#the sweets detective/daydreamer

[starryhutcherson]

━━ A NEW FAMILIAR

author's note: crawled out of my hole for this one guys. sorry for being so ghost mode im working on putting out more stuff, apologies if this isn't of the highest quality as i'm running on sugar free redbull and three hours of sleep ! love my life hahahahaAHHHH

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: best friend!mike schmidt x reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swearing word count: 4600+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

Mike’s expression always glooms when you bring up the next date you’ve arranged. He knows how this story plays out; he knows the truth behind the men you’ve matched with on whatever sketchy website you’ve wasted your time on. They’ve molded themselves into the embodiment of perfection, through falsified photos and fabrications buried in their bios. His patience crumbles like fireplace ash as you skip around his living room and drone on about whatever dickhead you’ve set your poor, precious heart on.

He knows, always, the the outcome is running makeup and salty cheeks, sobbing on the floor of his living room in a creasing satin dress and his welcoming arms, a bitter exclamation of “you were right Mike” leaving your lips in the knowing silence and him gritting his jaw and pretending that it doesn’t bother him the the only habits you ever find yourself falling back into are the bad ones. 

It’s no different today. 

Mark or Matt or Mitch – you really were killing him, because it should be Mike. It should be him. Him that you’re getting ready for, him that you’re daydreaming about. And it’s an odd feeling, like a movie where your favorite character dies and then movie finishes and you have to accept that they aren’t coming back, no matter how long you sit glued to the reclinable chair, popcorn crunched beneath your sneakers and the credit-scene reflected in your shrinking pupils. 

Mike’s not the type to be happier with the hope – he’d let the truth swallow him up, sink into his creaking bones, he’d live with the loss. But he still has hope for you. He has hope that your eyes will open and you’ll seep into his brain and his breath and his bed. He hopes you’ll start seeing him instead of just looking. Maybe it's wishful thinking. Ignorant optimism.

It feels like it. 

It feels like it, right now, when he’s leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom and watching you get ready, your animated chatter reverberating around the small space between coats of mascara. He offered to give you a ride before you’d even asked, and he’ll tolerate the sting of watching you get out of the car looking all pretty for someone who isn’t him, just to make sure you get there safely. It’s the type of sacrifice he’ll make for you. 

“I can’t even feel my face, I’ve been smiling so hard all day!” You squeal, powdering your cheeks with more purposeless product – he thinks it’s all pointless. You’re radiant, even in the harsh lighting of his bathroom. 

He offers a low grunt. What is he supposed to say? He’s not happy. And he’s not gonna pretend he is. 

You either don’t notice or choose to ignore, continuing to doll yourself up to whatever standards you have for yourself. “I mean, he says he’s been skiing since he was 6. He’s practically an olympian.” 

Mike scoffs. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Can you hurry up?��

“Alright, grumpy. Calm down. I gotta do my lips and then I’m ready. Plus, nobody told you that you gotta stand here.” 

A fleeting flush of fuchsia permeates his cheeks, but he looks down at his worn shoes to hide it. It’s true. He didn’t have to stand here. But if an angel was populating your bathroom you’d want to take a peek, would you not? That’s how he thinks you look. Angelic. Glowing from your soul, a content smile knitted on your lips. You might as well have a halo and wings – that heaven-sent aura is reinforced when you douse yourself in lingering washes of that sweet perfume that’s branded itself to you. He’d recognise that floral aroma anywhere, the way a shark detects a drop of blood amongst saline scattered seas. 

“Okay, I’m ready. How do I look?”

Cruelest question of them all. “You look… fine. Good.”

A knot forms in your brow. “All this effort for that terrible answer?” Playful, but with a truthful undertone. Why do you value his opinion so much? He doesn’t want to assume anything. 

“Well I’m not the person you’re dressing up for.” I wish I was. He doesn’t say the other words, but he thinks them so hard he’s half convinced if you were listening in the right spot, or looking into his eyes for long enough that you’d hear it anyway. 

“Okay, okay, whatever. Let’s just get going, don’t wanna keep Mack waiting.” 

Two letters. That’s all it would take. That’s all he’d have to swap to make it him.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

✩‧₊˚

Even if you aren’t aware, even if he did offer, he drives begrudgingly. He focuses as much as he can, on the road ahead and not your glistening figure beside him in the passenger seat, the very definition of temptation. 

The mall parking lot is barren, a few gleaming cars scattered amongst the otherwise desolate area. He pulls into a space, sets the car in park, rakes in a greedy sigh of air. 

“If anything happens, call me.” 

You sneer teasingly. “Don’t be so pessimistic. It’s gonna be great, he could be my future husband, y’know.”

Yep. Mack, the 35 year old you've met online, who’s only notable talent seems to be skiing and his greatest life achievement to date is shooting a deer, whose head is mounted to the wall in his bedroom, typically visible in the background of his many instagram posts which involved his shirtless figure straining to flex his overly pronounced bulk. A match made in heaven. He wants to scream. 

And how can you even tell him to not be pessimistic? How can you look him in the eyes and act like this moment hasn’t happened time after time, the point of no return before an evening spent crying in his arms as he reassures you that your failed dates are never your fault, even though by now it seems like you must be seeking out the same genre of shitty man if you’re this good at getting your heart broken. He’s sick of picking up the fragile little pieces of his bathroom floor, cutting himself on the shards of a heart that’ll never be his. You deserve more than these half-baked, single night romances. He could show you that. 

“Yeah, sure,” he grits. “Future husband. Just call me, seriously.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you.” 

And with that, you’re off, disappearing into the gaping mouth of the mall’s entrance, and he watches with an alkaline feeling growing in his stomach. Your hair is caught up in the wind like clothing on a washline and he thinks his hope is all drained out. 

✩‧₊˚

Mike spends a good two hours back at his house. His movements feel vacuous, staring ahead at the screen, barely processing the raging garbage that masquerades as reality TV. The rain has picked up outside, licking at the window panes with a growing intensity. 

He’s not happy about the jean skirt and tiny little tank top you’d clad yourself in prior to leaving, you’re probably frigid by now in the cold. You did however reassure him that Mack was gonna drive you home, or even worse, take you back to his place, so his stupid fucking elk head trophie could watch with it’s empty eyes while the pair of you fuck on the bed that his mom still has to make for him because he never can quite manage those fitted sheets, can he? Fucking manchild. 

Shit. Mike’s feeling so so bitter. Maybe it’s because he’s finally realized that this is the dreaded pattern he’s going to have to endure with you until death. Or until he braves up and actually tells you that he’s been in love with you since the fifth day of second grade, when you mouthily confronted Jerry Murdoch and told him to give Mike his crayons back.  

With a weak sigh, he turns the TV off with a click of the remote still encaptured in the loose hold of his fist, and decides to see if he can melt into any form of sleep – but the knock on his door prevents him from doing so. 

He arises lethargically, not having much on his mind but the denial of his slumber as he shuffles over and turns the handle, but then, it’s you. 

Fluttery lashes melted to black smudges beneath your eyes, a mixture of rainwater and tears, completely drenched and dripping all over his doormat, your body is trembling and you’re wracked with tiny little cries and he’s feeling so many emotions he believes he might implode. 

He pulls you inside and into his arms, stroking your back in gentle, soothing motions, and it kills him that this has become routine. He’s angry. He’s sick of this. 

“What happened this time?” He grunts softly. 

“He didn’t even show up. He couldn’t even send a message as to why, Mike,” you sniffle into his warm chest, drunk off the even echo of his heartbeat. 

A moment’s silence rots like aged fruit. He draws a breath in, then out, then in again. 

“Why didn’t you call me?”

You crane your face upwards to meet him, instantly bathed in a nervous shiver when you see how serious he looks. 

“My phone was dead.” Is all you can manage to mumble. 

“What?” He’s pissed. “Why didn’t you charge it? You could have charged it there, they have outlets at the mall. Or you could’ve used someone else’s, so you didn’t have to walk home in the rain, because you’re drenched.” 

“I don’t–”

“Y’know how dangerous it is to walk around alone in this shitty neighborhood? Half the street lights don’t even work, and I don’t even know any of my neighbors, or what kinda people walk around here at night.” He grumbles. “I shouldn’t have to tell you all this, I’m sick of explaining all this to you.”

You roll your eyes irritably, releasing yourself from his arms and crossing your own across your dripping wet torso. “How was I supposed to know he was gonna stand me up? You’re telling me I should just expect it?”

He blinks like a deer in headlights, silence settles into his flesh.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

You scoff. “It’s what you implied.” 

“It’s not what I—” He grumbles weakly under his breath, cutting himself off, deciding reasoning with you is somewhat of a useless attempt. “Why can’t you just listen to me?”

“What, charge my phone next time? Bring a raincoat? Yeah, great help, seriously, don’t know where I’d be without you,” your sarcasm hits like gunshot wounds to the teeth. 

“Or maybe you should try to meet actual people, instead of fake ones from some stupid website.” 

After a cold shiver bites up your spine, your expression deepens with defense. What is his fucking problem? “At least I try to get out of the house! At least I don’t spend every hour of every day moping around and feeling sorry for myself!” 

The pair of you fight, sure, every good relationship, friend or romance or family or whatever should, but nothing like this. This is stone-set, it’s been coming for a while, the wild gesticulations and the pacing and the raised voices. It shakes the bones of the weakened house. 

“Don’t,” Mike says with a furious edge, fists tightening and untightening like he’s about to take a swing at the wall, like this is going to end with bleeding knuckles nipped with shards of worn plaster. “Don’t throw that in my face, I do everything I can, for you and Abby. It’s not like I have a choice.”

“So what, you’re so fucking miserable in your own life that you have to try and control mine?”

“Control? You’re like my child! You don’t even know how to take care of yourself half the time, so yes, I try to help you not to make such shitty decisions!” 

You scowl. “You’re not obligated to do anything for me, y’know Mike. Why do you keep me around if I’m that much of a chore for you!”

He snaps, the tension in his fists bleeding up into his throat, his mouth, the words clot behind his gums and suddenly they tumble out in a fury-fueled shout. “Because you’ve got no one else!” 

You deflate, wilting like a flame without oxygen, and Mike deems the silence to be more cruel than anything else you’ve said to him tonight. He’s feeling everything and nothing all at once, the quiet crumbles around him like a burning building and he fears he’ll become rubble beneath the debris. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just… god, just–” His eyes flick to you, and then retreat back down to the faded living room carpet. He can’t swallow his guilt this time. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“It’s fine,” you say coldly, knuckling away an angry tear. The salt water is the trick of nostalgia, you’ve cried like this so many times. Your breakage of those promises to yourself. It’ll be different. And it never is. 

“No. It’s not – I’m a dick, I just… I hate watching other people ruin your life. You deserve better.”

Better. What is better? Some twisted fantasy that some people are indulged with and others are left longing for. That you’re left longing for. You know he’s tired of the same bullshit that you force yourself through, convincing yourself of change, painting yourself up to be fit for presentation, and hoping that whoever you’ve leeched onto likes what they see, so you don’t have to feel so alone anymore. You’re oblivious, painfully so. Because Mike could plaster together the cracks in your splintering psyche, if you’d just let him in. 

“Whatever, Mike. It’s true anyway.”

There’s a hole in his heart in the shape of your name. He begs you. Fill it. A part of him shatters at the defeat in your words — he’s crumbled you to the bone, to the marrow. He’ll build you back up. You deserve it. 

“No it isn't. No it isn’t. You have me. You’ll always have me.” 

A silence pervades; the look in his eyes is one of pleading, that you’ll stop and see what he’s offering you, that you’ll stop chasing your own tail, that you’ll stop the cycle. 

“Mike…”

“And Abby.”

You indulge him. 

“You have me. And you have Abby. And I know that’s… not much, but she loves you. So much. And I’m sorry, ‘cause I know I don’t say it enough, I don’t…. I don’t say how much you mean to me, but I just—”

“Mike.” 

He wallows in the waters of your rain kissed eyes, the way your pupils pulse and the words are falling before he can swallow them back down. 

“I love you.”

He gives you that stare. That stare that’s the color of black coffee, the look that you can feel, unearthing the graveyard of wilting feelings you’ve tried to bury, the heart that beats for him him him, lodged between the ivory bars of your ribcage. He maps you out with his eyes, he looks at you the way the sun hungers for daybreak. 

He’s waiting. He’d wait forever. 

“And… and seeing you with these… shitty people who don’t even care about you, it just…” He sighs exasperatedly, dragging a sweaty palm down his face. 

His sentences can’t seem to finish themselves. This is harder than it looks in the movies. Harder than when he’s practiced in the mirror, when Abby’s walked in and giggled at him and told him to just fess up. 

“You love me? Like…”

He looks up at you like a kicked puppy. “Yeah. I do.”

You’re beyond bewildered. He loves you. He loves you. 

“What– but… you—”

“You don’t have to… say anything. I just, I can’t… I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t do it.”

You reach for his hand. It’s a little clammy, a little trembly, but it’s a perfect fit. Just like you. 

“I love you too, Mike.”

What?

“You… do?”

He’s skeptical, but he’s also swooning. A stone man is slowly cracking. 

“I just didn’t… didn’t think I could have you. I mean, you’re so… you’re everything, y’know? You’re a good brother, and you work so hard, and you’re… I’m just… I don’t think I deserve you,” you whisper, confessing. With a newfound stroke of confidence, he approaches, one hand snaking around to the small of your back, another on your cheek. He’s gentle. In his eyes, you’re porcelain. Precious. Fragile. At least, at this moment. But you love him too and that’s all he needs. It’s all he’s ever needed. 

“You deserve everything.” He says it so quietly it’s barely audible. And then, nothing is audible because he’s carefully pulling your lips to his, linking you in every way, his hands tangle into your damp hair and he’s kissing you. 

His lips chase yours in messy, uncalculated movements. He’s starting small. It’s been a while. And he’s gonna take his time with you. He’s gonna show you what you deserve. Soft sounds squeak past his lips as they flutter against yours, and you’re closer and closer and closer still, impossibly so. 

Within moments he’s whisking you off to his bedroom, his hand tangled with yours, an interlace tight enough to cause ropeburn. His skin chafes with yours, and then he’s kissing you again atop his navy comforter. 

He’s gentle, respectful, but you understand what he’s trying to tell you, what he’s been trying to tell you. He speaks through silken drags of his tongue, through the hand that holds your cheek steady— he feels as though he’s gripping the very cusp of a constellation. You taste like stardust. You glow like the waning moon. 

He breathes heavily in the expanse of his throat, his pants have become tight and wet and filthy; he’s been subconsciously grinding down into your lap. You’re a little shaky and your pupils have darkened with lust and he is going to show you what you mean to him. What you’ve been missing. 

His hand falls lower, into the slope of torso that dips into your hips. His eyes travel back and forth, searching, hunting for the desire that he feels mirrored back at him. Do you want this, the way he does? Do you? His hardened stare doesn’t speak loud enough. He elaborates.

“Can I… uh… do you wanna…?”

Do you want to? You need to. 

“Shit, okay,” he croaks out, jaw tense and tight as he traces you beneath calloused fingers. You didn’t realize you said that out loud. 

He’s endearingly awkward – you know from languid late-night conversations that he hasn’t done this a lot. Maybe even at all. But he’s sweet, so sweet, like lapping up sugar and feeling it dissolve on your tongue, feeling him dissolve on your tongue, giving you comfort and cavities. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks nervously, fiddling with the hem of your camisole. A short nod, and he’s sliding it over your sweat-pricked figure, admiring your contours in the whisper of evening moonlight that bleeds through holes in his moth-eaten curtains. You’re perfect, and he knew you would be. 

He caresses your skin gently, drunk on the mellow feeling of your bare stomach beneath his fingertips. Your bra is black, a little lace peering along the straps, your breasts spilling into the fabric. He reaches around your back, fumbling at the clasp. When the garment drops, his hands are replacing it before you can even blink. 

“Beautiful,” he manages to get out, thumbing over your nipples. 

“Mngh, Mike—”

“Sh. Just let me… just let me. Let me make you feel good. Please?” He grunts out under his breathless voice, and how could you deny such a request?

The moment you agree, he’s grabbing you by the thighs and tugging you towards him slightly, so your back is nearly flat against his mattress and he’s settling himself in the gap that you create for him. 

Your skirt comes off first. Your panties are undeniably soused, his fingers trace the big wet spot that’s dripping all for him, teasing you through torturously thin cotton. 

“Mike,” you mewl gently, fingers settling in his nest of chocolate curls that are damp with sweat. A firm tweak and he’s groaning, his voice melting away into nothing like hot tar. 

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles to himself, like he’s never seen anything like it. Probably not in a while. His finger hooks beneath the waistband, pulls it out gently, and lets it go. It slaps against your hip bone and another fresh sound seeps from your lips.  

“Mike, shit, please just do something—”

“Okay,” he whispers, more to himself than you, carefully sliding your panties from your waist, down past your ankles, and he’s tossing them to join the pile of clothes that has begun to collect on his bedroom floor. 

You’re here, before him. The girl he waited for. Your soft flesh is glistening, clenching painfully around nothing, and he’s salivating at the sight of you. He pries your legs out further with his warm hands, leaving them to linger on your bare flesh for a few drawn out moments, before he claims what’s rightfully his. 

He presses a trialing kiss to your clit, and your back curves delicately, fingers tightening their grasp in his hair. He moans into you at this action, and you, in turn, moan as well. Confidence creates itself in him with each little whimper that he gets you to release, and he’s answering back, hearing your cries, your calls of his name with his own unabashed exclamations of pleasure. This is just as good for him, as it is for you. 

“Mike,” you whine gently, and he’s mumbling weak praise right into your cunt. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty. Wanted this for so long.”

It’s barely audible between his languid sucks; he’s lapping at your drooling entrance, fingers subtly creeping closer, up and along your thighs and settling right above your throbbing clit. He presses his thumb against it, tracing sinful circles against your bud— once, twice, and then you’re far too close to the edge. 

“Oh, Mike I’m gonna come,” you choke out between gasps. 

“Do it. Please.”

He’s begging you. 

And you oblige. With a trembling sob, your thighs tense around his head, keeping him locked in place, capturing him and making sure he finishes the job, and oh does he plan to. When you soar, he’s still holding you in place, soothing the electric sparks pulsating throughout your body. 

He savors your sounds, and when they stop coming, he presses a lingering peck on your inner thigh, stubble scraping at the sensitive dermis. He then raises his face to your level, the light coruscating off the filthy souvenir etched all over his face, your glittering arousal that he wears so proudly. 

He steals a proper kiss from you, rubbing your side as a gentle comfort. He’s completely hard now, tenting his sweats, leaking against the fabric. You gingerly reach out, tracing what you assume to be the head of his cock, and he sags, boneless, against your touch. 

“Fuck, baby I—”

“Baby?” You chuckle softly, still hazed from the candy-coated afterglow of your orgasm. The first of many, he hopes. 

“Mngh— g… got a problem?” He grumbles softly, almost quivering as you begin to palm him with purpose.

“It’s out of character,” you tell him gently. 

“Shit, can I be inside you?” He asks you, voice ripped raw. 

And once again, Mike Schmidt leaves you breathless. 

“Yeah. I need it. I need you.”

He groans, slipping off his pants and boxers without so much as another word from your swollen lips. He’s hard, angrily so, his cock pulses violently and a little whimper escapes through the crack in his bitten lips when it slaps against his stomach. 

He’s stroking himself slowly, base to tip and then back again, collecting the pearls of precum that dribble from his slit. He’s never been so ready for something. For you. It’s all for you. 

He’s holding you, thumbing your hip bones and gently nudging himself into your hole, cooing at every cry that crawls from the crevices of your throat. When he bottoms out, finally, it’s safe to say that he gets a little dumb. “Oh, shit, I’m not— not gonna last long, you’re so tight, shit…” He’s rambling a little. It’s cute. 

A few wandering kisses land on you the way dandelion spores decorate a skyline – your cheek and your chin and your jaw, as he waits for you to let him move. You’re squeezing him for all he’s got and he’s three seconds away from spilling before he’s even so much as thrusted. You do this to him. 

All those days, staring into your eyes and wondering if you’d ever see him the way you do, all those nights, stroking your hair and softening your saddened sobs after failed date after failed date. They’re all worth it. 

You’re clamping down on him, warm and wet and wavering, and you’re exhaling softly through your nose and telling him to move, begging him to move, to make you feel good, and it’s what he does. 

He pumps into you with passion, magnetized to your every movement. He’s satisfying a decade worth of insatiable craving, he’s chasing your hips with his. You end where he begins. 

The headboard creaks and slams against thin plastered walls, one hand grips onto it with alabaster knuckles and the other one holds your hips for better leverage. He doesn’t need to say it, but each knocked kiss of his pelvis to yours is a silent I love you I love you I love you. 

“Oh my god Mike,” you sob, and he slides himself deeper, hitting everywhere he wants to reach. Everywhere to make you quiver beneath him.

“You d—don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he moans lowly. “How many times I’ve imagined you like— like this.”

He’s blabbering, every stray thought that passes through his head is already blossoming on his tongue and out into the air before he can even think twice. Admittedly, you’re too blissed out in your own mind to really respond, but it’s arousing all the same. 

“You’re so… so beautiful,” he’s flushed and he’s faltering, and you know he’s close before he even announces it. 

“Shit, baby, I can’t— can’t last much longer,” he stammers, his bruising pace beginning to shake. 

“Do it in me, Mike, please, please,” shit, are you trying to kill him? Your word is the only law he knows, and he’s wrapping his arms around your torso and diving his head in the elegant slope of your collarbone, biting down into the skin and spasming somewhere deep in your welcoming walls. 

He tries to keep himself quiet, but it’s really a futile effort. His hips jut sporadically as he empties himself inside you, and the sudden flood of subtle heat is all it takes for you to topple over as well. 

Bliss teeters back into reality after a seemingly ceaseless moment. He peels his head from its previous position to admire you, to stroke a stray lock of hair from your forehead and nervously greet it with a kiss.

He doesn’t let go of you. Not now, not ever, he thinks to himself. His arms snake around you tighter, and somehow it’s even more intimate after the fact. His bare chest collides with your back, his nose rests comfortably against the crown of your head. The pair of you follow each other into a dreamless sleep, safe in the sanctuary of a warm bed and an even warmer embrace. 

He’s found his new familiar. 

masterlist

✩‧₊

[frostbitebakery]

LOUD.

part one two three four five six seven eight nine

“You’ve got something there,��� Quin says, gesturing vaguely at his own shoulder.

“I’m aware,” Obi-Wan signs. “It’s some sort of monkey lizard fungus.”

The monkey lizard fungus giggles into his shoulder.

Quin nods grimly. “I heard the only cure is to placate it with sweets and hope for the best.”

Anakin precariously leans over, heels accidentally digging into still bruised ribs.

Obi-Wan bites his lips behind the collar but of course Quin immediately detects his movements turning stiff.

Quin holds out an arm, flexing his bicep with wiggling eyebrows. It has the desired effect and Anakin jumps from Obi-Wan, swinging around the elbow before hooking his knees over Quin’s arm.

“He’s heavier than he looks,” Quin strains out.

They walk to one of the mess halls that’s open around the clock and mainly offers food and beverages to those clinging with teeth to their sanity during exam season.

One of the cramming Padawans looks up from their dozen holo books displaying graphs, and squints at them. “Master Vos, there’s something growing out of your arm?”

“Monkey lizard fungus,” Obi-Wan signs, hiding a smile behind his collar at the Padawan nodding to themselves as if that makes perfect sense.

“What’s with them?” Anakin asks, looking at the sleep deprived tableau and hoisting himself up and swinging one leg over Quin’s shoulder.

“This is your future,” Quin says gravely and Obi-Wan is catapulted to melting stone fire Darkness “You were supposed to be my Master!” yellow familiar eyes from a smoking alive corpse and the grief is ripping him apart “—see once you take your first assignments. The only places you’ll be is either here or the Archives.”

It’s been years since he last had a vision. It’s staggering, his heart thumping in his chest like a clock ticking down the inevitable countdown. But it’s not.

He looks over to Anakin who’s already watching back with wide eyes, the fear in his hands gripping onto Quinlan. “I won’t let it come to that,” he promises, fingers thudding together heavily but he’s still shaking off the vision and Anakin’s fear is a taste in the air by now. He can’t not make promises he only hopes he can keep.

Quinlan is silent during their exchange, gloved hands keeping hold of Anakin. The calculating look in his eyes a guarantee Obi-Wan is going to get cornered later.

.

“Do you like Depa being your Master?”

Let it be said, paranoia is a common infliction amongst Shadows.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin sighs, voice breaking with puberty and annoyance. “Depa is wizard. She’s amazing even though she’s signed me up to all these classes.”

Obi-Wan looks over all the models, plans, and concepts with added calculations. There’s a data pad displaying language modules and another proclaiming the joys of agriculture. “It’s almost all in the engineering field,” he signs.

“Which makes her so wizard. You’d never have me taking up gardening though,” Anakin adds sullenly.

Don’t yearn for things I cannot give you, Obi-Wan has thought a lot in the past few years as the Galaxy seems to slowly steep in Darkness.

“Knowing what can poison you is important,” he signs, feeling restless and helpless. The mission he’s finished two cycles ago may still reside in his bones.

“I’ll just bite back,” Anakin says, tongue sticking out as he connects wires to ports. He presses a button and the thing he’s been tinkering with since before Obi-Wan left starts to purr smoothly. “Now she can even juice cocadooms,” he says, satisfaction purring just as smoothly in his voice.

“Well done.”

“I know,” Anakin responds airily and swivels around to face Obi-Wan fully. “You’re lurking in the shadows again so let’s get this tradition over with: Depa is an awesome Master and maybe I sometimes wish you’d have chosen me but,” he adds loudly when Obi-Wan lifts his hands to protest, “I also sometimes daydream Master Tiin had chosen me because he’s got his own modded Delta-7.”

The paranoia settles down as Anakin waxes over how wicked the new wing box skins and sensor fusions are, no, truly, you should see them, Obi-Wan!

[chaninfused]

WOLIAAAAAA

Vivid | Lee Minho

◤“Those who were destined to die had no right to interfere with the affairs of those fated to live.”

A girl cursed to be reborn strikes an unlikely deal with the ambitious heir of Valorieve in order to fulfill her only wish. However, this strictly-businesslike partnership develops into something more as her unraveling secrets and his treasonous aspirations converge. Will they face the monster of her curse together, or will the threat of a greater enemy break them apart first?

◤Disclaimers: Female reader insert. Fake marriage au. Enemies/strangers to lovers. Fantasy au. Slow burn. Lots of angst with an adequate amount fluff. Heavy themes of death and suicide, please be very careful. Graphic descriptions of injury, blood, and violence. Sparse use of vulgar language. View the map here!

◤Word count: 62.7K

◤Note: This story is 100% mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction. Please do not take my content without my consent. Masterlist.

◤From the author: I’m back from the abyss to offer you a mental breakdown of colossal proportions. Happy reading!

☙ Act 1.

•Scene 1•

“Marry me.”

There was a breath of silence after you had uttered those words in which the world seemed to still and halt on its axis. The masked figure above you only stared, taken aback for only the briefest of seconds before barking a vibrant laugh that ricocheted across the walls of your bedchambers, uncaring for who or what might overhear.

“What a peculiar thing to say right before one’s death!”

His knee was pressing against your stomach, sure to leave an ache after this ordeal ended, and he had gripped your wrists to restrain you while his other hand clutched a cruel blade. It shone in the sliver of moonlight creeping through your window, mimicking the twinkle of your assailant’s eyes through the dark swath of fabric.

He was not a trained assassin, but you could tell that he was familiar with taking lives for despite his brutish ways, he had successfully rendered you helpless.

But you were not one for theatrics.

Keep reading

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  DESIRE (THE WANTON SONG)

SUMMARY : dean looks delicious in a suit, that’s it.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : castiel, jack kline 

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluff, p in v, unprotected sex (21 years of prison), car sex, smut, teasing, funnies (but maybe that’s the coffee talking) 

WORD COUNT : 2.8k

A/N : led zeppelin song title. y’all… YALL! Dean’s so hot and I actually had coffee and so that’s why I’m… you know, imagine that this is really, really quickly spoken in your head :D XXXXXX

Was anyone really going to lie or hide the truth about how absolutely ravishing Dean looked in suits?

One thing Y/n knew was that she wouldn't be making that mistake. The only problem with that was that Cas and Jack decided to join them while Sam stayed at the Bunker recovering from a stomach bug with Eileen at his side. 

Should she feel bad for how turned on she was? 

He was just… existing.  

Still, he must know what he’s doing. Placing his hand on her thigh, mindlessly brushing his fingers along the inside as he drove. And he sang. He was singing, playfully. Making her laugh. 

And every time she laughed, he’d squeeze her thigh, and grin at her boyishly. She’d bite her lip, unable to resist his happiness. When they stopped at a red light or a stop sign, he’d lean over, and kiss her cheek, then he’d murmur something sweet into her ear. Her heart would flutter, her breath would hitch, and then he'd press one soft kiss to her lips.

If Cas and Jack hadn’t been in the back seat, she would have grabbed Dean by his tie and pulled him on top of her. That would be dangerous—considering that he’s driving—but, hey, it’s just a daydream. 

She just wanted him, everywhere, like… all over her body. His lips and his hands. His body above hers and his skin moving against hers. God… it was worse than normal, her desire for him. 

He was just so… irresistible. Not just because of how insanely attractive he is. It’s a combination of everything that makes him who he is. Adorable. Kind. Selfless. Brave. Funny. Smart. The list was endless, but every little thing was there, blooming deep in her heart, weaved intricately into her soul, growing hot like a star. At the end of it all, at the farthest edge of everything that she was, it was love built entirely of Dean. 

Her mind was elsewhere. She started to lag behind as they walked into the police station and Dean weaved his fingers through hers to keep her in pace with him. She subtly checked Dean out from behind, broad shoulders, firm ass, hot… all over. She had to resist slapping his ass and grinned to herself at the thought. 

Cas went ahead and started to talk to one of the detectives on the case while Jack looked around aimlessly. Dean pulled her hand to stop her from joining the angel and nephilim. He leaned forward, his nose brushing against her cheek, his lips ghosting over her earlobe, warm breath hitting her neck. 

“You okay?” He asked, pulling away slightly, and looked into her eyes. He held her jaw tenderly and his thumb brushed along her bottom lip, causing her to inhale sharply. A spark from his hand on her mouth made heat rise up her face, but she nodded anyway. “You sure? You’ve been quiet, spacey,” he murmured, leaning forward to brush his lips against her. 

“I’m okay,” she whispered against his mouth. Dean placed a chaste kiss on her lips and kissed her cheek afterwards. 

“Okay,” he conceded hesitantly, circling his arm around her waist. Dean lead the way to where Cas and Jack were waiting patiently, having quiet conversation with each other. Jack looked confused at whatever Cas was trying to explain to him while Cas looked adorably exasperated. “Let’s go,” Dean smiled at the two of them, walking to where the officers placed the woman they’d just arrested. 

“Actually,” Cas stopped Dean with a hand on his chest. Dean lifted a brow and glanced down at Cas’ hand. “This would be a great opportunity for Jack to learn how to properly interrogate witnesses on cases. You two should take a look at the footage from the mini-mart,” Cas suggested firmly, but he waited for Dean’s approval anyway. 

Dean’s lips parted, he looked down her before looking back at Cas. He crossed his arms over his chest and it was oddly arousing. “You sure it’s not ‘cause you suck at using technology,” Dean teased with a smirk. 

The deadpan expression on Cas’ face made it funnier, somehow. He sighed and stepped closer to Dean, looking down at both their shiny black shoes. “I’m being serious, Dean,” Cas muttered, but Dean had a smug smile on his face that she knew Cas wouldn’t let slide when he looked up into green eyes. “Besides, you couldn’t figure out how to get Netflix to play on the television, Y/n had to do it.” 

Dean might have actually gotten offended. He shut his mouth, a firm line of his lips made those adorable little dimples of his to appear at the upper corners of his mouth. She stifled a laugh, and looked down at her heels, but Dean noticed anyway. Jack was the only one looking away, his gaze fixed across the room where the vending machine was. 

“Agents,” one of the detectives called from the interrogation room, staring at the four of them.

“Whatever,” Dean murmured, turning away from them. He left her there with their friends. She grinned up at Cas and he failed to resist a smile. Blue eyes looked down while she patted his chest as a goodbye before she jogged to catch up with Dean. 

“So,” she tried breaking the ice, hooking her arm around his as they walked to the room where they could watch the footage, “wanna place a bet?” Dean grunted in response, to which she took as a yes. “100 bucks, it’s a shifter,” she offered, letting go of his arm when he opened the door for her to enter first. 

“If it’s anything but a shifter… I get to call the shots on everything we do together for six months,” he said distractedly, beelining to the nearest computer. 

“Uh, no,” she laughed, “one month.” Dean glanced at her, it wasn’t anger, but there was something fiery in those forest greens of his that made her pussy clench around nothing. Her breath hitched, but she hid it with a sniffle. 

“Four months.” There was a finality to his words that made her shiver. She couldn’t disagree, and anyway, Dean’s ideas were never awful. Dean leaned over the table, and started to type away skillfully at the keyboard, giving her time to consider his compromise, before he pulled the video footage up. 

Had he not been waiting for the deal to be sealed with her agreement, she would have dwelled on the wave of arousal flooding between her legs at the sight of him proving Cas wrong about his ability to understand technology. 

She stepped closer to Dean, sitting on the table—very close to him.“Cheater,” she smiled playfully, he knew she’d never fold. Dean looked up at her, one hand on the keyboard, the other on the mouse. “Deal,” she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. 

Dean immediately let go of the keyboard and mouse to step between her legs and kiss her hard. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her to the edge of the table, and tangled his fingers in her hair. She moaned into his mouth, lewdly brushing her tongue against his when he pushed into her mouth. With a final, hot, firm suck of her tongue, he pulled away breathlessly with a rosy tint on his cheeks. 

She blinked the daze of his hearty lips away, and smiled dreamily, swinging her feet, her heels slipping off her feet slightly as she watched him work. She needed to fuck him, but she forced herself to look away from the pinched concentration of his brows, and the way he chewed on his lip. 

She analysed the video with Dean a few times before switching to other cameras around and within the mini-mart. A few people came in and out, no one remotely suspicious or dangerous, nothing supernatural about them either. 

“I don’t see anything,” Dean muttered, replaying the last video of the inside of the store. He watched it again for good measure. It showed the woman the detectives arrested serving herself a blue raspberry slushie from the machine with a woman standing next to her, asking for a taste.

She leaned the cup over to her lover, or friend, or whatever she was meant to be. She took a sip and they walked together to the register, the man barely paid any attention to them as they spoke. 

“Right there, look,” she told him, Dean raised a brow and rewinded the video. She mischievously ducked under his arms, and placed her hand over his on the mouse, bending over the desk like he was doing so her ass brushed against his crotch. Dean grunted softly, moving away slightly with his hands on her hips. 

“You’re not wearing any underwear,” he whispered, squeezing her hip. She tried to remain composed, as much as she wanted to keep teasing and possibly do more, she genuinely found something.

Ignoring the throb in her clit, she teasingly asked, “uh, hello?” Dean’s hands flexed on her hip and then he pressed himself against her ass, to see what she saw. “You win the bet, it’s a siren,” she pointed out, pausing on the reflection of the monster’s terrifying face.

“Okay,” Dean whispered, letting her stand straight. “At least if it gets to me or you, it’s toxin won’t work,” he reassured her, kissing the top of her head. 

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve always been perfect to me, the one person I could lean on, the one person I knew would never lie to me, or do what Sam did… you’re-”

“Reliable, boring,” she finished for him, crossing her arms insecurely. 

“Kind, trustworthy, and good,” he corrected firmly, “you still are, there’s nothing I’m keeping inside, nothing… bad… because you’ve never failed me.” She turned to face him, stomach fluttering, flustered by his steadfast reasonings. 

“I can be stubborn and repetitive,” she reminded him, they’ve been angry at each other a few times in the past. Frustrated is the more correct word for it than angry. She didn’t want him to be wrong, or to end up making him feel bad if it worked on either of them. 

“Caring and empathetic,” he corrected again, his hands sliding into the pockets of his black slacks. He stepped close to her and narrowed his eyes at her self-deprecating words. Oh, wow, she felt small, and hot, and wet. “Stop arguing with me, I’m older than you. That makes me always right,” he tried to lighten the mood, she smiled softly at him, and laughed. 

“You’re right, I don’t think it’s toxin will work,” she agreed despite her doubts. Dean smiled, but tilted his head inquisitively. “You trusted it… or whatever… because it gave you the one thing you wanted most, a family, but now, you’ve got most of what you wanted back then, Sam’s not doin-” 

“I don’t pay for therapy sessions, sweetheart,” he dismissed bashfully, slipping his hands out of his slacks to reach out for her hips and tug her towards him. 

“Uh, well… there’s always sex,” she suggested seductively, locking her fingers together behind his neck. Dean leaned forward, his nose brushed against hers, and her eyes fluttered shut. 

“Sex is pleasure, not business, sweetheart,” he murmured. She felt one of his hands fall from her hip, then she felt a rough, arousing spank on her ass. She yelped while he laughed and lifted her back up on the table. “I love you, you know that?” He asked softly, pressing kisses along her jawline. 

“Yes,” she whispered, hooking her fingers on his belt loops to tug him closer between her legs. She wiggled around and got the pencil skirt high enough to let her spread her legs wider for him. Dean finally kissed her, his fingers slowly ghosting along the inside of her thighs, moving higher. 

She moaned against his mouth, impatiently waiting for him to touch her where she needed him most. Dean’s kiss became steamier, he pressed closer into her mouth, tongue slowly gliding over hers. 

“Can you feel how wet I am for you?” She mumbled when he panted for breath against her mouth. His fingers finally grazed her wet heat and he groaned, roughly burying a hand in her hair. He tugged at the soft locks of her hair and drew circles around her entrance before sliding his fingers up to her clit. 

“We need to ditch Cas and Jack,” Dean murmured desperately, pulling his hand out from between her legs much to her dismay. Dean kissed her forehead softly. 

“That’s mean,” she pouted jokingly, leaning back with her hands flat on the table. 

“Okay, maybe I won’t ditch them, but… I’ll drop them off at the motel, there’s a place on the way,” he informed her, then sucked his fingers clean of her wetness.

“God, you look fuckable,” she giggled, gazing at him flirtatiously. 

He flushed red—well, redder. “What?”

“It’s not a secret.” She shrugged casually, playing with his bright red tie. It only made him look hotter. Wickedly so. 

“What isn’t?”

“That you look hot in suits,” she laughed, pulling his tie to bring him down for a quick kiss to emphasise her feelings.

“Really? You think so?” He laughed softly against her lips.

“Everyone knows that.” 

“I don’t care about everyone, I’m asking about you.” He bit his lip, amused, and squeezed her thighs. 

“Yes.” 

“I’m ditching them, they’ve got wings,” Dean gave in. He took her hand, pulling her off the table. She quickly fixed her heels and skirt, following him as a zap of excitement coiled up her spine. 

“Let me text them first!”

“Seriously? Here?” She laughed, unbuttoning her shirt as fast as she could while Dean fumbled and removed his belt. Dean stared up at her, smiling from ear to ear, and she rolled her eyes at him halfheartedly. 

“It’s an abandoned mall’s parking lot,” he reasoned, lifting his hips up to shove his boxers and slacks down all at once. “No one’s finding us here,” he reassured her, hands impatiently roaming up her thighs to lift the tight pencil skirt.  

“Like you care,” she teased him, moving forward on her knees.  The cotton blanket he placed covered the leather booth-seat, silencing the typical squeak of leather beneath them. Dean spluttered and shrugged indifferently, pulling her shirt out of her skirt to shove his hands inside her bra, and pulled down so her breasts spilled out. She held the door of the Impala, squeezing hard beside his head, and started to lower herself down on him with her fingers curled around his cock.  

Dean’s mouth fell open, and he closed his eyes, moaning her name softly. Her pussy clenched around him as she gazed down at his face, her heart stuttering in her chest. His eyes fluttered open, and he bit his plump lip, smirking at her—like he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“Fuck,” she shuddered. Dean brought her closer, depositing wet kisses along her sternum and cleavage, all the while he gazed up at her from beneath his lashes. She could feel herself get wet around him, getting tighter, her breath hitching as she sank down lower and lower, taking every inch of him. 

“You’re hot, too,” he whispered, “in heels, or naked, or in my bed, or… in my car, especially on my dick.” Dean grinned playfully, and cupped her breast, squeezing gently, his calloused palm created delicious friction against her nipple. “You make sexy faces, like the one I just made-”

“Oh, shut up,” she laughed, circling her hips once she’d sunk all the way down on his cock, his blunt fingernails digging into the flesh of her thigh. 

“Really?” He teased breathlessly, bringing his two hands to her ass to squeeze and then slap roughly. She gasped and dropped her forehead on his, circling her hips excruciatingly slow. “I thought you liked it when I told you dirty stuff when we have sex. You know… like how badly I wanna cum when I see you every morning? It’s true, by the way,” he teased quietly, kissing her jaw, and bucked up into her pussy when she pushed herself up with her hands pressed against the window of the Impala. 

“Drives you crazy, doesn’t it?” He asked, brushing her hair away from her face lovingly. “Sure drives me crazy. Ya know… your hot face, the… pretty sounds you make—all of you. The way you taste… all of you. The smell of your skin and your hair. All the dirty things you say.” She moaned softly, and Dean scooted up slightly, panting against her lips as she started to lift herself up and down again on his lap. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispered, his hands travelling along her sides. 

“You have no idea how much I love you, Dean,” she laughed softly, cupping his cheeks. She tilted his head up and kissed him long, lips pressed firmly against his to pour every ounce of tenderness and love that flowered inside her heart, connecting the strands of her soul to his, and fusing her burning adoration for him like two colliding stars.

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do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[bachiras-toaster]

your rewards are so sweet : ̗̀➛

RANPO EDOGAWA x gn!reader

cw: suggestive but no explicit smut

wc: 1.6k

Ranpo sat idly at his personal desk in the Armed Detective Agency: A dimly lit office, his hands perked behind his head in a resting position, his legs on his desk, and a strawberry lollipop wedged in between his pouted lips. Underneath his feet were piles of documents he had yet to even look at, and it seemed like he had been procrastinating his duties for what was likely an hour now, just staring at the clock as the minutes went by.

He didn't even seem startled by the sound of footsteps approaching his office, despite having done literally nothing within the past sixty minutes. Scolding? Punishment? Ranpo had been through all of that before, and besides, he was already the greatest detective that the agency had to offer. What was the worst that could happen to him if he was caught slacking on the job?

"What is it you want? I'm busy." He groaned, knowing that he had done nothing but get lost in his own daydream the entire time. However, his demeanour changed when he caught wind of the voice that was on the other side of the barrier as the entrance to his office slowly tilted open.

"Oh, that's no way to treat your coworkers." You made her presence known to him, your voice low in a teasing tone.

Ranpo's heart leapt as soon as he heard your sweetness. How could he mistake that voice for anybody else? It was the voice of the coworker he was practically head over heels for, the one he would do anything to impress.

It was no mystery to the agency that Ranpo was hopelessly in love with you- It was no mystery to you either. In fact, it seemed like the only one who seemed to deny his infatuation was himself, disliking the fact that people could accuse him of being so devoted to another person's approval. Despite what he said though, it was abundantly clear that he was constantly at your feet, desperately waiting for just a shred of praise.

He quickly turned around, his lollipop dropping onto his desk accidentally as he was shocked by your sudden appearance, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"(Y/n)-San! I didn't even know you were here." He stammered, immediately going to wipe the drool that leaked from the corner of his lips when his lollipop hit the table, trying to seem as casual as possible but unfortunately failing miserably. He glanced down at the desk and swiftly picked up the treat, wrapping it in tissue before nonchalantly discarding it into the bin and standing up. "—What are you doing in my office? Are you investigating something?" He turned his attention towards you, still a little nervous. "You could have knocked first.."

"Had to make sure you were doing your work instead of slacking off." You hummed, making your way towards his workspace. It seemed like his eyes hadn't moved from you since you entered the room- Although, how could they? You seemed so serious and elegant in everything that you did, even walking seemed like an accomplishment of yours to him. "The President ordered me to make sure that you were working on the cases instead of just sitting at your desk and eating sweets like you always do."

"Just eating sweets?" He seemed offended, adjusting his cap before looking you in the face. "I am investigating all cases that come to me with complete seriousness, thank you very much." He huffed. "Sweets are important for a detective's health! Detectives must use their brain a lot, so they need a lot of energy. Besides, I am doing all of this work for the sake of catching criminals, for the sake of justice. Shouldn't I be rewarded for my hard work with sweets?" He asked you in a rhetorical sense, already reaching into his pocket to take out another unwrapped lollipop to replace that one that was just wasted.

"Rewards come after you get the job done." You proclaim with a faint smirk as you watched him carefully remove the wrapper from his candy. Just as he was about to take the second lollipop into his mouth, you swiped it from him and stuck it in your own, enjoying the delectable taste of raspberry-flavoured goodness. At the action, his face took on an expression of both offendedness and arousal at the sight of you stealing his candy and he wasn't sure whether he should address it. But as you sucked on the lollipop with such relish, his face flushed and he let down a gulp. Just the sight of you taking the candy from his mouth and putting it in your own filled him with emotions he never knew he could feel, as well as a range of private thoughts he had thought about every night.

You truly were one of a kind. He would do absolutely anything for you, and he'll do it willingly.

"Can you tell me what you've found out about the case at least?" You asked, your words muttering, the lollipop was stuffed between your teeth and cheek. He quickly adjusted himself and cleared his throat, tugging on his collar as he sighed, pointing at the documents.

"Of course... Well, I've already found out that we're dealing with a serial killer, probably a woman. According to the evidence we’ve collected, the culprit also suffers from some form of illness." Ranpo replied obediently and swiftly, as if he had known that information all along despite having just looked at the case for the first time since being assigned it.

You smiled at his immediate response and just chuckled, your index finger swirling around the stick of the lollipop. The first sentence he said came out casually, but when he caught a glance of your approving nod, Ranpo’s head immediately went down to skim through the document some more to desperately search for more leads and clues.

“…More specifically amnesia.” He continued. “Though, it’s quite clear that her loss of memory was not natural and it was forced from her by someone who’s powers probably has something to do with the mind.” He spoke fast, still trying to catch glances at you to see if you were still listening as he rambled on, pointing towards the documents. “The murders lead back to her, but she is not the villain. She was instead brainwashed into doing someone else’s dirty work for them so that they couldn’t be traced back to the crime… The only reason we haven’t found the culprit yet is because they’re already dead. Her latest mission was approximately one month ago.”

He turned the sheet of paper towards you and you scanned the collection of images and texts written down, continuing to swirl your tongue around the lollipop.

“All of the previous murders are relatively close together- Perhaps by two or three days. The absence of murder in such a long period of time is clearly an anomaly. But it’s only this way because I’ve concluded that her latest murder was killing the person who set her up to all this after she gained clarity over what she had done. This murder-slash-victim in question is Yori Hazaguchi: a meek, little office woman, who has probably already thought about turning herself in.”

As his last finger pointed towards the papers once more, he stood himself back up to his fullest height to proudly admire the case he had solved yet again. He then turned his head towards you to see if you agreed, and was met with the perfect sight of your smile just growing into a wider, proud grin.

"Ah, good. So it looks like you actually have been working. Fukuzawa was wrong to be so accusing. Maybe you’re deserving of rewards after all." You got up.

Removing the lollipop from your mouth, you strolled slowly over to stand right in front of him. You saw the way his chest tightened the closer that you got, and it fascinated you to see him so nervous in your presence. It wouldn't stop you in any capacity though. You kind of liked seeing him in such a way.

"Say 'ah'." You smiled, holding his chin with your thumb and beckoning him to open his mouth.

He looked at you while you stood in front of him, his eyes actually fully opened for once to welcome you with a love struck gaze- The pupils of a puppy. Your faces were so close to each other that he felt your sweet breathing mingling through the air, the aroma of the lollipop still being present in your breath. Your lips, your eyes, your hair: As he scanned these things and felt your thumb softly graze his chin, he pulled a weak smile. All of these aspects filled his mind and made him go weak.

"Ah..." He opened his mouth, awaiting for the reward.

As his jaw hung open, you shoved the lollipop that you had previously sucked on into his mouth, smiling as you watched him happily close his lips around the treat. He took a couple of glances at you, before stuffing the sweet between his teeth and cheek without a second thought, the stick hanging innocently from his lips- The fact that he could still taste your warm saliva on it was even better to him. The action made his heart go even faster and his brain rushed with memories of how you had licked on that candy... God, he felt so special.

These kinds of rewards were the best.

[strawberrystepmom]

Fukuzawa x F!Reader. CW: implied age gap (reader is in her late 20's and he is his canonical age), alcohol mention and consumption, takes place from his bedside while he's ill during the Cannibal arc. weird situationship vibes, switches between past and present tense.

WC: 2.9k | divider by cafekitsune

“What are you doing here?”

Yukichi’s voice is little more than a whisper when he speaks, the dryness of his throat marking his usual baritone with a rasp that causes you to arch a brow.

“Visiting, standing vigil, whatever makes it seem more heroic.” Making a show of licking the tip of your finger and using it to flip to the next page of the book sitting in your lap, you glance up from the page and tilt your head to the side.“Why are you so surprised to see me?”

“You shouldn’t be here. I’ll have Ranpo escort you out.” 

The continued dry rasp of his voice makes you spring into action, snapping the book in your lap closed and reaching for the small carafe of water by his bedside. Pouring a glass, you slide it in his direction and look away when he moves to pick it up. The suggestion that Ranpo be the one to escort you out makes you chuckle to yourself considering he is the one who let you in to begin with, holding out his hand for the promised sweets your sister mailed from overseas. Sweeter and stickier than anything he can find here, probably melting in the palm of his hand.

Finally, you sigh and lean back in the chair as much as the cramped object will allow.

“If you want me to leave, you can just say so. I can show myself out. No escort necessary.” 

You want to hear him deny you in his own words for once, anticipating the rejection that has yet to come, a breath caught in your throat. Instead you listen to the gulp of room temperature water travel down his throat, eyes fixed to the closed cover of the book in your lap. 

It has been more than six months since your employment with the Armed Detective Agency ended and you’ve managed to wheedle your way into two personal visits with its President in that time. Two times you attempted, yet again, to show him you are invested in him as Yukichi Fukuzawa, the man and not merely as a former boss.

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

The first was over dinner; a simple message sent with intention.

You: I made too much and always forget about my leftovers. Have you eaten yet?

What is he if not an old moth to a hopeful little flame? 

Logic warned him to decline but his just shaky enough to be from low blood sugar mid-evening hands betrayed his judgment. What could it hurt to humor you a little bit? He has never been outright oblivious to your feelings although will always believe them to be misguided. 

YF: You are too generous with your time and groceries. I can be there in twenty minutes.

You showed him your humble abode for the first time and fed him bites from your plate insisting you were almost too full to move. Your cat climbed into his lap and he dared to daydream for a breath it were the needy creature’s owner instead, steel blue eyes tracing your every move while nimble fingers stroked between the cats’ ears. The soft melody of your record collection set the soundtrack and you swayed gently, nursing a glass of wine between two of your fingers.

“Thank you for coming tonight.”

Whatever trance the gentle purr of your cat had him in severed the moment he heard your voice. He watched your form gently sway to the music, soft and melodic from the decade before he was even born making it far older than you.

“Can’t let good food go to waste.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you smiled at him with narrowed eyes. He has imagined you performing this exact motion often, every day even, looking over your shoulder while swaying gently to your favorite music. If he weren’t so concerned about appropriateness, he’d rise to his feet and join you, wrap his arm around your waist and sway with his chin on your shoulder.

“You think I’m a good cook?”

From your couch, he glanced over his shoulder at you and sighed softly. If he were to speak the words he wants to say, they’d almost certainly tip this over the edge he has spent so much time desperately trying to avoid, so he picks the easiest ones available:

“Yeah, you are.”

The way you smiled at him weighed on his mind for the rest of his fitful night, that grin lighting up nightmares and daydreams alike.

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

“Why are you here?”

Fukuzawa rarely makes a second request for an answer, even from you, and the breath caught in your throat becomes a sharp exhale the moment he speaks. He glances in your direction and sees the anxious twitch in your fingers, how you desperately wish to fiddle with your appearance or jewelry to seem undisturbed and confident. Fukuzawa is an intelligent man by nature and he carefully watches to expose all of a person’s subtleties, even yours. So much of your behavior is a veneer to make yourself appear non threatening.

Truth be told, he’s astounded it works as well as it does although even the greatest minds have fallen prey to beautiful women with sharp wit and pretty smiles. Not that you are a predator to him in the slightest.

“Because I care about you,” you start, snapping your mouth shut to avoid saying more. Instead of fiddling with your clothing or earrings, you jiggle your foot and the book in your lap bounces with each movement. You are too vulnerable for your own good, tender hearted to the core. “I wanted to see how you’re doing for myself instead of getting the sanitized version of the story from Kunikida and the dishonest one from Dazai.”

Fukuzawa attempts to push his glass back onto the table and you reach to pluck it from his hands, fingers touching while you do. It reminds him of the second occasion he enjoyed your company before tonight, skin buzzing with the ghost of your touch instead of the dull throbbing pain of his illness. A soft gasp escapes him and he settles back against the pillow under his head, silver hair sweeping his shoulders.

“That’s fair,” he admits, fiddling with the blanket that is loosely wrapped over his body. 

You giggle despite feeling entirely out of your element, insecure and young despite your nearly three decades, dabbling in adoration for a man you have no business being interested in to begin with. 

“If you’d like to be alone, I can leave.”

He makes you feel as though you’re nude in front of him while he’s fully clothed, baring every crease and dimple of yourself, supine and ripe for his consumption. It’s what you want, after all. A single glance that leaves you stripped to the bones.

It’s why you cannot leave him alone.

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

The second time you were fortunate enough to be graced with Fukuzawa’s presence as a friend was a tad less honest on your end. 

“Hello?”

Fukuzawa knew who was on the other end before he even picked his phone up to answer the incoming call, a stirring feeling in his gut he should have perhaps taken as a warning letting him know what was coming next.

“What are you doing tonight?”

He exhaled loudly through his nose in response to your question, the closest you have ever come to drawing a real laugh from the man. He has always played off his enjoyment with tight smiles and acknowledging nods, hiding his upturned lips behind the ceramic of a choko.

“I’ll take it that means you’re free?” 

The sound of a pen being tossed down onto the desk below it clanged through the speaker of your phone. You sighed the sound away, listening for further stirring on the other end. Seconds passing have conditioned you to expect a rejection when it comes to him, a gentle let down the way only he has managed to seem less like a “no thank you” and more of a “you’re so kind to ask” in the effusively polite way he has perfected.

“Tell me what I’m going to be getting myself into before I answer, please.”

You were not being asked to explain yourself, you were being told to do so. A small smile danced across your lips while smearing on berry colored lipstick in your bathroom mirror, your phone pressed against your blush dusted cheek.

“So there is this sake tasting…” A sigh from Fukuzawa interrupted your words and you sighed back, pouting at your reflection in the mirror. “Can you at least let me finish?”

He cleared his throat, leaving you to picture him sitting in his office at the Agency with a bemused smirk on his face. You’ve never seen him smile but your mind is quick to expel the effort it takes to pretend that you have. Does he have dimples? Lines that mirror those beneath his eyes that carve valleys around his mouth? You’ve always hoped you’d find out.

“Thank you.” 

He hummed a response to your polite words, shifting in his own seat.

“I booked it expecting a friend would join me but something has come up and they can’t. I could go alone but I also just so happen to know a man who is very fond of sake and knows more about it than I do who would be the perfect company.”

Another hum was all he graced you with. You wrinkled your nose at your reflection and mouthed a swear word, certain your flimsy story was about to be dead on arrival. It wasn’t your best story and you knew going into this it was risky to lie to begin with but what else could you say? 

“Oh Fukuzawa, I’ve been dying to drink alongside you in hopes it loosens your tongue enough to reveal your deep mutual love for me.”

No. You would have rather died than admit these words aloud where he could hear them. He has always had access to far too much of you and has granted you far too little to him. 

“And this friend? Who are they?”

A giggle bubbled out of you while you closed your lipstick tube, tossing it on the counter in front of you haphazardly. Should you choose your words carefully to prolong the mystery of this friend, the same one you claim you’re drinking with when you’re really drinking alone and calling your former boss and current flame?

“They’re nobody important,” you settled on. He knew immediately you were lying, your true good hearted nature giving you away yet again. You’d never call your friends unimportant, no matter how frustrated you may have been over being stood up which seems to happen with this mysterious friend often.

“Hm. Interesting.”

You knew you’d been caught. The tone of his voice was more of a guilty verdict than any you could find in a courtroom. The warmth rushing to the front of your face, something you’d almost consider shameful if you had any shame left, convinced you to suspend any further untruths and you instead opted to rush into the next part of your offer full speed ahead.

“It starts at eight. If you aren’t busy, that is. Just say so if you are, I’m a big girl who can handle rejection.”

Yukichi smiled from his office. It dimmed as quickly as it spread across his face, drawn to life by the assertion you can handle rejection. Only someone who has ever been rejected can handle rejection. You are rarely denied what you want. Is he really going to be another hashmark keeping track of how many you’ve won over?

“Are you going to keep me out all night?”

This won him a laugh from you, a sound that warmed his bones and made his mind race at the same time. 

“Depends, do you wanna be out all night? This is just a tasting but I have a bottle and you know where I live…”

Singing the last word of your sentence, you devolved into a fit of giggles over your own sillness and if he wasn’t actively debating on how appropriate his association with you is, he probably would have laughed along. 

“No. That’s not necessary, I’m sure the tasting will give me all the excitement I can handle.”

The tasting only made him yearn for you more strongly, fingers brushed against one another while passing ceramic cups to lips. Discussions of clean flavor, light and neat, bright and warm, lent to the warm landscape spent at the side of a woman he cannot seem to shake no matter what happens to him.

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

“I don’t want you to leave.”

The breath caught in your throat leaves you as a sharp exhale, finally. 

The truth always finds its way to light, the lamp on the bedside table casting a glow over the side of Yukichi’s face. He’s more frail than you have ever dreamed of seeing him, complexion nearly translucent in its currently pale hue. Your thumb twitches, itching to rub the skin around his eyes that is etched with fine lines, to reassure him you will not be leaving his side until you’re certain he’s alright. Instead, you tuck it inside your fist to keep the urge to yourself.

“Good because I honestly don’t want to.”

You fiddle with your bag that is draped over the back of the chair, reaching for the newspaper you swiped off of the desk of the Agency after making your deal with Ranpo earlier in the day. You’d show up after everyone else went home or was otherwise occupied and he’d let you in to avoid the gawking that would come with everyone knowing that you are visiting for pleasure and not for business. 

“I brought the paper if you want me to read it to you,” you offer and Fukuzawa hums, the faintest sight of a smile on his lips. The corners twitch so minutely you believe you imagined the movement but look down all the same, warm faced, grateful that your mind was correct in assessing him. Dimples and little lines are visible on each of the corners of his mouth. 

“Anything interesting happening?”

Flipping the pages open, your eyes widen and you search for something interesting, muttering to yourself. Traffic conditions, weather, reports of minor crime throughout Yokohama. None of these things will improve his condition or keep him from worrying so you flip the page again, shaking your head when the stories come up empty for one you’d like to read.

“Don’t they put the horoscopes in the paper anymore?”

He chuckles and you can tell it hurts him, his chest heaving from the effort. The paper is quickly discarded, fluttering to the floor beside your chair. You lean forward and place your elbows on the side of his bed, daring to get close enough you can look over him from inches instead of feet. 

“Are you okay?”

Fukuzawa stiffens and you have to further fight the urge to dote on him. Your fingers itch push his moonlight colored waves off of his face and your palm practically throbs, wishing to be pressed to his likely clammy skin. It’s in your nature to cluck at the things you care about like a worried hen.

“I have to believe that I will be.”

Nodding your agreement and punctuating it with another sigh, you lean forward and rest your chin on his bedside. The intrusion surprises him but it isn’t completely unwelcome, those eyes you love to feel upon you glancing downward and focusing on the tip of your nose, gradually climbing upward until your gazes meet. 

“I’ll believe double, just for good measure.” Smiling, you press your cheek to the scratchy fabric of the blanket wrapped around his legs and half of his torso. “I’ll bring you a nicer blanket tomorrow.”

Raising a brow, he keeps his gaze fixed on you.

“Tomorrow?”

Scoffing, you nod. The question isn’t a jab although it may feel like one and you have to reason with yourself that he is merely giving you a hard time. 

“Tomorrow, if you’ll have me.”

Shaking his head, he idly reaches in your direction and brushes his thumb over your cheek before placing his hand back at his side. Again, a movement so quick and discreet you believe it imaginary, yet the sensation burns across your skin. Fighting the urge to bury your face into the bed like a schoolgirl with a crush, you choose instead to face him head on and let your gaze soften.

“Next time just ask me if you can come, no need to get Ranpo involved.” You shrug and laugh. “Was it that obvious?”

Yukichi nods and permits his eyes to drift from you to the door. It was obvious from the moment he realized you were in the room who graciously allowed for you to be there, the man on the other side of the door loudly munching whatever you bribed him with.

“You aren’t as great of a liar as you think you are.”

Laughing, you shrug.

"Caught me. At least I'm a good cook and decent company instead."

Fighting the urge to reach out and touch you again, he keeps his hands at his sides and ponders the correct way to respond. His time on earth could be fleeting from this moment forward, his minutes numbered by a threat his entire team is working to figure out. He could leave his cards on the table. Tell you he feels the same and he hasn't had this much fun since he was a far younger man getting into far more trouble.

Instead, he settles back into the pillow beneath him and shifts his face to look at you. He'll save these matters of the heart until after there is no more looming danger.

"Thank you for coming."

You sit up and away from the bed, leaning back into the chair you're sitting on. He doesn't want to discuss feelings or the two of you any further and you respect that, dropping your arm over the side of the chair and fish for the newspaper you brought with you, plucking it by one of the folds and pulling it into your lap.

"Now where were we? Oh yeah, horoscopes."

Whatever you're saying fades into background noise while he shuts his eyes tightly. He has to make it through this, you're waiting for him on the other end of it.

[hangesdarling]

I hear you want Hange requests….heres one for you angry sex with hange 🤤

attention — h. zoë

PAIRING. Hange Zoë x female reader

SYNOPSIS. During the party celebrating Marley and Eldia, the tension between you and Hange remained thick after an argument.

CONTENT. 18+, MDNI, angst, alcoholism, arguments, masturbation, cursing, Yelena making moves on you, jealousy, fingering, strap-on sex, Hange being kinda aggressive, marking up, dacryphilia if you squint, choking, overstimulation, drama (lmk what else)

WORD COUNT. 3.4k

A/N. this is my active daydream being turned into a fic. got carried away lmao

The ballroom party wasn't really necessary. All the fine-tuned instruments, lovely voices, and extravagant facade serve nothing but shallow acquaintanceship between the two parties. It doesn't mean anything, you argued with Hange. But you still sat there in a lone chair by the bar, sipping away your disappointment. And sometimes, your eyes would travel over your spouse happily chatting with fellow commanding heads. 

Irritating, you thought, rolling your eyes before signaling the barkeep for another drink. 

Not only because you and Hange fought this morning, but you were forced to wear an itchy, pretentious dress during the event. You're itching to claw on your skin, the neckline forming tiny rashes mottled across your chest. You looked beautiful, but then again what could be expected from the Commander's wife but beauty, elegance, and good manners? A huff escaped your lips as you remembered Hange ordering you to behave yourself.  

They remained at the center table, chatting and laughing with the higher-ups they used to hate. You could only clench the drink handed to you, wondering if that Hange across the room was the same person you married seven years ago. For all you know, your Hange wouldn't force you into this stupidity and would loathe the pleasantries from the country wishing to eliminate your own. They wouldn't neglect you as what they've been doing for the past months. 

You want to storm there and shake them awake, to say that they shouldn't have let you stay all alone in this stupid, friendless corner like a forgotten, dusting trophy. You've already snapped quietly like a leakage never detected. You sneaked a champagne bottle, walking away from the party as you tore the lace choking your neck. Upstairs, you stormed inside the room you and Hange shared, still tearing away the fabric of your dress in pure irritation. 

You couldn't handle the air downstairs. The sweet scent of whisky, the rich scent of food, and the cloying commingle of expensive perfumes. Even Hange's presence. 

You tore the last ribbons off your dress, letting the fabric fall off your shoulder before crawling back to the cold bed sheets. Pulling the nearby pillow, you buried your face in frustration, trying to think of something peaceful. Flowers, sheep, anything, damnit. But your mind remained on the event downstairs, prompting the frustrated screams you let out on your pillow. 

You rolled over the bed, staring at the ceiling and ruminating what made you so frustrated. Your argument with Hange, the dress, the party... But there was something else. An unwelcomed thought you're trying to neglect out of fear to be pathetic: what frustrated you the most was that Hange hasn't touched you in such a long time. Even the past weeks became so difficult that you never had the opportunity to relieve yourself. Your body wanted to be touched, to be hugged so tightly once again, craving for the familiar feeling of Hange's arms that perfectly fit around your body.

Slowly, you unbuttoned the rest of your clothing, discarding them across the room. It didn't take long for you to set yourself in the mood, shutting the lights off to further feel yourself. In no time, you were clenching on the sheets, moaning soundlessly against the pillow as you tried to imitate Hange's rhythm inside of you. You curled and pumped your fingers inside your dripping cunt, thinking of the bleary memories when Hange was making love with you. 

However, your peak was cut short as you heard the door open and slammed closed within a matter of seconds. Hange's irritated voice followed.

"What do you think you're doing?" Hange hissed, locking the bolts shut. 

You sat up and shot them a glare, "None of your fucking business. Go away."

"None of my business?" Hange turned their head sharply at you. "Of course, it's none of my business that my wife is touching herself with the door unlocked and a huge party happening outside."

Their sarcastic tone irritated you even more. As you would argue back, Hange grabbed your wrist and pulled your chin so you would look at them.

"What were you thinking? What if I'm not the one who walked in?" 

You tore your hand off their bruising grip. "I hate you."

"Right. Hate me all you want. What is it now, you want someone else to walk in so you could be touched?"

Your eyes burned from the angry tears falling on your eyes, you pushed them away and muttered, "I hate you so much. You're making it sound like I'm a disgusting, cheating whore."

"What am I supposed to think when you're doing filthy things in our bed and didn't lock the door?" They argued back. 

"I just forgot to lock the door. Why don't you just drop it? Ugh!" Your voice rose, trying to shut them off. You wrapped a blanket around you, reaching for the bottle across the bed. Maybe handling this drunk would be better. 

Hange let out a sharp, annoyed sigh before swinging the bottle out of your reach. 

"I told you not to drink. You're a lightweight and it's not good for you," they said, trying to be calmer this time. You're so sick of arguing with them anymore that you just let them tear the drink away from you. You pulled the sheets to your chin and muttered, "Fine. Just go away."

Hange was eyeing the torn dress you threw across the room earlier and retorted, "No, you're going back downstairs. People are looking for you."

Of course. Everyone's conversation starter was to ask for the spouse of the other, flashing them like an acquired trophy to be complimented for pristine behavior. 

"No way in hell I'm going there," you said finally. "I'm sleeping."

Hange shot a hard look as your back was against them. They clenched the bottle tightly, eager to snap but wouldn't let themself. 

"Fine. Have your way." Truly, Hange wanted to talk to you, sort things out so you wouldn't sleep angry at them again but you've become so hard and cold. 

They took the bottle with them as they went out and slammed the door shut louder than before. Hange left the room, locking the door shut from the outside, thinking you would continue the act before. They won't risk anyone to see you like that. 

With attentive ears, you heard the tell-tale sound of a bolt being locked from the outside. You ran to the door and checked, wriggling the knob open to no avail. All that ran in your mind was perhaps Hange hated you so much they had to lock you in out of revenge. You pounded on it for almost half a minute, even shouting how irritated you were at them for locking you in. 

Eventually, you slumped from the other side and cried in anger. You didn't want to register what the few moments after that came to be as it was confusing. 

All you knew was that, the door managed to twist open. But it wasn't Hange from the other side. 

Yelena stood there, looking at you almost expectantly as she helped you stand up. She gave a light chuckle as you tried your hardest to cover up. 

"The bolt outside was quite easy. Magnetic," she remarked, her eyes making a subtle glance all over you. "Did Commander Hange lock you here?"

"Yes," you answered shortly, the pout on your lips looked so cute to her.

"Seems like the Commander was quite protective of you," Yelena chuckled, leaning on the door frame. "I could understand why."

Her eyes are set on yours. Knowingly, you understood her intentions but you dismissed it and immediately changed the subject, "Shouldn't you be downstairs?"

"I should be, yes. But I heard you."

You closed the door halfway and muttered, "I think you should go back now... Thanks for opening the door for me."

"Oh, wouldn't you like to be at the party? I bet the Commander would love to see you there," she reasoned, a genuine coax that made something inside you ring. 

Maybe messing around downstairs doesn't sound so bad since you cannot sleep anyway. You quickly changed into the best, most alluring dress you can find. Yelena insisted on coming with you and patiently waited by the door. She offered an arm which you took, as you both went downstairs where the party remained spirited. 

Yelena sat with you on the bar, offering you a drink after the other as you chatted, smiling to yourselves as the party went on. You were too caught up with trying some drinks and invested in what Yelena was saying to even wonder where Hange was. 

Unbeknownst to you, they already spotted you from afar minutes ago. They didn't like how you were sitting too close to Yelena or sharing a drink after one with her. Somehow, they trusted you with moderation despite the argument earlier which you didn't live by. However, they couldn't remain sitting down at the table, seeing you on the verge of drunkenness. Maybe what made them snap was Yelena's arm around yours, squeezing your sides a bit too intimately.

Hange got up from their seat, saying polite excuse me's through the crowd as their gaze remained focused on where you are. They managed to reach you, and Yelena acknowledged them politely. Hange gave her a strained smile, putting an arm around your waist to make you stand up.

"Please excuse us. My wife seems to be drunk," they muttered, pushing your drink from your hand. They pulled you off your seat and muttered, "Come with me."

"I'm not even drunk yet," you argued but didn't try to pull away. It was true, but you were tipsy enough to be tempted. Maybe a little bolder than you usually were. Your eyes set upon Hange's sharp features, wishing you could kiss them right now. Maybe even ask them to carry you in bridal style just like the old times. 

"I'm not letting that happen," they muttered. "Do you want to embarrass yourself so bad?"

Hange guided you upstairs, a firm hand on your waist as they shoved the bedroom door open once again and pulled you back inside. They let you go, making you sit up in the bed as they locked the door once again. 

A minute passed and you were arguing again, bringing up the subject of how they became so cold to you despite your attempts to warm them up. And sometimes, they would barely glance at you, not even a hug or a kiss. 

Hange grew extremely frustrated, body and mind. They wanted this argument to end but couldn't stop their anger from boiling over. You didn't know how things escalated that quickly but your next memory was Hange on top of you, a hand hiked up under your skimpy dress. They placed kisses and bites against your neck and chest, causing you to whimper and grip their shoulder. 

"You said I wasn't giving you attention, right? Then fine, I'll give it to you," their voice was almost a hiss against your ear, making you shiver as they positioned you on the bed. Hange flipped you over, pressing a hand on your lower back while the other bundled around your hair. A soft gasp went through your lips as their hand snaked, downwards tugging down the lace of your underwear to your knees. 

Hange thumbed over your clit the way you liked it, their other fingers gathering the slick from when you touched yourself earlier. You hid your face against the sheets, embarrassed at how quickly you were submitting to their touch, how your body eagerly reacted to the touch it had longing for in such a long time. 

Hange smirked at the sight, wasting no time to push you more harshly to the bed. Their fingers went deeper inside you, smoothly gliding over your warmth from how drenched their fingers were. 

Usually, Hange would start off gently, maybe even tease you until your exposed skin is all marked up by love bites but Hange wouldn't do that this time. They pushed their fingers to the hilt, brutally drawing it back and forth with such force that shook your body. Their teeth nipped against your neck as they did so, relishing the sound of your whimpers. 

"You like that, hm?" They curled their fingers, pumping every digit until your wetness was starting to drip down your thighs. You could even feel their palm against your sensitive area from how fast and deep they pumped their fingers in. You caught the pillow between your teeth in a soundless scream after hearing several footsteps from the hallway near your bedroom.

"What? Don't want them to hear you?" they tugged on your hair, speaking a little louder just to taunt you. A thumb brushed over your aching clit, urging you to moan louder than you could possibly let out. 

Your fingers dug into the sheets, "Stop... fucking with me."

"Fine, dear wife," they smirked as they drew out their fingers the moment they felt your insides clenching against them. 

You whined, about to protest from your ruined orgasm but Hange repositioned you once again, forcing your legs open in front of them.

"I'm not done with you," they said in a low voice, unbuckling their belt. Hange pushed you into a harsh kiss, your wrists locked beneath their hand. You felt the tip of the phallic-shaped toy attached to them, slowly dragging it down your slit before Hange slammed it in one go. You screamed, throwing your head back from such a force against your sensitive flesh. 

Hange gripped your throat, their other hand mounting your leg over their shoulder. The new angle draws out a sharp cry from your throat as Hange begins to plunge the dildo back and forth, their hips moving resolutely. 

"You know," they began. "I was thinking of making love with you after that godforsaken party. Maybe to fuck that frustration out of you. Both of us, really. But no, you just had to annoy me tonight don't you?" 

Hange grunted, their lips parting to plant bruising kisses against your neck. They squeezed your throat a little tighter before saying, "Why were you with Yelena?" 

You had to catch your breath, maybe stabilize yourself against their shoulder so you could speak. 

"She was just being nice," you reasoned but that wasn't what Hange wanted to hear. Their pace increased, hips snapping against yours. 

"Ah, fuck—! Hange, s-slow down," you whined against their shoulder, gripping their arm from how much they were rocking your body. 

"Shut up and take it," Hange hissed, pulling your hips even closer so you could feel every inch of them. Their mouth kissed the bruises on your chest and neck, their eyes half-lidded as they thought about how pretty you looked all marked up. By this time, Hange had torn off what remained of the dress you're wearing, eager to have you bare. No sooner, you feel tiny pricks and bites on your chest, breasts, and stomach. Hange made sure their marks look like perfect artwork on your skin. 

Your head almost dangled against the edge of the bed, their hand remained gripping your throat as they plunged in and out of you, stretching and pummelling your insides. Hange would kiss the moans and whines from your lips, drawing numerous releases out of you until you became a writhing mess under them. Tears rolled down your cheeks, your insides burning from pain and pleasure. 

Hange heard a faint I can't take it anymore from you before letting your weakened body fall back to the bed. After a few long strokes, they pulled out of you, and a soaking mess dripped down both of your thighs, even your hips. Hange watched your eyes flutter, the gentle rising of your marked-up chest whenever you breathed, and how your lips slightly parted from what they did to you. You looked so beautiful in Hange's eyes, the most perfect image ever captured and framed in their mind. 

They wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you to their chest as they smoothed out your hair. A hand rubbed against your back, easing your body from trembling too much. Hange kissed down the bruises on your neck, inhaling the faint smell of your perfume. The soft, warmth of your body reminded them of how they missed you, of how much they longed to embrace you like this once again. 

"I'm not forgiving you just because you fucked me," Hange heard you mumble. You wanted to break away from their hug, but your body only leaned towards them despite your wishes.

"I know," they mumbled, their hand caressing your cheek, lifting up your chin so you would look at them. Their eyes softened, the way the brown earth turned a tender shade after rain. "Look, Y/N, I'm sorry. For everything."

Hange took your fingers to their lips. "I'm sorry I've been so frustrated and angry. Please allow me to make it up to you."

When you remained quiet against their chest, they continued, "I know that I haven't been affectionate with you in such a long time... Believe me I wanted to but it's just..."

Hange doesn't want to continue. They don't want to tell you what kind of hell being a commander felt like in such a demanding position. They want to appease the people, bring life-long peace, and make Eldia habitable again without any threat of being wiped out. 

They only kissed your hair and mumbled in a breaking voice, "Please forgive me, Y/N. I love you... so much, my sweetheart."

They felt a pang against their chest just from seeing the tears roll down your cheeks after they said those tender words. As if their love radiated through your heart despite weeks of misunderstanding, of not being able to tell each other what one truly feels. 

Your breath hitched against their chest, their arms preventing you from breaking apart any further. 

"I know... It's just that," you began as Hange wiped tears from your cheeks. "Sometimes... I don't even know you anymore."

Hange's heart trembled with the newfound pain from your broken confession but they remained listening.

"Sometimes I would assume you wanted a hug because you always do when you're tired, or maybe a cup of tea or a kiss from me but... there are times I feel like you're pushing me away. That I'm too overbearing, that you're getting sick of me," you sobbed. "I've often wondered if you even think about me."

Your sobs further broke their heart apart. Thinking how they made you feel puts even more resentment within them. They tried to smile with their lips against your forehead as they whispered, "Of course, my love... I think about you. Every day. And forgive me because in all those days, I've imagined nothing but a peaceful life for us after the war is over. I'm getting ahead of myself, I know. I've been so neglectful... I'm so sorry."

Hange let you cry on their chest, wrapping you up in several layers of blankets. 

"Hey, my sweet," Hange muttered, kissing the tears out of you. "How about I just cancel everything tomorrow? We'll go out, just the two of us."

"Really?" you sniffled.

"Really." Hange smiled. 

"That is if I can walk tomorrow. You roughed me up tonight," you smiled through tears. Hange laughed softly against your neck. That laugh you missed so much. 

The ballroom party remained lively downstairs, a room full of shallow chatting and emptying whiskey bottles. A place too intoxicating for genuineness and passion. War and hatred remained thick and prodding despite the fancy facade of the wealthy and powerful.

Hange dismissed all of it just for this night, finding peace the moment their head rested against your chest. Your heartbeats against their ear, your soft fingers running through their hair— each touch reminded them of the paradise they could only find with you. Hange forced the impending war away from their mind just for this time, relishing the memory of their first date with you, your first kiss, your wedding day— everything they want to hold and protect, to achieve peace for. 

"Maybe we can just spend the entire tomorrow here in bed," Hange proposed, a smirk curling on their lips as they continued. "There are still more things I wanted to do with you."

likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated, sweethearts <3

[fruity-mega-coconut69]

The Quiet Kid Pt. III.

[pairings]: Tara Carpenter x Reed!Fem!Reader

[Summary]: After the attack at the apartment, it wasn't long before the others found out about who you really are.

[warnings]: swearing, bad writing

A/N: I don't know, I'm thinking about changing my username. But only if you guys are okay with that. Also thanks for almost 400 followers. Holy Shit!Oh and should i Do a pt 2 of One more chance? If so, tell me what would you like to be in it.

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

After you’ve been patched up in the ambulance, you decided to just lean against it. Tara and Mindy are there too. Sitting on the back of the ambulance with Mindy’s head on Tara’s shoulder. Anika has been driven to the hospital because of the amount of blood she has lost.

As you are daydreaming by yourself, you see Chad walking up to you. However, you pay no mind to it, even as he settles beside you. There’s a long beat of silence before he speaks up. “So…..how are you?” You just look at him and after a couple of seconds he nods. “Listen, I-.....I know you like Tara. And I know, you  know that I do too.” He takes in a deep breath as he finally looks up from the ground. “ But I think it’s pretty fucking clear who she like back.” Chad laughs breathlessly.

You look up at him with furrowed eyebrows. “And who would that be?” 

“You, dumbass!” He exclaims. “ i mean, yes we maybe closer and all, but the way she fucking looks at you? She-....” Chad pauses and looks down at his shoes. “She will never look at me like that. And besides, I think liking Tara was just……my mourning.  I thought that, maybe if we’d get together, I don’t know, we could…..help each other move on. Shit, that’s such bullshit.” He laughs pathetically at himself.

“That’s not true. It just seems that the both of you are dealing with what happened to you in such different but still somehow familiar ways.  Okay? I-” You couldn’t finish your sentence as Chad’s attention is turned towards Ethan, who has just walked into the closed down area. Chad mutteres something among the lines of, ‘That mother fucker’ and ‘ Son of a bitch’ then storms over to Ethan. 

Suddenly, you see Tara’s face come into view. She smiles at you slightly. “ Hi.” You nod back at her. “Hi “ 

She looks down at the ground and swallows hard. “ So, uh, are you planning on telling the others about Kirby? “

While hesitantly nodding, you suck in a deep breath. “ Yeah, I do. But I don’t think right now is a good time for that. “Tara nods then looks over where Sam is and sees Detective Bailey stumbling out of the apartment building. Tara’s face softens and she looks back at you, grabs your hand and starts walking towards them.

Letting out a yelp, you try to keep up with her. When you arrive you see Bailey sobbing.  Tara looks up at him. “I’m really sorry about Quinn. “

He nods at her and looks down at the ground. “Thank you. “ Bailey sniffs and looks up at Sam. She puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Both my kids are gone. My whole family…..gone.” Bailey sobs out. You bite your lip as you look at the grieving man.  Sam and Tara glance at each other . then you feel Tara squeezing your hand, well you didn't even realize she was still holding it. “ they took me off the case. But I'm not gonna stop until I find him. You fuck with my family….you die.”He says angrily while glancing at Sam.

“Agreed”

Suddenly, you hear a voice-that you know all too well- say behind you with rushed breaths. “Hey, are you okay? I came as soon as I heard. “ You smile and go over to her. She grins at you then holds out her arms, welcoming you in a sweet hug. When you pull away, Tara once again takes hold of your hand. 

Sam perks up. “Gale, I swear to god.. “ She warns Gale. 

“Truce, okay? I’m here for whatever you need. “ She says, almost pleading.

Sam scoffs at her. “Yeah, okay. Nice try”

“Really, I am. “ Gale looks at the three of you then sighs. “Okay, fine. Off the record, okay?” Tara looks at Sam and she nods hesitantly. 

“Okay. Thank you. “

Then, Tara and Gale make eye contact. Tara starts shaking her head. “I’m…sorry I punched you. “ A light smirk grows on Gale’s face. “No, you’re not”

“I’m not. “ Tara smiles. Gale turns to Detective Bailey but your attention remains on Tara until your ears perk up at the sound of your sister's voice.

“Ladies. “ Kirby walks up to the five of you and when she notices you, her eyes quickly fill with concern. She steps closer to look at your bandages . “Oh, shit. You okay? “ You just nod at her and she wraps her arms around you in a quick hug then she turns to the others. 

“Kirby? What? Is the whole familia here?” Kirby rolls her eyes. “Gale” 

“She’s with the FBI” Says Sam as she looks at the two. 

Gale looks at her in disbelief. “She’s a child. When did they start letting children into the FBI?” 

“I’m 30 “ Kirby says with a sassy tone that makes you giggle. Tara smiles lightly as she looks at you then turns her attention back to Gale and Kirb’s conversation. 

“Well, you look like a zygote” 

“I have a gun, Gale” She puts her hands on her gun that’s attached to her belt around her waist.

Gale looks down at it. “Okay, fine. You’re gonna want to see this too. “

— —

About half an hour later, you guys find yourself outside of an old theater. Gale is leading the way inside with Kirby trailing behind her as you and your friends silently follow. 

“Apparently, they used fake names to rent this place.” Gale says more to Kirby than you guys. 

“How did you find it?” 

You are currently walking between Chad and Tara who are just quietly looking around and listening to Gale and Kirby. You stare ahead while walking, trying to not make anything awkward. When you arrive at a door, Gale opens it with a swiping card and lets you guys in. You go up some stairs then you come across another door. Gale swipes the card again and a couple of seconds later, every one of you is inside as Gale turns on the lights.

When the lights turn on, you see the theater. “It’s a movie theater. “

“It’s not just a movie theater. “Gale pauses as she looks at each of you. “It’s a shrine.” Your eyebrows furrow and you start walking further inside.  You look around and your eyes widen at the sight. It’s a bunch of evidence from all the previous attacks. Then, the curtains go up and on the stage is revealed all 9 robes of all 9 killers with Sam’s father’s, Billy Loomis’, in a glass box in the middle.

You all split up to look around. You go and follow Kirby as she makes her way towards the dummy with Jill Robert’s shirt on. Next to it was a display case with a photo and a knife in it. You clench your jaw as you see the slight sadness on your sister's face.

And that’s when you hear Mindy’s voice shout. “ Holy shit! Is that a kid in that photo?! “ Your eyes widen as the others walk over to her. Sighing, Kirby grabs your arm and walks you over too.

“Wait…..I-look “ Chad points at the ripped newspaper page next to the photo. “Right here, it says, ‘ Y/N Reed is officially the youngest victim of another ghostface massacre.’ What the fuck? “ They all turn to look at you as you stand beside your sister awkwardly. Of course, Tara, Sam and Gale nowhere surprised, but the twins, Ethan and Bailey? Oh, they had many questions. 

“You’re Kirby’s sister?!” 

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

A/N: Sorry, this is very short!

[lilypadeater]

request!

could you do a Rick grimes smut where it’s sorta forbidden that they be together (age gap)

and reader is very sweet and hyperfeminine while Rick is moody and rugged

then one evening the reader thought she was alone, but then Rick ends up watching and catching her touching herself, then smut ensues 🤭

Darlin’

Rick Grimes x Fem!Reader

Summary- (Request)

Content Information: +18, MDNI, age gap (20 and 40s) Cussing, Smut, masturbating, p in v, unprotected, kissing, flirting, smoking, a lil angst, Unedited

The Georgia sun beat down on Rick's body as he lifted a dead walker into a truck. His body was damp from all the hard work he had been doing, from carrying hay bales to shooting walkers. You had your eyes set on him the moment he stepped foot on the farm. Something about him drew you in, capturing your heart and your mind. Currently, you were watching him load up the bodies of some walkers to burn from the safety of your kitchen window.

You rested your jaw on you hands and twirled the ribbon in your hair, daydreaming about him while he worked outside. Lost in thought, you didn't realize Maggie had entered the kitchen. She let out a sigh of annoyance when she noticed you were leaning out the window and gawking at Rick. Her frustrated voice snapped you out of your trance, "Are you kiddin' me? Again y/n? He's twice your age, get away from the window and stop starin' like a cat in heat."

You'd always try to sneak a peek at him as often as you could, but it was impossible to do without getting caught a few times. Maggie, your older sister, was always the one to detect it. She disapproved of your 'little crush,' but helped you keep it secret. If your father found out, he'd probably shoot Rick, and his group would be guaranteed an eviction.

Turning away from the window, you giggled, "Oh come on, Mags. I was just admiring the hard work he does for the farm. Don't act like you've never ogeled at that Glenn boy."

Maggie rolled her eyes, clearly displeased with your behavior. "Glenn's around my age. Just get your ass back to work, those dishes ain't clean," she huffed and walked out of the kitchen, leaving you alone.

After finishing the dishes, you had to go outside and feed the horses. Dusk was approaching and you were eager to finish all your tasks so you could find Rick. He always seemed irritated or busy, so you tried not to bug him. When you occasionally got the opportunity to talk to him, you always attempted to flirt. You were jittery and nervous around him, so it never came out the way you wanted it to. 'Accidental' hand brushes and small compliments were the furthest you were ever able to get, and you weren't even sure if he caught on.

Rick was helping Hershel fuel up the truck when he saw you head to the stables. His eyes traveled from the ribbon in your hair to the the hem of your short sun dress. You were perfect in his eyes. The sound of your soft voice was sweeter than honey, and the way you'd look at him with your big doe eyes enamored him. He could see how desperate you were for his attention in those pleading eyes, and it turned him on. Sometimes you'd even try and touch his hands, sending a rush of electricity to him. As much as he wanted to give into you, he knew things wouldn't end well for either of you if anyone found out. 'But that's only if anyone found out.'

The horses chowed down on their grains while you cleaned the stables up. Daryl had done most of the dirty work, so you were just organizing things. You were thinking about Rick the whole time, trying to figure out what you'd say to him if you ran into him. Most of the time it was small talk, followed by your unsuccessful flirting.

The stall doors creaked open as you stepped out, finally finished with your chores. It was almost night, so everyone had made their way to the house for dinner. 'Everyone except him,' when you spotted Rick smoking a cigarette on the porch. He seemed to be lost in thought and didn't bother acknowledging you when you approached him.

"Hey," you quietly greet, interrupting his focus.

Rick turned his head to you and grumbled, "Hey" before taking another drag from his cigarette. He took a second glance at you, his eyes lingering at your legs.

"Can I try?" You blurted, curiously looked at the cigarette.

He hesitated for a moment before dropping it to the ground and stepping on it. "Nah, they ain't any good for you," he answered smugly.

Your eyes shifted away from him in embarrassment from the rejection. He peered down at you and lifted your chin so you'd look at him. The sudden contact surprised you and met his mesmerizing blue eyes with your widened ones. His other hand snaked around you and pulled you closer to him.

Your heart was racing as you both hungrily stared into each other eyes. He tilted your head up and pulled your mouth to his in one swift motion. His hand traveled to the back of your neck and it sent shivers through your body. You wrapped your hands around his torso, pushing him against your body. The taste of the bitter tobacco filled your mouth as his tongue slipped through your lips. It made the kiss even more addictive.

After a few more moments of intertwining your tongues, Rick pulled away and held your waist. He breathlessly whispered, "That's what a cigarette tastes like, darlin'." His deep and raspy southern accent caused a pool of a warmth between your legs.

You were still in a spell from the passionate kiss, so you simply giggled in return. But Rick immediately straightened up when he heard the doorknob of the front door turn. Both of you quickly turned your heads to the door and took a step away from each other. Maggie came out and looked startled to see you both on the porch.

"Everyone's wonderin' where you guys are. What're y'all doin' out here?" She asked suspiciously and narrowed her eyes at you.

Your faces were flushed and the rapid breathing made it obvious. You spluttered, "I just finished my chores, and just y'know, we were just chattin'."

Maggie was unconvinced and furrowed her brows in disappointment from your weak attempt at lying. Rick completely ignored her question and pushed passed her to get into the house. She glared at him before stepping outside and closing the door behind her.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, y/n?! He's older than you and he has a kid for Christ's sake! Why the hell is he even after someone half his age?!" She hissed, clearly infuriated with the situation.

You could understand where she was coming from, but the world had gone to shit and none of what she said mattered anymore. Lori and Shane had officially gotten together, so Rick was single. And even though Lori and Shane were primarily caring for Carl, you didn't mind that Rick had a kid, especially because he was a sweet kid.

You were frustrated that Maggie ruined the moment and retorted, "It's not your life Maggie, stop being such a pain in the ass about it!"

She sighed and calmed down a little. "Whatever, y/n. Just don't get your little heart crushed by him. Now come in and your eat dinner, or I'll tell Daddy about Rick." There was a slight playful tone to her voice despite the threat.

You followed Maggie back into the house and ate dinner. Rick didn't glance in your direction even once the entire night, and it really did break your heart. Your family and Rick's group were talking together in the living room, but you decided to head to bed as soon as you finished your cold plate of food.

A part of you wanted to cry because of Rick's distance towards you after the kiss you shared, but the other part of you was still so giddy from it. You laid on your bed, still wearing your white sundress. The image of Rick wrapping his hands around you and kissing you replayed in your head. Wetness pooled between your thighs and you slid you hand under your skirt to alleviate the arousal.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you imagined it was Rick's fingers rubbing your clit. Small whimpers left your lips as you touched yourself and thought about him. A smile crept onto your lips when you remembered the way his husky voice called you "darlin'."

Rick felt awful. He was certain that you regretted the kiss, and he avoided looking at you all night. Seeing you was just another reminder of what he couldn't have, but he had the obligation to apologize for kissing you. Although he was infatuated with you, he would fully understand if you never wanted anything like that to happen again. It was all a mistake.

Rick saw you tip toe upstairs before he could apologize. After about half an hour, he decided to sneak away from the group in the living room to go see you. When he got to your door, he could hear your soft cries and whimpers, and it broke his heart. Rick thought you were crying because of what happened, and it made him even more determined to apologize. He softly knocked on the door, but you had been so lost in your pleasure that you hadn't noticed it.

The door slowly opened and he was dumbfounded to see you two fingers deep in your cunt instead of sobbing. "Fuck, baby, you touchin' yourself?" He asked in disbelief. Your brain was hazy with lust and you continued touching yourself in front of him. Your dress had ridden up from your bent knees, revealing your soaking wet pussy.

"Stay," you whimpered out and looked towards him with half-lidded eyes.

Rick shut the door and walked up to your quivering form on the bed. He felt his cock harden at the sight in front of him. Your eyes were glazed over and your climax washed over you. He watched as your legs squeezed together and you felt cunt clenched around your measly two fingers. Your pants and cries filled the room as you came down from your orgasm.

Turning your head to look at him, you noticed the huge bulge in Rick's pants. You slid your fingers out of yourself and crawled toward the side of the bed he was standing over. You got off the bed and crashed your mouth onto his. Rick's hands desperately grabbed at your waist and moved down to your thighs. Your hands were holding his head in place while you kissed him.

He suddenly lifted you up, eliciting a giggle. Your legs wrapped around his torso as your tongue entered his mouth. He moved toward the bed and laid you down on it, breaking the kiss. You began to unbutton his shirt as he hovered over you, but he gently grabbed you hands and held them in place. His deep, southern voice, mumbled, "Y'sure you wanna do this, darlin'?"

"Yes," You whimpered and wriggled your hands free. The kisses he was placing on your neck and chest tickled you, filling the room with your quiet giggles. Your hands went back to unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his toned and muscular body. He was even hotter than you’d imagined, scars littered his warm skin. You could traced his skin with your gentle touch, earning a quiet groan from him.

He moved away from your neck and lifted the dress over your arms, revealing your bare body. A smug grin formed on his face as he teased, “Such a dirty girl, y’ain’t even wearing anything underneath.” His calloused hands caressed your soft skin, sending chills up your spine. A whimper left yours lips as one of his hand wrapped around your breast and teased your nipple.

Rick’s other hand traveled up your thighs, but didn’t go in between them. He had no intention of giving you what you wanted without torturing you first.

His teasing was driving you crazy, so you moved your hands to his belt and decided to unbuckle it.

He quickly grabbed them again pinned them above your head. Those piecing eyes intensely stared you down at you.

"Beg me," He commanded, his darkness making the heat between your thighs even wetter.

“Please, fuck me already!” You pleaded, squirmed underneath him and grinded for some friction.

His other hand held your hips in place, “Use your words, baby.”

"Please, Rick, I need you inside of me," You whined and resisted his hold. He finally snapped and released you. Your hands immediately flew to his pants and unbuttoned them. He helped to get them off, and his hard cock sprang free.

You stared at it for a moment, trying to figure out how the hell it would fit inside of you. Before you could voice your concern, Rick grabbed your legs and rested them over his shoulders. Your pussy was dripping with arousal from all the teasing, and right now he was lining up his cock to it.

"Your so wet, darlin'. This all for me?" He smirked and slid his cock over your folds, taunting you.

"Fuck, oh god. I don't think it'll even fit," You whimpered.

"I'll be gentle," he replied and entered the tip of it into your desperate cunt. He gave you a few seconds before completely going inside in one thrust. You let out a gasp as his cock stretched you out painfully. Rick's idea of gentle was very different from yours. "Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Y'alright?"

"Mhm," you mewled out when the pain subsided, and pleasure replaced it as he slowly began moving. His thrusts were soft but your eager sounds encouraged him to go harder. He pounded into you mercilessly, and the only thing you could think of was how euphoric it felt.

You were engulfed in bliss as his cock slammed into you. The sound of your whimpers and his occasional groans were accompanied with the sound of skin smacking. Your eyes shut as you began approaching your climax, but he grabbed your face and ordered, "Keep those pretty eyes open for me." His breathless southern drawl was what sent you over the edge. You locked eyes with him as your cunt squeezed around him and erotic cries left your mouth.

Rick fucked you through your orgasm, causing you you dig your nails into the veiny arms holding your hips. He moaned and thrusted into you even harder, getting off on the pain. Your slick covered your inner thighs and most of his groin as you climaxed again from the overstimulation. His thrusts faltered and he slammed into you a few more times before pulling out, shooting ropes of hot cum over your stomach.

After catching his breath, Rick grabbed a some tissues from your nightstand and wiped off the cum on your stomach. He lifted you into his arms and whispered, “Our little secret, right, darlin’?”

🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀

GOOD LORD I AM A FUCKING CORNBALL

THIS SHIT WAS INSANE TO WRITE, YALL DONT UNDERSTAND. I added Maggie’s hatefulness to spice things up

Keep the requests coming, just like Rick

[lavandulawrites]

Hey!! Could I ask for H, I, J, and S for Atsushi? Thank you if you can🙏

Yandere Alphabet H, I, J and S with Atsushi

Atsushi is such a sweet man<3 (Yandere alphabet request here)

Masterlist

Warnings: Violence

Word count: 527

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Your worst experience with Atsushi was when he found you after some of the enemies of the Detective Agency had kidnapped you. He was shaking with anger after he had slain every one of your kidnappers. Blood coating his face making him look like a feral animal. The soft and kind Atsushi you knew where gone and replaced by a wild beast. He had yanked you up from the floor and threw your over his shoulder. The trip back to the small flat you shared had been awfully quiet. He had filled you a bath with gritted teeth. While you soaked in the warm bath water you couldn’t get the sight of Atsushi tearing out your abductors throat like a real life tiger, out of your mind. His fangs had been blood red accompanied with a sicking grin. He had dried you with a towel with a sad expression. It didn’t take long before he fell to his knees with tear soaked cheeks, apologising over and over again. He promised that you would never see that frightened side of him, again.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Atsushi wants to have a seemingly normal relationship with you. He only wishes for you to love him back. He will do anything for you, all you have to do is ask. After a while he wants to marry you. He had seen pictures of beautiful weddings in Yosanos’s magazines. After some years into your marriage he wants to have some kids. Only if you want too of course. He gets all giddy inside thinking of little mini yous and mini he’s.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He gets jealous quite easily do to his insecurities. His jealousy is rather quiet. He doesn’t lash out at the ones making him jealous, instead he grips your hand tight and staring said person down. When you get to a more scheduled place, he will tell you how he doesn’t like when other men are looking at you or talking to you. He explains to you that he is afraid of you leaving him for someone better. He doesn’t deserve you after all.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

He have always been told that he doesn’t deserve to live so much that he started to believe it himself. You had shown him that you really cared for him and you told him that he did in fact deserve to live. It didn’t take long for him to develop a deep obsession with you. He followed you around everywhere and daydreamed of you when you couldn’t be with him. The other members of the Agency quickly caught on to his obsession, but didn’t do much. Instead they gave him advice on how to get you to feel the same for him. Atsushi is confused by his emotions at first, but quickly embraces them. He makes himself a promise that he will always protect you and that you will never part.

[luveline]

*kisses you gently and ever so sweetly* for the baby blurbs, maybe something with steve and reader making dinner together?

thank you for your request! fem!reader

Steve smiles at you though you aren't looking at him, enthralled. The sunlight from the setting sun washes over your face through the open window, hyacinth from the garden floating in on the breeze. Your eyes are closed. The sun must feel good against your skin. 

Steve looks down at the vegetables he'd been slicing and tips the chopping board up on one end, encouraging them on the baking sheet you've laid out for him. Carrot and potato batons scatter over wax parchment. He separates them with his fingers. 

"Olive oil or butter?" he asks. 

You pull the colander from the sink where you'd been washing the pre-chopped heads of baby broccolis. "What?" 

"What do you want to put on the vegetables, miss daydream?" 

"That's bad," you say through laughter, "you could've just called me baby, spared us both the embarrassment." 

"Hey, I know how to use this," he says, gesturing at you with his knife vaguely. 

You tip the baby broccolis on the parchment and rest your head against his arm. Your lashes flutter against his sleeve, and your lips are warm and sweet when you press a dainty kiss to the muscle of his bicep. Your lips close against his skin near absentmindedly. 

"Butter," you say decidedly. "And salt. Paprika?" 

"Paprika doesn't taste like anything." 

He lets his cheek fall into your hair. He can practically feel you rolling your eyes. "It does." 

"Doesn't." 

"It does!" you protest. "It's smoky." 

"It does taste like something, actually. It tastes red." 

You turn your head to smile at him, and your smile is made up of a sticky fondness, love in ten different shades. Your lips part slowly over your teeth, the tiniest hint of them peeking out. You look so happy. 

"It does taste red. Do we want our vegetables to taste red?" you ask, grinning.

"Absolutely we do." 

You make a sound somewhere between a laugh and a hum and leave his side to grab the butter and the chicken wings from the fridge. You insist on doing the rest by yourself because it only needs one pair of hands, but Steve doesn't want to leave you in here alone. He leans against the sink and watches you move, eyes on your hands, your wrists, your shoulders moving underneath the fabric of your loose t-shirt. 

"You're so beautiful," he says steadily.

"Do I detect a hint of smugness there, Harrington?" 

"Shouldn't I be?" He crosses his arms over his chest, letting out a slow whistle. "Damn, they let you walk around like that?" 

You wash your hands. When you turn to him, it's with enough lust in your eyes to kill a man, and you walk up to him with surety. You pull your chin up high and gaze into his eyes so deeply he's sure you're seeing his goddamn soul. Your arms settle lazily over his shoulders. 

"They do, but… you could keep me, if you wanted." 

He amazes himself when he responds. "Thought I was already keeping you?" 

You inch toward his lips slowly. Steve closes his eyes. "You," you say, your breath warming his lips, "can keep me anyday you like, handsome." 

You bring your hands into his hair. Steve's kissing you open-mouthed before he realises they're very, very wet. 

He pulls back. Your lips, shining with a slight sheen of spit, twist into a smirk. "What?" you ask innocently. 

He pulls you back in. Whatever. He'll get revenge after dinner. 

[ellieslittleburrow]

Summary : your dad, Hannibal. And your brother Sherlock sense something different about you. They bug you about it and later find out that you're being bullied. Needless to say, each one reacts differently. But both are comforting enough to get you to smile again.

Pairings : Alternate Universe : Hannibal Lecter x daughter, Sherlock holmes x sister.

Warnings : Hannibal being a cutie pie dad, mentions of bullying, a punch scene, mentions of wanting to off somebody.

A/N: yall know how much we love big boiz and these two are the perfect definition of that!!! Also let's ignore the fact that they're both somehow hoe at the same time like- don't they have no life??? Also i'm sorry if any of yall suffer from bullying ❤️. I really hope this doesn't trigger you. And i hope it comforts yall. I decided to delete it from the other account because i'm trying to get used to this one. Sorry if that confuses anybody lol

------

Home sweet home.

Opening the door to your house, a very distinctive smell of rosemary oil slaps your nose as your pupils suddenly dilate, adjusting to the dim blueish feel of the house. That's what you've always loved about home. It wasn't just a safe space you thought about whenever you were outside, it was a smell, a look, a feel, warmth no matter how cold it was. Inner warmth.

"Little one."

You emerged back to real life.

"Oh" Spinning your head to the side, you catch your brother in act, pinning his head backwards as he sighs dramatically. "I caught her. Finally, i can have her now. She has awoken from her daydreams and she finally has time for us."

Your shoulders slouch as you roll your eyes at him. You're annoyed. And fucking pressured.

Your father and brother have been bugging you about what's been going on. A genius detective and a genius psychiatrist are two of the things you DO NOT want to be surrounded with.

But here you are, living with both-

"There she goes again."

Snapped out, again, of your little world, you huff, even more annoyed now.

"Would you both leave me alone."

The words come out harsher than you expected. You brush past them, taking off your coat before tossing it on the sofa. That upsets your dad. Sherlock too. But one's dangerous. The other one is too. Just..less dangerous.

"Something's different about you...I just can't seem to find what it is."

You smile when they're facing your back. You're honored to know that you're a difficult person to read, as reading is all they do.

As you walk upstairs, Sherlock follows behind. "What's been bugging you?"

"Nothing, Sherlock. Leave it." You mumble, entering your room, not bothering to look back because you know Sherlock to be respectful enough not to force things out of you. He can tell when you're really not in the mood to talk.

------

On your way home, you like to walk past the forest entrance. The forest that's been known, your whole life, for it's eerie feels. The forest that only those YOLO people dare go into. Walking past it always made your blood pump, filled it with such adrenaline that- it made you feel al-

"Hey there, Lecter."

Fuck.

The voice is too close behind. How did you not realize somebody was behind you? If your dad were to hear he'd be so mad.

You slowly pivot around, only to find more than the one girl you expected.

Uh...

"Miller, let's not do this, okay? It's been a very long week and I'm t-"

You're interrupted by a fist that flies towards your face. And it's too quick so all you manage to do is lean back, making contact less painful. You stagger backwards, reaching up for your nose.

This bitch.

"Don't tell me what to do, Lecter. I choose when and what to do."

Miller and her rats walk away, leaving you frozen in place.

When did this become such a normal thing? You achingly take a deep breath in. You'd fight back, but you'd kill her. And that's not something you really want..

As you start walking home again, you think about how you're going to hide your bloody nose from your family...Or maybe..You won't. Too tired to do anything....You just didn't care anymore.

Opening the door, you're welcomed with that sweet sweet smell but...Fuck that and fuck everyth-

"What's that?"

You look up to find your dad hurrying towards you. He hols his hands out, ready to grab your cheeks but you flinch. The shock from earlier not having worn off.

"It's okay. It's just me." He reassures you, examining your nose as he rotates your head up and down. "Who did this to you?"

"It....It doesn't matter." You mutter, pulling away from him before heading for the living room.

"What's g-What's that?" Sherlock almost copies Hannibal but you lean back, holding an arm out to stop him. But he ignores it, grabbing your face to take a better look at your dried up bloody nose.

"Who did th-"

"It doesn't mattteeeeeeer." You groan this time, rolling your eyes as you once again pull yourself away. "It's just somebody from school that dislike me for no fucking reason." Your voice gets lower at the end of your sentence.

There really no reas-

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock frowns. "And you didn't think about telling us about this earlier? We would've hel-"

"How?" You cut Sherlock off, bitterness lacing your voice. You violently swing your coat and toss it on the sofa. "How the fuck would you have been able to help?"

"I know a way." Your dad joins in. You can sense the smirk creeping up on his lips. You can hear it in his voice.

"Is it a boy, or a girl?" Sherlock asks and before you get to reply, your dad does.

"It doesn't matter to me." Your dad jerks his knife playfully.. Although...the darkness in his eyes doesn't look so playful.

"What are their names, honey?" The doctor's voice is hauntingly blank. Just filled with nothingness. Like the person inside of him suddenly disappeared. And Sherlock senses it too.

"Father...Calm down...Please. I'll...." Sherlock's fatigued sigh stabs you in the heart. "I'll take care of it." He shoots his father a glare before grabbing your hand, gently. "I'll show you how to defend yourself."

You follow behind, turning when your dad speaks from a distance.

"I don't care what moves you're going to teach her, Sherlock. I'll make sure those kids never touch her again."

Your heart skips a beat. You don't want to ask. Don't want to know. You'd really rather not. But you ignore that...fear anyways. Why would you care. At least you had them to take care of you.

-----

wtf was this, am i right? I don't even how i managed to write it. Anyways, i hope yall enjoyed it. ❤❤❤🥀🥀🥀

[violetmuses]

Chances - A. Aretas 🌿

Title: Chances - A. Aretas (Small Town AU) 🌿

Fandom: Bad Boys Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: You join Armando's neighborhood.

Author's Note: Here is another quick drabble request. Enjoy! 💜 @nobodygetsza

=====

2024

His mother Isabel passed away years ago, but still offered an inheritance. Meanwhile, his estranged father, Detective Mike Lowrey, joined the famed Miami Police Department.

Now, leaving South Beach to find peace and quiet, Armando Aretas reached this small town, using planned money to settle in other ways.

One day, word spread that someone new entered the neighborhood.

Even while you unpacked belongings, Armando somehow daydreamed.

You, this beautiful and most likely sweet person, handed out water bottles as workers dealt with this ongoing heatwave.

By nightfall, he grinned for the first time in quite a while and looked forward so much more.

_____

“How's everything?” The store clerk rang up your items and offered small talk.

“Good.” You beamed, thankful while air conditioning eased this place.”I'm new in town, so….”

“Welcome.” The clerk finished working with you and helped other people in line. Come again.”

Just as you planned on leaving the store, someone else walked in.

“Oh, I'm so sorry.” You nearly pushed one stranger with your shopping cart as this man veiled brown eyes, wearing this trucker hat.

“It's okay.” This stranger moved out of the way first and gave room for you to step near that parking lot. “Have a good one.”

“You, too.” You pull feelings together and leave after packing the trunk, not freaking out in public.

So embarrassing.

______

After coming home and putting away groceries, you found this note waiting in the mailbox.

It was me. Don't worry. - Neighbor 😂

Oh, no! You almost panicked and immediately remember what happened at the store.

You didn't learn his name yet, but this gentleman keeps massive farmland settled right across from your house. Even horses roam on cooler days.

Just as you'd share lemonade and apologize, the doorbell rings.

“Hey…” Opening that front door, you almost gaped.

"Hi, I'm so sorry for what happened earlier.“

‘No need to apologize.” His slightly accented English revealed itself more. “Armando.”

“Hello, Armando.” You finally greeted this man in person.

And two years later, you married him.

[holdmytesseract]

Hello bestie I am back with another request 👀🎉

Magnus crushing on a barista and a robber coming into the coffee shop and him coming to her rescue 🥹👀

Knight With Curls and Blue Eyes

Magnus Martinsson x fem!Reader

Summary: Magnus has a crush on you - a barista. When the coffee shop you are working in gets robbed, the curly haired policeman is more than eager to save and protect you...

Warnings: police things, guns, bit of violence, blood? robbery of a coffee shop, fluuuuff!

Word Count: 3,1k

a/n: Since I'm going to go on holidays on Tuesday and therefore won't be as active for a few days, I thought I'm giving y'all a bit of Magnus to read. 😊

That oneshot was SO much fun to write! 🥰 Magnus, our sweet little meow meow. 🥹 Hope y'all like it - especially you, bestie @muddyorbsblr ! I think you are probably in need of a bit Magnus fluff at the moment. 😉🥺

Also, please go easy on me, guys. I haven't written for Magnus that much yet. I hope it's good, though. 🥺

Tagging: @muddyorbsblr @lulubelle814 @km-ffluv @loz-3 @vbecker10 @jennyggggrrr @chantsdemarins @multifandom-worlds @fictive-sl0th @lovingchoices14 @simping-for-marvel @stupidthoughtsinwriting @vanilla-daydreaming @lou12346789 @lady-rose-moon @evelyn-kingsley @smolvenger @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @wolfsmom1 @lokidbadguy @icytrickster17 @mandywholock1980 @november-rayne @lokiforever @hisredheadedgoddess28 @mischief-dream @jaidenhawke @crimson25 @cakesandtom @buttercupcookies-blog @salvinaa @javagirl328

°☆• Masterlist •☆°

"Do you really think this is the best strategy?" Magnus asked his colleague, as he looked through the binocular; gaze undoubtedly directed out of the car window and focused on the small seaside cottage. His question stayed unanswered, causing him to frown and peel his eyes away from the object in his hands. "Kurt?"

Looking over at the driver seat of the detective's black Volvo, Magnus noticed that said detective had fallen asleep. Unable to suppress a small laugh, "Kurt. Hey, Kurt." the young policeman gently hit the older man's arm, causing him to literally wake with a start. Alarmed, Kurt looked around; anticipating the worst. "What is it?! Did you see something?!" The man with the curly haired mane on his head chuckled. "No, it's nothing. You fell asleep. I just thought I should wake you up." Kurt groaned; running a hand over his face. "Dear god, Martinsson..." Magnus rubbed his neck; "Sorry." smiling uptight. "But hey, I told you to get more sleep!" "I'm trying! It's just not that easy..."

A strange atmosphere spread throughout the car after the experienced man's words. Magnus knew what Kurt was talking about. The last years hadn't been easy and not always kind to him. It also caused silence to fall over them; both policemen just staring out of the windows and observing their main suspects cottage - until Magnus decided to 'break the ice' again.

"You up for some coffee? I feel like we could both use one, eh?" Kurt's gaze fell on the younger man again; a small smile tugging at his lips. He nodded; starting the engine of the car. "This is the first reasonable thing you're saying today, Magnus," Kurt remarked; teasing his colleague. Magnus just shook his head with a smile.

No ten minutes later, Kurt pulled up the car bedside the cosy, little coffee shop, which wasn't far from Ystad's småbåtshamn - and the police station. It was the go-to coffee shop for the policemen and women. Nobody knew why, it just became some kind of tradition. A habit.

The detective stopped the car and turned off the engine, before he nodded at his colleague. "You know how I drink my coffee." Magnus blinked; pointing at himself. "You want me to get the coffee?" "You suggested it. Besides, I'm the driver." A groan left the curly haired man's lips. "But I'm always doing the coffee run..." Not without reason, Kurt stated in his head. Instead of saying what was on his mind, though, he just shrugged his shoulders; trying desperately to hide a smile. "Well, I guess you're the chosen one."

"Fine," Magnus grumbled underneath his breath and unbuckled his seat belt, before he got out of the car and crossed the road to enter the coffee shop.

Kurt, who stayed seated in the car, had a victorious smile displayed on his face. He knew exactly what he had done. After all, it was no secret throughout the - meanwhile whole police station, that the young policeman had a massive crush on the cute and extraordinarily kind barista, who worked in that very coffee shop. Magnus was very bad at hiding it. Let's put it that way. Everybody noticed, but Magnus didn't notice that they had noticed. He may have been aware of the crush he had, but that his colleagues always send him on the coffee run because of that hadn't occurred in his mind yet.

Feeling his hands already getting sweaty - like every time when he looked through the big window pane and saw her standing behind the counter, he wiped his palms off on the dark blue fabric of his jeans. Tucking his white shirt properly back inside his jeans after and giving himself a short once-over, Magnus stepped through the glass door. The little bell above the door announced his presence. Usually, the so popular coffee shop was very crowded; filled to the brim with people, but not in that very moment. Well, it was late in the morning and the most Swedes were at work. He stepped closer; watched with a soft smile how you handed a steaming mug on a tray to an elderly woman.

"Varsågod, fru Olsson." The woman smiled; taking the small tray with a slightly shaking hand. "Tack så mycket, min kära." You smiled brightly. "Ni är hjärtligt välkomna. Njut av ditt te." The woman stepped away then, passing by the young policeman. "God morgon," Magnus greeted the woman; tipping his head with a smile. He may be of a younger generation, but he still had manners. The woman looked at him with a smile, "God morgon, unge man." and passed him by to sit onto one of the comfortable benches. The man watched her for a moment, before he turned his attention towards the counter. Towards you.

You already greeted him with that sweet smile; causing the curly haired policeman's knees to go weak. You recognised him of course by now. He was a regular customer. "Oh god morgon, herr polisman," you said in a cheerful, happy voice. You never failed to make Magnus smile. Always a ray of sunshine. It made his heart skip a beat. "What can I get you today? The usual, or something different?"

Magnus just stared into your breathtakingly beautiful face for a moment; noticing how your Y/E/C eyes sparkled with joy as you spoke. Your hair was bound together as always. You wore your black apron as always, but you didn't wear a white blouse underneath today - like he noticed. Your blouse was a soft, light blue. Oh fuck, he thought; catching himself staring. I'm in so deep.

"H-Hey, um, god morgon, I..." He stammered; losing his composure for a moment. "No. Not the usual today, I'm afraid." Magnus quickly tried to turn the corner; giving you a dazzling smile. "I'm on patrol with my colleague, so... It's just the two of us." "Ahh, I see," she said; wiping her hands off on the apron. "Well, your wish is my command." The policeman couldn't help but smile again. "One black coffee please and-" "One coffee with cream and two sugars, right?" You chimed in; interrupting him and already went to work. Magnus just blinked at you. She remembers how I like my coffee... She remembers!

You saw his distraught face; immediately thinking that you did something wrong. Clearly it was disrespectful to interrupt the sweet and kind policeman with the untamed, blonde-brown curls. "I shouldn't have interrupted you. I'm so sorry, I-" "No!" Magnus jumped in on an instant. "No... It's alright. I'm just stunned that you remember." He admitted with a soft chuckle; cheeks turning red. Your body relaxed again. "Well, I always remember, Mr. Martinsson. You come here very often, you know." That was true. "Well, yeah, I... My colleagues always condemn me to do the coffee run..." You giggled - it was like music in Magnus's ears; "I noticed." and placed two cups of coffee on the counter in front of him. "One black coffee and one coffee with cream and two sugars to go." He smiled, paid and took the cups in his big, veiny hands. "Thank you." You mirrored his smile. "You're welcome. Enjoy the coffee and have a great day." "Thanks. You too." With his eyes still lingering on you, Magnus turned to leave and almost ran against the door, because he couldn't tear his gaze apart from you. He noticed it in the last second, though, before it was too late. You hadn't seen any of it, because you were already busy with the next customer's order. Cursing under his breath, he made his way out of the coffee shop and back to the car.

After handing Kurt his cup of black coffee through the opened window, he rounded the car and got in the vehicle. "What took you so long?" Magnus shrugged; taking a sip. "Had to wait."

Kurt answered nothing; started the engine instead and drove off - smirking. Something that slipped Magnus notice. Unbeknownst to him, Kurt had witnessed everything...

"No, I think we can't exclude Svensson," Kurt stated; looking at his team. They were all seated in the small conference room. It was late in the evening. Everybody sat on a chair around the big, quadratic table; except for Magnus. He was leaning against a desk; arms crossed.

"But he has a watertight alibi, Kurt," countered Ann-Britt - another detective. "Yes, but his motives are clear and I don't trust this. I'm going to-" The loud ringing of a telephone cut suddenly through the air; interrupting the older man. "Magnus, telephone," Kurt said; looking at his younger colleague and sending him - like so often, to pick up the call. With a sigh and internally rolling his eyes; the curly haired man made his way to the desk on which the ringing telephone was located, while the others kept on discussing.

"Ystad Police, Magnus Martinsson."

"H-Hello? I-I need h-help."

Magnus's face fell; facial expressions derailing. He knew that voice. He'd recognise it everywhere. It was hushed and quiet, but it was undoubtedly yours. It sent a jolt through his heart.

"Okay, stay calm. Tell me what happened." The young man tried to stay calm as well - which wasn't exactly easy, given the fact that his crush was on the phone - and obviously in danger.

"I-I closed the s-shop a-and went to... to the backroom to do a f-few things, b-but-" Your voice became silent.

Unbeknownst to Magnus, you sat huddled in the little broom closet inside the coffee shop; shaking like a leaf in the wind - and now holding your breath, since you heard steps. And they got closer.

"Y/N?!" The worried policeman's voice brought you back. "S-Someone's here. I-I can't t-talk."

Magnus thought so. He had quickly connected the dots and was already grabbing his jacket. "Okay, Y/N, listen to me... Try to stay calm. We're on the way." "O-Okay," he heard your quiet, but ragged and shaky voice through the phone; causing his heart to clench.

The young policeman quickly hung up, slipped in his jacket and ran back towards the conference room; interrupting his colleagues. "We have to go! There's a robbery going on!" Not hesitating for another minute, Magnus checked on his gun and grabbed the car keys. He was already marching off to the door, when Kurt came running after him. "Magnus! Magnus wait!" The curly haired man stopped in his tracks; turning to face the older man. "Where? Where is a robbery going on and what is even happening here?" "The coffee shop."

Kurt's eyes widened.

"The coffee shop?" "Yes. Y/N was on the phone. She needs help. I have to go." With that sentence, Magnus's already obvious crush became even more obvious. Now Kurt knew for sure - and before he could answer something, his colleague had already walked off again. Kurt cursed underneath his breath and followed him again. "Damn it, Martinsson!" He yelled after him; catching just so up to Magnus. "Have you forgotten everything you learned?! You can't act so headless now, only to play the knight in shining armour!" The experience policeman placed a hand on his younger colleague's shoulder; holding him back once again.

"If we are really dealing with a robbery here, we have to act careful. Not headless. I know you want to save her - and we will, but we do it right. Okay?" Magnus's breathing was quick and unsteady; adrenaline flooding his veins, but he nodded. "Okay."

So, they did.

About ten minutes later, Magnus, Kurt and quite a few other policemen were ready to storm the coffee shop. Now dressed in a bulletproof vest and gun in hands, the curly haired man stood pressed against the wall beside the backdoor of the shop. His heart was beating fast; as if it had to win a marathon.

Not that he didn't do all this before, but... This was different.

Exchanging a nod with Nils - his colleague, they quietly entered the shop through the backdoor. Taking step after step; Magnus's breathing quickened. It was quiet. Too quiet.

Lurking around the corner, inside the only room down that little hallway, Magnus saw a man. Dressed in all black. A mask over his head. He was rummaging through a little box with one hand. The other was outstretched; holding a gun and- The young man's eyes widened. It was pointed towards you. You sat on a chair; hands nestled in your lap. Your bottom lip wobbled dangerously. You were visibly afraid and tried hard to make not a single sound or god forbid, cry.

"Damnit," Magnus whispered quietly under his breath. He wanted to storm that room right then and there, but he knew better. He knew he should do as he was 'taught'. So, he kept looking out for any signal Kurt - who was entering the shop from the other side, could be giving him. And when he saw it, everything happened so fast...

Gun ready to shoot, the policeman stormed the room; followed by his colleagues. "Polisen!" Magnus shouted; pointing his gun at the man - who was visibly shocked and surprised that he was caught. "Släpp vapnet!"

The robber froze for a moment, but then the realisation kicked in - and he loaded his gun; pointing it straight to your head. "Försvinn, annars skjuter jag henne!" Yelled the man back; stepping dangerously closer to you. Magnus clenched his jaw; hearing you wince and watching how the first tears escaped the corners of your eyes. He was losing his patience.

"Jag sa släpp vapnet," he snarled. The robber didn't move a muscle - and Magnus lost it; too afraid that something might happen to the woman he harboured feeling for since such a long time. Everybody seemed to hold their breaths. You, Kurt, the other policemen - except Magnus. He was high on adrenaline. High on emotion. Nobody had seen the young man act like that before. Not even Kurt. So they were all stunned.

"Nu!" Magnus shouted - in vain. He saw the man's finger twitch against the trigger - but Magnus was faster and shot the man in his left leg, before he could shoot you. Crying out in pain, the criminal sunk to the floor.

While Kurt and two other men dragged the wincing man off the floor and walked him off, the curly haired man literally threw his weapon away and stumbled towards your side; checking in on you immediately. "Y/N! Y/N, are you alright?!" You were still shaking and crying; the shock was profound. The policeman squatted down in front of you; worried blue eyes looking into your Y/E/C. "Hey..." He spoke softly. You began to nod slowly. "Y-Yeah, I think so. I-I'm just-" "Shocked. I know." Magnus finished your sentence. His oceanic blues calmed you down; functioned like an endless pool of calmness in which you could drown in.

"Do you want me to get an ambulance, to check on you? Or should I call somebody?" You shook your head. "I... I could go to my p-parents." Magnus nodded; thinking that it was a good idea. You shouldn't be alone tonight. Of course, he'd gladly volunteer to stay with you and look after you, but... No, no. That would most likely be crossing the line. "I-I don't want t-to be alone tonight." You whispered; wiping a stray tear away. "Yes, you shouldn't... I can give you a lift home?" Glassy, red eyes were meeting his once more. Ugh, how he'd love to hug you right now. "Y-You would do that?" Cuddle up in bed with you, pull you against his chest and tell you that everything is going to be alright, because he's here to protect you. He'd always be. "Sure." Magnus gentlemanly helped you stand up and escorted you towards the door. "Kurt, I-" The older man was standing beside his car; typing away on his phone. When he heard his colleague calling out his name and saw what was going on, he nodded, "Of course, Martinsson." and interrupted him with a smile. Magnus knew that look on Kurt's face and had a hard time to stop himself from blushing.

He opened the passenger door of his police car for you to sit inside, before he rounded the vehicle to join you and driving you home - or well... To your parent's home.

Arrived there, he parked the car and killed the engine. "There we are." The light was still on inside the little, cosy looking Swedish house.

"Thank you," your soft voice was urging to his ears once more and when he turned his head to look at you, he saw nothing but pure thankfulness and relief in your face. "For driving me home a-and especially for saving me. You are definitely my knight in shining armour now, herr polisman." During the car ride, you had visibly calmed down. Sure, you were still troubled after what had just happened, but it was better now; being in the safety of the sweet and kind policeman.

Magnus had again a hard time to not blush. This time because of your words. "Magnus. My name is Magnus." Magnus... You couldn't help but smile a little. Handsome name for a handsome man.

Magnus, telling you his name reminded you of something... "How... How did you know my name?" The curly haired man chuckled softly beside you; hands fumbling nervously in his lap. "Well... I, I heard your name being called the first time when I walked into the coffee shop and I, um, I couldn't forget it - you since then..." This time, he couldn't stop his cheeks from turning pink.

Your eyes widened. "Oh, really?" Magnus nodded; awkwardly. "Uh.Huh." And you? You just smiled; tucking a loose strand behind your ear. "Well, Magnus..." The way you rolled his name off your tongue send a shiver down his spine. It sounded so right. "We should go, eat something together sometime." His heartbeat immediately sped up when he heard that. "Is... Is that... Are you asking me out for a date?" Your smile widened. "Perhaps..."

Translation:

småbåtshamn – marina

Varsågod, fru Olsson. – There you go, Mrs. Olsson.

Tack så mycket, min kära. – Thank you very much, my dear.

Ni är hjärtligt välkomna. Njut av ditt te. – You are most welcome. Enjoy your tea.

God morgon (unge man). – Good morning (young man).

herr polisman – officer

polisen – police

(Jag sa) släpp vapnet – (I said) drop that gun!

Försvinn, annars skjuter jag henne! – Piss off, or I'm going to shoot her!

Nu! – Now!

[leosficlist]

Johnlock Fluff List 5

Fluff 1, Fluff 2, Fluff 3, Fluff 4

Collections of Clues by ianavi

There was no sleeping that night. And not due to the awkward stammering in the stacks of the library. Or the phrasing of what felt as a sudden dismissal. All Sherlock could think about was John's gaze on his neck, lips, reddening cheeks. How heated he felt under that gaze, how alone when John left. He was itching with desperation to not just be looked at but also touched. It was juvenile fantasy. But he was alone in his bedroom, it was past midnight, and he could indulge. He imagined John's hand reaching to touch his cheek, his fingers brushing his lips. He buried his head into the pillow and groaned. Could John ever see him like that, ever want him?

notes: librarian!Sherlock, I don't usually read AUs but this one is so sweet and lovely, Sherlock sets up themed displays at work

The Unexpected Affair of the Injured Detective by marycrawford

Holmes comes home from work.

notes: watson stitches holmes back up, and comforts him after a nightmare. ACD

Darling by Artemis (Citrine)

Inspired by a very old prompt about Watson calling Holmes 'darling' by accident:

With my eyes closed and my head resting on the padded back of my armchair I let the haunting, lilting music of Holmes’ violin wash over me. The exquisite sounds he drew from the violin and the warmth of the fire lulled me into a gentle daydream. Even when the music drifted into silence I stayed still and quiet, basking in my cocoon of contentment.

notes: ACD/Victorian Holmes

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b

Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing.

They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want.

notes: the first retirementlock fic I ever read, have reread it many times when in need of some happy ending loveliness

In Dreams by orphan_account

Every once and a while, the dark makes it easier to see.

notes: sleepy bed sharing, sherlock being himself (irritating) while confessing his feelings

Bread and Wine and Curry Once a Week by cwb 8.7k

"I am not agitated. I'm just tired of it. The insinuations, the comments, that I have no... no interest in relationships, or sex."

"Oh. So you do, then?"

"Maybe."

"Which? Relationships, or sex, or both?"

notes: love letters, love confessions, first date, first time

Five Times John Noticed But Didn't Really by ScandalousMinds 6.3k words

5 times John (thought) he noticed something peculiar about his and Sherlock's relationship but really missed the obvious.

notes: fluff, getting together, misunderstandings, insecure sherlock

What Sweeter Music by englandwouldfalljohn 917 words

Mulled wine. That was the ticket.

After the 221B Christmas Party, a relaxed Sherlock takes one more request on his violin... and finds more than he hoped for under the mistletoe.

notes: Sherlock speaks without realizes, confessions, violin, first kiss

Notes On A Love Story by A_Candle_For_Sherlock 4k words

Watson finds a copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray in Holmes' room. Or: what happens when a queer novel upends Baker Street.

notes: lovely, honest and sweet, ACD getting together

Laundry Day by Tysolna  1.1k

Habitually, every Tuesday without fail, John goes and does his laundry. Sherlock had developed a habit of his own: He would put small handwritten notes into the pockets of John’s trousers. Notes containing small things, mundane things, calm little asides in the usually hectic and turbulent life in 221B.

notes: could be anywhere you want in canon, sweet, notes and love notes

4+1 (Four Times John Touched Sherlock's Hair, And 1 Time Sherlock Understood Why) by Stressed_Depressed_Lemonzest

Fact: John touched his hair Fact: It felt impossibly wonderful Fact: Sherlock had no idea what to do with this information Sherlock hated feelings. They were illogical, pointless and made no sense. Feelings about John were double that. But they were also pretty wonderful.

notes: set around S1/2, fluffy fluff, gen

But a Flesh Wound by scullyseviltwin 2.4k

John has an accident while making dinner and Sherlock... overreacts.

Five Times Sherlock Fell Asleep in John's Arms by Accident and the One Time He Did It – Accidentally – on Purpose by WillowGrove 7k

Sherlock notices that John keeps cuddling him to sleep and he rather likes it. But then John stops, and Sherlock has to result to schemes to make it happen again. Who falls asleep, who wakes up in who’s arms, and – most importantly – will there be a kiss in the end?

[imagines--galore]

It’s another TASM Peter X F Reader idea:

“Post No Way Home implications about how Peter 2 (Tobey) told Andrew Peter to not give up hope after he returns to his own universe.

“While on another nightly patrol, Peter briefly wonders about if there were other unknown spider traits that his mutated DNA were still keeping dormant within him…until an alluring, sweet scent suddenly hits his spider senses.

“He moves cautiously towards the source, but is also unable to fight the beckoning trance. The scent’s source turned out to be a well hidden young woman, who had been running from one place to another, trying to escape pursuers who wished to use her alluring abilities for their own selfish gains.

“Spider-Man could see how low her trust in people were, as his first meeting with her revealed her highly raised guard towards his presence. But his drunken senses couldn’t stop sniffing the air near her. When he took in too much of her “special pheromones”, he’d let out a sneeze.

“By hearing his sneeze, something in the pretty girl made her drop her guard slightly.”

I’m still not sure how subtle I’d want some smut implications to be in this fluff, drama, angst, romance driven daydream. I just know that I understand the biodynamics of animal instincts, and that my own fondness for a mating call fits perfectly with the spider mating research stuff which I’ve been looking up.

Pairing: TASM! Peter Parker x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. Implications of sex but nothing detailed! And a brief mention of SA but you have to read between the lines to detect it. Nothing graphic. A/N: Sorry this took so long! It was a TALL ORDER! Love incorporating details into everything I write :3

Running away was something you were rather familiar with.

Not because you wanted to, but because you had to.

Because your blood contained a special kind of mutagen that created a pheromone that had the ability to attract any male who preferred the opposite sex. The problem was you had no control over your ability and on more then one occasion you had to shake off potential males from succumbing to the sweet scent that emanated from your body.

It had taken awhile but somehow you had managed to suppress the scent. Using a strong perfume helped. Flowers were even better. Perhaps why you had begun to make a living out of it by opening a flower shop and staying within the confines of it. Whenever you moved somewhere, opening a flower shop was the easiest way to mask your scent.

Now most girls would use such an ability to their benefit, to try and lure some rich and successful male. You, however, had no desire to do so. You didn't want anyone to fall in love with you because of some chemical that effected their brain. So it was no surprise that all you in your experience of encounters was a handful of kisses. Some of these were unwelcome, as were multiple other advances. Luckily, you had the good sense of taking a few defense classes and had managed to escape.

Though that didn't mean you weren't scarred from those instances.

Still, despite your condition and the multiple times you had upended your life because some male would become a little too obsessed with you, you still held on to hope. That maybe one day someone would fall in love with you for you.

Who knew you would meet that someone when you were just about to give up hope.

You had been run out of your most recent home by some rather unpleasant people. People who wanted to harvest your blood, extract the scent from it and use it for their own gain. You had no idea how they would do that, but you weren't about to stick around and find out. So, you had packed up with just the essentials and escaped into the night.

They were persistent. And for more then a few weeks you took to wandering the countryside and trying to evade capture. You went from one state to the other. You allowed your body to accumulate dirt and grime to mask your scent even more. But, truthfully? You were beginning to loose hope of ever finding peace again.

There you were, crouching in some alleyway in New York, clutching your bag to your chest and trying your best to avoid detection as you sobbed softly, cursing your ability that had brought nothing but misery to you ever since it originated.

                                           ————————–

Since his return from alternate Earth and meeting his two other alternate selves, Peter had been feeling better. At least emotionally. There had been something about that comradery that had him forgetting all of his sorrows and just focusing on the bigger picture. On hoping that he would find love and family just like the other Peters had.

And it helped that Peter had told him not to give up hope. To keep looking for his own MJ. And though Gwen would always be his first love, she would want him to move on wouldn't she?

Still it would take time before all of that happened, but at least he was on the path of healing.

What he hadn't expected that his road to love would start with a scent that would overcome his senses and have him nearly falling from the sky as he swung through the city.

It was a sweet scent that coiled through the air. Something stirred within him, an urge that pushed him to find the source as soon as he could.

And perhaps it was that feeling that compelled him, or maybe it was the way the scent clung to his very skin, calling out to him like a siren that had him swinging towards the source.

As the scent grew stronger, his mind continued to make deductions.

It was definitely feminine. He didn't know how he knew, he just did. And while the initial scent was sweet and alluring, he could also sense several underlying emotions that was masked by the powerful scent.

Fear. Loathing. Hopelessness.

Again he had no idea how he deduced that. Maybe this was another one of his powers? He knew he had not unlocked all of them. Besides didn't he read that some spiders had the ability smell with their feet and through their hair? maybe this was some extension of his spider sense?

The scientist side of him was rather curious about all this, however the side of him that urged him to find the source faster won out for now, and he dropped into the alley where the scent was strongest.

                                           ————————–

The sudden arrival of the masked hero had your heart beating faster then ever. Normal males you could handle, but one who was super-powered? How would you fight him off?!

You watched as he craned his neck and you knew he was sniffing the air, trying to detect where you were. You closed your eyes, hoping and wishing and praying you would suddenly disappear.

No such luck.

The trash can you were hiding behind was pushed to the side and you had no choice but to open your eyes and look at Spider-man as he stood in front of you.

"Please don't hurt me." The whimper was falling from your lips before you even thought about it.

For his part Peter couldn't help but stare.

While the scent had gotten stronger, confirming that it was indeed coming from you, there was nothing much he could do now instead just look at you.

You had gotten incredibly thin during your weeks on the run. You were covered in dirt and your clothes were torn in many places. Not to mention the soot that partially covered your face from where you had rubbed it on you in an attempt to mask your scent a little more.

He also took in the fear that he could now scent much clearer. The way your eyes were wide with it, and how your body trembled.

It broke something in him, and despite his instincts screaming otherwise he pushed the effects of your scent to the side.

Though not before inhaling deeply one last time to allow your scent to consume his very being.

His body didn't seem to like what he did, perhaps while one part of him thought the scent irresistible, another part saw it as a threat and sought to dispel the scent from his body with a very loud sneeze.

The sudden reaction had you blinking up at him in surprise, your initial fear forgotten.

Given the nature of your ability, you had read almost everything there was about airborne particles. And you knew that sneezing was a way of the body rejecting these particles.

A small spark of hope ignited in your chest as you bit your lower lip before speaking. "Please, I need help."

The desperation in your eyes and the fact that you had reached out to him for help was the last straw. The last of his initial urge took a backseat and he gave a nod as he reached out a hand to help you up.

"Lets get you someplace safe."

                                           ————————–

That first encounter had been rather awkward.

And it certainly didn't stop there.

Once you were in the aforementioned safe place, which was his apartment, he set you down on the floor and you were quick to put some distance between the both of you.

You had volunteered to walk to the address he gave you, with him keeping a lookout as you did. He hadn't offered to pick you up, probably thinking it was a bad idea given how your scent was calling to him.

Still he needed to pick you up to enter from the open window of his apartment. Safety reasons, he had said, didn't want anyone in the building to have seen you walk in.

Still those brief seconds, where your bodies had pressed together, he had been hit with your scent and while it was masked with other scents and was definitely muted, it was enough to make him feel.....something he didn't wish to think about for fear his thoughts would get away from him. Then he had sneezed again and all those thoughts dissipated.

"Why don't you clean up and get comfortable?" He offered, waving in the direction of the bathroom. At your stricken gaze he held up his hands in a placating manner. "Don't worry. I promise I won't do anything. I can control myself. Besides, I'm gonna go and do a patrol around the block. Make sure we weren't followed." Also because he wanted to give you time to adjust, which honestly, as you dwelled on it later, was rather thoughtful of him.

As you gazed at your reflection in the still foggy mirror, you couldn't help but allow yourself to smile at hos relaxed you felt. Not to mention how nice it felt to be clean again!

Giving your hair one last shake to get rid of any water droplets you stepped out of the bathroom, only to be greeted with the sight of Spiderman without his mask.

He must've heard you because his gaze turned towards you at the same time.

And you stared.

And he stared.

For how long? Neither of you really knew.

While the scent had been dull before, surely it was at it's peak now. And while his olfactory senses focused on the scent, his eyes were busy taking you in and wandering just how he had missed your beauty before. He could blame the dirt and grime that had covered you from head to toe.

Your thoughts were no better then Peter's. You hadn't expected him to take off his mask, and the sight of the young man, who didn't look that much older then you, had you doing a double take. He was handsome, there was no denying that. You wandered just how comfortable you felt in his presence, despite having met him not even an hour ago.

Finally, Peter cleared his throat and scratching the back of his head, an act he did when he was nervous, he spoke. "So, mind telling me what kind of trouble you're in?"

                                           ————————–

That night you told him everything.

Starting from when you had developed your ability to the multiple times you had been forced to leave, and now the people who were after you. For once in your life you didn't hold back. Everything that had ever happened to you came spilling out and it just felt so nice to share your troubles with someone else. Someone who could actually help.

Because thats exactly what Peter did. As soon as you were done telling your story, and explaining your ability he explained how he was also partially a scientist and, if you were to give permission, he could draw some blood from you and figure out your abilities.

Maybe even find a way to help you suppress it.

Where a few hours ago you had scarcely allowed yourself to hope, now your eyes swam with tears and you couldn't help but feel your heart swell. You thanked him, over and over, till he had to ask you to stop. And if you could, you probably would've hugged him.

But for now, you were content to remain with him until the danger was past and perhaps you would emerge from this ordeal with a cure for your abilities.

                                           ————————–

What had initially been a stay for a week or so slowly turned into months. The threat to your life had been taken care of, courtesy of a few well-placed calls by Peter, but now you stayed with Peter because you felt safe. And Peter, being the kind-hearted person that he was, had opened his home to you for as long as you needed.

You had been able to find a job at a nearby local flower store. You had no desire to live with Peter for free. You would be paying for your things, as well as whatever rent and utilities that came your way. Honestly, Peter was grateful that you were helping out. Living by himself hadn't been cheap, not to mention he had to keep his job at the Daily Bugle, and make sure the city was safe.

So having you to help out, was definitely a plus in his books.

Other then that though, there was also the pleasure of the company the both of you gave each other.

You had been hesitant at first, thinking that perhaps your abilities was what compelled him to take an interest in you. And you had even voiced it once, when Peter had demanded to know why you looked so scared when he came into the room.

Of course his entire demeanor had changed, and he had explained how while your sweet scent did call out to him, another part of him saw the scent as a potential threat and so rejected it completely. Of course, he let out the part where the former was much much stronger then the latter, but given your backstory, and all that you had gone through, Peter thought that it was probably for the best that you had some sort of relief from not being scared all the time.

Studying your blood was a rather interesting thing.

And he did figure out a little trick that would help suppress your abilities.

Not all the way, but enough so that people wouldn't be effected by you.

He had presented you with a perfume he had created specifically for you. One that had several chemicals mixed into it to mask your sweet scent. You had been hesitant at first, saying you had tried perfumes before, but he had only smiled at you and winked.

"You've never tried a Parker Original."

You had giggled at that, before nodding and agreeing to try it out.

That day he had taken you outside. At first you had clung to his arm, afraid that the next man passing by would begin to follow you, but to your surprise no one did.

Not a single man or woman glanced in your direction.

Throughout the entire walk around the block your heart was racing in your chest, fear and excitement coursing through your body. Peter had been a constant at your side, a comforting presence, ready to defend you if the need arose.

And once the both of you returned home, you had promptly burst into tears. Peter had panicked a little, thinking something was wrong, but you simply shook your head at his inquiry and threw your arms around him in an embrace that had his heart picking up speed, and for his body to grow warm.

And it had nothing to do with your scent, for he could not detect it anymore either.

                                           ————————–

From that day on, everything changed.

The entire world was open to you now. You could go anywhere, go back home, start your own business.

But you found yourself where you were. Living with Peter in his small apartment.

An apartment you had begun to see as home. Why? Because you had strewn several decorations of your own choosing all around it. You had filled the cupboards with snacks that you and Peter both loved. You had a little corner where your bed was in the living room, which was your own personal space.

But most of all?

You didn't want to leave because Peter was here.

Over the course of the past few months, you had actually begun to fall in love with him.

It had been a slow process, because in the beginning you hadn't allowed yourself to feel anything. Thinking that perhaps it was simply gratitude that you felt because of how much he was helping you out. But surely gratitude didn't make your heart beat faster every time he smiled at you.

Gratitude didn't make you daydream about kissing him.

Gratitude didn't make you want to see him smile. To make him smile. He had such a lovely smile.

And gratitude certainly did not make you dream about him in the most sinful of ways at night.

While you struggled with your own feelings for him, wandering if they were true or not, Peter was in his own little turmoil.

He didn't know when it had happened, but he knew that he had begun to fall for you.

Maybe it was your sweet disposition. How you would always have something kind to say to him. A trait he was surprised you had given how cruel the world had been to you.

Perhaps it was your ability to make him feel wanted. Wanted more then just as Spiderman. You made him feel wanted as Peter Parker.

His falling for your definitely had something to do with the fact that you made him feel less alone in the world, and made him want to actually live again. If you could face the world with a smile, despite all that you had faced then why couldn't he?

                                           ————————–

It all came to a head one night.

That night spritzing the special perfume had slipped your mind for some reason or the other. And after so long of not scenting it in the air, Peter was instantly able to pick up on it as soon as he came home.

It didn't help that you were standing there with popcorn and an offer for a movie, wearing one of his old shirts.

If your scent alone didn't drive him crazy, then his own scent mixed with yours would certainly serve the purpose.

You both sat together on the sofa, side by side, barely an inch apart, your shoulders brushing as the movie began. But neither of you were really paying attention to what was happening on the screen.

There was something different about tonight, you could both feel it. And while your scent contributed to it, it wasn't the only factor. You kept glancing at one another out of the corner of your eyes, looking away when your eyes would meet by accident.

His barefoot briefly brushed against yours, prompting your entire body to warm at that brief contact.

It wasn't until the two characters on screen were confessing their love for one another, that you finally allowed your gazes to meet properly.

And held.

It held long enough for the both of you to slowly start leaning towards one another. You briefly caught sight of the credits beginning to roll from the corner of your eyes, before your eyelids dropped lower, and your lips pressed against Peter's.

That first kiss was sweet and tender. Loving and affectionate. Neither of you pulled back, and you had no desire to pull back.

Not as Peter's hands came up to play with your hair. And certainly not when you ran his hand down his chest and melted against him when he took the kiss further.

The intensity of the emotions you felt in that moment prompted your abilities to increase the level of pheromones. And while Peter had the good sense to pull back, you only moaned in disappointment at the loss of his lips against your own.

"Are you sure?" He breathed against your neck, where he had placed his head on your shoulder, nuzzling his nose against your neck to inhale your sweet sweet scent.

You nodded, smoothly reaching down to grab the hem of the shirt your wore, and sliding it from your body and tossing it aside.

"I have never been more surer of anything in my entire life." You whispered, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

And that was the final words of coherency you spoke the rest of the evening.

Whatever self-control he had been holding on to, broke completely. Neither of you had a proper memory of that night as you fell into each other's arms, allowing yourself to be swept away by the throes of passion.

Lips met in passionate embraces. Hands explored bare skin. Legs intertwined. Your sweet arousal merging with his own, creating a symphony of scents that had your skin burning with need. Sinful sounds echoing in both your ears as a new pleasure spot would be discovered. Bodies meeting in a dance that allowed you both to reach the peak of your pleasure.

What you did recall the next day, was the feeling of complete and utter bliss as you woke in his arms. And as he stirred and opened his eyes as well, you hoped and prayed that you would get to see him smiling like that every morning for the rest of your days.

And as for Peter? Well, he was sure he had finally found his MJ.

You.