to drown them by sipping Luka's tea just made them fly faster.

"...It was too exhausting," she finally admitted.

Luka glanced over, giving her his attention.

She continued, "I used to have them, but it drained me. It was too much and I couldn't balance it with my hero life. It felt like I was always doing something for someone and I couldn't do it anymore without risking Paris."

He didn't respond verbally at first, but let out a sympathetic hum. He took another, much longer sip of his drink, and all Ladybug could think was, Not you though. You weren't that way.

"I wish it hadn't been like that for you," he told her, setting his drink down. "That's not how it's supposed to be, and it's never been that way for me."

She went to reply - to tell him it was okay and he shouldn't worry - when she noticed a somber expression wash over his face. He averted his gaze from her, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone.

Ladybug breathed up when she noticed his phone's wallpaper: it was her, in civilian form, next to him, back when they were teenagers. She swallowed, seeing the soft look in his eyes even as he frowned, and wondered what exactly they'd talked about that made him think to pull out the image of her on his phone.

She'd tried not to think about it when she saw the pictures earlier, but apparently he still thought about her after all.

"Ah—" She leaned over, trying not to be obvious about what she was feeling. "Is that... your girlfriend?"

He glanced over at her, brows raised, then relaxed and shook his head. Managing a sad smile, he replied, "No. She knew I was interested in her, but I never got a reply; I never asked for one. I haven't talked to her for years either. She just left one day."

She stared down at her lap, running her free hand along her leg. "She—um—sounds unreliable. It was cruel of her to abandon you. Didn't that hurt?"

He looked at his phone a moment longer, then set it down on the table. Leaning back, he tilted his head up at the ceiling and replied, "Not like that. Marinette doesn't do anything without a reason, and I trust her. I—" He sighed. "—I was hurt because I wished that she would've relied on me."

Ladybug gaped, blurting out, "You wanted her to rely on you more?" She covered her mouth as she realized what she'd said. "I-I mean, ah..." She tried to figure out a way to salvage it, but curiosity won over. "Why?"

"I wanted to see her happy," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "and I was happy to be the one she went to. It meant that she trusted me more than anyone else."

Suddenly, Ladybug recognized the look in his eyes. It was the same look he gave her when he held her hands while they were ice skating together, and the same look he had on when he confessed. She didn't understand it.

"But," she began, trying to pull herself out of her speechless stupor, "you thought she didn't return your feelings? Wasn't it a bother?"

The soft gaze gone, he jolted up, looking at her like she'd offended him. "Marinette didn't owe me anything, and her happiness doesn't mean less to me because she didn't feel the way I did. She didn't take advantage of me and her relying on me isn't suddenly a bother because we never dated. I cared about her, and I didn't need anything else out of making her feel better."

She blushed, both from the intensity of his words and the embarrassment from feeling as though she was being scolded. Unable to meet his eyes anymore, she stared down at her tea, drinking it slowly at first and then scarfing it down when she realized that it'd gone cold.

She wondered how many times he'd had to tell people that, given the way he so actively jumped on what she'd said. It wasn't that he sounded wrong, but...

wow.

"I-I'm sorry," she managed. "I didn't mean to make it seem like..." She trailed off, biting her bottom lip.

Luka breathed out, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's okay." He averted his gaze, meaning neither of them were looking at each other anymore. "Marinette had a lot to deal with. She cared about everything and had so much talent. I can't imagine how suffocating it was to be known by so many celebrities and have so many expectations put on her." His hand twitched, then curled into a fist. "That's why it puts me so out of tune when I see people talking about us like I was doing all the work or that I shouldn't care as much because she might love someone else."

Ladybug always thought that relationships were a give-and-take, and they were, but it hadn't occurred to her that maybe she'd misconstrued what the "taking" part entailed. When she'd initially decided to cut off everyone, including Luka, it was because she wanted a completely clean break; to be separated from every person she'd put time into so she could focus on being Ladybug. It'd hurt, of course, but she'd gotten over it, hoping to put Paris as her top priority.

Luka had been an afterthought in a way, because she'd presumed that he would've done so much better without her there. She honestly believed that she was doing what was best for both herself and him, since everything she'd been taught implied that she was only troubling him.

Perhaps there was such a thing as "foolish selflessness" then, where she'd focused so much on what she thought might be best for him without actually confirming it. She thought she could be sure based on what she'd experienced before, but she couldn't.

There was no one else quite like Luka, it seemed.

"...How did you know?" she asked, peeking up at him.

Luka looked over, blinking at her. "Know what?"

"That—" She took a breath, knowing that she was in too deep to back out now. "That you were in love with her?"

His eyes went wide. She grew sheepish, pulling her empty mug closer to her face like she was ready to hide behind it.

"If it's too personal, that's okay. I've just—never seen someone as sure as you are."

After a few seconds, Luka calmed, his expression turning thoughtful. He stared straight ahead of him, looking at nothing in particular, then finally smiled.

"Maybe it's because I didn't grow up with a normal family," he mused, "but I've always thought about love differently."

She tilted her head at him. "How so?" Then, hesitantly, she suggested, "Do you mean you're not really in love with her romantically?"

"No, I am," he stated, and so bluntly that she started blushing again, "but it was never about that for me."

He eyed his phone, though it'd already gone dark from being idle. "Dating, marriage... those aren't things I think about when I see Marinette." He smiled, the softness in his eyes coming back. "Of course I'd be happy going however far she wanted with those, but I don't think loving someone should be about worrying about things like that."

"Really?" She leaned towards him. "Then, what do you think when you see her?"

He met her gaze, accidentally directing that softness her way. For a moment, it was like she was her civilian self, and it was impossible not to feel loved.

"That I want to be with her," Luka answered, "forever, if she'd let me. Whether we're friends or lovers, I want to be able to make her happy and let her rely on me. If there's something bothering her, I want her to know that I'll listen, no matter what it's about. I want her to be comfortable and not worry about what I'll think, because she knows I won't judge her." He placed a hand to his heart, gaze dropping to the couch. "That's love to me."

Ladybug absorbed that, but was unable to say anything coherent outside of, "Oh," her heart doing a flip in her chest.

He chuckled. "I know it might sound weird. You don't have to—"

"No," she cut in, voice softer than intended. She swallowed, her tone returning to normal as she assured, "I think it's really sweet. I wish that I—I mean, I wish that more people could hear that sort of thing. It's touching."

He hummed, staring at her with a look of content. "Thank you." Eyes drifting downwards, he held his hand out and asked, "Do you want me to take that?"

"What?" She looked, only now remembering her empty mug. "Oh, yeah, thanks."

She handed it to him, and Luka took both mugs back to the kitchen to put them in the sink. She watched him, feeling all too much and once and not knowing how to process it.

The idea of it being so simple had never occurred to her; that things like rejection or marriage or children suddenly wouldn't matter, and being content just loving and being with a person was where true happiness lied. She was used to being dragged around towards someone, insisting that her love from long ago had to be a certain way, and that any exceptions would make it imperfect.

The force of it caused her nothing but pain and anxiety, and the "love" she felt was all the more fake for it.

What she had for - with - Luka wasn't like that though. She knew it from the start, but didn't know what it meant.

Luka's wasn't forceful; it was the gentle tug she'd felt and needed all along. Suddenly, everything made sense.

"...I should probably go," she admitted, glancing over at the window. "I need to get back to patrol."

The wind in her face would probably do her good. She had a lot to think about.

Luka came back from the kitchen, heading for the sliding glass doors and picking up his guitar on the way. "You probably should. Thanks for coming in for a while though." He was apologetic as he added, "You deserved the break, but I'm sorry if things got a little heavy for you."

"Not at all," she assured, pushing herself up and walking to stand next to him. She smiled at him, acknowledging, "I think it was just heavy enough, actually."

It was Luka, so of course he didn't prod or ask questions; he just returned her smile with his own.

She passed him, partway into the doorframe before something occurred to her. She glanced back at him, his smile turning into a lopsided frown as he didn't seem to know what she was thinking. Placing a hand on the frame of the glass door, close to where his hand still was, she leaned towards him and kissed his cheek.

She grinned as she pulled away, admiring the way his brows rose in surprise. Giggling, she whispered, "For good luck," promptly turning away and hopping onto the fence.

She then leapt away, continuing the patrol that she'd put on hold. Even though she hadn't looked back at him when she left, his face was vivid in her mind as she beamed, the adrenaline from patrol unable to compete with the way her heart had already been pounding.

I want to be with you.

—————

Marinette

Luka?

...Please tell me you didn't change your number. I might die of embarrassment if you did.

Luka

Marinette?

Marinette

Luka!

Thank goodness.

Luka

Did something happen?

Marinette

No!

Yes?

...Look, I know this probably sounds really out of nowhere and it won't make a lot of sense, but I was thinking about you.

I have been for a while.

I know I have a lot of explaining to do, but can I take you out somewhere? Not as an apology, even though I'm really sorry, but because I want to.

You don't have to say "yes."

You don't have to want to talk to me ever again either.

Luka

...What if I want to do all of those?

Marinette

Oh.

Then... I guess it'd be a date?

Luka

Just me and you?

Marinette

Yeah. Just you and me.

Mostly me.

Because I'll be paying and I don't want to hear one word of complaint out of you.

Alright?

Luka

Ha. Alright.

It's a date.

Marinette

Yes!

Luka

I have to warn you though, Marinette.

Marinette

About what?

Luka

I'm going to be smiling a lot when we meet up. I hope that's okay.

Marinette

That's what you're worried about??

Don't.

I will be too.

[gamergirl929]

You Had A Bad Day (Alex Morgan x Reader)

@kweens14 Request: hi! can u do alex morgan x reader where r is just having a bad day and alex just helps her and it's all cute and fluffy? thanks!! :)) love your work

Thank you so much love, I hope you enjoy the fluff and stuffs. ❤️❤️

You hit the ground with a dull thud, the ball you’d just slammed at goal hitting the goal post before flying right back at you, busting you in the face.

You cover your bleeding nose with your palms, your cheeks flushed bright red.

A number of fans pointed towards you, laughing, along with a number of your teammates and members of the opposing team as well.  

Alex rushes towards you with a frown, cupping your cheeks.

“Hey, it’s okay, let me see.”

You shake your head.

“Everyone is laughing…” You mumble, tears welling up in your Y/E/C orbs from more than just pain.

Alex snarls sending a deadly glare to everyone on the pitch, shutting each and every one of them up.

Alex frowns at the sight of your tears, the woman cupping your cheeks.

“It’s okay.” She coos, sighing in relief when the final whistle blows, signaling the end of the game.

“Thank fuck.” She mumbles as the medical team makes their way towards you to deal with your profusely bleeding nose.  

                                                          ***

Alex drops into the empty seat beside you on the bus, giving you a small smile, one you half heartedly return.

“I can’t believe you fouled yourself.” Kelley snorts, Alex’s nostrils flaring as she sticks her foot out, tripping the defender who falls to the floor with a dull thud.

“What the hell Morg-

Kelley stopped midsentence when she sees the look on your face.

She clears her throat.

“Sorry Y/N.” She frowns, earning a wordless nod.

The defender ruffles your hair before dropping down in the seat behind you.

Kelley’s eyes widen when she sees Sonnett, the blonde’s eyes almost immediately finding you.

“Nice nose rudol-

Emily crashes to the floor, again, courtesy of Alex Morgan’s foot.

You turn away, head down as the bus begins to move, heading to the hotel where you could hide away in your room.

                                                          ***

Fans were having a hay day, gifs and memes all over your Twitter, some choosing to make fun of you with some pretty colorful language.

Tears slide down your cheeks as you climb into bed, under your blankets, shielding you from the world around you.

Still, you clutch your phone tightly, examining each and every post, a number of fans calling you a 'dumbass' or ‘nothing but a fucking idiot.’  

Some fans decided to use the post as a time to promote others in the NWSL who they said would be better players than you.

You drop your phone, burying your face in your pillow, tear tracks prominent on your cheeks as you eventually fall asleep.

                                                          ***

Alex makes her way into the hotel room, frowning when she sees a lump under the blankets on your bed.

She tosses her things on her bed and takes a seat beside you, the woman sighing sadly.

Reluctantly, she decides to take a shower before waking you, the woman at least wanting to give you some solace in the world of dreams, away from the fan's mocking.

                                                          ***

The sweet smell of coconut oil is the first thing you notice as you wake, the second thing being that someone’s arms are wrapped around you.

Your eyes flash open, cheeks flushing when you realize the arms belong to none other than, Alex Morgan.  

You’re about to shuffle away, but before you can, she tightens her hold on you.

“No…” She grumbles, nose crinkling in her sleep and you smile, settling back into her embrace.  

You bury your face in Alex’s chest, the woman’s eyes fluttering open.

“How’s your nose?” Alex whispers, cupping your cheeks she can examine your bruised face.

Alex frowns at the purple skin, noting the way you avert your gaze.

Alex smiles.

“Fans used to make fun of me for how I ran…” She huffs and your brows arch.

“Baby horse?” You ask, the forward rolling her eyes.

“Don’t rub it in.” She pouts and you giggle.

“Come on, it’s adorable just like you.”

Your eyes widen as you glance away, missing the fact that Alex’s cheeks have flushed just as pink as your own.

“S-S-Sorry…” You stutter, your eyes nearly popping out of their sockets when Alex leans in, kissing your forehead.

“Don’t be.” She grins, shrugging.

Alex giggles as she pulls you back against her chest, nuzzling into the top of your head.

There’s a beat of silence before Alex whispers.  

“I think you’re cute too.”

                                                          ***

You wake sometime later, Alex’s arms still tightly wrapped around you, the forward snoring softly.  

You’re unable to keep your eyes off her, the woman’s face entirely relaxed as she explores the world of dreams, well that is until she mumbles under her breath and tightens her hold on you.

Unable to stop yourself, you bury yourself in her embrace, the woman smiling in her sleep.  

Again, considering you have little to no self-control, you find yourself searching for your phone, the nagging feeling in the back of your head telling you to see what the fans were saying now that time had passed.  

You scroll through Twitter with a frown, still seeing a number of memes, but it’s what you see BENEATH them that makes you smile.  

Each and every one of your teammates tearing into the fans who were unnecessarily hateful.  

Your bottom lip trembles, your heart skipping a beat in your chest.  

Yes, the women poked fun at you, like any family would, but when it came to fans being hateful, your family would be there to defend you all the way.  

Your eyes widen when you catch sight of a post by none other than the woman fast asleep beside you, your eyes bulging when you realize it’s a video, a video of her in your hotel room, in your bed.  

You glance at the sleeping woman, making sure your volume is low before you start the video.  

“Uhh, hi guys.” Alex whispers in the video, the woman taking a deep breath as she glances your way, smiling softly.

“Let me cut to the chase... I’ve seen a few of you posting about what happened to Y/N in our match today, I know it’s all in good fun, but some of you are taking it too far.”  

Alex shakes her head, your eyes wide as she turns the camera towards you, your face bruised, visible tear-tracks on your cheeks.  

Alex gently brushes a strand of hair out of your face, turning the camera away from you and back to her, the forward frowning sadly.  

“This is what your comments do guys. The first thing Y/N said after she was hurt was, ‘everyone is laughing.’”

Alex runs her fingers through your hair, a sound much like a purr coming from the direction where you’re lying.  

“We’re human beings' guys, just because we’re famous doesn’t mean your comments don’t hurt us.” Alex shakes her head.  

“Just, think before you send a Tweet, think what it’ll do to the other person.”  

Alex nods, taking a deep breath.  

“That’s all I had to say.”  

The video ends, it’s only then that you realize tears are siding down your cheeks.  

You sniffle, swiping at your cheeks with the sleeves of your shirt.

“Y/N?” Alex rasps sleepily, peeking through her cracked eyelids, the woman’s eyes flashing open when she realizes you’re crying.  

“Hey, don’t cry, what’s wrong?” She croaks, voice rough from sleep.  

You wordlessly wrap your arms around her, pulling her close, burying your face in her neck.

“You didn’t have to make that video for me.” You whisper, Alex’s blue orbs widening before she wraps her arms back around you.  

“I did, seeing you hurt, hurts me Y/N, I care about you.”  

You smile against her neck, your eyes fluttering shut.  

“I care about you too Al.”  

Alex beams, ducking her head down to kiss your forehead.  

What she hadn’t confessed to you was that, caring was deeper than that, it was a crush that had slowly evolved into something more, something that would eventually come to light after the events of that day, something that would change your and Alex Morgan’s life forever.  

All because you’d had a bad day.  

[papergirllife]

The Boy Down The Hall

gif credits to owner.

RoommateAU (roommate to lovers)

warnings: explicit sex, unprotected sex, cream pie.

requested.

When you first moved out of home to college, you had no idea where you were going to live as most students either lived in the dorms or had already rented a place nearby.

As you walked around the housing area with your two large luggage bags, someone shouted at you at their porch.

“You look lost! Need a room?!”

That was a year ago, Mark Lee and his friend Jeno were the best roommates you could ask for. Although Jeno did bring back girls from the frat parties he goes to, there will always be Mark who would huddle up in the living room, binge watching netflix at full volume to drown out the noises from Jeno’s room.

The boys held a special place in your heart, you’ve watched Mark go through a break up with his highschool girlfriend, Jeno when he injured his foot when he accidentally dropped one of his dumbbells on it when he was drunk.

You had always regarded them as friends, you never dared to stray across that line, even when your thoughts had wandered to unspoken places in your heart. Jeno was always a flirt, throwing pick up lines here and there, but you knew he meant nothing of it. Yet he wasn’t the one that was occupying your thoughts at 3am.

It was always Mark. All the times when the both of you cuddled on the couch watching TV had an effect on you, was it even considered cuddling? Just like this moment right now, the both of you are having another Harry Potter rerun.

Mark always found the movies interesting even after watching it for so many times, you would’ve too, if your heart didn’t find Mark’s face to be mesmerizing. Although he’s not what girls typically find attractive in campus, you found his quirky and wholesome reactions to everything he sees to be beautiful.

The way he buries his head down onto his hands whenever you drag him to a rollercoaster ride, the way he looks so serious when he’s strumming on his guitar after a shower. These little things he does, was strumming your heartstrings just like his fingers on the guitar.

Leaning onto his shoulder, you snuggled closer into him, trying to focus on the movie after failing more times than you could count. You could feel his muscles underneath his thin shirt, and the way his aftershave smelled, making your head dizzy, and your cheeks heating up.

“Why are you squirming around?”

“What?”

When you looked up from his shoulder, his face was only inches away from yours.

“Why is your face so red? Are you having a fever?”

Bless Mark and his clueless heart for giving you an excuse to escape.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m feeling too well. I’ll head to bed first. Night.”

“Wait, Y/N! “

You left his warm embrace, to the disliking of your body, and ran to your room, slamming the door shut. Your chest heaved up and down, breathing in gulps of air to try to slow your heartbeat down.

That night, you went to bed with your thoughts swimming in your head as you toss and turn in bed, trying to get some sleep that you know would never come.

That incident that happened in the living room has passed a week now, you still have a crush on him, but your emotions were no longer out of control, as long as you distanced yourself from him.

Mark could sense your distancing towards him, but he didn’t know what he did wrong to make you this way. Instead of watching movies with him whenever Jeno had his flings around, you opted to head down to the cafe nearby, even by the means of walking in the cold.

On this particular Friday night, as you were going to huddle up in your room, reading the new book you’ve gotten, Jeno pops his head in.

“We’re going to a party.”

You looked at him quizzically, as if he was speaking a foreign language.

“No we’re not.”

“Yes, you are. Stop being a hermit in your room and meet new people.”

“I have nothing to wear, Jeno. I’ll be a laughing stock at your frat parties.”

Jeno dumped a bag on your bed.

“That’s yours. Get changed.”

You looked into the bag and found a semi low v cut navy blue dress with small little stars all over it.

“You’re crazy.”

“Y/N, you act like a hermit, but you don’t look like one, don’t act like you don’t go to the gym everyday after school. “

“ That’s from my friend’s sugar daddy, of course I’ll utilise it to the fullest.”

“I can’t believe the people working there don’t notice scammers on their threadmills.”

“Shut up, Lee Jeno. Not everyone’s loaded like you.”

“At least I’m nice? Just go, okay? as a favour to all the food I bought you?”

“Fine. Get out, I’ll get changed.”

“I knew you wouldn’t say no to a hottie like me.”

You pushed him out of the room and shut the door on him.

When you finished changing and applying the bare minimum make up, you were out of the door.

You stopped in your tracks when you see someone waiting for you outside your room, it was Mark, but not the Mark you’ve known. Standing in front of you was a brand new Mark. His hair was styled to show his forehead, he was wearing a black silk button up and dark washed jeans with his usual sneakers.

“Mark?”

He looked up, and you swear your heart did a little skip. You stepped a little closer to him, his eyes trained on you. You could smell the scent of his cologne, making you addicted to the musky scent.

“You look great, Y/N. Really great.”

“You look good too.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. I’ve never seen you all dressed up before.”

“Jeno, made me. I see he managed to persuade you too.”

“Yeah, he bribed me with food.”

He let out a small chuckle, a hand behind your back, guiding you out to the living area. His sweet gestures making you crave for more.

“Finally. Took you two forever.”

When you arrived at the party, the scene was wild. Or to you it was.

Jeno guided the both of you to get drinks. Just as you were sipping on your first drink, Jeno pulled Mark away to meet some girl.

You stood there on your own, a bitter taste in your mouth, and it definitely wasn’t from the alcohol in your cup. You never had the guts to express your feelings to Mark, even though your eyes always had a sense of longing in them whenever you were with him, he was just too oblivious.

You chugged your cup, refilling it once more, hoping that it will wash away your bitter longing towards your roommate.

As you were on your tenth? Or eight? You don’t remember. Someone walked up to you.

“What’s a pretty girl like you being here all alone?”

It was Sehun, the famous playboy in his senior year that made a reputation of himself  by sleeping with girls and leaving them heartbroken in the morning.

You looked at him, he was handsome, but you have enough problems in a lifetime.

“My boyfriend’s in the toilet.”

“I’ve observed you for a while now, doll. I don’t see anyone coming back for you. Let me show you how much appreciation I could show you.”

Sehun was tugging at your arm, dragging you towards somewhere you didn’t know.

“Stop. Sehun, stop!”

The alcohol in your system was stopping you from fighting back his advances, your mind foggy.

Just as he was about to lead you into a room, someone stopped him.

“Get away from her!”

Someone pushed Sehun away from you, but that person didn’t notice Sehun holding onto you, making you fall to the ground, your intoxicated state a blame for your lack of balance.

“Shit! Y/N!”

“Mark?”

Mark picked you up from the ground as Sehun scowled at the both of you.

“Pathetic.”

He said as he walked away.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

But as you tried to take a step forward, your left foot had a mild ache.

“I’ll carry you.”

“No, Mark. It’s fine.”

Ignoring your protests, Mark carried you, bridal style.

Mark was going to carry you down the stairs, but he bumped into Donghyuck, a gaming friend of his.

“Hyuck, can I borrow your room for a while? My friend injured her leg.”

“Injured her leg? Sure,sure.”

Donghyuck was quirking his eyebrows, suggesting some other activity. You could feel your face heating up from the suggestions Donghyuck was making. You were thankful for the dim lighting in this area.

“I’m serious, Hyuck.”

“Okay, whatever you say, first aid kit’s in the bathroom behind the mirror. And if you ever change your mind, please do it in the bathtub and wash it off after. Not my bed.” 

Donghyuck said as he walked away.

“Sometimes I question the friends I make.”

Mark mumbled as he walked towards the direction of Donghyuck’s room.

Mark pushed open the door with his back and placed you onto the bed gently. He closed the door and went into the bathroom, coming back with the first aid kit in his hand.

Mark knelt down and took off your left shoe to sprayed something on your leg, he wrapped some bandages for safe measure.

After he finished, Mark took your hands into his, his big starry eyes looking into yours. You were always a sucker for his big doe eyes, one of your favourite features of his. 

“I’m so sorry for hurting you, Y/N.”

“It’s not your fault Mark. You didn’t know. I should be the one who’s sorry. I made you miss your chance with that girl Jeno introduced you to.

Mark shook his head and let out a chuckle.

“Trust me, Y/N. I have zero interests in her. She’s even a slytherin.”

Mark has a grudge against slytherins after his ex, citing that they’re too complicated.

“I rather hang out with you, my felllow gryffindor. I’ll call Jeno and see when we can leave.”

He stood up and dialed Jeno’s number. You didn’t bother listening to what they were saying as you zoned out of reality, trying to calm your beating heart for the sweetheart in front of you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I called him while he was fucking. But he said he’ll be done in an hour or so.”

Mark said as he sat down on the bed next to you.

“Go get us a bottle of something Mark. I’m in the mood for a drink. Drink with me?”

You didn’t mean to sound breathless, but you just wanted a drink really badly, and the existing alcohol in your system was playing games to your head.

Mark gulped down his nervousness and agreed to find something for the both of you downstairs.

You kicked off your other shoe, grateful for the lack of heels, and laid down the bed.

As you were getting lost in your thoughts, Mark came back with a small bottle of what you assumed to be henessy.

“That’s some strong stuff you got there.”

“This is why we’re sharing.”

Mark took a sip from the bottle and handed it to you. He took off his own shoes and climbed into bed next to you, the alcohol in your system giving you the courage to snuggle close to his side as the both of you took turns drinking from the bottle.

It must’ve been forever when Jeno came looking for the both of you, the bottle long empty, with a drunk emotional Mark by your side. As Mark had drank more from the bottle than you, citing that you were barely sober before, he’s the one who’s completely hammered now, while you were just tipsy, an improvement from all the other times you had drank.

Mark was mumbling incoherently as Jeno held onto his arm over his shoulder, while Jeno’s other hand was held onto yours, insisting that you still had too much alcohol in your system to fend for yourself, to the disliking of Jeno’s fans.

“Mark, shut up!”

“Jeno, what’s wrong?”

“He keeps asking why I’m holding your hand, and when I say why, he keeps saying don’t. Something’s seriously wrong with drunk Mark.”

“Let’s just quickly get him into the car. You didn’t drink tonight, right?”

“No.”

After Jeno successfully sat him in the backseat, Mark reached for your hand and told you to sit next to him instead of the front. So you obliged to his request, sitting next to him, his head instantly falls onto your shoulder.

As all of you were halfway to home, Mark suddenly sat up and looked you in the eyes, trying to stable himself as much as possible in his intoxicated state.

“Y/N, I like you.”

No, he couldn’t. He’s probably not in his right mind and is just saying that as friends. But you couldn’t deny the way your heart sped up at his words. Why does he have to mess with your heart this way?

“Mark, don’t say things that you don’t mean and will forget in the morning.Whatever you want to tell me, say it to me in the morning when you’re sober, not now.”

“But I do mean it! I’ve liked you since the second month you moved in with us! I mean it, Y/N, every word. I’m not going to forget this in the morning. I’ll say it a million times.”

Mark then started to repeat that he likes you, each time getting louder. You could see Jeno’s shoulders tensing up at the noise, but the car had already reached the driveway.

You and Jeno carried Mark to his room with no big difficulties.

“Can you get him in the bed properly on your own? I’m really tired.”

“Yeah, sure. Goodnight, Jeno.”

“Night, Y/N.”

Once Jeno left, Mark started acting up again, whining your name.

“Okay, okay. I’m here now. Remind me not to let you get drunk next time. Who knew you could be such a whiny baby when you’re not sober.”

You said as you took off his shoes and placed his legs in his bed,covering him in his fluffy blanket.

You prepared to stand up when Mark held onto your hand.

“Cuddles?”

“I need to get myself cleaned up, Mark. You can have cuddles tomorrow, that is if you still want them.”

You shushed Mark who was acting up again by warning him of a grumpy Jeno next door.

So you left Mark and went back to your own room and washed up for the night. You slipped under your blanket, the warmth welcoming you. Just as you were about to fall asleep, someone slipped into your bed.

One whiff from your nose tells you it’s Mark. When you were about to tell him to go back to his won room, he speaks up.

“I love you,Y/N.”

You chose to not open your eyes as you didn’t know how to answer to his drunken love confession, instead you let him cuddle you to slumber, knowing that you were going to regret this in the morning.

When Mark woke up, he was surprised to see himself not being in his own room, then realising it was Y/N’s room, letting out a breath of air he didn’t realise he was holding.

Y/N was sound asleep beside him, her pretty face illuminated by the rays sunlight of sunlight peeking in through the curtains that weren’t drawn completely.

She’s beautiful, Mark thought to himself.

He observed further, the way your nose perfectly arches, the way your pretty lips are opened slightly, he couldn’t get enough of you. His thoughts took him back to the way you looked in that stunning dress last night, all dolled up, but looking at the person beside him right now, he prefers your face without a drop of make up more, the way he sees you on a daily basis, the Y/N that effortlessly made him fall for.

Mark climbed out your bed carefully, hoping his actions wouldn’t wake you up. When he got out to the kitchen to get some cereal for breakfast, there were already nutella sandwiches awaiting him, Jeno sitting at the other side of the island.

”Is there something wrong? You only make me breakfast when we have serious talks, did you break something?”

“No. But we do need to talk. I’ll let you listen to something I recorded last night in the car while you were drunk off your ass.”

Jeno placed his phone on the island and opened the recording app, tapped on last night’s recording.

Instantly, Mark whining about him liking Y/N from last night was all over the house.

Mark quickly shut off the recording and looked Jeno in the eye.

“What the fuck, bro? What if she woke up?”

“Then you’ll have the guts to confess. Look, I respect you as an older brother, but this has been going on for too long, it’s high time you should tell her your feelings. Y/N’s a nice and pretty girl, if you won’t confess by today, I’m calling Jaemin.”

Jaemin is the kid in Jeno’s department, that has had a crush on Y/N for months now.

“I’ll do it. Okay? Happy?”

“Eat up, then you’re going to make pancakes for Y/N.”

When Mark went back into Y/N’s room with the warm fluffy pancakes, she was still fast asleep,the only difference was that Y/N’s oversized shirt was ridden up to her upper thigh, exposing her beautiful legs.

Mark swallowed down the lump in his throat and pulled the blanket up to your waist. He placed the plate of pancakes on your nightstand and gently shook you awake.

“Y/N, wake up. I made you pancakes.”

Y/N roused from slumber at the scent of her favourite breakfast.

“Thank you Mark.”

Mark scratched the back of his nape as he sat down on your bed.

“Look, Y/N, what happened last night, the things I said, I really meant them.”

Y/N nearly choked on her pancakes.

“You remember?”

“Jeno made me listen to a recording of me trashing around last night on the ride home. I’m sorry if it made you awkward, but I do like you, and it’s fine if you don’t feel the same, we can still be friends just like last time...

Mark wouldn’t meet your eyes as he confessed, stuttering his words here and there, but this is the Mark you’ve grown to love.

“I like you too, Mark.”

“Really? But I’m just...

You shut him up by slamming your lips to his, he was shocked and frozen at first, but slowly reciprocated the kiss, his hands hesitantly placed on your waist as he gently pulls you closer to him.

You let your hands wander up his shirt, testing the waters. Mark took that as a sign to quicken the pace and shimmied his hands under your shirt, but being the clumsy head he is, his hands strayed too far up, fingertips grazed the underside of your right breast.

His touch sent tingles down your spine, a tiny moan escaping your lips. When Mark realised what he had done, he quickly pulled away to apologise.

“It’s fine, Mark. You can touch me.”

You took his hand back under your shirt, cupped his hand over your breast.

As Mark was busy toying with your nipples, you slid his shirt off, interrupting his ministrations. You had seen Mark shirtless a handful of times, but boy isn’t he a sight.

“Can I?” He asked as his fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt.

You took it off yourself, in a hurry to feel more of Mark. Mark’s eyes were filled with lust as he admires you being topless. You broke off his stare as you climbed on him, grinding on his obvious boner.

“Fuck, Y/N.”

“Mark, please. I want you now.”

Mark makes a quick action of taking off your panties and his sweats and boxers.

Your eyes darted towards the direction of his cock as his erection hits against his stomach as he freed it from its confines. You took his cock in your hands and started giving him a handjob, getting him lubricated in his own precum. After a few strokes, you put him in your mouth. Mark, being caught off guard from your sudden boldness, lets out a string of moans in between your name.

You bob your head up and down, trying your best to make him feel good, as Mark shut his eyes because of your sudden hollowed cheeks, you sneaked a hand up to cup his balls, making his light thrusts in your mouth stutter its movements.

He was close, but he didn’t want this to just be about himself.

“Y/N, stop. I want to cum inside you.”

Mark away from your mouth with a satisfying pop. He looked down to see your face covered in spit and his arousal, his need for you increasing by the second. 

You lay down onto the bed as Mark hovered over you, his eyes boring into yours like a predator to its prey.

Mark opens up your legs, your wet pussy greeting him in delight, he could see how desperate you are for him, the trail of wetness trailing down your beautiful thighs, all just for him. He pushes two fingers into you, the warmth of wetness of your walls greeting him, he could just imagine how good you’ll feel wrapped around his length.

Mark  shakes his head in disbelief as he witnesses  the amount of arousal dripping onto his fingers, he takes both of his fingers out and puts them in his mouth, tasting you.

“Fuck, Mark. That’s so hot.”

“You haven’t even experienced the full course yet, baby.”

You blush at the nickname Mark have given you, to his liking. Mark leans down to give you a kiss as he pushes himself in, your back arches at the sudden pleasure filled intrusion, Mark scatters kisses across your neck, wanting to take your attention away from the ache.

Mark had to hold back his primal side to give you time to adjust to his length, his mind being clouded by how tight and warm you are.

Slowly, the pain turned into pleasure, you rocked your hips to signal Mark to move. Taking it as a sign, Mark started thrusting into you, slow and deep strokes, it had you whimpering his name in his ear, moans and grunts bouncing off the walls of your tiny room.

“Faster, Mark.”

Mark takes your legs to let you wrap them around his torso, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, definitely leaving marks. Mark pulled out most of his cock, leaving only the tip inside you, and slams back into you.

You scream his name as he snaps his hips against yours, his length constantly hitting your sweet spot because of angle he switched to, your walls convulsing around him, making Mark throw his head back at the heightened pleasure.

You were sure the whole house could hear the sounds of Mark’s balls slapping against your ass, the snapping of his hips against yours, and the screams and moans falling freely from your mouth.

“M-mark, I’m close.”

Mark slips a hand in between your bodies to rub circular motions on your clit, urging you to cum quicker.

“Let go for me, baby.”

One last thrust from his lips with a mixture of your name falling from Mark’s pretty lips was enough to push you off the edge, your orgasm hitting you like a bus.

Mark’s thrusts stutters and gets sloppier at the way your orgasm fills up your cavern, warming him till the tip of his toes, a wave of pleasure pushing him to his orgasm.

He rides out both your highs as he milks himself into you. As the both of you come down from your highs, he pulls out of you, his cum dripping out of you.

“What a sight.” Mark confesses.

Mark uses two fingers to push his cum right back into your dripping pussy, and leaves to run you a bath in your bathroom.

Mark carries you into the bathtub as he strokes your head, making you fall asleep in your after sex bliss, with the boy of your dreams by your side.

[sardinesandhumbugs]

30 "when you smile, you knock me out, I fall apart" with Ratty and Mole?

(Also, I haven't actually watched any starkid musicals those were suggested by @residentofskinnymandria but I will be looking into them this weekend :D)

A/N: Thank you for the prompt and for your patience! I procrastinated somewhat on this because for my other OTPs, I would usually go straight for the romance with a starter like this, but by now y'all know that when it comes to Ratty & Mole, the line between romantic and platonic tends to be up to reader interpretation :)

Also a shout-out to @wolfiethewriter for unwittingly providing inspiration for this ficlet, by getting hilariously drunk a few nights back during our Midnight Sun readthrough. I only hope you fared better the next morning than Rat :D

x

Categorically, Rat knew there were worse ways to wake.

But, as Toad started on his fifth verse of 'What Shall We Do with the Drunken Sailor?' Rat found he could think of no such examples.

He muttered something unsavoury and buried himself deeper into the recesses of the caravan, far from the prying, headache-inducing light of day, and far, far away from Toad's over-exuberant singing – for what little good it would do him. For Toad had inherited his mother's operatic lungs, if quantifiably not her pitch-perfect tone, and both were on full display that morning.

(It could not be said that Toad was a bad singer. It was simply the case that enthusiasm preceded vocal form, and he cared little for meddling things such as keys or sharps and flats when the mood took him. Regardless, even if Toad's voice had been flawless, Rat wouldn't have had the patience for it. Not today. The careening key changes were just the icing on the cake.)

The song briefly rose as the caravan door opened, and Rat recoiled as much from the intrusion of light as he did from Toad's blasted singing. Then the aroma of eggs and bacon hit him, and he begrudgingly shuffled his snout out of the cool, dark safety of the bedcovers.

Mole stood before him, fried offering in paw, and looking significantly less the worse for wear after their previous night's inebriations than Rat. He grinned, and set the breakfast down on the table beside the bed. "Well," he said, "I've never seen you sleep in this late."

"This isn't sleeping in," Rat muttered. "It's suffering."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before drinking so much yesterday," Mole said, the faint admonishment in his tone outweighed by the amusement.

"I'm not a lightweight," Rat grumbled. "It's just whatever Toad puts in his damn drinks to make them green always knocks me out."

"And makes you very drunk, apparently."

Rat hesitated, unsure whether he wanted to know the answer to his next question. "How drunk?"

Mole grinned again. "Nothing too embarrassing. You mostly just gabbled and then got distressed when you couldn't pronounce a word properly."

"What word?"

"I believe it was library."

"...Library?" Rat echoed. "How–"

"You kept saying 'liblary' instead."

"Libla...?"

"Liblary, hm-mm. The second 'l' kept creeping in, however hard you tried otherwise." The humour in Mole's voice betrayed that Rat's efforts, while in vain, had been quite the show.

Rat considered this as best he could while the sensation of galloping horses gallivanted between his ears. Eventually he located what he hoped would be a safe question. "Why were we talking about libraries?"

"Oh, we weren't – just you. Goodness knows why, and we thought it best not to ask."

"DON'T LET HIM STEER THAT CARGO FREIGHTER, DON'T LET HIM STEER THAT CARGO FREIGHTER, DON'T LET HIM STEER THAT CARGO FREIGHTER, URL-EYE IN THE MORNING!"

With a wince, Rat turned a reluctant ear to Toad's questionable shanty rendition, trying to figure out if the words were indeed what he was hearing, or whether it was simply the effects of the hangover. "What verse is Toad on now?"

Mole chuckled. "Ones of his own creation. I think he ran out of official verses he could recall a while back."

As if to compound that fact, Toad skipped the refrain entirely and overshot to the next verse, of which the origin was undoubtedly a Toad Special.

"PUT HIM IN THE LIBLARY 'TIL HE'S SOBER, PUT HIM IN THE LIBLARY 'TIL HE'S SOBER, PUT HIM IN THE LIBLARY 'TIL HE'S SOBER, URL-EYE IN THE MORNING!"

Rat winced again. "I'm not living this one down, am I?"

"Oh, Toad will forget in time," Mole said, with surprisingly surety for someone who had spent only a day and a half in Toad's presence. But, then again, Toad was not the most complicated of creatures. However, Rat noted that Mole didn't make any mention of himself forgetting any time soon.

Mole nudged the plate closer to Rat. "Eat up. You'll feel better for it."

Rat had half a mind to make a comment about food being Mole's solution to everything, but then he caught another whiff of breakfast and his stomach gave an audible rumble. He pushed himself up and made a start on the meal.

"Just out of curiosity," Mole said, "why did you drink so much of Toad's cocktails if you know you always suffer the next day?"

"Honest answer?" Rat asked. "I forgot."

"You... forgot?"

"I had..." and Rat paused as Toad butchered another verse, "more pressing issues on my mind."

Both animals waited out Toad's latest crescendo, enduring the new volumes before he petered out to more acceptable levels.

"Would those issues be green and singing?" Mole asked.

"Usually."

Rat had worked his way through a rash and a half of bacon before Mole spoke again, and the distance between the words belayed an uneasy deliberation. "You didn't have to come along," Mole said. He sat on the bench that ran along the inner of the caravan, which served as table space and seating as the need arose, and the ledge was set just a smidgen too high so that his paws only brushed the floor. "You know, out on the open road. Not if you didn't want to."

"Ah, well," Rat said, "then who would keep you and Toad out of trouble?"

"I think we would have managed."

Rat squinted. "No offence, Moley, but I know you, and I know Toad–" he gestured to the window from which Toad's performance was still going strong, and then immediately regretted it as the alcohol residing in his system sent his head spinning "–and you are both many things, but 'out of trouble' is not one of them."

"We survived this morning without mishap."

There was a crash from outside, followed by a cry of, "It's alright! Everything's good! No need to check!" from Toad.

"Mostly," Mole amended.

"Definitely sounds like you have everything under control here," Rat deadpanned.

"I'm sure everything's fine."

There was another thump, this time accompanied by the unimpressed whinny of the horse.

Mole and Rat exchanged glances.

Mole closed the window. "Look, Ratty, all I'm saying is that you needn't have felt obliged to come along if you'd rather have stayed on your river." He glanced to the wicker luncheon basket that was still half-full from yesterday, and which had seemingly swayed Rat in his decision to accompany the caravan. "We could have had our picnics on the riverbank instead."

"We?" Rat echoed.

"Well, of course. Do you really think I would have gone off on the Life Adventurous without you?"

Rat didn't immediately respond. The horses in his head had calmed, but the outcome was simply that he had more space to think properly through the last couple of days. Truth be told, he hadn't quite been sure which Mole would have chosen – him or the open road – and he hadn't been interested in putting it to the test. His mind played back the eagerness with which Mole had rootled through the caravan, exploring the compact living wagon and settling in with an ease that made Rat wonder whether the caravan's claustrophobic space reminded Mole of his own beneath-ground home. It certainly was a far cry from Rat's riverbank abode, where the house had the space to sprawl along the shoreline and the freshwater breeze meant the air was never still. Not like being underground, he was sure.

"Ratty?"

He had been lost in his thoughts for too long, and now Mole leant into his line of vision. Rat had to think quickly to recall what exactly Mole had asked.

"No, of course not," he said. "Only – well, I would have hated for you to have stayed on the riverbank only on my behalf."

"Like you came along here on mine?"

“And for the picnics,” Rat added. “Don’t forget the picnics.”

“Right,” Mole said with a laugh that said he wasn’t buying Rat’s offhanded dismissal any more than Rat believed it. “How could I forget the picnics?” He patted Rat’s paw and swung off the seat. “Well, you can put all thoughts of picnics from your mind until you’ve recovered — and maybe in future we stick to drinks we’re familiar with, hm?”

“Maybe,” Rat conceded.

It was as Mole threw him one last grin and disappeared out of the caravan that Rat came to the reluctant conclusion that, whether or not his housemate was aware of it, Mole had him wrapped around his little claw. He set the emptied plate to one side and collapsed back into the bunk, thankful for the small mercy that at least Toad had stopped singing—

“Feeling better finally?”

Rat jolted back up, and had to steady himself against the table as his head swam. He located Toad at the window. “Toad! How long have you been there?”

“I don’t know; I wasn’t keeping track.” Toad leant in against the windowsill conspiringly. “If I had known all it’d take for you to join me would be the smile off an undergrounder, I’d have dug him out ages ago.”

Rat grumbled but decided he was still too hungover to bicker over it.

Besides, it was somewhat difficult to argue with when it was true.

[yandere-daydreams]

OH MY GOD THEYRE OPENED! Um, can I get something with Kenma with a darling who he considers as “troubled” or “needs help” and how he deals with that?

This is an idea I’ve been playing with, for a while. Kenma’s just so soft, he’d barely be able to train his Darling properly… He still gets the job done, though. Assume this takes place somewhere after the current time-skip.

TW: Emotional Abuse, Sleep Deprivation, and Implied Suicidal Ideation. 

~

This was supposed to teach you a lesson.

That was the part that got to you, the part that hurt. You knew Kenma didn’t think much of you, but every passing minute only cemented the idea that he saw you as a stubborn child in need of instruction, or failing that, a pet who wouldn’t obey his commands. As disorienting, deafening sounds cut through the silence of Kenma’s apartment, whatever game he was playing set to a blaring volume, you couldn’t help but settle into the groove you’d formed in his sofa, resting your head on his thigh. You’d lost track of how long the two of you had been there, Kenma playing the newest survival-release in the same crossed-legged, hunched over position and you laying at his side, squirming uncomfortably whenever his attention strayed from the task at-hand. It must’ve been hours, and it was getting so late…

As soon as your eyes closed, nimble fingers were rooted in your hair, jerking you upward and forcing you to brace yourself on unsupportive cushions. His grip was so tight, so unrelenting, your scalp beginning to ache in a matter of seconds, but your quiet whimpers and murmured excuses did little to satisfy him. Instead, he took to staring, gaze prying through the darkness to better burn into you, only letting up once Kenma had gotten his fill. You could never be sure what he was looking for, but he must’ve found it, letting you go and frowning as he watched you fall back into place. “You’re not allowed to go to sleep,” He explained, bluntly. “Not until you admit you did something wrong.”

“I haven’t done anything,” You spat, not bothering to hide the distaste in your tone. One of you had to be human, and Kenma’d never been very good at it. “I already said I’m sorry, isn’t that enough? If you just told me what you’re mad about--”

“That’s not the point.” He sounded impassive, rational. You wanted to tear his vocal cords out of his stomach and hang yourself with them. “You have to figure it out, or you won’t remember not to do it, next time.”

You sighed, going over the events of that day, as you had countless times already. You’d woken up before Kenma, and started making breakfast while he slept in. You two had talked about nothing in particular, and then he’d left for an interview and you’d began your self-imposed daily chore list. It was a way to drive away the boredom, Kenma’s tablets, consoles and laptops all locked with a passcode you couldn’t seem to guess and books only providing so much entertainment, when you had more than enough time to spare. You’d cleaned, dusting and sweeping and sanitizing until the apartment was as spotless as it’d been before you started, and took a nap before Kenma got home. He was already mad, by then.

You didn’t like thinking about your life, too often. Captivity made everything dull, repetitive, and the tracking chip embedded in your ankle could only keep you on-edge for so long. Most days, you tried to focus on what you’d do when you got away for Kenma. When you found a savings account he hadn’t drained or a friend who wasn’t turned against you, and you finally got to do something without his permission. But, that wasn’t going to happen today and thoughts so hopeful wouldn’t do anything to get you out of tonight. You were too tired to come up with anything new, honestly.

“I don’t know,” You admitted, shrugging half-heartedly. “I just… I don’t know.”

He blinked once, twice, but he didn’t pause his game. “We’ve got time.”

His character snuck up behind one of his blandly designed opponents, the third-person perspective focusing in on both men as one drew a knife across the other’s neck, ending his life in an anti-climatic act of meaningless violence. You couldn’t help but wish Kenma would do the same to you.

You’d woken up an hour before noon, thirty minutes before Kema’s alarm went off. You didn’t bother changing before making breakfast, just brushing your hair and washing your face. You couldn’t remember what you made, something with eggs and bell-peppers, but Kenma liked the recipe. You were happy he did, even if you cursed yourself for it. He said he had an interview for Bouncing Ball that he was going to be late for, but still clung to your side and sulked until you kissed him goodbye. You’d dusted, then you swept, then you sat by one of his windows and stared down at the street until your legs went numb. You remembered your old job, the one you’d been eager to leave when Kenma offered to support you, and you cried for a few minutes. You tried to sleep, but gave up when Kenma burst in to tell you how ungrateful you were.

Did he use the word ungrateful? He might’ve said selfish. That sounded like something he would say.

“Baby,” You whined, picking yourself up. You were so exhausted, it was all you could do not to collapse back into a confused, resentful heap. Still, you drapped yourself gingerly over his shoulders, clinging to a bent arm and nuzzling into his back. You didn’t care what you were pressing against, as long as it got his attention. “I’m bored, Kozume, I’m tired. C’mon, let’s go to bed. We can cuddle, if you want. Don’t you want to cuddle?”

Your display earned a glance from the corner of his eye, a slight shift to let you better slot yourself against him. But, if he was sympathetic, he wasn’t going to admit it. Suddenly, you were aware of just how loud the clicks and snaps from his controller were, how desperately you wanted to smash the thing to bits. “I want you to behave. I don’t care if it takes all night, neither of us are going anywhere until you stop being such a brat.”

You could’ve sobbed. You’d woken an hour before noon. Kenma was next to you, slotted against your back, and you waited for him to roll over before getting up. You thought about changing into street-clothes, but abandoned the idea as soon as you made it back to your closet, just putting on something you’d never leave the house in and making breakfast. Kenma told you about a conversation he’d had with Shoyo and asked if you wanted to go to a match being held nearby, and you pretended you hadn’t heard him. He’d been happy, with that, and changed the topic. When he was getting ready to leave, he threatened to lock you in the supply closet again if you didn’t kiss, laughing like he still believed it was a joke. You kissed him. You dusted the living room, cleaned every surface of the kitchen and polished whatever you could polish, before sitting by the window and crying your eyes out. You got up, after that, passing the front door on your way to the bedroom, and tried to handle to see if it was--

Oh. Right.

You tried the handle.

You almost smiled, melting into Kenma’s sleeve. “I’m sorry,” You mumbled, squeezing his arm affectionately. “I shouldn’ve tried to open the front door. It… It wasn’t nice to make you worry.” You paused, more for yourself than for him. You felt him relax, finally pausing that awful, awful game, but you didn’t stop. “I’m not going to leave you, I promise.”

Slowly, he turned towards you, cupping your cheeks and kissing your forehead gently, lowering you down onto the plush surface before standing up. You closed your eyes and curled into yourself as he switched off the over-sized monitor, casting the room in blissful, merciful darkness. You didn’t bother trying to go to bed, just listening as Kenma’s footsteps faded into the distance, silently thanking whoever could hear you when those finally stopped, too.

You’d need as much rest as you could get, before he decided it was time for your next lesson.

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 32

Fandom: Marvel 

Summary: Based on “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine

There comes a time in one's life when all is said, but still needs to be done, and in a heartbreaking majority of events, it also requires dressing up. 

You watched Loki pull on the ephemeral, golden threads shifting through the air around his face. "You sure it's working?"

"I know how to cast an illusion, darling," he muttered, focused on the mirror. "It's really not that hard."

"I don't see any difference." 

"You're not supposed to. It'll only work on strangers."

"So… We'll only know if it worked when someone screams?" 

"I'm touched by how much trust you put in my skills," Loki sneered, with eyes focused on his jaw. You wondered what the face he was working on looked like. Given the intensity, it must’ve been a work of art. 

Loki sealed the illusion and checked it from every angle. It felt so much better than the shabby mud that monk had plastered onto his face with little finesse. It might've worked against the less intellectual part of the population, but to anyone who had even the slightest knowledge of the high arts, it was no more than a laughable effort. 

Loki smiled, imagining the clash that would follow if the monk and his excuse of a sorcerer met the Asgardian magic wielders. It would be a sight worth paying for. Loki would make sure to get a seat in the front row. 

On the other hand, even he had to admit that the bracelet they came up with was a piece of work that he would never expect to find on Earth. Oh, he would've figured out how to get rid of it eventually, of course. There was no denying that. Loki might've figured it out earlier, if he… wasn't distracted. 

He looked at the source of his distraction in the mirror. It was that moment you found something in one of the pockets of your jacket. 

It was a phone. 

"I knew we forgot about something." 

"Is this…?" 

"That guy's phone. I didn't manage to unlock it in the end. How about we drop it at the precinct on our way?" 

Loki frowned. "Won't your officers be suspicious how we came into its possession?" 

"Not if we magic it in. Anonymously." 

"...that is not how it works." 

In the end, it was precisely how it worked. 

The phone, with a handy little note of explanation, just found itself at the right place, at the right time, without anyone at the precinct noticing. 

You patted Loki's shoulder. "Nice job. I wish you could teach me a few tricks." 

"It's not that easy. Your world barely has any magic, so it's difficult to make it comply with one's wishes," Loki said with a hint of sadness as you both turned and walked up the street in the direction of Peter's school. 

The streets were full of people, busy on their errands. The sun was blinding against the fresh scope of snow. The sky was clear and crystal blue, with the sort of unachievable intensity that almost felt artificial. 

"What is it like on other worlds?" 

Loki sighed. Walking so close to you, he could feel the brush of his arm against yours. His hands remained in his pockets, though. The reason wasn't the cold, of course, since he could barely feel the bite of it. His hands, for reasons beyond understanding, kept getting sweaty no matter how many times he discreetly brushed them against the fabric. 

"Spell casting is… essentially, wishing for something to happen, and convincing the world around you that it can become true. Magic is the means by which the world listens to those brave enough to wish. In your world, there's barely any magic. But there are others, where a mere thought shapes reality."

"Must be cool to see that." 

"It's almost like lying, truth be told. Ancient scholars used to classify it as the same thing, although mostly due to mistakes in translation of the most ancient volumes. Thankfully, I'm skilled in both. It makes life easier."

"Wait...so THAT'S where the whole 'Loki the Prince of Lies' thing comes from? Not that you're a lying, deceptive piece of—" 

"That's quite a touchy topic, you know. I might've… meddled in the lives of some very vengeful individuals, who out of pure, unjustified spite might've decided to curse me a little—... Wait, why are there children."

Loki stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the pavement. 

In front of him, as far he could see, stretched a sea of colorful stalls surrounded by a writhing mass of people, dominated by younglings in all shapes, forms, and levels of noise. 

You looked at him and back at the crowd. "It just kinda happens that this huge building right there is Peter's school. And this very school is organising the science fair for the kids attending it. Who, right now, are taking part in it. Here." 

Loki's frown deepened as he comprehended the mess. Groups seemed to form around the stalls, children and adults alike. It would be difficult for a stranger to guess what was being presented on some of the tables, and indeed, Loki couldn't guess it either. Some seemed to flash chemical reactions aimed to showcase colorful effects, mostly to the entertainment of the youngest offspring roaming freely around. Other tables were filled with equipment that surely took a lot of time to build, and even more to explain. Loki was quick to be bored by those. 

While swallowed by the crowds pressing on from every angle, you called Peter, pressing the phone to your ear close enough to hear him over the overwhelming noise. 

There were attempts at bringing order to the gathering, and some spaces had been less prone to chaos than others. Those, usually, were centered around food. 

"Ooh, I like that too," you said, putting the phone away at last. 

Following Loki's gaze, your eyes fell on the delicious looking snacks. The smell drove you insane and seemed to do the trick on the trickster too. You watched as some kids walked by, chewing on the deliciousness. Then you looked at the queue. A very orderly, and very long queue. 

"Hey, Loki." 

"Yes, darling?" 

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" 

"To my great surprise, I think I might be. Magic truly is a blessing." 

Peter found you not so long afterwards, when you were finishing the second round of magically-brought treats. Of course, you made sure an equivalent amount of cash appeared where it should. You didn't fall so low yet to outright steal from kids. 

"Mr. Mischief!" screamed over the heads of strangers was what caught Loki's attention. And the impact of a teenage body jumping right at him was what squeezed the air out of his lungs. 

"Hello, boy," Loki muttered. You gave him thumbs up. 

"I love the way you smell," Peter pressed his face a little more into the god's chest. 

Loki blinked. "Thank you, boy." 

Peter finally unplastered himself from the god and took the both of you in with such genuine joy that you couldn't stop a smile from spreading on your face. He was dressed up in a spotless shirt he kept tugging on. You whiffed a smell of cologne definitely not suited for his age. 

"Someone's nervous," you teased Peter. "I wonder what would've happened if we forgot your ring… " 

"Please, tell me you didn't!" 

"Of course we didn't." You pulled it out of your pocket. So many happy moments were connected to that ring, you almost missed it already. So much cake… 

Peter immediately tucked it away in the pocket on his chest, glancing around himself. If, by any chance, that one special someone was anywhere near, he wanted to know. 

He noticed you watching him. "I'm not nervous. I'm just cautious." 

"Whatever you say, Peter. It's your call." 

Despite his words, Peter couldn't stay in place. "Come on, guys. I gotta show you my project before we present them all!" 

Going any further into the mass of people was the last thing Loki wanted to do. The day was bright and chilly and the place Peter was leading them to was unmistakably a sports hall where the more ambitious, and temperature-sensitive projects had been placed. 

Loki, theoretically, of course, began wondering how he could disappear without anyone noticing. People got lost all the time and no one made a fuss about it. As much as he might not hate the kid, he wasn't interested much in high school projects of dubious chemical reactions, shown in stuffy, smelly interiors. 

As if you could hear his thoughts, you turned your head to face him. "I hope it works out. He's been working his ass off for the past few weeks to impress MJ." 

Before Loki answered, he noticed your outstretched hand. His heart skipped a beat, and jumped into his throat out of surprise. It was a pure coincidence, and a completely normal, random thing to feel, and there was absolutely nothing behind it…

Your hand was warm and felt right in his own. 

Of course Loki didn't get distracted. He just so happened to miss the moment when you reached Peter's lab table, densely occupied by all manner of gadgets and parts, with the main construction hovering above the rest. 

Peter didn't notice Loki's state. He was focused on all the things that still needed to be put in place or cleaned off the table before the presentation began. 

"It's okay, I've got it all under control," Peter said, hiding a few screws in his pocket. "The teachers are probably going to start with the tables over there, so mine would be second to last, which gives me plenty of time to—" 

Plans are good as long as all the parties involved are aware of them. In Peter's case, the teachers weren't. 

Peter's face went pale when he noticed the commission arriving at the table to his right. His eyes were wide and frozen in utter terror. 

And then he desperately tried to scramble everything together in record time.

You tried to help him, but you had absolutely no idea how. All you could do was watch him panic through the preparations at light speed. Loki squeezed your hand. "The boy will do fine." 

The boy was not so sure. 

He barely noticed when his classmates encircled the table, wishing him good luck and sharing advice that vanished from his head in seconds. 

Despite that, Peter managed to clean his table as much as he could before the teachers neared, with notepads in their hands. They tactfully ignored loose parts laying behind him. 

Loki caressed the back of your hand in a reassuring gesture. You both listened to Peter give the explanation of his project, with his voice wavering only a little. Peter started to go through all the steps he had prepared, pointing out all the important details as things you had no idea about changed on the table. The boy was pale, but did his best during the whole process, and as he moved to present the project, you almost believed he had everything under control. 

He didn't. 

In the moment of the biggest tension, when everyone was waiting for the results, they didn't come. 

There was a second of pure, unfiltered panic on Peter's face. He froze, eyes plastered to the unquestionable lack of any result. 

Your elbow jabbed Loki's ribs. The ribs were slowly getting used to it. 

"Please, help him," you whispered with urgency. 

"What am I supposed to do from here?" Loki frowned. He was tall and could see everything from over people's heads, but it didn't change the fact that there was a row of bodies tightly pressed together between him and the boy. 

"I don't know, magic something up." 

"Magic something—It doesn't work like that!" 

"Then make it. Are you the Prince of Lies or not?" 

Loki frowned, torn between looking at you and Peter at the same time. "Oh, blast it…" 

The results, preferably big and flashy, were what the commission was waiting for. Loki gave them results. 

Peter's eyes went wide when his project, that had been completely silent for the past few seconds, suddenly gave fruit to absolutely outstanding results. They were applauded, scored, and noted with grateful smiles as the commission moved to the next table. 

And completely not what was supposed to happen. 

Peter was still frozen in shock as he got encircled by his classmates, and showered in compliments and questions. The shock was still bright on his face as he was dragged further down the line of tables, to support the next unlucky friend. 

Loki followed the boy with his eyes. It looked like no one had noticed that something was not adding up. Loki had a very general idea of what Peter's project was supposed to do, since the lack of time prevented the boy from showing them the final product of weeks of hard work. He wondered which of the girls around Peter was that MJ. 

"I can't believe it worked," he muttered to himself, lost in thoughts just as Peter got lost in the crowd. 

"Thank you. You did great." 

Loki huffed, but couldn't stop the hint of a smile from ghosting over his lips. He supposed he'd have to answer a lot of questions once the boy was freed and jumped him again, but even that idea didn't feel so bad. It felt good to be appreciated and welcome in places and events that were important to someone. He was strangely glad someone wanted him to be a part of their life. 

Loki's breath caught in his throat as your arm slipped around his waist. A nervous, careful presence hugged him for a second, melting any and all resolve he might've still possessed at that point. 

"You're awesome. Wanna steal some more candy with me again?" your voice asked into his neck that suddenly ran with goosebumps. Accidentally, of course. 

But there was nothing accidental about the way Loki leaned into the hug, welcoming it with a feather-light touch to your back. 

"With you? Always, love."

A/N: Please tell me what do you think about this chapter or the series in general! It’s so sad to see the number of notes and comments decreasing with each new chapter :(