#the way she goes from sweet and light in the beginning to full on belting by the end…

[thebeautifulfantastic]

laura osnes kill me with your voice challenge

[rosewaterandivy]

9. part-time soulmate, full-time problem

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, cursing, sexual situations - SMUT & idolatry (my usual bullshit), we think we’re ~prank Sinatra~ to disastrous effect i.e. a fake elopement, Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance.

A/N: hey girl, u up? lemme come thru 💦💦💦 🥵🥵🥵 *slaps roof of fic* You can fit so much reverence and smut in this bad boy. Here’s 5.1K of pure filth and debauchery, holy water can’t help me now! Poetry excerpt from Sue Zhao. 18+ mature content (minors dni). Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated, please let me know what you thought; enjoy & thanks for reading! 💜

series masterlist | playlist - newly updated!

Steve's playlist for Trouble: trouble will find me

previous || next

Now, Spring Break, Joshua Tree, CA ➡️ Las Vegas, NV 

“You did what?”

And it’s not a question, not by a long shot. 

If Nancy Wheeler wasn’t some 1,800 miles from you, you’d be seeing the patented snarl right now. The one that says ‘you’ll be dead by my hand and my hand alone.’

There’s a very real possibility that you’ve overplayed your hand this time. What started as a prank, a harmless lark, had devolved into one screeching phone call from Steve’s mother for him and a blistering series rapid-fire of texts for you, followed by a phone call during which Nancy was going to rip you a new asshole.

She didn’t appreciate your texts as you’d hoped.

Trouble 👁️👄👁️: so BDE is not *just* an energy with Steve. got it, good to know.

Natty light 💯: She lives! We haven’t heard from you in days. Wtf did you idiots do?

Trouble 👁️👄👁️: nothing to be concerned about! on an unrelated note, before you check insta remember that i am your BESTIE and you would miss me terribly(!!!) if i died, even if it was at your own hand

Natty light 💯: … I’m going to kill you, and resurrect your dessicated corpse so I can strangle you … slowly and painfully

Trouble 👁️👄👁️: pls mother, no, i’m scared

But hey, it’s not like you woke up and decided to potentially fuck up your life today.

So, yeah. Definitely went too far with it this time, but in your defense, it’s not like anyone was there to reign you in. Steve was just as liable to go on with your half-cocked schemes, even more so now that you could sit back on your heels, all pretty smiles and wide, sweet eyes as your hands unbuckle his belt, still supplicated with chin on his knee, “You said anything...”

Folded like a house of cards the second you got your mouth on him. Shudders when you begin with your tongue first before eager lips stretch to fit him, guiding until he’s nestled in your mouth. And then you move, deliberately measured, building a lazy pace, sluicing him up with spit.

“Ah, shit…” Steve’s words are already betraying him. You smile as his cock pops out of your mouth.

“How’s that? Still wanna make that dinner reservation?” Thick lashes framing glittering doe-eyes peer up at him. Purposely coy. “Or do you want to stay here?”

He returns to himself. Dazed, he blinks at the bright lights and the glossy tiled floor. The marble countertop of the sink where he grips like a lifeline.

The restroom down the hall of the restaurant. Turn a corner and twenty people are sitting at tables, drinking cocktails and cajoling. Your mouth back on him wipes the thoughts from his brain.

Squelching when you push him back past your molars, crushing your tongue.

You slide him out, voice hoarse and breathy and it chills him to the bone the way you whisper, “C’mon baby, let’s have some fun.”

The second day in California runs a lot more smoothly, and the third day is as easy as a breeze. Granted, it’s a hot, humid, sticky type of desert breeze as you wipe a hand across your forehead in the heat of the day.

Steve hums a patient tune, leans back on both palms and you watch the sunlight drape his bare chest in a warm flare. Glowing gold and bronze as if it’s transmuted from the hue in his very eyes.

He is hard and hot when your bare skin touches his. Steve lies down on his side to face you, panting slightly as you glide your hand up and down his arm. Oh fuck, it’s been months and the first man you touch is more like something carved by a master sculptor of Renaissance than any other man. It should be illegal for someone to look this good.

Trembling, you touch the hard planes of his torso, the ridges in his abdomen, the swell of his chest taking hard breaths. You shut your eyes and imagine the way he looks right now—breathless and wild. His knee parts your legs easily and one hand descends to feel your center, saturating your underwear.

“Jesus, baby,” Steve sighs into your neck. “You’re makin’ me crazy. This–” He begins to slide his digits up and down, getting the slippery wetness all over his fingers, “Already…”

A shudder rolls through your body upon hearing his words and you arch into his touch, moaning when he rubs your clit in perfect pulsing circles. He moves forward, kissing the tops of your breasts through your bra, nipping at the soft flesh spilling from the cups.

“Steve, you’ll make me come.” You admit, a little shyly even as your hips rock consciously into his hand. You paw at his arms, squeezing the ridges of muscles.

And you’re abruptly startled awake by the sound your own moans. It’s past four in the morning when you rouse from sleep, frustrated to leave behind the pleasant escape the dream provided.

Damn it all to hell.

A creak of the wood door alerts you to his arrival. Steve is quiet when he sits on your bed, one knee pulled up to his chest while the other leg slinks down by your side, thigh brushing yours where your legs kicked off the covers. A sigh rolls through him at the early hour.

There is discomfort. His body retreats with the shift of your atmosphere. Always too itchy in your own skin. Afraid of being seen, noticed, thought about. He’s good at hearing your silence. Good at reading your language.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

He glistens like a god come to drown you in the sweetest of dreams. It makes your heart plummet to its death at the thought of his departure when you shake your head.

“Me neither.”

He lays back on your bed with a tired sigh, close enough to touch. Your own personal wonder.

“C’mere then,” you tug him to your side. Steve presses his lips to your neck, smiles into the wispy hair at the nape, nuzzles your locks aside to reveal more shoulder. Breathing soft and slow with his face against your neck, chest to your chest. He’s folded and tucked against you, all his strength and gravity nestled to your side.

“Honey—” Steve murmurs, more purposefully now, rasps your name, so soft and reverent you almost don’t hear it.

A confused noise, a second of readjustment to a new position, to his touch, and then you stir and purr.

“Hey, you.” Voice like warm fire, even with disrupted sleep from past few days.

A heavy silence falls between you.

Tell me what you’re thinking. If it was a mistake, tell me. If it wasn’t, tell me. You’ve been avoiding me and look—I want your goddamn babies, but c’mon. You gotta throw me a bone, I’m shit at reading signs.

He wants to take you to pieces, eyes roving your sleep-drowsy form, shorts rucked up on your thighs, shirt askew. Would devour you whole if you’d let him, savor your cries and moans at his capable hands. Make a ruin you only to build you right back up, unable to think of anyone else save him.

Steve arches, brushing the tip of his nose against your chin, up to your own nose, mouth hovering but not quite touching, just feeling each other’s atmosphere. You cross the distance and kiss him, grip tighter now like he could collapse right into you and god, you wish he could. Let you keep every last bit of him forever.

“Can we—”

You savor his lips, caressing the line of his cupid’s bow with your own, tongue flicking over the corners of his mouth, punctuating it chastely like a ritual. He moans, hand on the plane of your back moving, fingers scrambling at your spine before he palms your thigh and slots you flush against his torso with one leg hooked around his waist.

“God yes. Lemme just—”

He tugs at the waistband of your sleeping shorts before he changes his mind and his hands slip into the leg opening of the silk instead, keeping you right where you are. He rucks his own sweats down, just enough to spring himself free, shushing your whines, never letting you get too far, slipping upward, finding your heat.

“Eyes on me, baby.”

“Okay, Steve—ah—”

Right. So this is happening. Like, right the fuck now. 

Oh god.

You’re both surprised and terrified, blinking at his urgency, and then you start scrambling, too. A beatific grin blooms on your lips before you tip forward and slowly glide yourself down his considerable size, rubbing back and forth, hips moving easily.

Steve stutters breathlessly like he might go into shock. “You’re all fucking— oh fuckin’ hell.”

You only arch into it, holding his chin between your thumb and forefinger, kissing the bristles of his jaw. You’re soft and warm and he’s utterly overcome. Little noises fall from one mouth to another. An awkward shift and your thighs slip off his, head knocking into him, but neither of you are bothered.

A half-hearted cluck of your tongue gives way to a low moan and you shuffle, flush against his chest, bare bodies warm and growing hotter now. Your palm rubs down his chest, savoring the rougher feel of his hairs there, contrasting your own skin, grasping his jutting hipbones, the strong plane of his abdomen.

Eager fingers slip between flesh. Velvet and surprisingly slick and wrapping around his digits like syrupy flower petals. “Baby girl,” Steve hums at the way you sigh. “Pretty girl.”

Shudders. You’re weak and boneless, slack and supple, pliant to his fingers and words. Little sweet-talker, you never knew he had such a clever tongue until he first slid it against yours in that fevered kiss in December. Now he’ll know all your weaknesses, know every lock and how to pick them until you’re all the way opened up for him.

It’s hard to focus when he’s like this. Perfectly warm. Perfectly adoring. Perfectly fitted. So, so bright with the faintest pink bursting over his cheeks.

You whimper with his every stroke. Every plunge. His other hand runs itself up the nape of your neck, fingertips in your scalp and you arch like a cat for more. 

“So good,” Steve praises, “Nice and tight, squeezin’ around me. All wet for me, aren’t you?” 

“Uh— mhm.” Inarticulate noises. Woozy and wrapped in his affection.

His eyes– pupils blown wide, half-hooded with lust and love– immobilize you, memorizing every inch of your face. He smiles. Christ, a smile that could launch a thousand ships. That could blind the whole world.

You curse quietly, blood pounding in your ears, your chest, your throat where he latches on with his perfect mouth, marking you up with his spit quickly followed by his teeth.

“Keep going—oh, don’t stop–“

“You want it like this, honey?” He sucks on your collar, on your shoulder, taking every whimper and cry as a command to continue.

They flower all over your chest. Red and purple and swollen bright for everyone to see—just like him. And the very thought of him, of you, lost to it takes you over the edge, calling his name like you’re at an altar in supplication.

“That’s it, honey. Be a good girl and come for me.”

With a tremble that vibrates all the way to into Steve’s soul, you obey. Onto his hips and abdomen, gushing a little, and with some embarrassment that it happened all so quickly. 

Your lids flutter open and you see as Steve hitches himself deeper, grinding his hips, gripping your thighs, and fills you all the way up until the stars behind your eyes whites out your vision, making you stutter and keen as you continue to fall apart.

Then he stills, pulling you even closer, body slick with dew in the early morning light. The two of you lie in perfect symmetry, trembling in each other’s arms.

And because you’re a sap with too much poetry rattling around your brain, all that pops into your head is:

In my dreams I am kissing your mouth and you’re whispering ‘where have you been?’ I say, ‘I’ve been lost but I’m here now. You’re the only person who has ever been able to find me.’

You allow yourself to sink into the feeling, expecting the tight fit of something new but finding that not to be the case at all. But rather brushing against something well-worn, as if it had been waiting for you all this time. 

“God, Steve—” you rasp. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Steve laughs low, kisses the blooming bruises up and down your neck, makes you whine again, sensitive and aching. His clever tongue wonders sweetly, “How’s staying in bed all day sound?”

You laugh. He’ll learn everything you like. Know all your weaknesses. How can you say no to something like that?

It’s different, almost tender in the afternoon. 

His abs clench in time with his fists, wet fingers digging into his palms, bit-back groans barely contained. You keep going, marveling at the way he’s sensitive, kissing his neck, letting him feel good. Steve begins to protest, embarrassed at the way you’re moving, at how he’s powerless against you.

“S-slow—hold on—“

“Let me do it, Stevie.” He’s so hard it hurts. “I wanna learn everything you like.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Steve holds himself to calm down, other hand steadying your teasing. Nothing’s happened yet, you just started back up again after a late breakfast, having slept soundly through the morning, and he might already blow his whole fucking load.

“Okay—just—will you give me a second–”

Using the position you’re already in, he pushes you up against the mattress and guides you back down, hitching your thighs around his hips, sinking a bit at a time until you’re landing on him with a gasp. He eases into you with what he hopes is restraint, letting you have it slow, feeling you shudder from inside your goddamn bones with every further inch until he takes it away and you shimmy down to the hilt.

Your eyes roll back. And you look perfect.

“Was it good?” He blurts, “With Eddie?”

He doesn’t know why it slips out; he never thinks about it, honest. It was a series of hook ups. A few times over the years—and he’s not jealous like that because you’re all adults, and it’s not like he’s a virgin or an ascetic, either. You freeze, but he really is an idiot because instead of apologizing or rectifying that outburst, he cuts you off.

“I can give it to you better.”

Because Steve wants to. He really does.

He presses onward before you can respond, taking hold of what little courage he has, making you whimper, feeling prouder as he goes. Another one and you’re meeting him with a roll of your own hips. Another one, harder now, and you’re shaking down below him, tipping back into the pillows, grinding recklessly with that exhilaration he adores.

“Baby, you feel amazing.” Tongue-tied like a schoolboy, he’s keening after your words. “Can I have you all the time?” And Jesus wept who knew you could talk so sweet and filthy.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Steve promises, his jaw hanging open in awe, “I’m yours. You can have me as much as you want— anytime.”

You bite your lip, skin of it pulled taut and snapping back bruised, light-headed and reeling. Glistening across your collarbones with his spit, body trembling like a high note. He feels it— just a little more— god, you look incredible— he’s gotta hold out for this— and then—fuck. 

It’s wet and divine when you come. Slick and tight, dragging him under as you ride out your orgasm, pulling him in like he belongs in you forever.

And he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

Steve could die happy seeing your face like this every day.

Two weeks prior…

“Eddie…tell me the truth,” You ask slowly, folding clothes (well, that’s a generous term— it’s more haphazardly tossing and bundling laundry into your open suitcase). “It’s good, isn’t it? Shawty, tell me what that thang do!” 

You waggle your brows, make a V-shape with your fingers, and lewdly run your tongue up and down between them. Steve thinks he sees you looking at him, but he feels himself flushing at your comment and pretends like he’s enthralled with the most recent episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Half-keeping an eye on you to make sure you actually pack actual pajamas and pants for this trip. 

“Dude. Stop it.” Eddie groans, knowing you’re all too familiar with his endowments and prowess from previous experience.

Whomever currently was getting the Eddie Munson midnight special was having a helluva time. 

You lob a pair of leggings toward your suitcase, “Kobe!”

You miss.

Eddie cackles, “How’re you gonna disrespect a legend like that, and miss?!”

“Okay!” Steve yells, pushing you off the couch in the living room, “That’s enough of that. I’m going for a run.”

Landing on your shoulder with a grunt, you brush away the rough sting of the carpet and catch the last second of his shadow before he’s gone from the room.

“What?” You call, projecting your voice and hoping he hears, “What’d I do? Steve!”

The scrape of the chair legs signals Eddie standing up, too. A shake of his head and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You know,” he starts, “For all your insight, you’re pretty dense.”

There’s nothing in your head but sawdust and thoughts about his… activities under the sheets his flavor of the month. You shake it out of your brain before it lingers too long. Eddie points sharply down the hall to where Steve’s shadow has slipped out of view and hearing-distance.  

“You know he likes you, right?”

Uh? Your brain is the mac loading wheel, just spinning. “Of course he does? We’re buddies?”

Eddie cuffs you in the back of the head, “Get it together. Like is putting it lightly, too. Love is closer to the truth.”  

“Now,” Eddie leans over you, menacing you with his height. “How about you go listen to the record he gave you and think about what you’ve done, hmm?”

Then, he saunters off, shaking his head all the while, leaving you to gape down the hall like a fish. Steve? In love? With you?  

Flashes explode in your brain like fireworks. His jacket over your shoulders—not the first time. Sitting underneath your legs— nearly tradition. Morning errand runs even though he hates them. The banter—him, scolding your motor-mouth, you— never stopping. Circles he rubs on your knees— the laughter—damn it, so much laughter.

Steve? In love? With you? It’s more likely than you think.

Back in your bedroom and chastened, you wait until the front door closes signaling Steve’s exit. Turning to the wall dedicated to your impassioned analytical skills, you eye the various colors of yarn showing the various connections that could be drawn from the song choice and order in which they were placed. 

Printed out pages of lyrics have been annotated to death, some phrases scrawled more largely than others for importance. You stare at the wall for the better part of an hour, long enough to come to the end of the playlist. Sufjan Stevens rhapsodizes on the mystery of love and fades into Matt Berninger singing how he needs his girl.

A gasp. A choke and a wail somewhere deep inside your chest as you slowly, methodically begin removing the pins and pages from your wall. Realization settling on you heavy with mood. 

Clearly, this was not some bush-league bullshit.  

Hesitant, but growing in the knowledge that Steve, your best friend whom you annoy to no end, is irrefutably and undeniably in love with you. You’d have seen it sooner if you weren’t such a dumbass, all the signs had been there just lying in wait. The front door opens once more, his voice calling out to Robin in the kitchen about dinner. 

“Steve.” You light out of your room, tearing down the hallway. “Stevie! Steve! I’m sorry! Steve oh my god! I’m a fuckup!”  

You trip on the corner of the floor runner, as he turns, slightly confused, one hand reaching out to catch you as you careen into his chest with a thunk.

You must look a wreck, hair in disarray and panting hard, him sweat-slick, bearing your weight as he sets you right on your feet.  

Steve raises an eyebrow, blinks at the way the front of your shirt slides from your shoulder and takes his ear buds out, looking at you like you’re a first-rate idiot.

And well ... he’s not wrong.

The flight to Vegas is painless, though you are put out at having to leave the love nest that bloomed like a night flower in the Californian desert. A lazy, slow start to the day. Sticky and sweet like biting into a ripe peach, juices flowing down against sun-warmed skin. 

His hand pulling at yours, guiding you through the crowds of the airport, looking back to you frequently, as if he can’t bring himself not to. One hour later and viva, Las Vegas!

As it turns out, it’s fairly easy to fake a Vegas elopement. Just a matter of subterfuge and a wedding chapel, which are a plenty in Clark County. Steve in a suit (“You weren’t even wearing a tie, Steven! Who gets married looking like that!?”), rotating the signet of his ring out of sight, the ‘H’ resiting against the underside of his ring finger so just the band was visible. 

You in a dress, something white and off the rack from Neiman’s, your ring, courtesy of Steve, moved from your right hand to your left. Sapphire earrings as your something blue, Manolo Blahnik pumps in your favorite color, a gift from Steve, as your something new.

A well-timed call to Jonathan, he was in town for a shoot and just so happened to have a few hours to kill. An appointment at the Graceland Wedding Chapel and 250 dollars later, you have yourself a believable elopement, no marriage certificate required. 

Even drove out to the Red Rock Mojave desert outside of town for a photoshoot courtesy of one Jonathan Byers, professional photographer. By the time you’d made it back to your room at the Wynn that night, he’d already done a rough edit of a few photos for you to post to the ‘gram. Piece of cake, really.

It was all well and good. Steve even let you tag him and posted his favorite images himself, miracle of miracles. The man does jack shit with social media, claims he only has the account for the groupchats and memes. Captioned it something like ‘married AF’ because he’s a dork; first photo in the carousel was a shot of your hands, showing off the new bling with the wedding chapel sign in the background.

You opted for the more truthful, ‘ew, boy. you’re, like, obsessed with me’ and selected a photo where your legs wrapped around Steve’s hips after he’d told you to ‘time to giddy-up, yeah?’ with a wink and caught you in his arms before kissing you stupid. You were quite pleased with yourself until the phones began to ring.

“Jus’ ignore it, honey.” His teeth pull against your bottom lip, bringing your attention back to him. You screw your eyes shut, hand falling to cup the nape of his neck as his lips continue their mapping of your skin. Purposefully, he plays with a lock of your hair, tucks it behind your ear, and lets his finger ghost over your neck. “Gonna kiss you now,” you murmurs, “Doin’ some of my best work here and you’re missing it.”

He pouts.

Your throat clenches, bobbing with a thick swallow and Steve thinks if this wasn’t so tender and sweet, he’d be latching onto that pulse instead. “Okay…” Your mouth parts expectantly, eyes fluttering closed, hand coming up to caress his jaw.

It’s sublime. It’s perfect. It’s the biggest relief he’s ever felt when you return his touch—parting your lips to receive the tip of his tongue against yours. Thirst. Desperation. Enthusiastic limbs scrambling to feel more of him. A bucking of your hips against his thigh and he’s soaring up into heaven with the sensation.

Except the damn phone won’t stop ringing. 

“Steve,” you pant, hand reaching up to fist his hair and pull him from your the sensitive spot he’s located behind your ear. As you tangle your fingers in his mane of hair, securing your grip with a tug, he breaks contact with your slick skin with a strangled moan.

Oh.

You file that particular reaction away for further investigation and direct his attention to the loudly ringing phone on the nightstand. He rolls off of you with an exasperated noise and answers the call in a sulk. “Hi, Ma.”

His expression changes so quickly you nearly have whiplash; lazy and pouty one moment to shocked silent in the next while his mother lectures him, a mile a minute. Eyes cutting to you, he grabs your phone from the same table and holds it in font of you to unlock it via Face ID. You roll your eyes and bat him away, taking a slug of water from the glass on your bedside table.

“Shit,” Steve mutters, putting himself on mute and his mom on speaker as he scrolls through your phone. “Holy fucking shit, nonono.”

You lean over and take a peek. He’s thumbing through Facebook, pupils blown wide in shock at the sheer number of notifications on his accidental post. Because yes, Steve accidentally cross-posted the photos from Instagram to Facebook as an update, like genius. 

“Are you fucking kidding me!?”

He drops your phone on the bed when it starts to ring, like it’s a venomous thing that could take him down in one strike. 

Sheepishly, he looks to you and mouths ‘I’m so sorry’ as he returns to his mother’s raging diatribe. 

After checking the caller ID, you answer, voice flat. “Hello.”

“You little scamp,” Eddie tuts, “Stole my idea of eloping in Vegas and everything, I hate you.”

In spite of yourself, you crack a smile. “It’s a prank, babe.” A sigh as you pull your hair up and off of your shoulders. “Not legally binding at all. Having Byers on deck really sold the idea though.”

“You are the absolute worst, Trouble.” You warm at his soft laughter, “What’d you do to get Steve to agree? Drop to you knees all nice and pretty?”

A swell of pride accompanies the rush of heat at the thought of your earlier rendezvous. “Y’know Eds, I did exactly that. How perceptive of you.”

He cackles. “It’s tried and true for a reason, babe.” Steve is nodding furiously at whatever his mother is yammering on about, bare back toward you as he sits on the edge of the bed. 

A push and a slide across the rumpled sheets and you’ve wrapped around him like a vine. His thumb rubs at your ankle, pulling your leg to envelop his hip. Opposite arm dangling across his chest as you press your face into his neck, revelling in his scent—cypress, vetiver, and something slight musky tinged with salt. All warm and pliable.

“Nance may have called in some reinforcements.” Eddie says carefully. “I told her to fuck off, but she’s beyond reason at this point.”

“Whaddya mean?”

He sighs, “Just be on the lookout for an angry lesbian, alright?”

You snort, drawing Steve’s attention. He twists in your hold, phone discarded on the table finally, fingers trailing tantalizingly up and down your sides. Pushes you back against the bed, chin resting on your sternum as you talk with Eddie, head tilted as he listens.

Begging off the phone call, you say your goodbyes. “Hey,” Eddie says before you go, voice soft and warm, “You happy babe? You sound it.”

“Yeah,” you turn your head and grin at the ridiculousness of your life. Steve follows your lips, his own blazing a trail across your chest and up to meet your shoulder. “I’m really happy, Eds.”

Steve plucks the phone from your hand, “Bye Munson!” He sings before ending the call and unceremoniously dropping your phone on the floor.

And Steve never thought a person was supposed to laugh so hard during sex, or maybe that’s just your own brand of love, but he doesn’t want to find out with anyone else.

It’s the fifth time, and Steve’s dick is about to fall off—how are you still doing this—just a few thrusts in when the banging on the door frightens the both of you into your clothes.

Robin swings it open and Steve is desperately tucking himself into his pants before—please, no.

“It smells like ass in here!” She hollers, “The hell have you two been—oh my god.”

“Shut up, Rob!” You respond from the corner of the room, head ripping through the neck hole of a shirt, legs wiggling into a pair shorts. Steve is still shirtless, hoping he might spontaneously combust.

“Oh my god,” Robin whispers again, “Oh… my god.” She sputters on the verge of either eruption or death.

“You freaky little—” she hisses, before screaming, “Oh fuck no! I’m here picking your asses up. Got on a flight at ass o'clock from Indy— you're butt-ass-naked in here—” She stands ram-rod straight, hands on her hips angrily. “I’m tellin’ on you.”

“Telling on?! What are you, five!? You’re so annoying, Rob!”

“Annoying? What’s annoying is—I’m exhausted! And well— you're exhausted too, huh?”

“I hate you.”

She snickers, high-fiving herself before crossing her arms, “Now get your freaky asses outside so I can go home and drink myself into forgetting I ever saw Harrington’s dick.”

You pat her on the shoulder, “It’s nice, huh?”

Robin dry-heaves, “Uh-uh. That’s enough. Go wash your damn hands.”

A few minutes later, Steve closes the door to the now-silent hotel room, damp with sweat and the lingering aroma of musk. Robin trots on ahead, leading the pair of you through the lobby and out into the dry desert heat.

His hand pulls at yours, reassuring and warm. A small smile blooms across your face and you allow yourself to revel in it for a moment: heading home with Steve, can't even bring yourself to be all that mad at Robin's antics.

Not when he turns back to check on you, all tan skin and that devastating smile. Tugs you closer as Robin flags down the Uber, lays his lips against yours, and kisses you with a sweetness only he could bring.

Oh yeah, you think tangling your free hand in his shirt. This'll do just fine.

[hongism]

05 - j.wooyoung + lingerie (18+)

» j.wooyoung x gn!reader » 18+ dni if minor, nsfw/pwp » language, feminization, lap dancing, strip tease, bratty wooyoung, manual stimulation, grinding, cum eating, dirty talk, finger sucking » wc 3.3k » link to masterlist

you’ve almost come to the conclusion that tonight was a complete and utter waste of time when your eyes pause in their subtle search across the room. it’s fast, and you almost miss him because of how quickly you’re surveying the club, but you have to backtrack at the sight of the pink head of hair. it’s not too out of the ordinary — not for a club like this one at least, and frankly, the face connected to the stark hair entrances you more than the hair does. the friend at your side seems to notice where your gaze keeps lingering, elbow careening into your ribs seconds later.

“like what you see over there?” she giggles, most likely amused by how you jolt and startle with the contact.

“he’s pretty,” you mutter back as you strain your neck a little to catch sight of the rest of him. he’s not up on a stage with the other dancers, not wrapped around a pole or anything like that, so you can’t get a full and clear view of what he’s wearing.

“he doesn’t perform with the others, i hear. solo performer, and only does private shows.”

sure, there’s a stack of money set aside for this particular reason, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to cave and spend it all on this one man.

you aren’t.

it’s not going to stop you from getting up and going over there to get a better look at him.

“i’ll be back,” you mutter, picking up your wallet and drink with the same hand. you’re hoping it won’t look obvious to your friend, but the laugh that follows your movements is telling enough.

“have fun!”

you step through the crowd of couches that are mostly full of older men and women, apologizing each time you cross in front of them and accidentally block their view of the dancers. your target hasn’t moved, still lingering near the bar with a drink set in front of him as he also indulges in the sight of the dancers on stage. you’re almost fooled into believing that he’s simply a client here and not actually a worker, but there’s a certain sway to his hips and head against the music thumping through the club that says otherwise. he moves his body too well even with subtle and small movements. elbows propped up on the bar counter behind him, a lollipop dangling from his fingertips and periodically going up to catch on his tongue, and that pretty pink hair bouncing with each movement he makes. you’re enticed in an instant.

the obscenity of his outfit doesn’t help one bit either. and perhaps obscenity is a bit too strong a word to describe it, but your brain goes to static and white noise the more you see of him, and it’s easy to see why that is. a sheer lavender crop top that does nothing to hide the lace bralette underneath, along with a pretty plaid skirt that tapers his waist almost too well, belts and buckles hanging from both sides and jingling when he sways his hips in time with the music. the further down your eyes go, the more overwhelmed you get because he’s got fishnets (of course) that lead to chunky black combat boots. he looks simultaneously quite out of place here while also seeming like there’s no other logical place for him to be. your steps towards him falter a little; it’s no wonder that he doesn’t have anyone at his side right now. he’d outshine them without even trying, and the air around him feels a bit untouchable as well like he’s too good for anyone’s presence except his own and the bartender behind him. the thought to turn around and return to your friend like a dog with its tail between its legs crosses your mind. that’s all it does though because as you shift to act on that thought, sharp eyes snap over to meet yours across the bar counter.

opposite ends of the spectrum, separated by at least ten barstools if not more, plenty of other people in front of him to look at, yet the dancer cranes his head in your direction and makes eye contact. 

your tongue darts out to wet your lower lip, an act more out of nerves than meant to be seductive in the slightest. 

there’s no direct invitation to go further towards him. really all he does is incline his head slightly, and you take it as a cue to step around the barstools and walk over to where he’s tapping his chunky boot against the floor.

“hi.”

you startle upon hearing his clear tone, although you aren’t wholly sure why that’s the case. 

“hello,” you greet in return. you keep your glass caught firmly between your fingers as you sit in the barstool beside him. he looks even prettier in this light — with blinking up at him from where you sit and the neon lights cascading over his face and hair. there’s a stunning beauty mark under his eye, and another on his lower lip under the sheen of pink lip gloss. something sparkles under his eyes and in the inner corners, what you can only assume to be eyeshadow and glitter. 

“i caught your eye, huh?”

there’s a twinge of embarrassment that shoots through your body, and you duck your chin to your chest, clearing your throat as quietly as you can like it’ll dispel the nerves accompanied by the feeling. 

“cute,” the man continues. his sweet tone is almost like honey, or some syrup that tastes like it could be too much after a certain point. “wanna buy my time then?”

the offer comes so quickly that you’re a bit shocked. all these people in the club and yet not one has approached him? or accepted his offer? it seems far too unbelievable.

“you’re not gonna ask me anything first? my name, my age, anything like that?”

he laughs for the first time tonight, and you think you’ll grow to love that sound by the end of it. the lollipop pushes back between his lips only for him to make a show of how he swirls his tongue around the ball of candy. when he pulls it back out, it springs free with a lewd pop in its wake.

“you’re the first one tonight who’s stopped me to ask that. most just jump straight to it. i’m wooyoung. and you?”

“y/n.”

“hmm, it’ll sound prettier coming from my lips later.”

your brain buffers and hits a wall. you lose whatever thought was lingering in your mind, and wooyoung has the audacity to flash a grin and send a wink your way.

“you’re in luck tonight, y/n. i only start taking clients at ten o’clock, and it’s two minutes past ten right now.” a strobe of neon red flashes over his face, illuminating his eyes in a way that makes your heart jump in your chest. “assuming you want me, that is,” he adds through a stretched grin, and you wouldn’t dream of denying him the pleasure of hearing your affirmation.

“yes, i’d like that quite a bit.”

wooyoung leads you off to the side of the club, where the hallway of private rooms begins, and he wastes no time in bringing you into the nearest unlocked one. you’ve got your wallet still clasped between nervous hands, but your drink was long forgotten on the bar counter you found wooyoung at. it’s fairly standard for this type of room, nothing to gawk at or make note of aside from the metal pole that stretches up to the ceiling. you’re certain your attention will be firmly planted on wooyoung throughout the entirety of your stay here, so you aren’t worried much about making yourself at home.

the dancer seems keen on the same as well, or at least he’s excited to get started. knowing how much money you’ve got in your wallet, you can’t blame him for the excitement. he turns to face you after shutting and locking the door, skirt billowing around his thighs a little. you think you see a flash of lace underneath, tucked under the fishnets, but that could very well be merely a wistful thought and nothing else. 

“lay down,” he demands, motioning to the short round table right in front of the couches.

“um…” you blink from the white surface to wooyoung’s serious expression. 

“what? never had a lap dance before?” he quirks a brow and flashes another dastardly grin, and you hate the way your stomach flips over at the sight of it.

“not one where i’ve had to lay down, no.” 

wooyoung huffs out a laugh and pops his lollipop back into his mouth. he steps around your awkward, still form to put one of his feet up on the pristine white surface. the boot releases a hollow noise when it hits the table.

“oh, you’ll love it, i promise. now come on, on your back, legs relaxed. i’ll make it worth your while. and your money too, we hope.” 

wooyoung’s little tilt to his chin and the soft bats of his lashes are what convince you to do as told. you slip your shoes off next to the couch and tuck your wallet away in one of them lest wooyoung has the bright idea to make off with all your belongings. then you scramble over the slick surface to lay flat atop it, eyeing wooyoung as he hums and steps up fully on the table over you. his feet straddle your body, right in the gap between your hands and hips, and he pushes that stupid lollipop back between his lips.

“here are my rules, y/n. no touching, no kissing on the lips, no marking, and no demands. you’re here for a show, so i’ll give you one. and maybe i’ll use you to get off a little too? what do you say?”

you suck your lower lip between your teeth, contemplating his words and rolling them over in your mind a bit.

“and if i say no?”

“then i’ll give you a simple lap dance, and that’ll be that. and don’t worry. if i cum… i’ll clean up after myself. you don’t have to do any work really, if you don’t want to.”

“if i don’t want to?” you echo your question.

“how do you feel about sucking my fingers?”

your dumb and stuttered blinking are answer enough for him, and wooyoung leans over to the couch, balancing on one foot as he stretches to reach for something on the cushions. the position give you a far too direct view straight up his skirt. you get confirmation that you did indeed spot lace — a matching set with his pink bralette it seems on top of that.

the music that begins to thump through the speaks is foreign to you, not a song you’ve ever heard before, but the beat is sultry enough for you to understand why wooyoung would play this.

and truly, when he starts to move above you, you fully understand the appeal of this angle. getting to watch the way his skirt sways and teases what’s underneath as his cropped top flutters with his winding movements — it’s a heady feeling being under him and seeing this unfold over you.

wooyoung does his job, and he does it well in only a few swaying moves that promise more to come. if you had to make a comparison, you’d say it’s like watching art in motion, an exhibit where the artist shows you each stroke and twist of his brush. that’s wooyoung now, with the showcase of how he stretches his arms to the ceiling and brings them down the front of his body. the dim lighting in the room does nothing to make the mood less than what it is — pure seduction at its finest, and wooyoung is quickly bringing you down that pit of lust with him. you only know that’s where he’s headed as well because of how his skirt begins to tent a little as time goes on, evidence to how turned on he is by merely dancing to the music. he hasn’t gotten down far enough to even have physical contact with you, but with the way he’s moving now, you aren’t sure he’ll even get that far either.

he does go lower as the song shifts, beat still unfamiliar against your ears, but you’re barely hearing the music beyond how the bass thumps through your veins. as his knees settle on either side of you, close to your waist now and closing in just enough to squeeze you with a hair of pressure, his hands move up under the fabric of his top. they press higher and higher, catching on the hem and tugging as he reaches his neck. your eyes burn like you haven’t blinked in ages, and to be frank, you most likely haven’t because the grip wooyoung has on your focus currently occupies every fiber of your being.

wooyoung works the shirt off, tossing the sheer material over to the side. the look of his tanned skin with blush pink lace overtop clinging to him like a vice under the low lights: it’s sin in its purest form. and that sin only amplifies as he draws his hands down to the waistband of his skirt. he teases and pulls at the material, still lost somewhere between his mind and the music. one of his hands works back up his chest and throat, and when he reaches his mouth, he pulls the lollipop stick out to reveal a now empty stick that is also promptly tossed in the same direction his shirt went. 

“aren’t i pretty, y/n?” he asks all of a sudden. he’s not looking at you, not with the way his eyelids are barely shut, but it captures all your attention nonetheless. “pretty and feminine, hm? some people think i don’t dance as well as the girls out on the stages. but i’m just as pretty as them, aren’t i?”

“more,” you exhale without thinking.

“more,” he echoes back to you with an airy giggle to accompany it. his hands go to the side of his skirt, grabbing onto something on the left, and two seconds later he’s pulling away the entire strip of fabric in one swift movement. you inhale so sharply it stings your nostrils and aches in your chest, and wooyoung takes that as the opportune moment to roll his hips down against your abdomen. it’s not meant for your please, not in the slightest, but you still feel the coil of arousal in your gut snap and pull at itself as he repeats the motion and rubs his barely concealed erection against your stomach. “i’m always prettier than them, y/n.”

wooyoung’s eyes snap open at last, and he drops his skirt to the side before sitting up on his knees over you. the position is nothing if not lewd with how close to your face he is like this. you don’t have much time to think about it because he’s tugging the band of his fishnets down as well, shoes still caught on his feet so there’s no way they’ll go all the way off, but that doesn’t seem to be his intention anyway.

no, wooyoung just tugs them low enough to go under his knees, then he’s back to sitting on his heels and splaying his thighs to the side. the whole thing is a show: each piece of clothing, each drag of his hands, and every word from his lips. 

it continues with him pressing his hand against your chin, then teasing your lower lip with his middle and pointer fingers.

“you know… people always call me a brat. a bratty little bitch, to be specific. they aren’t wrong, of course. but they mean it as an insult whereas i take it as a compliment.” you suck wooyoung’s fingers between your lips and let him explore your mouth with the pads of them. he makes a show of stretching the insides of your cheeks, stabbing against them and watching your skin bulge under the pressure, then he’s pinching your tongue and scraping his nails over the top of it. it tickles in a pleasurable way, the kind that makes your stomach knot up and tense with lust. “i think i’m prettiest when i cum though. and that’s not something i let a lot of people see. they always get handsy even after i tell them not to. think that because i’m all subby and docile, they can break my rules.”

you watch in something of a daze as wooyoung reaches his other hand down to the lace lingerie clinging to his cock. he grips hard enough for you to see the harsh outline of his member, strained and stretching the fabric like it’s about to break. his slow rolls and sways of his hips continue even as he fucks into the palm of his own hand. you don’t think you could move or touch him even if you wanted to right now. each limb feels like it weighs ten tons.

“call me pretty again, y/n. a pretty little brat, yeah?” 

you can’t very well do that with his hand halfway down your throat like it is now, but it doesn’t stop you from trying. all that comes out are muffled moans caught on wooyoung’s fingers. he laughs, throwing his head back as the sound permeates the air, and you were right. you love the sound even more now when he’s a bit breathless and hoarse from arousal, hips canting against your abdomen still as he pushes himself closer to the edge.

“gonna cum, y/n, and make a pretty mess of myself. pay good attention to me please. i want you to see every second of it.” his eyes blaze with unbridled desire as he rubs over his panties a few more times. teeth sink into his lower lip, his nose scrunches up, eyes fighting to stay open and stay on yours without blinking. then he hits his high. it’s beautiful the way he falls apart over you, how his hips stutter and give a few jerky thrusts until his whole body goes still on top of yours. you think you have to agree with him too; this is the prettiest he’s looked all night in your eyes. 

it lasts either ten seconds or ten minutes — you have no concept of time right now, too enamored with the man above you and every movement he makes.

when he does come down, there are stars in his eyes and a sheen on his brow that trickles down the side of his face to his chin. he pulls his hand out of your mouth, but you can’t even bring yourself to close it as you watch him tuck the same hand into his underwear and scoop the stain of translucent white cum out. 

“taste for me?”

you manage a shaky nod, letting wooyoung return his hand to your lips, and when he cups your mouth gently, you poke your tongue out to lap the cum off his palm. 

“hm, now wasn’t that good? better than promised, in fact?”

“y-yeah,” you exhale, finally finding your voice after god knows how long of shocked and aroused silence. wooyoung grins. he leans over you, all but bare chest pressing to your clothed one, and you can feel the heat radiating off his skin with ease. his face hovers over yours. you can see his eyes clearer than ever.

“how about we go again then?”

[inkykeiji]

you’re like a drug to me, a luxury, my sugar and gold

character: gojou satoru

genre: smut with a sprinkle of fluff at the end

notes: aaaaah first jjk fic ever!!!! uhhh this is honestly just pure smut and punishment, satoru is a Bad Daddy, and it’s set in a curseless AU | title cred: handclap by fitz and the tantrums

warnings: 18+ minors dni, dubcon/noncon, slight size difference/size kink, belly bulge, spanking with a belt, rough sex, minimal prep, minimal aftercare (at first), toxic and unhealthy relationship (satoru is mean n a bad daddy!), daddy kink/slightly implied ddlg dynamics, praise kink, dacryphilia

words: 3.1k

synopsis:

And although you can—and do—get away with a lot, you can’t get away with everything. A little brattiness he can handle, a little brattiness he thinks is cute. But on the days when you’re really misbehaving, purposefully (or not) breaking every rule, acting out and refusing to listen, rejecting any bargain or compromise with him at all—well, he’s only human.

And he snaps.

Gojou Satoru is a bad Daddy.

He’s a sweet Daddy, a silly Daddy, a Daddy who’s almost incapable of saying no. He’s a Daddy with a massive sweet tooth, a Daddy who frequently allows both of you to have dessert before dinner—sometimes dessert for dinner—and a Daddy who gives his princess nearly everything she desires, weak to your pretty pout and puppy-dog eyes and please, Daddy?’s. He hates to deny you, aches at the thought of you being even just a teensy bit displeased, because he wants his baby happy, always.

It’s his fault, really, you’re saying, insisting, when he calls you a spoiled brat. Because, honestly, it is; Satoru is entitled—he always has been, born with a not silver, not gold, but platinum spoon in his mouth—and his little princess is entitled, too.

Because he gives you anything and everything you ask for the moment the demand leaves your mouth, dotes on you hand and foot, absolutely adores you, lavishing you in the finest silks and prettiest lace, always indulging you just as much as he indulges himself—as much as he has always been indulged, growing up filthy rich.

Because you weren’t always like this; or, at least, you weren’t always this brash about it.

But years of getting exactly what you want, exactly when you want it, has forced your attitude to change, to shift.

You haven’t changed, Satoru tells you one day, a tub full of melty ice cream in his lap as he shovels another spoonful into your mouth, waning sun bathing the penthouse terrace in translucent gold and coral, brilliant colours reflected in his crystal eyes. “I didn’t do anything—I simply revealed your true nature,” A devious little smirk spreads across his lips, eyes glinting in an almost ominous nature, and you shiver. “You’ve always been a selfish materialistic brat, haven’t you?”

Well, you guess he has a point.

And although you can—and do—get away with a lot, you can’t get away with everything. A little brattiness he can handle, a little brattiness he thinks is cute. But on the days when you’re really misbehaving, purposefully (or not) breaking every rule, acting out and refusing to listen, rejecting any bargain or compromise with him at all—well, he’s only human.

And he snaps.

It’s always something little, after a day full of disobedience, that does it, that finally lights the fuse and forces an explosion. Something that would normally be inconsequential, something he’d usually laugh off with a coo and a loving pat to your head.

Because you fought him on bedtime last night, then fought him on going to university this morning. You demanded pancakes for breakfast and when he denied them to you, because he’s got an important meeting in the afternoon and thus hasn’t the time to make them, you refused to eat anything at all—only to whine and bitch and complain about how starved you were for the entire duration of his conference. And yet, throughout it all, he was the perfect picture of patience, endlessly cool and nonchalant in his responses to your multiple tantrums.

Until you rushed into the kitchen in a famished frenzy, diving straight for the cookie jar and shoving three in your mouth.

“Sweets are not an appropriate dinner, baby,”

The words are sighed out in pure exasperation, his thumb and his forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, lids shut tightly.

Eyebrows furrowing, you tilt your head in confusion, speaking around your mouthful. “Since when?”

His eyes snap open, blazing azure glaring at you with such an intensity it makes you flinch, cookie crumbs turning to ash in your mouth.

“Since forever,” he seethes, mask of impassivity finally beginning to break.

“What?” you laugh around the word, but it trembles. “What are you talking about? You rarely enforce that rule—especially since you don’t even follow it yourself!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps, nostrils flaring with a particularly harsh exhale. “I am the boss, and what I say goes,”

“Daddy!” A sock-clad foot stomps against the marble floor as you whine out the word, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “That isn’t fair! You can’t just—”

“Enough with this attitude!” he snarls, moving like a crack of lighting as he lunges at you, lithe arms embracing you in an iron grip. “I can, and I will,”

And then he’s hauling you over his shoulder, one strong arm wrapped around you and pinning you draped over his body, delivering swift, harsh slaps to your ass every time you kick your feet or beat your fists against his back, while every whine and complaint earns you another spank in his mind, mentally tallying them up and vocalizing the thought a moment later.

“You’re being a meanie,”

“That’s twelve,” he growls.

“I don’t care!”

“Thirteen.”

“So what?”

“Fourteen.”

“That’s nothing,”

“Twenty-five.”

And that—that gets you to pause, but not to halt, not to stop, potent brattiness mixing with fury as it boils in your chest, the need to defy, to disobey, burning through your veins.

“I-I can handle that,”

“Thirty,” his voice is calm—serene, almost—and ice cold. There’s an underlying challenge sown into it, daring you to try him again, to utter another word. He’ll go higher, you can almost hear his apathetic voice floating through your mind; he’ll go as high as he needs to in order to teach such an ungrateful little brat a lesson.

Thirty it is.

The buckle of his favourite belt jingles as he undoes it, that dainty clink! forcing shivers to pebble across your naked skin, pressing your chest further into the foot of his bed, fingers curling in cashmere.

You’ve developed a love-hate relationship with that belt; it’s so fun when you get to undo it yourself, gentle fingers tugging and toying as you squirm eagerly in his lap, yet the clank and clattering of that heavy buckle as nimble fingers skillfully unfasten it and pull it from the loops of expensive trousers is almost menacing, carrying with it portentous threats it fully intends to see through.

He never warns you when the first strike is coming, reveling in the way your muscles are coiled in tension, in foreboding anticipation; basking in the surprised yelp that bubbles up in your throat.

“Relax,” he tells you with a callous chuckle, leather squealing between large, smooth hands as he folds it. “And count,”

It’s his usual response, predictable and scripted by this point, but he never seems to tire of it, notes of delight lacing his voice.

And that first blow never counts.

Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy by most standards, but his punishments are harsh, brutal, and cruel, and they happen to be one of the only things he takes seriously in life.

There’s rules to each of his punishments—so many rules he’s made you write them out multiple times, until your hand ached and fingers cramped and the heel of your palm was swollen, so they’d stick in that pretty empty little head of yours, so you never forget—and his spankings are no different.

You are not to move until he tells you to. You are not to speak unless spoken to. You are to count each lash, loud and clear before the next strike lands. Each mistake, each misstep and slip-up and refusal to comply, will earn you one extra slap. The tool is to be decided based on the severity of the offence.  

The belt, all rigid rawhide and sharp edges, cuts into the supple flesh of your ass with each easy, nonchalant flick of his wrist, abrasively snapping against you.

Each collision of leather against flesh sears a tingly sting into your skin, biting rapidly rising welts into your ass and sending spiky jolts of agonizing pain bolting up your spine, the pain fading to a dull throb for just a moment before another blow is delivered.

“Gorgeous,” Satoru murmurs to himself halfway through your punishment, the word nothing more than a little huff of breath. You don’t dare respond, simply crying out the next number as he lands another harsh blow to your abused skin. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more beautiful sound, he continues, voice appearing faint and far away, mingling with the combined symphony of the crack of leather and pathetic whimpers muffled by sheets.

“It’s incredible,” he says, louder this time, voice dripping with wonderment, as if he can’t believe he’s created such a magnificent piece—the streaks of blood staining once perfect, unblemished skin; the high-pitched whines and sharp cries of each subsequent number; the resounding slap of the belt against your bare ass that evokes it all.

The whole thing sends a surge of intense power rushing through his veins, the tingling buzz it leaves behind enthralling and invigorating. You don’t need to look at him to know this, don’t need to see the way his eyes shine with it, the way his chest heaves with it, the way his entire body trembles with it—you can feel it in the atmosphere surrounding you, can feel the shift as his ego saturates the air, as his pure superiority bleeds into it, dense and suffocating, stimulating and revitalizing.

It infects your body, seeping in through your skin and flooding your veins, re-instills the need to be submissive, the ache to be good, providing you with the strength to endure.

The punishment lasts for forty-five excruciating minutes, accumulating a total of thirty three spanks—the extra three tacked onto your original punishment of thirty, one for each time you broke a rule. He’s on you in less than a second the moment it’s over, belt dropping to the rug-covered floor with a distinct thump as soft, eager palms roam your sweaty body, lips crushed against yours, still trembling as they spill pitiful whimpers into his mouth.

The luxurious bedroom—all cream and gold and drenched in sunlight—is blanketed by backhanded praises, warning you not to be a brat and just take what he gives. He’s sadistic when he gets in moods such as these, a feral glint in crystal eyes as large hands hastily flip you over—so fast it knocks a gasp of his name from your chest—seemingly unconcerned about the fresh blood oozing from the thin swollen welts that embellish your ass staining his thousand dollar sheets.

“Daddy needs you now,” he growls when you try to protest, breathing erratic as fingers flex on your hips, squeezing and kneading before pressing down hard, a silent order to stay fucking put. “And you’re going to be a good little girl for your Daddy now, aren’t you?”

Of course. Of course, because you are a good little girl, his good little girl.

But he’s a bad Daddy.

And, like a bad Daddy, he defers aftercare—it can wait, he practically snarls as he drags you to the edge of the bed, folding your legs up on either side of your body, knees nearly nudging your jaw; and foregoes prep almost entirely—two slender fingers slipping between your slick folds, prodding your hole and deeming you wet enough to take him.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t absolutely love it when he gets like this, when that façade of indifference finally shatters to pieces, replaced with desperation, with urgency, with neediness.

Your head lifts from the plush mattress, neck straining a little as you watch him push his trousers down his thighs through bleary eyes, residual dewdrops of tears clinging to spidery lashes. His cock bobs a little as he kicks the pants off, and it’s just as pretty as he is, smooth and symmetrical and perfect in every way.

“This would be part of your punishment,” he pants out, speaking over your cry of discomfort as he begins to shove his cock into you, little cunt aching as it attempts to accommodate the sudden intrusion. “If you didn’t love it so much, fucking slut,”

“Daddy!” The pet name claws its way up your throat in a yelp, hands scrabbling against his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh through his Armani button-up in an effort to steady yourself, eyes squeezing shut against the severe burn that accompanies the stretch. “Gonna—Gonna tear me in half,”

“You’d think you’d be used to this by now,” Satoru muses, voice already returning to its apathetic playful lilt now that he’s half buried in your cunt, breathing already calmed. A malicious little smirk decorates his lips and he observes you as if awestruck, one of his hands moving to trace the curve of your cheek, cold fingertips soft against your scalding skin.

“So beautiful like this,” he whispers as he finally bottoms out, hips pressed flush against the back of your thighs.

And you are, fresh tears that glitter the way his eyes do in the waning sun streaming down your cheeks, leaving the prettiest streaks of salt staining your flesh; lips swollen from merciless teeth sinking into them, an attempt to silence yourself, to keep those whines and complaints of Stop, Daddy! and Hurts, Daddy! safely stored in your throat.

Your little hole flutters around him, still struggling to adjust to his girth, and his head droops forward, long tongue unfurling from his mouth to lap at the bitter water adorning your face, slow languid strokes from your jaw to your bottom lashes, replacing shimmering tears with viscous saliva.

Saccharine sugar stings your nose, sticky toffee bathed in decadent chocolate and garnished with a touch of vanilla enveloping you in a sickly sweet embrace.

Such a scent—his scent—starkly opposes the vicious snapping of his hips, setting a merciless pace from the very start, blunt nails biting deep half-crescents into your flesh as they hold you in place.

But the pain only heightens the pleasure, contradicting sensations clashing together with every one of his brutal thrusts, cashmere feeling as rough as sandpaper against your raw, wounded ass. Thorns of pain pierce through your abdomen and shoot up your spine, back arching off the bed, and the muscles in your thighs flex and clench with every slam of his cockhead against your cervix.

It’s potent and intoxicating, a heady exhilaration clouding your brain and flooding your veins, and soon there are tears leaking from your eyes again, dribbling into your mouth and mixing with strings of drool that coat the words you’re babbling out.

Blood rushes in your ears, procuring a deafening ring, and you’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, voice vibrating indistinctly in your chest as saliva soaked mewls ooze from your mouth. Your Daddy’s staring down at you, condescension etched into his pretty features, eyes morphing from dainty crystal to the navy of a tumultuous sea, framed by strands of cream and ivory dripping with sweat.

And he’s so big, too big, stuffing you full to the hilt with each ruthless piston of his hips, mattress trembling beneath you from the sheer strength; and it’s so much, too much, you swear you can feel him in your tummy, can see the way your lower abdomen cutely bulges in synchronization with every pounding thrust.

You must say it in some way, in some shape or some form, because the patronization varnishing his features melts away, sharp smirk dissolving into a genuine grin, blue eyes lightening with pure adoration.

“Such a good girl,” you think he’s saying, through it’s hard to tell when your eyelids keep drooping, hard to hear when a symphony of broken moans and hitched whimpers and the sharp slapping of skin against skin blanket the room, reverberating off the walls of your skull. “You’re such a good, good girl for me,”

Yes, Daddy, you want to say, such a good girl for you, only for you.

“Y-Yours,” you manage instead, locking your arms around his neck and clinging to him.

“Mine,” he growls, possessiveness lacquering his eyes, brilliant and bright and shining with devotion. “That’s right, mine,”

It only takes another three thrusts before you’re gushing all over his cock, the intense spasming of your cute little cunt drawing the prettiest whines from the back of his throat as he rams into you.

“Beg for it,” he demands, and although it’s an order, it comes out more like a plead, desperation sown into his voice. “Beg for Daddy’s cum,”

You obey immediately, words spilling from your lips without a second thought, automatic and instinctual. Please, Daddy, gimme your cum? Please, please, pretty please, want your cum, Daddy, fill my belly with it, Daddy, I need it, need it so bad, please?

He gives you what you want only a moment later, cock throbbing almost violently as he fills you with thick, scalding cream—so much that you’re sure it’s dribbling out of you, trickling down your ass and onto his pristine sheets—and you roll your hips up, attempting to milk him for more.

“G-Greedy,” he pants out, but there’s a dazzling smile slapped across his face, and so much love in his eyes it’s nearly overwhelming, a fresh wave of tears casting a gleaming shield across your own.

He notices immediately, both of you wincing a little as he pulls out, a wrecked little whine escaping your mouth.

“My poor little princess,” he’s saying as he untangles his briefs—Balenciaga, this time—from his trousers, abandoned in a heap on the hardwood.

“Daddy,” you rasp, a frown marring his face, fingers encircling your ankles as he helps you unfold your stiff legs.

“I know, I know,” he’s murmuring as gentle hands pull the soft clothing up your silky thighs. “It hurts, I know baby, Daddy’s gonna make it feel better now,”

A shiver courses through your body, and he tuts, nimble fingers making quick work of the buttons on his shirt, shrugging it off before he hoists you up and drapes it over your shoulders, tenderly threading your arms through the sleeves.

It’s cozy, and warm, infused with his scent—melted sugar and expensive cologne—and you snuggle into it, weak arms pulling the material tighter around your body, swathing it in comfort. Tears prick your eyes again, blearily blinking them clear as you glance up to find him backing away. A noise of indignance sounds in the back of your throat, eyebrows knitting together as you make grabby hands for him.

“I’ll be right back, princess,” he reassures you as he laces your fingers together and allows you to pull him back towards you, voice soothing like a lullaby. Fingers trail along the curve of your cheek then trace the line of your jaw, palms smoothing hair back from your face. “Daddy’s just going to go get the first aid kit so he can clean you up, okay?”

“‘N then food?”

He coos with a little chuckle, cupping your head as he tilts it up towards him, eyes overflowing with fondness.

“Yeah, baby, and then food. Whatever you want, it’s yours,”

Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy, but he is also your Daddy, and that makes him the best Daddy.

[untaemedqueen]

Third Wheeling

CEO!Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 28.

Warnings (Updating Still): Smut, Cheating, Unexpected Pregnancy, Unfaithful, Emotional Damage, Love

Warnings In This Chapter: Use Of A Sex Toy, Lactation Kink, Degradation, Daddy Kink, Begging, Sex Over A Desk, Bratty!OC, Dom!Yoongi, Mentions Of The Color System, Sex Against A Window, Exhibitionism, Praise, Multiple Orgasms, Cream Pie, Insecure!Yoongi

A/N: I’m back from vacation. Here is your weekly dose of Yoongles. Also big ups to my ladies @xjoonchildx, @ladyartemesia, @ppersonna​. Love yall.

Why do people even get married? If you had it your way you would just get married at City Hall with your parents and best friends. But getting married to a CEO is never that easy. Combine that with your raging hormones, sore back and ankles, and your overbearing, over the top best friend… it's all a bit much to handle. Not to mention now that everyone knows who you are, you have eyes on you at all times.

Although, you know how happy Yoongi is about all of this. You can see how he radiates joy with each step as you walk hand in hand together out in public. That pretty much makes it all worth it.

"I'm allergic to coconut," Yoongi breathes out, pushing the plate of wedding cake in front of him away.

You hum in agreement, leaning back into the plush armchair.

"They're all so good, I don't know what to pick." you say truthfully, looking over the multitude of wedding cake samples that are spread across the exorbitantly large dining room table.

"Well, you have… twenty minutes to figure it out." Leena notifies you from the other end of the room.

"You know, you're like a drill sergeant or something," you murmur.

You can hear Yoongi's gentle snigger when she narrows her eyes at you. "My perfect, amazing, gorgeous best friend is only getting married once. It has to be the event of a lifetime. So strap in and call me General Matrimony."

"Hear, hear." your fiance agrees smothering your cheek with a kiss.

"In my opinion the double chocolate fudge with marshmallow Swiss buttercream is the best." Leena decides, pointing to the cake in the middle of the table.

"Too sweet." you and the CEO reply at the same time.

She sneers at your combined cuteness.

"Are we trying to be disgustingly decadent or classy?" Yoongi quips to you, throwing his arm over your shoulder.

Leaning your temple against him, your cheeks puff out in thought. "Disgustingly classy?"

Leena points at you with her gold pen. "Love that."

The CEO snorts loudly, running the tip of his nose over your temple.

"If we're being disgustingly classy, we should do the chocolate chiffon cake with the light white raspberry filling." you announce, pointing at the cake in front of you.

"That was really good," Yoongi agrees, planting his hand on your protruding stomach.

Leena looks up at you over her clipboard impressed. "If I knew you were gonna turn into some hoity toity queen, Miss Thing -- I would have shoved you at Yoongi a long time ago." she jeers.

You roll your eyes with a laugh before wincing at a kick that's just a bit too tender on the ribs.

"Honggi. Relax, buddy." Yoongi mutters in your direction.

You had decided on a name last night. It honestly didn't take you long at all. You and your fiance are always on the same page.

Honggi is a powerful name and Yoongi's son should have that prowess and power behind him.

Yoongi came to love the simple word almost immediately and even when you were drifting off to sleep, you could hear the CEO murmuring semblances of the name.

When Leena looks over you both, her sharp and intense features begin to soften. "God, you guys are cute. It's fucking disgusting." she whines, sipping her champagne.

Shaking his head with a laugh your soon-to-be husband seems to agree. "I'm not the one who brings the cuteness here." he chirps, running his thumb in loving strokes over your distended skin.

Leena gives you a moment or two to calm down before hardening her gaze and tapping the famed clipboard with her pen. "Floral arrangements, come on folks! We don't have time!"

"Wedding tyrant." Yoongi breathes playfully, earning a snort from you.

"Good morning, Sir." Shea calls to Yoongi as he gets out of the elevator.

"Hey, Shea. Mornin'." the CEO mutters, running his fingers through his perfectly styled hair.

It was no secret that after the unfortunate incident with his mother, you started to despise Kira. You never said anything of course, you were too kind for that. But Yoongi knew, he always knows. So he did what he thought was best and let her go. He did however give her a gigantic 'keep quiet' sum of money as well as having her sign a NDA. He wasn't about to let the woman that's kept him company many times throughout many years go blabbering at the mouth due to being disgruntled.

"You have two meetings today and then after lunch you have a few contracts to sign." Shea explains.

Yoongi likes that she's strictly business. And more importantly, she doesn't look at him like he's a piece of meat on sale at the butchers.

"Thanks." he breathes, picking up his coffee from the reception desk.

"Oh! And your fiance called!" she beams.

He knows she's a fan of your artwork and just the mention of you has both of them smiling like idiots. Nothing like simping to start off the day.

"Oh? Is she okay?" he inquires, pulling out his phone.

"She said she's bringing you lunch, so don't eat." Shea instructs.

He hums thoughtfully. "Well, I guess I'm pretty lucky. Huh?" he quips, heading towards his office.

The day goes by slower and slower with each passing minute. He equates it to being away from you and his son if he's being honest.

The meetings are all the same. Boring and tedious with glasses of whisky to take the boredom even slightly away.

The old men that seem to run the company beneath him have more to say about the project managers than their own jobs. It's almost baffling.

But when Yoongi gets the solace of being in his exorbitantly large office again on his own, he finds peace there.

Shea wasn't too forthcoming with just how many contracts he has to sign and the stack of them on his desk makes his eye twitch.

"God, when is lunch?" he breathes, turning around in his large chair to look at the sonogram painting of his son you so artfully created.

Digging into his suit pocket, he looks for the trusty gold pen he uses to sign documents -- but he feels something else first. It's small, fitting in his palm and his eyebrows furrow. When he pulls it out, he can't say he isn't confused.

You did pick out his suit this morning, much like you do every morning but he's never had a remote in his pocket before.

Picking up his phone, he's immediately intrigued.

The phone rings loudly in his ear and suddenly he's forgotten all about work.

"Hello?"

"Little dove." his voice sounds confused and playful at best.

He examines the small black remote, having no idea what on Earth it's for.

"Yeah?" you quip back.

"I found a remote in my pocket. Any idea why?" he prods, his eyebrows flickering up expectantly.

The hum of uncertainty you give makes him all the more curious.

"No. Why is there a remote in your pocket? Did you take the garage remote instead of your car key?" you inquire.

It's simply ridiculous but now he's questioning himself. "What? No! Then how would I have gotten to work?"

He presses the 'On' button and flips it over in his hand expectantly.

"Oh God," you whisper softly.

"You okay? Is Honggi kicking a lot?" Yoongi asks, putting down the remote to give you his full attention.

"N-No. I was just surprised. I'm in the car, now on my way over to your office."

Your voice sounds breathless and strange all at once and for the first time… probably ever -- Yoongi doesn't take it sexually. "You better tell Minho to be careful driving, you hear me?"

"Mhm." you gasp softly.

"Well if you didn't put this thing in my pocket, I don't know how it got here then." Yoongi murmurs, pushing more buttons on it curiously.

"Oh my God, Minho drive faster!" you squeak out.

The CEO is completely at odds with what's happening. "You alright?" he inquires curiously.

"I just really need to… pee." you babble.

You sound dazed and lost, even needy all of a sudden.

"I'm sure. Honggi is getting big." your fiance agrees, drawing imperfect shapes on his desk with the tip of his finger.

"I'm here. I'll be right up, Daddy." you whimper, hanging up on him.

He pulls the phone away from his ear, eyebrows completely furrowing. "What's wrong with her?" he bleats.

He's signed a total of three documents by the time you make it upstairs.

Just hearing your sweet voice interacting with Shea in the far distance sends his heart absolutely pounding with excitement. Seeing you sometimes gives him the adrenaline of bungee jumping or cliff diving.

When the doors of his office burst open, he can't help the gummy smile that spreads over his features.

He takes in your attire and suddenly he's confused. You're wearing a stylish black trench coat that flourishes out at the bottom, but he can't see the dress you're wearing beneath it.

"What dress are you wearing that doesn't cover your mid thighs?" he asks, pushing back his desk chair to stand up tall.

Your fingers are shaking and you hurriedly slam the door shut. When you lock the both of you inside his large office, he knows something is weird.

"Y/N?"

Turning around to him with your back flush to the door, he can see how colored your cheeks are. Your lips are parted like your gasping for breath and your eyes are low with lustful intentions.

He finds something in his gut stirring at the sight of you.

"Baby? You okay?" he prods, rounding his desk.

Your fingers fumble with the belt around your belly which keeps the trenchcoat in place.

It's almost amusing how flustered you are.

You don't seem to be in any pain and Yoongi takes this all in as strange.

He leans back against the desk, waiting patiently for you to reply.

"I'm fine!" you assure him, shoving open the coat.

If his eyes could widen any larger, they'd probably pop out of his head.

You stand before him, scantily clad in thin, lace lingerie.

"Baby!" he gawks, rushing towards you to cover you up.

He can't help the way his cock begins to stir below the belt at the sight of you.

"What're you doing?" he hisses, gripping both sides of the trench coat.

You whimper gently, hooking your hand around his neck to pull him down to your height. He allows you to kiss him, he can feel the fervent need coming from your lips. His hands slowly slide from the coat to beneath it, feeling the soft skin of your belly.

"Want you," you gasp, pulling one of his hands between your thighs.

He can feel the vibrations against his fingertips and it all makes sense now. He groans loudly, pulling you back in for a fierce and passionate kiss.

His teeth nibble gently at your bottom lip and in all honesty, he's astounded by your forwardness. It's rare to see you like this but when your hormones are raging and in charge of your brain… who is he to stop you?

"You naughty little dove." he jeers, pulling you towards his desk.

"What's got you so playful today?" he inquires, pushing the multitude of contract folders aside.

He helps you up onto the desk, spreading your legs with a wanton groan.

The clit and g-spot vibrating sex toy you had recently spoken about sits between your sodden pussy lips. Yoongi can see how wet you are through the thin lingerie and it makes his heart beat faster at the sight.

"Just wanted to," you whimper, spreading your legs wider.

Stepping between your limbs, his hands can't seem to separate from your soft skin. Reluctantly, he leaves your belly to tug down the cups of your bra. Your breasts spring out, swaying and dribbling milk languidly.

"You're leaking milk in public, like a little cum slut."

His dominance is overwhelming to your senses and you can only nod fervently in agreement.

"I'm your cum slut. I'm yours." you babble, wrapping your hand around his tie and pulling him towards you.

It's not like this extreme horniness has come from nowhere. In fact, you've been in pain from kicks and punches from your growing son for a week or so now and the one day you don't feel any pain at all -- the most pressing horniness you've ever felt has overcome you.

His lips are soft and warm against yours. They draw you in like a fly to honey and you're enraptured with the man you're in love with.

"I never thought you'd turn up at my office like this, little dove." Yoongi murmurs, pressing soft kisses to the column of your neck.

"I'm so horny, I'm going to pass out!" you complain, reaching for his belt.

He can hear the sheer neediness in your voice and it sends him into overdrive.

"I'll take care of you, baby girl. Don't worry." he assures you, cupping your breasts and gingerly swiping his thumbs across your leaking nipples until you're sobbing with relief.

"D-Daddy!" you whine, unbuckling his belt.

The way your voice peaks makes his eyes immediately rise to the double doors of his office.

"You're gonna have to be a little quieter for me, babe. I'm at work." he murmurs, kissing your lips softly.

You whimper, giving him an understanding nod.

"Good girl," your fiance praises, wrapping his lips around your nipple.

Your hand cups your mouth when you gasp loudly. Shaking like a leaf, your body is quite literally vibrating with sexual need.

He sighs gently against you, adoring you for all you're worth. One hand pinches and rolls your forsaken nipple while the other caresses your stomach.

The vibrating with you seems to only get faster and you're so stimulated that fat tears of pleasure begin to roll down your cheeks.

"Feels good, little dove?" Yoongi coos around your nipple, enmeshing his fingers into the sides of your underwear. In mere seconds it becomes strings in his hands. He groans against your skin gently, tucking your destroyed undergarments into his suit pants pocket.

"S-So good! Fuck," you moan, shoving down his pants.

The sight before you has you licking your lips expectantly. His cock is already throbbing with need and it's a welcome sight.

One thing you can always count on with Yoongi is his complete and utter patience when it comes to pleasing you. His cock could be fucking purple with need and he would still take his time making sure you're satisfied first.

His fingers run over the smooth silicon of the sex toy and he shivers visibly at the vibrations. "How's it feel, baby? You like the new toy?" he inquires, kissing over the valley of your breasts.

You hum in agreement, lifting your hips slightly begging him to touch you.

You can feel your veins coursing with white hot pleasure, it feels like electricity firing through every pore in your body.

When his fingers slide over your opening, he can't help but choke on a moan. "God, your cunt is soaked. Shit." he curses, dipping a finger into your heat.

"You're gaping for my cock, Jesus Christ." he breathes out.

Yoongi knows he probably isn't going to last long. It's been awhile since you've fucked and his hand is nothing compared to being inside of you. Combine that with the new vibrator inside you, it's definitely going to be a tough feat.

"Fuck me over the desk like an animal!" you beg of your soon-to-be husband.

His eyes seem to widen at your forwardness but he can't say he doesn't love it.

"Anything for you, baby girl."

Your whimpers of anticipation have his bottom lip tucking tightly between his teeth.

"How'd I get so lucky to have such a gorgeous woman as my wife? Huh?" he whispers, running his hands over your back and sides.

You don't answer him, only pushing your hips back and wiggling your ass to show just how needy you are.

"I'm coming baby, relax." he promises, palming both globes of your ass in hand.

Your breathing is shallow and your mind is swimming as you wait for him. The vibrations against your most sensitive parts feel so amazing, so raw but it's not enough -- you want his consent to cum. You need it.

Yoongi picks up the small remote, testing the speeds and he realizes which you like more depending on your breathing and small moans. He's toying with you right now, enjoying the obscene amounts of arousal dripping down your soft, fleshy thighs.

His eyes are focused on your cunt, watching from behind as it twitches and spasms around the small device inside of you.

"Daddy, please!" you whine, lifting your head to look back at him.

When you do look back, you see his cock flat on his palm. He pumps it in hand a few times, cursing gently at the sight before him.

"Aren't you just a pretty little pregnant whore for me?" he quips, running his hand from your back to cup your stomach.

The weight of your belly in his hand has him almost in a frenzy then. Pressing the weeping head of his cock to your entrance, his lips press into a thin, hard line when he feels the vibrating sensations flow through him.

"Oh fuck," he hisses softly, letting his eyes flutter shut.

"Yes!" you breathe out, pushing back to welcome him into your swollen cunt.

He groans then, welcoming your warm heat around him inch by inch.

"Feels so fucking good, baby girl. Jesus." he moans, taking a moment  for you to adjust to his size.

Grabbing the remote once more, he turns it onto the fastest speed and the gasps you collectively emit seem to sound like they're all around you.

He's forgotten he's at work, he's forgotten what he's supposed to be doing because the most important thing right now is you -- and your swollen, greedy sex is all he needs.

With the pleasurable vibrations added, all Yoongi wants to do is fuck you so hard that you'll both cum and be pleased in minutes. But he's never been the type to leave a sexual experience so early.

Folding over, his chest presses to your back and his fingers intertwine with yours.

His lips feel like heaven against your warm, flushed skin. He suckles small marks against the side of your throat, coloring you as his own.

His thrusts are hard and filling but slow. He'd give anything to hear skin slapping against skin right now but then he's reminded that he's at work.

Your hands grip harder onto the edge of the desk as you rut back against him.

"Your cock is so big," you whine, closing your eyes to become enraptured in the whole experience.

"Yeah? You like my big cock in this pregnant cunt?"

You nod fervently, trying to bite back the loud moans that threaten to tear past your lips. It's all too much and suddenly your orgasm is approaching like a rapid waterfall.

"Don't you dare," your fiance threatens, lifting himself up and gripping the back of your neck.

"Please Daddy. Need to cum," you beg, feeling your body quake with the ever pressing need of relief.

"Oh no, I don't think so. You show up to my office, you wait until I say you can cum."

You whine in defiance, pushing your hips back against him harder and he's surprised at your brattiness.

"Don't you dare cum." he warns you.

Your eyebrows furrow with need and you couldn't care about the punishment you're going to recieve. You're honestly not sure what's come over you, you've never defied him before but right now it's getting you more excited to not listen to him.

Pushing past the control of his orgasms, you lose yourself on his cock. Your high is filled with galactic stars behind your eyelids and white noise filled ears.

"You brat," he gasps, pulling out of you.

It's a smug grin the spreads over your face now before your cringing at the overstimulation of the sex toy. He takes pity on you in that regard, shutting the toy off and pulling it out of you. Tossing it onto his desk, he points his finger in your direction. "You're in trouble." he breathes out, jerking his hard cock in hand.

Now that you've arrived back down to Earth, you're worried. You've never defied him before and you've never seen his wrath.

"You just woke up a brat today, didn't you?" he seethes, helping you stand back upright.

You pout, shaking your head quickly in hopes that he won't be too strict on you. His narrowed eyes chill you to the bone.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I just couldn't help cumming. I was so horny. I'm sorry," you apologize profusely, running your hands over his clothed chest.

He hums unimpressed, combing his fingers through his hair.

"If only people knew what a cumwhore I have on my hands." he murmurs through his teeth.

You frown up at him, begging him to forgive you with puppy dog-like eyes.

"No. You don't get away with being a brat that easily," he deadpans.

Nodding to the large floor to ceiling windows, he taps his foot incessantly.

"Go stand by the window." he orders.

You look down at your naked body before looking back up at him in confusion.

"Wh-"

"What's your color?" he cuts you off, running his hand over your belly.

"G-Green," you chirp out, looking at the window.

"Then go stand up against the window." he instructs, beginning to stroke his cock once more.

"Why?" you inquire curiously, doing as told.

"So people can see what a cumwhore I have on my hands," he whispers into your ear. The heat of his breath has something unfurling inside of you once more.

Bracing your hands against the window, you turn back to look at him just in time to see him situating the vibrator between his fingers.

The quiet thrumming of the sex toy makes your breath hitch with anticipation.

"Spread your legs," your fiance commands, pressing his chest flush to your back.

You're so high up you're almost certain no one could see you but excitement still courses through you.

His hands wrap around you like strong chains and you hum in appreciation.

"I love you," you remind him, turning and kissing his cheek.

He softens at your words, kissing over your shoulder with his plush lips. "I love you too, brat." he murmurs.

His words make you snort gently but it's quickly cut off by a loud gasp. He presses his hand to your swollen clit and the smug grin he gives you sends a chill through your spine.

Your forehead presses to the chilly glass of the window and you mewl as his legs knock yours open farther.

His cock slides between your sodden folds a few times before entering back inside of you.

"Oh my God," you whine, backing your hips up to him.

"Pretty little thing," he praises, kissing over your neck. "What do you think, little dove? You think people can see me fucking your pregnant cunt from all the way down there?"

His thrusts become rougher and harder, cursing all the while.

The vibrations that ricochet through you are once again pushing you towards the edge at a surprisingly rapid pace.

"Don't even," he seethes, feeling how your cunt trembles around him.

His grunts and the sweet whispers of your name enrapture your ears.

The sight that greets Yoongi's eyes could make him almost blow his load in that very second.

"Your milk is leaking onto the glass, oh fuck." he whimpers, fucking into you harder and faster.

"Gonna cum!" you cry to him, scratching your nails against the window.

He doesn't even respond, chasing his own high as your cunt threatens to milk him for all he's worth.

"Oh little dove!" he gasps.

His thrusts become sloppier and his breath hitches at the prospect of cumming inside of you.

"Yoongi, please!" you beg, spreading your legs wider.

"You think you deserve it?" he quips, running his hand over your belly bump.

"Yes," you whimper, pushing back against him with each thrust.

"Cum." he commands, pressing his forehead into the junction between your neck and should.

He holds you up easily as you orgasm around him. You become a blubbering mess, crying out his name softly like a prayer.

"God, I love you." he seethes through his teeth.

His teeth clench down on his bottom lip as he cums, trying to quiet his final moans.

You both stay like this for a few minutes, just enjoying each other's company.

"Are you upset with me?" Yoong inquires, pulling out of you slowly.

Your eyebrows furrow at his worried tone. "Huh? Not at all, why?"

"You never act bratty or defy me… Did I do something wrong?"

You've spoken about this before actually. Yoongi is prideful when it comes to your sub slash dom relationship. He beams with satisfaction knowing that he keeps you so pleased you don't act out of character. For you to have been just the slightest bit bratty, it probably shook up his confidence.

"No, it's just my hormones I think, I wanted to be a little sassy," you explain, sitting down on his lap when he beckons you.

He hums unsurely, hooking his chin over your shoulder. "I'm a good dom to you when we have sex, right?" he asks, kissing your temple.

"Always. You always make me feel safe and dominated," you promise, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He breathes a sigh of relief, looking down at the sex toy tossed casual aside on his desk. "Felt good," he murmurs, running his hands over your sides.

You give him a large smile, nodding in agreement. He can't help but snort at your joyful expression.

"Well regardless of your bratty hormones, I'm happy you came to distract me from my work." your fiance murmurs, pulling the cups of your bra back up.

"You're always happy to be distracted from work." you quip, combing your fingers through his hair.

He nods thoughtfully, letting his fingertips graze over your outer thigh. "Very true." he beams, kissing your shoulder.

When your skin begins to raise with goosebumps, he's quick to cover you with the trenchcoat you discarded a while ago in your sudden heat of passion.

It's your stomach that rumbles first with the need for food and sustenance before he acts accordingly also.

"Oh yeah, where's the lunch you promised me?" the CEO inquires, tying the belt of your coat back in place.

"I gave it to you." you reply with a wide smile.

He looks over at the window before shaking his head with a laugh. "Alright, that's it. Get your pretty butt to the car, I'm taking us home for lunch."

Just talking about food in general has you jumping up with excitement. "Are you coming back to work after?" you prod, watching as he pulls up his boxers and suit pants.

"Nah, I'll just take the contracts home with me now so I don't have to come back. Besides, I didn't correct your errant behavior like I wanted too." he whispers, pecking your lips softly.

Leaning back on the desk, your head begins to tilt. "Well, you should get all your punishment in before six. Leena is coming over to discuss place settings for the wedding."

He groans gently, fixing his suit jacket until it looks seemingly pristine. "Why are you best friends with a tyrant? Remind me again?"

Your giggle echoes through the large office and he adores the sound, it courses through him like new life.

Scooping up the contract folders, he looks over to the window before smiling to himself. "Y'know I'm never cleaning my window again, right?" he quips, watching as you pull open the doors to his office.

"That's disgusting," you quip back, holding out your engagement hand so he can hold it.

Kissing the top of your head, he laughs. "Yeah, I am."

Next Chapter ------>

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Sorry for those it didn’t tag!

[apricotgojo]

hi bestie.. 😃

so um , i saw this prompt somewhere and i wanted to send it to my favorite blog ! ( you ) so here it is!!

adrien with a s/o who’s from america ( new york specifically ) and she has a very veronica lodge type past. meaning she’s very proper and rich and silvertounged but very kindhearted and sweet and extremely loyal.

but she has a past where she used to be a bully in new york and bullied people if they didn’t fit in , and was practically the it girl from a movie? does that make sense?

however shes changed , yet one day during a akuma attack , her whole past gets revealed and videos of her being a complete BITCH and it being played off as hot by her classmates gets shown to the entire of paris?

what’s adrien doing? is she going to comfort her or leave her?

👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

 I had so much fun writing this, but fair warning that it’s kind of angsty oops! thank u for the request nonetheless <333

Ship: Adrien Agreste X reader

Warnings: Swearing.

Tags: Angst oops

What should you do when your father is out on a business trip?

Throw a party.

And that’s exactly what you did. At least that’s what you used to do back in New York.   It’s something you were known for. Now since you’ve got the chance to start fresh with a new life in Paris you decided to bring an old tradition back with you and invite some friends over from the school you’re attending, and your boyfriend of course.

Adrien Agreste. You had no idea what you did to get such an angel in your life. You’ve been dating him for a few moths now and you could already see yourself becoming a better person around him. You came to Paris with the intention of leaving your past behind, starting new and fresh without the bullshit from your past. This was it. Nothing could fuck this up.

“Hey,let me help you.” You hear your Adrien say while you try to adjust the lights near the DJ stand.

“I got it.” You say and get on your tip toes to hang the last light. “There.” You say, a successful smile on your face.

“You really out did yourself huh?” You feel his arms wrapping around you from the back and you hum.

“Oh please Agreste, this is nothing compared to what I used to do in New York.” You say and turn around, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I hope everyone likes it.” You say, more to yourself than to him.

“Of course they will, Ma belle.” He says and kisses your forehead.

You loved it when he called you nicknames, they just made butterflies burst around your stomach.

His soft hand reaches up to touch your cheek and he caresses it gently. You look into his green eyes which were soft and welcoming. He is so gorgeous.

Your noses touch and you sigh, touching his hand and smiling softly. “I hate to ruin the moment, my love but I have to go make a few minor changes before your friends come.”

He pouts at you. “But everything’s already perfect, can’t we spend some alone time together before everyone comes?”

You shake your head. “I promise you’ll have me all to yourself tonight , Agreste.” You smirk and watch as his cheeks glow red. You quickly kiss his cheek and giggle, walking away to the kitchen to make sure that everything is in place.

It didn’t take long before people started arriving.

“Claudia, start offering the drinks around to people.” You whisper to your maid before going to greet everyone.

A familiar bluenette appears, with an amazed look on her face while she looks around. You grin and walk towards her.  

“Marinette! You look stunning!” You say and give each other a friendly kiss on the cheek. She really did look stunning. You’ve never seen her hair like this before, let down and slightly curled.  She’s wearing a dress which perfectly hugged her body and the colour was gorgeous on her - A deep vermilion shade which complemented her fair skin. 

“Likewise.” She grins and looks at your dress. “Oh my god who are you wearing? This dress is gorgeous.” She gasps, eyes wide while she moved around to see the dress from the back and front.  You knew that she would comment on it, she had an eye for fashion after all.

“My father got this for me as a gift from South Korea. The designer is a family friend of ours.” You smile proudly. You didn’t want to brag about it but in all honesty you loved this dress too much not to show it off. 

You look to her side and see a blue haired boy standing kind of awkwardly next to her. “And you must be…?” You trail off, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Luka, Marinette’s date.” He says nonchalantly and Marinette stops looking at your dress, straightening up with her face glowing red.

“Ah, I see. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Im-“

“I already know who you are.” He states and you furrow your eyebrows. You’re more than sure you’ve never met this guy before.

Marinette nudges him and you see him stiffen up.

“I mean, it was kind of a big deal when you came to Paris and everyone was talking about you so-“

Marinette sighs and grabs Lukas arm. “We’re going to get a drink, It was nice seeing you! Au revoir !” She says and walks away with Luka. You could hear her cussing at him from where you were standing.

Ah, of course. You knew that everyone was talking about you. The new rich bitch from New York who’s mother is in jail. That’s what everyone saw at first. Maybe they do still see it now. But maybe that’s why you fell for Adrien, because he never judged you in the first place despite all those rumors.

You turn around and see him, talking to Nino. He’s wearing the outfit you picked out for him.  Black shirt slightly unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up, tan pants with a black belt around them and black converse.  His hair was messy but it looked so good on him and his cheeks were tinted a little pink, probably because of the few drinks that he’s had already.  Your eyes meet and he smiles at you. Right as he was about to come next to you, you feel someone tap your shoulder.

“Hi, Nadja Chamack. Did you move to paris because your mother is imprisoned for drug trafficking? Was your father denied bail?” The woman rushes to say while shoving a microphone to your face. You stare at her wide eyed. You didn’t know what to say.

“Hey, leave now before I call security, you shouldn’t be up here.” You hear Adrien say sternly while putting a hand on your shoulder.

“But was that the reason you came to Paris or was it because of the video that was spread of you-“

“Security!” Adrien shouts and two body guards grab Nadja and her camera man.

You stand there, dumbfounded as the body guards drag them away, the two cussing and struggling to get out of their grasp.

“Mon ange, are you okay?” Adrien asks, cupping your face with his hands, snapping you out of your thoughts.

 You look at him and clear your throat.

 “I’m fine, I need a drink.” You say and remove his hands from your face and start walking away.

He grabs your hand and looks at you, concern filling your eyes.

“No you’re not okay.” He says, kissing your hand and holding it gently. “What did they mean by video?” He asks.

Your body goes into full fight or flight mode.

“God Adrien! It’s nothing.” You snap at him. “just let it go, I don’t want to deal with this right now.” You remove yourself from his grasp and quickly walk away to the open bar.

You didn’t mean to snap at him but that conversation needed to wait until you two got more serious. You weren’t ready for it.

You grab a glass of champagne and down it, your face contorting because of the after taste.

You were about to get another one until you hear a scream.

“We want to know all your secrets! Don’t be bemused, it’s just the news!” A distorted voice says and you drop your glass on the floor when you see a dark purple monstrous figure coming your way.

“Shit.” You cuss and run away from the bar.

Everyone was screaming and trying to rush to the exit but everywhere was closed off with a purple like shield around.

You frantically look around to find a place to hide until you see a familiar blond with cat ears motioning to you.

Chat Noir. Thank god.

You were about to run to him until you started floating in the air, a purple bubble surrounding you.

You screamed and frantically hit it to try to escape but it was no use. 

“I got you now!” You hear the distorted voice say and let out an evil laugh.

You watch your phone float out of your hand and out of the bubble.

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.

You were fucked.

The bubble that surrounded you explodes and you fell from it, right into the arms of Chat Noir.

“Hey I got you it’s okay” He says smiling at you and for some reason you were slightly comforted by him.

 Your eyes fill with tears and your throat begins to feel like it’s closing.

“She has my phone.” You croak out and your body starts shaking.

You see Ladybug swinging from the roof, throwing her Yo-Yo to try and grasp the villain but it was too late.

A screen appeared out of thin air and a video started playing -  you were in it, in your classroom in your school in New York. You knew exactly what this video was.

Your jaw clenched when it started playing.

“Awh look she’s crying guys.” You say in a condescending tone in the video. The girl, Sarah, was balling her eyes out in front of you while you smirk and stand in front of her, your arms crossed.

“H-How could you!” She sobs out.

“How could I what? Your boyfriend was the one with his hands all over me, I just gave him what he really wanted.” You say and chuckle.

“That’s not true he would never-“

“Cheat?” You cut her off, lean closer to her and put your hands on the desk in front of her. “hate to break it to you honey but he did.” You tell her and she sobs even harder.

“Maybe this will help you put you back in your place.” You say, grabbing her face, making her look at you. “You’re a nobody, a loser and you had the audacity to talk shit behind my back?”

Her lips quiver in fear and she was visibly shaking in the video.

“You think you could ever stand a chance against me? Think again bitch.” You say and let her face go, turning around and arranging your skirt.

“By the way, he’s a really good kisser. Such a shame.” And with that you walk away from her while people wolf whistle at you and mumble things under their breath.

You were still in Chat’s arms, he was looking at the screen, eyes wide and lips parted. It was like he was frozen. Tears were streaming down your face, you couldn’t move.

Everyone around you was mumbling and whispering things.

“She’s such a bitch.”

“I knew the rumors about her were true! She’s horrible!”

“This wasn’t the video I wanted! Where’s the proof where’s the-“ The villain gets cut off by Ladybug grabbing her microphone with the akuma in it and slamming against her knee. A purple butterfly emerges from it and she grabs it with her yoyo, turning it white.

    “Miraculous ladybug!” She chants and the place starts magically getting back to normal.

Chat clears his throat. “I need to go.” He mumbles and removes his hands from you. You nod and stare down at your shoes.

“Thank you for saving me.” You say, forcing yourself to smile.

He didn’t even look at you, he didn’t even say anything as he left.

Did he think you were horrible too?

Oh my god.

Adrien.

 After the villains were taken away everyone left without even saying goodbye to you.

You sat down on the platform near the DJ stand and hugged your knees closer to your chest.

You hear footsteps walk towards you and you look up. His green eyes meet yours but they instantly avert to the side.

“You know, when we first started dating, everyone was telling me about these stupid rumors about you and I never wanted to hear them because I never believed you could be capable of that.” He says, a frown on his lips.  “I never wanted to be so fucking right in my life but I guess I was wrong.”

You were trying so hard not to cry in front of him. You knew that this would happen when he found out, it was like a gut feeling. Adrien Agreste is a good person. He likes to be surrounded by good people and that video just showed that you might not be the good person he really thought you were. Your heart ached.

“I’ve c-changed Adrien.” You stutter in a small voice, scared that you would break down if you spoke too loudly.

“Have you really?” he questions, looking directly at you. He was disappointed in you. “God, why didn’t you tell me this before!” He rubs his face in frustration. You’ve never seen Adrien so worked up like this.

“Because I knew You’d react like this!” You say, louder this time as you get up. “For fucks sake Adrien! I told you my past wasn’t perfect and I know I was a bitch but I was young and stupid and I know it doesn’t excuse my actions but I’ve grown from my mistakes. I came to Paris with the mindset of becoming better, finding out who I really am and starting fresh!”

You watch him part his lips to say something but You cut him off.

“Look me right in the eye and tell me you’ve never done a mistake in your life, Adrien.”

His lips close and he averts his gaze away from you again.

  “I know I should’ve told you sooner but I was too scared of losing you. Y-you made Paris feel like my home, you’re the reason why I make better choices, you helped me find myself.” Tears start falling down your cheeks and you look down. “And if I haven’t changed then I wouldn’t be looking stupid and crying over you and explaining myself to you because im genuinely terrified at the thought of losing the first person in my life who I’ve genuinely fallen in love with.” You sob out.

There was silence, apart from the sniffles and sobs coming from you.

“What did you say?” Adrien asks you and you hear his footsteps come closer.

“What?” You sniffle, looking up at him, furrowing your eyebrows. Your eyes were puffy and red and so was your nose. You haven’t cried like this in ages.

“The last part.”

“I’ve genuinely fallen in love with you? “ You mumble and widen your eyes. Oh shit, you’ve fucked up again.

“I know it’s sudden and I don’t expect you to return it back and I don’t know why I just said that but-“ He cuts you off with his lips smashing against yours.

It was euphoric. Probably the most genuine kiss you’ve ever felt in your life.

He breaks away, your foreheads touching and both of you breathless.

His pretty pink lips curl into a small smile and his face cups yours, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

“I love you too.” He whispers and kisses your forehead. “I’m sorry I overreacted, I just didn’t want to be wrong about you but I believe that you’ve changed, I know you’re heart is pure.”

And that’s when you realized that yes, your heart was pure again. Clean from all the sins you’ve did in the past. You didn’t know if it was his green eyes, soft skin, perfect lips or maybe the way he looked at you that has cleansed you but maybe it took pure love to find a pure heart.

[spaceorphan18]

have you ever read a detailed post about the glee cast’s singing voices? like all about their technique and stuff? reading your reaction to the ‘vocal coach reacts to glee’ video makes me want to know more!

Hmmmm, not really! Not from a professional vocalist POV, I don’t think.  (That I’m aware of.  This does remind me there was one vocal coach in fandom, and she hated Blaine, and I wasn’t too fond of her, or her analysis, so I won’t point you in that direction.) 

My background is in music, but not in vocal performance.  But I can give you a quick rundown of cast’s musical abilities if you like, though they won’t be huge on the technical side of it.  

ETA: I started this a while ago before I started doing the music retrospective - I’ll probably try to explore a little more as I do those.   If you guys want more conversation about one person in particular, let me know! 

But for now... 

*

Matthew Morrison: Is a classically trained musician with a very good voice.  It’s a shame Will was such a tool, because Matthew Morrison was very talented, had the ability to do a lot of great things with his voice.  People joke about his rapping -- but I think this stemmed from the issue that his background is in musical theater -- which teaches you a cleaner and more traditional way of singing -- opposed to a pop or rap style.  He doesn’t have the grit that rap often has, which makes it a little too much like a Kid’s Bop version of something.  When singing musical theater, though, he really shined. 

A number that showcases ability: Make ‘Um Laugh

A number that isn’t so great: Ice Ice Baby

*

Lea Michele: Lea does have a very good and solid voice.  She’s also been classically trained.  The one drawback is that it hinders her a bit on pop music, she lacks some of the grittiness often needed on a lot of the pop songs.  She also starts to lose some of her classic training as the show goes on (which I think is a shame) so that she can get some of the shine off her voice to make a transition to pop music.  

She has one vocal tick that drives me crazy, though -- she has a tendency to slide into her notes instead of hitting them dead on, which gets worse as the show goes on, and it makes her sound a little screech-y at times.  But for the most part -- she is really good. 

A number that showcases ability: Don’t Rain on My Parade

A number that isn’t so great: Ooops...I Did It Again

*

Amber Riley: The cool thing about Amber is that you get to hear her grow as a musician as the show goes on.  She had already started to get vocal lessons before the show started, but at the beginning, she was still a bit raw and unrefined in her technique.  But you can tell she did practice, and her voice is developed beautifully as the show goes on.  She was one of the best, well rounded vocalists on the show.  She had a good handle on pop and R&B music, but she could sing musical theater rather clearly, too.  She has great breath support - and can belt numbers out while still retaining the quality.  Can’t say enough good thing about Amber’s voice. 

A number that showcases ability: Someday We’ll Be Together

A number that isn’t so great: Sweet Transvestite (It’s not bad - but it’s my least favorite Mercedes solo.) 

*

Cory Monteith: Cory wasn’t a vocalist.  And, to be completely honest, I thought it was some kind of joke when they introduced him as some kind of hidden musical gem when Will hears him singing the showers.  He did really well with classic rock that’s allows not only for a weaker voice - but is often not as technically hard.  And I have to wonder if Cory got lessons, because he did get a lot better as the show went on, and I think his season 4 work is great! 

I will say that sometimes they pushed his voice a little too far.  A lot of times songs were either too high for his range and he often sounded like he was straining.  (The most notable of which is A House is Not a Home - which is far too high for him.)  That said - I think he did reasonably well along side Lea - mostly because often sang pop duets.  

A number that showcases ability: I’ve Gotta Be Me

A number that isn’t so great: Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore

*

Chris Colfer: Chris is such an interesting study due to the uniqueness of his voice.  He’s got a huge range both in terms of genre and literal range of voice.  He can sing quite a few octaves.  He’s got a great, clear sound, too, which is why he’s great with theater numbers.  Interestingly, Chris’s voice did drop over the years, and while I know people love his higher range, he has a gorgeous lower range that wasn’t used as often (and is often my favorite.) 

The one (nitpicky) issue was that Chris’s voice ended up getting pigeon-holed.  I know singing Diva-Broadway songs was his schtick - but it would have been nice to hear him sing a bigger variety of songs.  He wasn’t the strongest on non-ballad pop music, but they also didn’t give him that very often.  

There’s also the fascinating unusualness in that, Chris could really sing duets very well with people -- but in group numbers, his voice sticks out like a sore thumb, and he was often left out of some of the more general songs because of it.  His voice just doesn’t texture very well - which is why I get why they did what they did.  

A number that showcases ability: Being Alive

A number that isn’t so great: I’ll Remember

*

Kevin McHale: I feel like people are often surprised when they sit down and think about it, but Kevin has a great voice.  He has a solid range, and he’s able to do pop music very well (I believe it helps that he was in a professional boy band for years.)  Not sure if people noticed - but he’s often the lead on group numbers that don’t need to be related to specific story or character points.  Which is a bummer for Artie’s story - but if you’re a fan of Kevin’s voice, you get a lot to choose from.  

Kevin was also able to handle a lot of the musical demands that I think some of the other males weren’t? He’s a much better singer than Cory - and could handle leading a full number.  His voice isn’t as unique as Chris’s and can texture really well.  In addition he was fairly versatile.  He might have been the best rapper the show had, lol. 

A number that showcases ability: For Once In My Life

A number that isn’t so great: Addicted to Love (personal taste choice - I just don’t like the song.) 

*

Jenna Ushkowitz: Jenna is another one who is classically trained.  She has a strong, solid voice, which was unfortunately not showcased all that well on the show, and because of that, I’m not sure how she does on a wide variety of music.  I do think she sounds a little generic - but not helping is lack of being featured.  

A number that showcases ability: I Don’t Know How To Love Him

A number that isn’t so great: Gangum Style (She does fine - but the fact that they made her do it in the first place...) 

*

Dianna Agron: The interesting thing about Dianna is that she has a really nice low female voice.  The fact that they never gave her any punk or harder rock was really a shame, because I think she would have done really well with that.  The funny thing is that, more so in the beginning, they show tried to make her sing songs that fit her character - but weren’t necessarily great for her voice.  I feel like it wasn’t until late season 2 did they start really using her voice for the better.  

A number that showcases ability: Never Can Say Goodbye

A number that isn’t so great: It’s A Man’s, Man’s, Man’s World

*

Mark Salling: Mark had a really solid voice - that often lent itself well to folk and acoustic really well.  He was good with softer pop and classic rock, and the show showcased that pretty well.  I think, in general, Mark was a much better vocalist than actor, and the show often picked good music for him to sing - which helped with his character.  I don’t have a whole lot to say, only that I think he was underrated as a vocalist, but I get it - with all the other baggage that comes with talking about Mark. 

A number that showcases ability: No Surrender 

A number that isn’t so great: Fight For Your Right (to Party) (I don’t think it’s bad - I just hate this song.) 

*

Naya Rivera: Naya is a little tricky.  I think she has a good, smoky sound to her voice that makes her excellent at things like pop and R and B.  (Shame she didn’t have a good jazz number to do on the show - she would have been great at that.)  I think she was really versatile, though, and handled her Broadway numbers really well.  I do think she was somewhat pinched and nasal at times - and while I do think this was a stylistic choice, to me it’s not my favorite type of vocal sound.  But I do think she was really good at the numbers she was given, and was one of the most talented female vocalists on the show. 

A number that showcases ability: Back to Black

A number that isn’t so great: Alfie (I think I may dislike the song more than her singing on it.) 

*

Heather Morris: Heather wasn’t a singer, and I do think it showed at times.  She often had to have her voice autotuned more than anyone else on the show.  That said - she did do Britney Spears really well, and I think she deserves credit for that.  

A number that showcases ability: I’m a Slave 4 U

A number that isn’t so great: Dinosaur

*

Chord Overstreet: Chord’s background is in country - and that shows a bit through his singing - he’s got a bit of twang in his voice, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing.  He’s a fun singer.  I don’t think the show knew exactly what to do with him (voice or character) but there’s a lightness to his singing that makes him easily adaptable to pretty much anything you throw at him. 

A number that showcases ability: Red Solo Cup (You think I’m joking - but I think this is the most fun Chord has singing a song.) 

A number that isn’t so great: Girls on Film (I think just by default of me liking everything else better.) 

*

Darren Criss: Ah, Darren, where to even start.  The thing about Darren is that he may not be the strongest singer, his voice is a little wobbly at times, and his range is somewhat limited, but his showmanship is just completely beyond nearly everyone else.  Darren has the unique ability to draw you in with his singing and hold you captive.  There are technically better singers on the show - but Darren just has this amazing ability to really sell a performance.  And I do love his voice, even if there are some limitations to it.  I really could gush about Darren’s performance abilities, but I’ll refrain... 

A number that showcases ability: Teenage Dream (Both Versions) 

A number that isn’t so great: Piano Man (Which isn’t bad - I just think the show had done it better, and it’s a rare time that felt like Darren was kind of phoning it in.) 

*

A quick run down of others, but first a quick aside - as they started adding people in, vocal ability starts being a factor.  I think a lot of the newer characters could sing better than they could act, which was both helpful and a hinderance.  I think we began to get more solid musical numbers as the show went on, but sometimes acting wasn’t always top notch - and across the board, old and new, hitting a combo of acting and singing ability didn’t always happen.  

Harry Shum Jr.: Not really a singer - but the show often played to his strengths, and his few songs played off the fact that he wasn’t a great singer to great aplomb.  

Jane Lynch: Can hold a tune, even if her voice isn’t the best - is really great at musical comedy. 

Jayma Mays: She has more singing ability than the show allowed to showcase, however, she’s another one whose voice was really unique, and doesn’t texture very well.  

Damien McGinty: Is actually a very good singer.  However, he’s very generic, too - which makes him a little on the bland side. 

Sam Larsen: I think he was fine - I don’t think he sang enough on the show for me to make much of an impression one way or the other. 

Alex Newel: Fucking Fantastic! Alex might be one of the strongest vocalists on the show - has great range, energy, and vocal control.  

Melissa Benoist: Her voice tends to lean on the pop-ier side, but it’s a solid voice, and her work on the show was pretty good.  

Jacob Artist: Has a strong voice, and could sing genres that weren’t often featured on the show (like hip-hop and R&B).  

Blake Jenner: His voice is fine, but like Damien McGinty, it’s generic and a little bland. 

Becca Tobin: She has a very quirky voice that brings in a different and unique sound.  They didn’t use her much, though, so it’s hard to comment. 

Noah Guthrie: An amazing singer, has a really unique sound, but is able to do blend in well with others.  

Samantha Ware: Another amazing singer.  She’s in full control and can do really great things with it. 

Billy Lewis Jr: Has a good, solid voice.  Not as strong as Guthrie, or some of the other guys, but he’s a lot of fun to watch. 

Laura Dreyfuss: Like Becca Tobin - has a uniqueness to her vocal quality that makes it stand out a little, but she’s still a solid singer. 

Marshall Williams: His vocal ability is okay.  It’s better than his acting ability.  I’m slightly confused how this dude got cast, tbh.  

[tales-unique]

FAITH, LOST  IV

Oh honey she starts off so spicy! Hence why it's all under a Read More since I don't wanna get done for showing the nasty straight out the gate. Minors better beware! ;3

Tagging the boos, for obvs reasons @chelseareferenced @buckysbaby1 hope you all like it! 😘😘

Chapter 4

It begins as soon as your eyes flutter open. The darkness, familiar, like an old friend, coerces your senses into a heightened state. Exposed, your skin prickles at the coolness of the room, writhing against soft sheets. You exhale in exhilaration; you know what’s to come. It starts small, a low thrum of electricity in the air that tickles your bare flesh. Then it builds, tantalizingly slow, a measured surge of power that has you twisting yourself in knots. You want more. Only He can give you more. His arrival is heralded by the scent of oil and whiskey, leather and smoke. It caresses you, embraces you, and sends you into overdrive. It’s instinctual, a primal desire. It corrupts your mind, the sequence disjointing in its take over. Thick boots echo on a wooden floor, your mouth falling open with a heated breath. Your back arches when you feel his weight dip the bed, heat radiating from him. The contrast has you trembling, body wired. His hands, strong and calloused, grip the backs of your thighs easily. A simple tug and you’re at his mercy, legs parting easily in his strong grip. You moan, he growls. He likes what he can see, those beast eyes glowing a dangerous red in the blackness. Sharp indents form against delicate skin, his claws marking your inner thighs. His little lamb, so sweet and so ready for the slaughter. Then there’s movement, the shuffle of fabric, the chink of a belt buckle. You tense, but you’re ready. The air surges with the oncoming crescendo, the room spinning, or maybe it’s you? You’re not sure, preoccupied with the molten heat that pools suddenly between your legs. You feel his grin, all teeth and tongue helping to blot out the sharp stab of pain.      Forgive me Father, for I have sinned—

The sudden chaos of a burst steam pipe in the hallway outside your room abruptly shocks you from your slumber, a cacophony of sounds assaulting your sleep-hazed senses. You hear Heisenberg shouting, the scraping of metal being reshaped at will, the harsh hissing of escaping steam. Groaning at the rude awakening you flop back against the lumpy couch cushions, kicking off your blanket in protest. A light sheen of sweat covers your body, making your nightclothes stick to you in an uncomfortable way. As you stare up at the ceiling you try to decode the meaning behind your dream. You recall with an embarrassing amount of clarity just what it was you were doing and who you were enjoying it with. Humiliation blooms within you, coloring your cheeks a shade of scarlet. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t indulged in the past, you just never had desires so blatant before. Especially for someone who was your superior in every way. “Hey, you awake in there?” Heisenberg’s voice cuts your thoughts short. All the racket has stopped, there’s just the usual hum of the Factory. “Y-yes!” You squeak, stomach clenching uncharacteristically as you sit up, “I’m awake!” “Well get your ass up, we have work to do!” He claps his hands hard to exaggerate his point and you lament your new found torture as his footfalls recede down the corridor. Oh merciful Mother Miranda how were you supposed to face him anymore?

Heisenberg is, for lack of a better word, pissed. It surges through him and it shows in the haphazard, volatile approach he takes with his work. It isn’t rational, this level of response on his part, but he can’t help it. You’ve barely spoken a full sentence to him all day. Now, he’s under no illusions that you were going to become the best of friends. After all, you had been sent to him by Mother Bitch herself to be his servant and he knew that you were three sheets to the wind over this religious bullshit, but he’d thought that you’d been showing progress in becoming your own person. At least, you were , until that little incident where he had you pinned against his desk and decided to take his teasing to the next level. It isn’t often that Heisenberg considers that he may have gone too far with something, or someone , but he’s definitely considering the possibility now that you seem to be avoiding him wherever possible. You’d even brushed off his blatant last ditch attempt, an offer to accompany him to see his forge and the projects he’d been working on, in favour of praying to Mother Miranda. It’s the exact opposite of what he wanted to happen. You’d been so close to opening up, to no longer being a tool, but instead you’re become even more the meek little lamb of Miranda’s flock. Frustration bubbles within and his temper, short-fused as it already is, takes a critical hit. As a result everything he does has a sharp, volatile edge to it; even something as simple as opening a door is menacing in his current state. It serves to further deter you from him, giving you the space you so desperately desired. That is, until Heisenberg reaches his limit. “Just open up already! You can’t ignore me forever!” He thunders where he stands in the hallway, gritting his teeth in a vicious snarl. When he’s met with your persistent silence he howls in frustration, throwing his arms up in the air. The irony of him choosing to remain outside your door doesn’t go amiss, since it’s well known that he could easily rip the door from its hinges with the flick of his hand because of his nifty little ability to manipulate metal. Which, coincidentally, nearly everything in this Factory is made of in some form or another. But he doesn’t and you’re thankful for that, even if you still don’t want to face him. It continues on relentlessly, neither side backing down, and without realizing it, the whole thing becomes a game in its own right. One that pits you against one another to see who cracks first. So it’s a surprise when it’s Heisenberg that seeks you out first. It’s a situation of his own making, having followed you on the gritty live feed from his security cameras. With ease he catches you off guard on your way out of the elevator, taking your fright in his stride. “Easy now!” He exclaims, his hands raised in surrender. You’re cagey, looking for a way out. He isn’t going to give you one because he’s had about enough of you giving him the cold shoulder over a goddamn joke . You’ve pressed yourself tight against the wall, watching him like a hawk. He can hear the frantic flutter of your heart, the sharp intakes of breath, and his jaw tightens. He can’t get distracted now, he needs to focus — this was not the time to enjoy your distress. “Now I know that I can be a bit of a handful,” he starts, then falters, mouth working to try and word it just right, “but, really, hasn’t this gone on long enough? I didn’t mean any harm by it! Just a little teasing, you weren’t meant to get upset.” Oh, he thinks this is because of that time. You stare up at him in utter disbelief. You want to slap him. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt the innate burning desire to inflict bodily harm on anyone, but here you stand, about ready to knock those glasses right off his face. “You have literally no idea how you make me feel , do you?” You accuse him, incredulous, your posture straightening. Things might have slipped back to the way they were before all of this if he had just let you be, allowed you to warm back up to him, and maybe you might have been content with that. This was a turmoil of his own creation, after all, so why not let him stew in it a while. But now? Now you were at your limit. You’re tired of constantly tip-toeing around yourself because of him and his stupid games. If anything, you’re even more tentative to rekindle whatever this relationship is that you have with him, to throw in the towel and tell Mother Miranda she’d been wrong about you. It made you sour to think that what little progress you had made had been lost and it’s taken its toll on you. There’s a harsh look to you that has Heisenberg’s head spinning, apprehension gripping him. “H-Hold on a minute,” he attempts to defend himself, an uncomfortable blend of emotions sitting like a stone in his stomach. He’s conflicted over your new found confidence. You’re no longer the mild-mannered devotee that was wound around Mother Miranda’s finger, standing tall. You’re practically shining. It’s a good look on you, but he’s not exactly thrilled to be the one on the receiving end. “No!” You snap, squaring up to him. You see his brilliant eyes widen behind his circular glasses and for once in your life you feel powerful and in control . “I’ve done nothing but try my best here, trying to make something good out of this situation and you made me feel like a complete idiot !” The words feel heavy on your tongue, but you feel lighter now that they’re out in the open. Who knew that having your shame out in the open could feel so liberating. You take a deep breath when you feel the pinpricks of tears sting your eyes, trying to ground yourself. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you cried in front of him. Not in this lifetime, or the next. Heisenberg stares down at you with a look of realization on his face, now fully aware that there was more to this than your feelings of inadequacy, that you were little more than a joke to him. It’s always been there, in the way your heart races when he gets just that little bit too close or how your eyes soften when he’s agonizing over his work. He goes to speak this revelation but you shake your head, lower lip trembling. “I was just trying to help .” The way your voice breaks has him in a tailspin, the look of pure anguish in your eyes cutting him deep. This is in no way what he had envisioned when he spotted the chance to clear the air with you. “Oh come on, don’t cry!” It’s a desperate plea, something you never thought you would hear from him. “You’re making me feel really shitty here!” “That’s because you are!” You sob, unable to hold it back anymore. You feel like such a pathetic idiot. That overwhelming monster of self-degradation looms, fueling your misery. If only a dark abyss could just swallow you up and save you from this embarrassment, but you know that’s not going to happen. There’s only this awkward moment, lingering between you. You whimper, trying desperately to wipe away your tears. They stream down your cheeks, burning against your already flushed skin as you sniffle. Suddenly his hands are encasing your own in a firm grip. With a surprisingly gentle touch he tugs them down, exposing you. The whites of your eyes are marred with tiny lines of red and your long lashes clump together from your tears. You’re a mess, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he finds you oddly endearing in the moment. Swallowing, you try to understand what’s going on. Your hands are still held in his, the feel of soft leather almost comforting against your skin, and you wonder if you’re dreaming again. Something stirs in you, glowing embers kicking up from ashes, and you try to pull away. It’s an admirable attempt but Heisenberg easily catches you, holding you in a vice-like grip against him. You whine at the harshness of his grasp and he frowns, loosening his hold just enough to make it bearable. “I’m sorry, alright?” He mumbles, hesitating. It’s been so long, too long, since he’s been in such close proximity to someone who wasn’t prey. You aren’t fighting him, you aren’t trying your damnedest to get away. In fact, you look as though you’re captivated by him. It’s a side of him that no one has ever seen before, the dejection of a man twisted into being a monster. Something inside you breaks anew at how lost he looks, the last and most dangerous of the Lords at Mother Miranda’s disposal. He’s nothing more than a dog on a choke chain, to be used when it’s suited and then discarded afterwards. Just like you. “Heisenberg,” your voice is hushed, woeful. The words are so genuine and your heart isn’t yet made of stone to be immune to their plight. When you shift in his grasp there’s no resistance and you reach up to gently cup his cheeks in your hands. The stubble on his face tickles your palms and his skin is warm and smooth to the touch. You find you quite like it, the contrast of textures. He does little in the way to stop you. In fact, he encourages you. His hands find purchase on your hips, thumbs brushing the delicate spots just below your rib cage. It elicits a soft gasp from you, your body stiffening beneath him. Glistening eyes stare up at him, a swirling maelstrom threatening to drown him along with you. He’s curious whether or not you’re ready to commit to this. Heisenberg knows what you want, or better yet, what your body wants, but your mind eludes him. He waits with bated breath to see what path you will take, the uncomfortable feeling of anxiety creeping in his bones. It’s like poison, a crawling taint that threatens to take over him. What have you done to him? The exact same thing he did to you. It’s a disquieting notion, one that almost overtakes him, until it doesn’t. The doubts are suddenly banished and relief washes over him at the feel of your silken lips against his in a tender kiss. The chain breaks; you're both suddenly free, and it feels euphoric .

[legends-live-in-memories]

Alleyway Altercation

Ayo its yah boi! I come with part two of a one shot i had no intention of writing a sequel to but yuh know shit happens.

part one is here called Rooftop Rendezvous 

Edit: AO3 link here!

enjoy 2k words of timari getting down and dirty in an alleyway. this is spicy 🥵 so be warned and read at your own risk.

summary:

“After a pendant is stolen from Gotham Museum, Red Robin has a unique method of getting it back.” -Timari, 2.2k words

without further ado

His feet hit the pavement running in hot pursuit of his target. Oracle had gotten the notification when a silent alarm was triggered from the museum and had assigned him and Robin to intercept the thief. To cover more ground, he had sent Robin around the east end to cut off the thief while he brought up the rear from the south side. At least, that’s what he told them were his intentions. In truth, he planned to confront his little problem personally. Privately. He always finishes what he started after all. 

He ducks into an alleyway that’s enclosed by short apartment buildings and waits. He knows his target will join him soon enough. He hears his brother in his ear, demanding more information from Oracle on Karma’s whereabouts and immediately decides to mute his comm piece. He doesn’t need any distractions or intruders tonight.

The action seems to have been the invitation his target needed because no sooner is she dropping into the alleyway before him. She blocks the only exit. It’s a declaration that the only way he’s getting out of here is through her. He’s more than happy to oblige.

“Words on the street’s that you’ve been looking for me, tweety bird.” Her voice, even muffled by her mask, is light and jovial. She struts slowly towards him, clearly she thinks they have all the time in the world. “I’m honoured, truly, to have caught your interest.” She’s in his space now, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. 

He grabs her wrist and spins her so that she’s face first into the nearest wall. He pins both arms behind her back and cuffs her but doesn’t ease up on the pressure he’s forcing on her back. Tilting his head low, he whispers directly into her ear.

“You seem to have confused ‘Person of Interest’ with an ‘Interesting Person,’” he presses his hips harder into her, and trails a hand down her side, mapping her figure. 

“Why can’t I be both?” Her voice is painted with glee and she wiggles her hips against him, the sensation getting a reaction out of both of them. After mapping her frame, he removes her mask and discards it behind them.

“You have got to stop doing that,” her exasperated huff and eye-roll would be quite adorable if it weren’t for their situation. “That mask wasn’t cheap.”

“Yeah? Well neither was the pendant you stole. Now, where is it?” There weren’t many places on her person that she could have kept it and he needs to find it to return it.

“You have to find it, tweety.” She pushed against his hips once more and he returned the gesture with a roll of his own, letting her feel exactly what effect she has on him. She lowers her voice in a whisper so low he wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t breathing in every exhale she released. “I hid it with you in mind.”

With that he turned her to face him and raked his eyes over her appearance. Her pants that looked practically painted on her was an impossible place for any jewellery to hide. Clearly appreciating the attention, she surged up and captured his lips in a surprisingly soft kiss. It was feather light and as soft as fresh snow. The tenderness had him frozen in place and it was the hesitation she needed to swing a kick at his face. If it weren’t for years of experience he would have never been able to duck under her attack. He stepped back out of her range and she used the distance to jump up and swing her cuffed hands, bringing them in front of her. Before she could keep her upper hand he charged and pressed her back against the wall, once again eliminating the space he had put between them. He’s pinning her by her shoulders and her hands have found purchase on his second belt that hangs low on his waist.

He leans down and catches her lips in a biting kiss that’s more teeth than anything else. She gasps into his mouth and he swallows her moans like a starving man. Not one to be kept idle, she sneaks her nimble fingers to the hidden latches on his belt and unclasps them. The crackle of the material hitting the pavement has him recoiling at the idea of any possible scratches he won’t be able to explain with his dignity intact. Her smirk is filled with spite, indicating she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Be careful. That’s custom-made and expensive.” The hypocrisy is not lost on him, rest assured.

“Oh? Pity. Call it karma then.” 

“Hilarious.”

“Aren’t I?” 

Before he can retort, she’s tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth and sneaking a hand down under the layers of his suit. He bucks and rolls his hips and the attention even through the cup that covers his crotch. A hand that held her shoulders in place sneaks down to her back to graze her exposed flesh and he teases a finger between her skin and the waist of her pants. She removes the cup swiftly, and discards it with his belt pathetically by their feet. Her hand returns and her fingers grip him with unmatched enthusiasm. He hisses at the contact of her gloves on his bare skin and pants against her lips like a hapless dog. Ever the opportunist, she sneaks her tongue into his awaiting mouth and maps out the surface, giving herself a full taste of him. She begins to stroke his length and the sudden rush of pleasure nearly brings him to his knees. He follows her lead, grinding into the motion of her hands while squeezing a hand between the tight fabric of her pants and her ass. He slips a leg between her parted thighs and encourages her to rut against him. She breaks their kiss, which was more heated panting than anything else, and throws her head back at the attention. Her rhythm on his length falters and her grip tightens in reflex and it’s the best thing he’s felt his entire life. He takes advantage of her exposed neck and bites a small but sharp bruise into the juncture that connects to her shoulder. He stays there, sucking and licking until the bruise is a dark purple. Then he leaves another. And another. 

Due to the lack of mobility in her arms, she uses her unoccupied hand to drag him closer by the waist of his pants, so much closer that her front is pressing into the knuckles of the hand stroking him to completion. He can feel her thighs twitch at the contact and he knows the night is coming to an end soon. His hand that’s still clutching her shoulder slips down her chest and grips her right breast softly. Her moans are music to his ears and he keeps up the ministrations, palming her gently. It’s a total juxtaposition to the rough pace her hips has set against the meat of his thigh and it has her begging for more. Her hand grips him even tighter, it’s almost painful but he pays it no mind because her grip is slick with precum and the texture of her glove is both heavenly and hellish in nature. He has to take several steadying breaths to not finish too early. He switches attention from one breast to the other and tightens his hold on her. 

He feels the indent of something pressing into his palm closer to her left armpit so he slips his hand under top, hiking it above the curve of her cleavage. He almost swallows his tongue at the sight before him. Her bra, which had to be handmade, was a soft black lace with a distinct yellow bird outline on the left cup. It was Red Robin themed. He groaned in appreciation and his thigh pressed further into her core. The rhythm of his hips stutters and the obscene squelch of her hand on him would be almost embarrassing if he weren’t still hung up on the obvious claim she staked on him. Her other hand has joined the first down his pants and reaches to stroke his tightening balls. His knees buckle and he raises a leg to steady himself, unintentionally forcing her down more onto his leg. He brings his lips to the space between her breasts and licks a broad strip against her skin. The slight salt of sweat and tang of perfume leaves him reeling. 

Before he loses himself completely, he palms her left breast again, pausing slightly over his symbol and he remembers the indent he felt earlier. Her earlier words sprung back to his mind. I hid it with you in mind the little minx had said. His hand goes under the fabric of her bra and he feels for what he hopes is the stolen pendant. The woman underneath him is a sight to behold; her head almost crashing against the brick wall, her hands down his pants stroking him like it’s the only thing she can do and chasing her release against his thigh. He wishes he had his camera to capture the absolute vision before him. He pockets the necklace before she notices and returns to his earlier ministrations, devoting his full attention where it needs to be. He bends further into her and brings his lips to one of her now exposed nipples with his hand grasping the other. She screams out at the flood of pleasure and grinds insistently on his thigh. She speeds up her strokes and twists her hands just so that has him tumbling into an orgasm. It takes him completely by surprise and he bites down on her in his euphoria. The hand he’s had on her ass this entire time slips further into her pants and feels for her center. She ruts back on his fingers, his gloved digits grazing her most intimate part, and the attention there is what finally brings her over the edge. A rush of warmth envelops his fingers and she shudders against him in ecstasy. Her moans are wanton and she heaves desperately into the night. She brings him back into another searing kiss and he’s almost certain she’s drawn blood at this point. He doesn’t find it in himself to care. 

The kiss cools down into something sweet and teasing with them parting with a hair’s width of space between them. Looking him directly into his masked eyes, she brings her now uncuffed hands to her lips and sucks her fingers clean. He has no idea when she got out of the handcuffs nor when she slipped her hands out of his pants but he’s too focused on her mouth to care about logistics. The sight has him twitching in his pants but they don’t have enough time for another round. Not when he has what he came for. Literally. 

He detangles her from himself, sliding his hands out from under her outfit. They don’t speak; just taking in the sight of each other, debauched and satisfied. In an unusual act of gentleness, he strokes the back of head, feeling her hair flow through his fingers and presses a kiss to her sweaty forehead. Her eyes blow wide at the soft intimacy and her cheeks flush to an adorable rosy colour. He sighs and steps out of her space, leaving her braced against the wall as he reaches for his cup and belt. In the midst of him adjusting his appearance he sees her reach for her mask out the corner of his eye. Her moves are slow and unfocused, probably taken aback from his tender display of affection. 

Their night has come to an end but neither are eager to part ways just yet. Something was different tonight from their regular run-ins with each other but no one was actually going to breach the subject matter. Their pride wouldn’t let them. Sighing, Red Robin sets out his grapple but before he could launch himself onto the nearest roof, Karma takes him by surprise yet again.

“Marinette.” Her voice is low and hesitant, as if she were afraid of her own voice. His silence was an answer enough and she continued unprompted.

“That’s my name, detective. Figure out the rest.” Just like that, she’s gone into the open street, leaving him behind once again to chase after her. Another day his mind reminds him.

Finally climbing to the roof, he freezes in place at the sight of the younger Robin perched with his back to him on the opposite ledge. Before he can trip over himself in explanation, his brother barely turns and regards him with open disdain.

“I hope you’re satisfied. You and your libido let her get away again.” The disgust was layered with a touch of embarrassment, probably from walking in on his older brother getting laid in a dirty alleyway.

“Me and my libido got the stolen pendant. Who cares about how I did it?” He showed off the acquired jewel, hoping his success would stop his brother from judging him within an inch of his life. Besides, he has no time to care about proper protocol when he was just given a clue on how to find his little minx.

Two can play this game, Karma. Or should he say, Marinette. 

[yeojaa]

idk if u saw my last ask BUT what is devil in a new suit! jk had a girl flirting w him at like a club or smtg and he goes along w it to make oc jealous but instead makes her sad n insecure🥺🥺

[ read devil in a new suit ]

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  general (for once!!).  tags.  this kook.  that’s it.  that’s the warning.  wc.  0.7k.  author note.  i really wanted to do this but... i couldn’t, because this kook is just so sweet on reader and also a lil too innocent (maybe wrong word) to do this to her. i’m sorry! instead, you get this fluffy, cracky goodness. if you’d like to see this with another couple though (might i suggest ghost!JK or finders!JK), i’d be happy to do it. 😭

Jungkook looks good.  Jungkook looks really, really good. 

It’s one of your favourite fits:  a simple black dress shirt under his lucky leather jacket, tucked in and cinched around the waist by the Ferragamo belt you’d gotten him on a whim.  It throws his body proportions into insane relief, makes your inner pornstar want to throw it back on him (not that you don’t want to do that all the time).  The jeans he wears cling to his legs, stick to his muscled thighs and nearly weep with the tension of keeping everything held together.  

You find yourself staring at his ass more often than not, taking any excuse to slide your hand into his back pocket.  Walking from the valet to the elevator?  Hand.  Standing in the lift?  Hand.  Standing by the bar with his friends, leant over the surprisingly neat wet-top as you wait for your drinks?  Hand, baby!

You’re wholly unabashed, snickering to yourself when he flicks his stare to you, lets his pretty doe eyes peek out from beneath his fringe.  

“Baby.”  It’s almost a reprimand but not quite, too patient and kind to bother you as you sink your hand back beneath denim and squeeze.  (You’re not always like this.  Rarely, in fact.  But there’s something about Jungkook in those jeans and that shirt and—  

Okay, maybe you’re just a sucker for the man.)

“What?”  You croon, all fluttering lashes and a curl of your gloss-slicked mouth.  You love teasing him, love watching that gentle candlelight twist into a raging inferno.  It makes him rougher in bed (but never mean - never ever mean), occasionally even stirring that surprising side of him to the surface.  

He’s about to speak - give you a list from A to Z with full MLA citations as to why you need to stop pushing his buttons, all while looking at you so cutely you’ll want to devour him - when the chance is snatched away, just as your hand is.  He glares at you with whatever his version of a glare is, anyway, and you beam, preening like the cat who ate the canary.  

“I’ll be right back.”  

You’re not gone long.  Five minutes at most.  (You’d caught a glimpse of two colleagues on your way in, had waved and mouthed something about two seconds before you’d been tugged to the bar.)  You’re surprised by what you return to.

Jungkook - your baby bunny turned muscle man, your might-as-well-be-a-Boy-Scout boyfriend - is making conversation with someone you don’t recognise.  Someone terribly pretty, in a skirt that hugs her curves and makes her legs look a mile long, with the creamiest blonde you’ve ever seen.  She’s wearing shoes you own - Valentino Rockstuds in grey, because it’s a Saturday in Seoul and the night is young - and has a hand on his arm, giggling up a storm like every word out of his mouth is the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

The lurch you feel isn’t just physical - it happens in your chest too, heart slamming into your ribcage so hard it hurts.  Had you just broken a bone?  Collapsed a lung?  Surely you were seeing things.

There was no way your dear sweet Jungkook was… flirting with someone else?

It takes you too long to find your voice, his coming first in the form of your name.  

It takes you even longer to acknowledge it, blinking at the sight before you.  

“_____?”  He’s repeating himself, glancing toward you with concern in his stare, the twinkling rooftop lights reflected back at you.  (What else does it reflect?  If you looked closely enough, could you see your crumbling expression, the sadness that sweeps in and tears you apart like a sand castle at high tide?)  “This is Eunmi.”  

When he says her name, it’s too much.  Too familiar, too sweet.  Sounds like the beginning of the end. 

And then, all at once, everything snaps back into place.  Jungkook reaches for you - glides ink over porcelain and pulls you to his side, hooking his arm around your waist to bring you where you belong.  He stamps a kiss right against your cheek, seals up all those little cracks with his affection, and looks at you so full of love you wonder how you could’ve even doubted him for a second.

“Nice to meet you.”

[sekceesimps]

A Rose Made of Chains Ch 2

a/n holy crap! thank you guys so much for all the nice comments and positive feedback about this story. This is the best Christmas gift ever. Hope you enjoy! Chapter 3 out tomorrow (Tuesday) night. 

Sincerely, Coffee

teaser.     Ch 1    Ch 3

teaser for part 2,    Ch 4,     Ch 5

Kurapika (aged up) x reader x Chrollo

warnings: This chapter does get very violent and angsty. If physical branding and torture triggers, you please don’t read  

Don’t scream. Don’t scream. You silently chanted to yourself after waking up from a horrible nightmare. For once you wake up before your torturer has a chance to dump water on you. There were no windows or other sorts of indication about the time. You analyzed your surroundings. For whatever reason, you felt motivated to fight this time. Your “room”, if it could even be called that, was made up of a small charred blanket on the ground to act as a bed, a rickety looking bucket, and a sturdy chair being held up by thick gray shackles. Just looking at the iron chair sent shivers up your spine, it was where most of the torturing had been taking place after all. You had tried using your nen ability when you had first gotten here, but it had proved futile, as it seemed that there was something that forced zetsu upon you. It wasn’t like your nen could do anything  to escape to begin with. You had no issue with being a manipulator. You were an incredibly talented and special user according to Kurapika himself. Your nen ability was being able to manipulate and influence the movement of light. It made you incredible with stealth and diversions to help your friends, but terrible at actually being able to fight back. Your ability was too weak combatively, it was kind of why you were even here in the first place. Mumbling, you continue looking for a way out as your mind goes back to the day you were taken. 

»»————-　　————-«« 

That day had started so beautifully. You had woken up to sweet humming from Kurapika as he lazily flipped through the pages of a book. After passing out on the ground next to his hotel bed the night before, he had graciously pulled you up next to him. His long arms hold you close to his warm body, making your face flush, an action only reserved for lovers, but he did so nonetheless with you. 

“Good morning, Y/N'' he greeted and put his book down. You’ll never forget the joyful glint in his eye, one that was becoming less and less common to see, as his face nuzzled into your neck. It was times like this when you wished that you could just tell him that you were his soulmate. Unfortunately, you couldn’t do that to him now. He was busy planning on what to do with the spiders. You had helped him with this plan, but he often made it clear that he didn’t want your mind to be burdened with the violence of his future actions. “Can you go to the store? We don’t have much food left and I’m tired of eating junk with Gon.” he mumbled against your neck. 

“5 more minutes,” you whined and cuddled closer against him. His warmth was intoxicating and the heavy smell of lemongrass that came off of him made you want to stay next to him forever. You don’t want this moment to end. You never get to see Kurapika smile and you’ve never seen him so vulnerable as he is in the mornings. You’d never admit it out loud, but you love to fall asleep on the ground next to his bed, knowing full well that he’s much too polite to leave you down there alone. 

“Get up, lazy” he answered and untangled his arms from your body. You know the two of you aren’t dating, but it sure did feel like it on mornings like this. “I can’t come with you today  because Leorio wants me to help him with something. Make sure to get breadsticks! Oh, and don’t forget to get something sweet for Killua” he snaps you out of your thoughts.  

“Alright alright. I’ve got it, do you need anything else,” you remarked as you dragged yourself out of the comfort of his bed. It creaked softly at the shift in weight. He shook his head and wished you goodbye. 

You never made it to the store that morning. After you had left the hideout, you stupidly decided that you wanted to take the scenic route to get groceries. Unfortunately, the scenic route at 8 in the morning is also a dangerous one. With no one out on the streets yet, safety in numbers dwindles down to ominous empty and open areas. Soft footsteps and the feeling of eyes burning into your back were felt as you made your way quickly through a quiet alleyway. You had thought nothing of the dangerous feeling until you were shoved onto the ground. You were a hunter, a natural born fighter too. However, you weren’t wise enough to anticipate an attack and bring a real weapon. It honestly didn’t come as much of a surprise when you had been quickly overtaken by three shadowy figures. You were quick to spring to the defense and had managed to give up a small fight until the tallest figure muffled your screams with a large cloth. Being pinned to the ground and knocked out was not what you had expected on your peaceful trip to the store. I’ve got this, you thought to yourself as your vision blurred and you slipped into the black abyss. 

»»————-　　————-«« 

Finally! You shriek in your head. You had found a small curved nail in the corner surrounded by dust. If you could just use it to break the padlock on the door you’d be out of your dingy room. Your inner clock was warning you that it was almost time for the water wakeup. An even better but more risky idea suddenly popped into your head. It’s going to be risky you think, but I’ll have to fight my way out of here if I have any chance of leaving. You clutch the nail in your sweaty hands and lay back down on your “bed”. The door handle lowers slowly, slowly. Creak, the hinges squeak, you close your eyes, pretending to be asleep. Footsteps come closer. You jolt up before the man can react. Surprise and luck on your side. With one sharp movement you stab the nail into the short man’s upper thigh and run as fast you can. You would have made it out too if a new woman hadn’t grabbed your collar and knocked you to the ground.

“Feitan, did you let this little mouse out? She looks a little lost.” you looked up at her serious face. Her lovely pink hair smoothed up into a ponytail. With wide and begging eyes you  pleading with her silently to let you go. She looked past you and glanced at your torturer instead, who was grumbling on the ground with his bleeding leg.                                

“I’ve got it from here.” he replied as he got up. “Time for something new anyways. The little mouse isn’t screaming as much as she used to.” he made his way over to you and grabbed the collar of your shirt roughly from her. You make yourself as limp as possible, trying to stall your impending doom. He was a small man, so it surprised you by how much strength he had as he dragged you back into your room and secured the heavy ropes onto your arms, securing you back  into your chair. 

This time he pulled a dark brown belt  and fastened it around your head and stuffed it into your mouth. You let out a muffled yelp in protest to this intrusion. This man had done so many unspeakable things to you. You had been burned heavily, close to drowned, had fingernails ripped out, but each time you had prided yourself on staying as strong as you had. You were unbearably tired of fighting. It had been so long since you saw the sun. You would give anything to have rays of light touch your skin again. 

“I have to admire your strength. Many don’t last as long as you have. Will you join the phantom troupe? Will you join us?” your torturer asked curiously. You shake your head in a vehement no. “That’s a shame. I hope the boss doesn’t mind that I do this.” he replies nonchalantly as he takes out his many knives. This time though he has something different. This time, he has an iron. 

You barely flinch at this point when he begins expertly cutting up your skin. There was a certain art that was in the way he opened up your delicate flesh and created such pain and terrible marks. For what seemed like hours he did this, ripping apart barely healed wounds, creating new ones, all the while he smiled and kept asking those four annoying words. You briefly considered entertaining him and saying yes. No! You refuse to do that. 

He removes the belt that acted as a makeshift gag, asking those four words again, “Will you join us”. You boldly spit your blood onto his face and smile wickedly. This seems to egg him on as he takes a lighter and begins warming up the iron. You hadn’t seen it before. It was beautifully shaped and at the very end you saw what looked like a… no. It couldn’t be. The more you looked at it, the more your stomach hurt and rage began building in your chest. At the end of the iron was an expertly crafted 12 legged spider. You hadn’t realized it but the rage had turned your eyes into the most passionate crimson. A shade that you refused to show anyone who wasn’t trusted. Your torturer smiles, “The boss always liked those eyes”,  as he quickly shoves the leg of your pants up to leave your thigh bare and open. The iron was sure to be hot now. The reality of the situation was setting in as the man tugged your gag off and said happily, “be as loud as you want”, before he shoved the iron onto the area beneath your soulmark. Pure pain, white hot pain blinded you. Your only form of agency now in this hell was to be quiet. You knew that sleep was taking you again as your vision darkened and your head nodded off as you passed out. 

»»————-　　——���—-«« 

Panicked breaths tore through the silent room. Your ragged gasps for air breaking the peace of the pitch dark stillness. As your eyes slowly adjust you try to calm yourself, you focus on your soulmark and the level-headed blonde that has the matching one. It started to feel like reassurance but now it’s become a mark of pain and conflict. 

“How are you feeling?” a calming baritone voice spoke through the darkness. As he steps forward you take in his menacing appearance. He was tall and had the funniest looking coat you’d ever seen. It was fur and looked expensive. His whole appearance and tone just screamed wealth and power. He was a man who was clearly sure of himself. He’d come to visit your torture sessions several times before already. Each time he would stand close to the shadows, just out of sight, but still close enough for you to catch a glimpse of his outline. He never said anything, choosing to watch you instead. His smoky gray eyes are always on you and drinking in your appearance. 

“I’d feel better if you just let me leave” you whimper softly. The ropes that a spider had secured on you when you had gotten here were digging roughly into your skin. You felt like your aura was constrained and it was hard to breathe. 

“You know I can’t do that darling,” he all but purred, the pet name setting your face on fire with blush. “all you have to do is say yes.” he continued, coming closer and closer to your face. You do your best to move away from him. “Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Chrollo Lucilfer. It truly is a shame that we had to meet like this.” he had his finger raised now and languidly stroked the less bloody side of your cheek. 

You whimper softly at his movement. His intense ashen eyes felt like they were piercing your soul. “All you have to do is say yes and all of the pain can go away,” he grinned down sweetly at your pitifully shaking form. 

Your tangible fear seemed to edge him on as he got closer and closer to the side of your face. “I don’t want to,” you stated in a last attempt of defiance. 

His warm breath was fanning across your bloodied cheek. “Oh, but you will.” He remarked casually before leaning down further to your flushed body. 

His lips were soft and they had meshed well against your own dry ones. This was the first sign of  comfort you had been given in your time here. You refused to kiss back at first, but he was right, you would give in. As he politely nipped your lip, asking for permission to take it further, you couldn’t help but take it as a sign. A sign to cling onto any warmth you could get. You had no idea if you would see this man named Chrollo again. A part of you screamed that you were betraying your soulmate, but the hungrier and more desperate part of you cried to let him comfort you. 

You pulled your head back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about you.” you mumbled and bit your lip. Missing the warmth that the raven looking man had provided you with. 

He smiled sadly and sighed, “That is unfortunate. I’ll be back tomorrow and the day after that. We have some time to get to know each other before you join me.” He backed away from you and let a hand linger in your H/C hair. Pressing his lips lightly against your hand, he let you go and left the room. The heavy door slammed shut and the lights flickered off as he left. 

Wind, you thought to yourself. He smelled like the fresh and intense wind that came after a hurricane. He tasted like a small dash of sugar and fresh fruits mixed in the best tarts. You determined that you liked these new feelings. They weren’t foreign but they were still unfamiliar to you. You want to experience more, but that would hurt your soulmate wouldn’t it? You yearn for him with all your soul, but your body can’t help yet yearn for the raven haired man who offers you protection. The ghost of comforting warmth lingers on your lips as you start to feel uncertain about your future here in the spider’s den. 

a/n hope you enjoyed the tieback to the teaser and first appearance of Chrollo. The reader and Chrollo are going to have a very complex and intricate relationship that will be explained much more later. Next chapter will be in Kurapika’s POV and will be the last chapter until we hit another milestone. thanks everyone! 

Also very sorry about the formatting. I don’t understand spacing at all, I hope it doesn’t bother anyone too much. 

askbox is open if you want to talk or leave requests. 

[theotherace]

Fic Recs: Taang

I’ve made two or three rec lists over the past few months, but I thought I’d make a proper, comprehensive one that’s easy to add to in the future. Not all of these are exclusively Taang, but they all feature the ship to some degree. I will only recommend one or two stories per author, but some profiles are definitely worth checking out further. So! Here goes.

Multi-Chapter, Complete

Whisper Into the Sky by damagectrl – Toph has two choices: Go home and get married or have the family fortune and her inheritance given to a stranger. Her problem: She wants to keep her ties to her family, but is quite content traveling with Aang. Her solution: Fight her way through suitors for her freedom. Literally. | General 

The Slow Path by Tazmainian Devil – Eight years after the fall of Ozai, Aang returns to the friends he left behind. | T

A Matter of Honor by Adridere – Almost 4 years after the war. Aang is engaged to Katara and is up to Zuko to teach him the facts of life. Yep, the bees and the birds. Crazy kings, bananas and the ultimate contest for the hand of a reluctant maiden. | M

Roommates by breeeliss – An unlikely tale of two unlikely people being forced to live together under unlikely circumstances.| Modern AU | T

Fall of the White Lotus by Boo-82 – Three years after the war Zuko is living a life of duty while Katara reluctantly travels the world with Aang. So, when General Iroh orders them to find Zuko’s mother and save his Order they seize the opportunity with both hands. It’s the beginning of an adventurous journey of discovery, but as time runs out a rising threat puts their bond to the test. | T

Half Asleep by The Crushinator – Five years after the Hundred-Year War, Fire Lord Zuko is hit with an assassin’s dart, and falls into a coma from which he cannot wake. A week passes, and his prognosis is grim. But Katara could swear she hears him in her dreams… | T

Yaaburnee by aviatordame – Avatars aren't meant to belong – that's as much as Aang can fathom. | M

Getting Lucky by roca-dos – Crazy things happen in college every day. | Modern AU | T 

All Fall Down by DJNS  – Aang copes with a tragic loss and finds renewed hope in an unexpected place. | M | Warning for Major Character Death

The Princess & the Badger-Cat by panaili – In a land never torn apart by the Hundred Year War, the sixteen-year-old Avatar Aang is trying his best to keep the balance between the four nations, including the increasingly antagonistic Fire Nation, which, despite his friendship with the Crown Prince Zuko, refuses to acknowledge him. Elsewhere, Sokka and Katara have been separated on their quest to find their missing father, and Sokka, pursued by the same bandits who kidnapped his sister, finds himself on the balcony of some rich girl’s house in Gaoling. Oh, and a sorcerer has turned him into a badger-cat. It’s just one of those days. | Teen and Up

Reborn by Jakia – Life. Death. Rebirth. This is the cycle that all spirits must abide to, even the Avatar. Aang and Toph face death and the reincarnation cycle. | T

New Girl by tiffaniesblews – After coming home early from a business trip, all Katara wanted to do was surprise her boyfriend, Jet. Imagine her surprise when she got home and Jet was in bed with another woman. Not wanting to live with her ex, and unable to live with her best friend, Suki, Katara takes her brother Sokka's offer to move into his loft with his two roommates. Aang is perky and sweet, the owner of a st. Bernard and a cat, who's often confused about his direction in life. Zuko, on the other hand, is a closed-off bartender, who takes some time opening up to others.The four could not be more different, and yet? They work out perfectly. Even if Katara's feelings for Zuko get a bit more complicated as time goes on. | Modern AU | Mature 

The Ties That Bind series by LdyKirin – An exploration of the ties that bind for good and ill. Toph and Zuko are both shaped by the family they were born to and the family they choose. Lots of found family feels. | T

What Happens In Kyoshi by BlackVelvetBand – Prince Zuko, and the GAang take a vacation on Kyoshi Island. Flirting, fighting, and embarrasment ensue as Sokka takes it upon himself to defend Katara's virtue...in a dress? A short,chaptered fic featuring Zutara, Sokki, and Taang. | T

Under the Night Sky by mycomfortblanket – Aang hears the chattering of teeth during a cold night. Was an AU that I found on tumblr that I made fit into this story. Orginal prompt: "We have to go camping together and share a sleeping bag even though we are complete strangers | General

On The Precipice by JoyDragon – They’re just best friends. Or maybe they’re teetering on the edge of being something more. | General

Oneshots, Complete

Air and Stone by Wolvenfire86 – A few Taang stories munched together. My first submissions. I hope everyone likes them. Please review, it makes me feel special. | K+

Taang Week 2020 series by teabagginses | Teen and Up & Mature

Our Little Secret by IrisPlumeria – Toph and Aang, sat next to one another dressed in their finest under paper lanterns and surrounded by copious amounts of food and friends, cringed at the disgusting noises coming out of Sokka’s nostrils as he blew his nose into Suki’s handkerchief. “I can’t believe two of my best friends are finally married!” Sokka sobbed, earning a supportive pat on the back from Suki, who didn’t flinch at the snot coming out of his nose. “I’m so happy for you guys!” Toph and Aang's family are happy for their nuptials, but will they be able to survive their wedding party without letting slip a big secret?Written for Taang Week 2020 - Tradition. | General 

All Roads Lead To Ba Sing Se by irisbleufic – "I was thinking," [Mai] said, tucking her last remaining dagger into her belt as she strode to meet him, "that it's about time I let Fire Lord Zuko know that I quit." When Kuei smiled at her, she could see the sunshine at which she once cringed."Notice that's six years overdue is better than none at all." "Indeed," said the Earth Queen, and grinned at him. | Teen And Up

Lady Fu’s Fortune Telling by Lady Cleo – Katara and Toph visit the local fortuneteller to get their fortunes told. Added a part two with Zuko and Aang. | T

The Perfect Companion by Morna – Aang seeks comfort outside of the arms of his wife, Katara. Taang, slightly lemony. | T

Box by JoeMerl – Written for Taang Week, one-shot. Toph ticks off Bumi, but Aang is willing to fight his old friend tooth and nail to get her out of trouble. Humor, light romance. | K+

2 am by shmulia – Whoever set off the fire alarm at 2 in the morning is on Katara's shit list. Even if he is hot and shirtless. | Modern AU | K

And its sequel, 11:45 – House parties aren't Katara's thing. Sokka's drunk, Suki's on a mission to set her up, and Toph is... well, Toph. But for every cloud there's a silver lining, and for Katara it comes in the form of a second chance with her neighbour... | Modern AU | T 

Treat by PsychEmpress – She felt the corners of her own lips quirk as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Consider this my treat,” he said and Toph allowed a smile to break out. OR In which Toph is a stressed architecture student who gets a free cup of coffee from the handsome waiter after she helps his friend. Taang. Mentions of Sukka. | Modern AU | T

Sawaru by metacognitive – This love is simple. Non-Korra compliant. | K+

Newlyweds (and basically everything else) by PandaCookie – Everyone’s a bit hopeless right after they’ve been married. | K+

Rhythms by xcgirl08– For now, though, her child’s heartbeat was hers to contemplate. | K 

Tenderness by Adridere – He wanted to keep her, even though he was not supposed to. He promised her freedom, and she promised him sanity in his own household. She kept her part of the bargain, but he found a way not to keep his. | M

Holy Matrimony by Loopy – After their marriage, Zuko and Katara deal with conflicting religious beliefs, and look to the friends for advice. Between the Zutara and the religious satire, every single person who reads this should feel offended. | General

Blind Maiden’s Grace by Adara_Rose – You can learn a lot of things from a flower… | Not Rated (I’d say General) 

Etched in the Earth by Dance_Elle_Dance – She knows the feel of Aang’s footprints better than her own, and that reality scares her. | Teen and Up

No One Asks About The Scars by voleuse – Write about how you learned to curse in order not to be cursed. | General

When in Rome by dtmars – She wasn’t stupid. She knew what she was doing and what she was getting herself into. They both did. | Modern AU. | Explicit

Like Real People Do by DerAndere – The moon is full and bright when he falls out of bed, awake, asleep, inside a dream, and starts walking, driven by the feeling he does not understand, tugging on him relentlessly, and he is Aang, and he is not, and the world is cold. | General | Full Disclosure: This is my story.

Meet Me Under The Table by avatarfan16 – A story of how Toph and Aang find love, in the most unusual of places. TAANG | K+

Aftermath by Zaram'delar – In any celebration, there's always one or two people with a habit of disappearing. Taang drabbleish series. | T

I Choose Dare by for_darkness_shows_the_stars – An ode to how Aang, under the power of a mighty temptress, was forced to grow a beard. Oh, and the birth of his first child, too, he supposes. | General Audiences

Multi-Chapter, In Progress

Heartbeat by AngelicBee – Avatar Aang's soulmate probably died 100 years before, but he can't help but feel she's closer than he thinks. | Teen and Up

a mighty ocean (or a gentle kiss) by poweradequeen – no, the title doesn’t make sense but i don’t care. i couldn’t think of one so now you’re stuck with a cheesy line from two by sleeping at last.it’s a taang fine arts university au. because i said so. | Teen and Up

Neither is Love a Cage by cali-chan – Love is the freedom of flying accompanied. It is letting be without possessing. PG-13 (possibly M later on), drama/romance/angst, Zuko/Katara + Aang/Toph, post-finale but diverges before LoK canon.

Operation: Zutara (REVAMPED) by dtmars – Everyone could see that those two were in love with each other. Everyone except for them. So Toph takes the initiative and fills in for Cupid to give them a little push, while Aang just tags along for the ride. | Teen and Up

Taang One Shots by stitch1830 – A collection of short stories about Toph and Aang that I've had saved in my notes for a few months. Stories are in the ATLA/LOK universe (not canon compliant), and typically revolve around their relationship and family. | Teen and Up

[venusandromedadjarin]

Darling

Alive, part two

18+, soft!Poe if you squint, drinking, fluff, dom!Poe, smut... a whole lot of smut, light bondage, edging, begging... Poe is just a hot husband and his wife pissed him off so now it’s payback time, 3.5k words

The cantina erupts in shouts and whoops the minute the two of you step inside, Poe's hand wrapped tightly around yours as he flashes his dazzling smile. You feel the heaviness in your chest lighten marginally as you see everyone you took off with from the base this morning, all of them smiling at the two of you. General Organa’s words echo in your mind, no one was lost today. She was right, and you hadn’t even let that sink in until now. No one’s picture was added to the wall today, and you glance at it, the heaviness lightening a bit more when you see the number of frames hasn’t changed. Poe squeezes your hand, and you glance up at him, a smile tugging at your lips. 

Red-Ten’s voice booms over the room as he lifts a bottle above the crowd, “To the Damerons!” 

You can feel Poe’s chuckle as his shoulder’s shake with it, his hand tightening as he surges forward. People clap their hands to your backs, throwing out compliments about your flying and his leadership. When you see Red-Six, you break away from him to hug her tightly. She returns the hug, nodding as you thank her for saving your life today.

“Just doing my job, Sergeant.”

You slap her shoulder, “Don’t Sergeant me, Numa. We’re drinking tonight, come on.” You clamber up on a stool, stepping onto the bar and reach a hand down to her. Taking it, she follows you, throwing her head back to laugh, her Lekku swaying with the movement. Poe’s eyes find yours from below, and they shimmer in the low light as he watches you live. Something he hasn’t seen in a long time, and it suddenly strikes him, too, that everyone came back today. 

General Organa strolls into the room and crosses her arms when she sees the two of you on the bar, both of you stilling as the bar grows quiet, waiting for her to say something. She slowly shakes her head, a grin spreading on her face as she comes through the crowd and announces, “Orson, first round is on me. The squadron deserves it. Congratulations on a successful day.” 

The whooping that breaks out is so loud it drowns out her words as she slaps Poe on the back, Finn laughing beside him at whatever she says. You see her nod towards you before quietly exiting as the shots begin to be passed around. Two of Orson’s six large, green hands reach up to give you and Numa the small glasses, filled with clear alcohol. Once everyone has one, you wink towards her and lift yours up, “To the Rebel Scum!” 

No one misses a beat as they echo you, laughter ringing out once everyone has downed the liquid. It burns down your throat and you grimace, swiping your lips with the back of your hand. 

The evening goes on like that more or less, rounds of shots being passed out as you all eat at varying times before drinking some more. While Poe and Finn wager against some other people in a game of Sabacc, you bid Numa to cover for you as you slip out of the cantina. Technically, going outside at night is frowned upon, but you risk it and slide out the vented doors into the cool air. The base keeps the doors slatted open to improve air circulation and temperature at night, since D’Qar cools down significantly when the sun drops. The air is a welcome presence after being inside the humid bar. For a few minutes, you just stand outside the doors and look up, staring at the planets you can see in the sky. Finally, you push yourself forward towards the field that the base uses as a tarmac. The sight of your X-Wing makes you groan as you walk towards it, the sticky fire retardant still sliding down the sides of it. With hesitation, you decide to climb up the ladder, shuddering when you see the inside is full of the light colored goo. Hopping down, you walk around the ship and survey the damage. The entire left engine is gone, having blown up and all, and the left wings are severely damaged. Luckily the body and right side is mostly intact, though the canopy is cracked. It would take weeks for you to fix it, maybe less if Poe helped, which you’re sure he would. Sighing, you walk over to Poe’s X-Wing to asses his damage. It’s definitely less severe, but the right side is charred and cracked, the wings bent enough that they don’t match up properly. At the very least, it’d be easier to fix than yours. 

You climb the ladder to his cockpit before sliding down into his pilot’s chair, the canopy open so you can sit back and look at the sky. It smells like him: leather and oak mixed with a slight hint of gasoline. It’s a scent you would never grow tired of having in your senses. Looking around his cockpit, you notice a fading picture tucked under the edge of one of the control panels. You gently pull it out of the metal it’s wedged under and study it in the dim light. Smiling, you realize it’s the picture Rey took of you and Poe the day you got married. On the back, it has your’s, Rey’s and Finn's initials signed on it. You wipe a tear from your cheek, realizing how fiercely you miss your best friend, before tucking it back into its spot. 

“You’re always right here with me,” Poe’s voice makes you jump, your hand flying to your mouth as you yelp.

“Maker, you scared me,” your eyes close as you try to calm your heart beat. He just chuckles and smooths your wavy hair down, his hand gentle on the crown of your head. “What are you doing out here?”

He looks down at you, humor dancing in his dark eyes, “I’m checking on you. What are you doing out there?”

You smile and point upwards, the stars lighting up his features as he looks up. You’re struck by how handsome he is, especially with the grey hair starting to streak his dark curls. The scruffy beard he’s growing makes him look older, but in the best way possible, and his smile makes your smile grow. 

“I don’t know why General Organa ever doubted your ability to be a pilot when you first joined the Resistance, you always have belonged among the stars,” he whispers, still looking up. 

You duck out from under his hand and grasp it with your own, bringing his wrist to your lips. He lets out a low sound when you kiss the sensitive skin, your tongue darting out to taste him. “If I remember correctly, you also doubted me,” you whisper against his wrist.

Poe chuckles and looks down at you, “I never doubted you, darling. I had never met anyone as bright as you and I was terrified of how quickly this lifestyle can dim that light.”

You catch his eyes, gazing at him through your lashes, your breathing hitched. Even after being with him this long, it takes you by surprise when he speaks about you like this. You and Poe never had the luxury of a slow and sweet romance. It was frantic and intense because of the Resistance, the constant fight, the constant fear of everything good coming to an end. When you both realized you felt the same way, that was the end of it, nothing was the same. It was quick and fiery, at risk of ending before it ever got the chance to start. But at times like this, after a successful fight, after the hope of the Resistance being rekindled, you are reminded of the reason you fell for him in the first place. He’s fierce, stubborn, and rough around the edges sometimes because of his cocky nature… but underneath all of that, Poe Dameron is a romantic, kind man who had to become tough in the face of adversity. This is a man who wore his mother’s wedding ring on a chain, waiting until he could give it to his life long partner. Somehow, the Maker allowed it to be you. 

“I love you,” you whisper up to him, scared of breaking the silence too harshly by speaking. He grasps your hand in his and pulls you up gently, kissing you gently before climbing down the ladder and looking back at you.

“Let’s go home,” he smiles up at you and you nod, scrambling out of the cock pit and down to him so you can take his hand again. “I love you, too.” You squeeze his hand as the two of you begin the short walk back to the main building. 

The sweet talking is forgotten the moment the lock bolts your bedroom door closed, one of Poe’s hands palming at the key pad to dim the lights while the other is cupping the column of your throat as he kisses you. You only see two other people on the walk back, by some mercy everyone is either still getting drunk or in bed, which meant the two of you are finally, finally, alone. A soft whine escapes your lips when Poe’s other hand meets your hip, his fingers digging into you as if he’s afraid he’ll float away if he doesn’t hold on for dear life. You shudder at the thought of finding your husbands fingertips bruised into your skin in the morning. He slowly pushes you back towards the bed, his tongue dipping into your mouth to twist with your own. As the back of your thighs hit the mattress, he pulls back just enough to mumble against your lips, “You drove me insane today, woman.”

Biting his bottom lip, you tug slightly before smiling against his mouth, “What are you going to do about that?” 

You bite back a groan as his large hands slides under your leather jacket, slowly pushing it off your shoulders and down your arms. His mouth works on your neck the whole time, hot and heavy against your skin as he nips and licks you. You sigh when he removes himself from you completely, blinking up at him as you watch him walk over to the desk and open the bottom drawer. Poe pulls out a belt and turns toward you, gazing at you with his brown eyes as he folds the leather into makeshift cuffs. Your pulse jumps as you watch him, heat pooling between your legs, and you fight to not press your thighs together. His voice is low when he breaks the heavy silence, rasping against his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “Lay down.”

Crawling up on the bed, you follow his instructions, waiting for him to tell you what to do next. Instead, he comes over and grasps your wrists, pulling them above your head and positioning your hands in between the headboard slats. He slides the cuffs on you, pulling on the belt to tighten it before checking to see if it’s too much. You nod up at him, and he checks the headboard, making sure it won’t move too much and hurt you. Poe steps back, watching you as your breathing picks up just by being restrained. The way he’s looking at you is almost feral, his eyes darkening as his pupils dilate… and neither of you are even undressed yet. You’re vaguely aware that he can probably see your nipples hardening under your thin t-shirt as he moves to the end of the bad, slowly untying your boots and pulling them off, followed by your socks. His large hands grasp your ankles, pulling you towards him and making your arms strain against the bindings. The tension makes you worry at your bottom lip, the heat in your core intensifying. He slowly slides his hands up your legs, the callouses on his palms catching on the heavy fabric. By the time he actually reaches your waistband you’re trying not to roll your hips, searching for some sort of relief to the dull ache spreading through your body. His thick fingers quickly undo the buttons before dipping below the waist band, pausing as he looks up at you and you crane your neck, and then he’s pulling. Ripping the fabric down his legs like it might burn you if he doesn’t get it them off quick enough. He nearly chokes when he sees the lacy black underwear you’re wearing, licking his lips before he’s tearing those off you too. You lift your hips to make it easier and you shudder when the cool air hits your clit, the wetness on your thighs and pussy becoming shockingly cold, making the ache in your core even more intense. And Poe… Poe just watches as you squirm, your forearms straining as you pull at the belt. 

Finally, he starts undressing. His boots clunk as he kicks them off, his leather jacket makes a soft thud as it lands next to them. His shirt is haphazardly tossed across the room by one hand as he unbuttons his pants with the other. He strips his socks and briefs next, his eyes never leaving yours. 

You’re a wreck and he hasn’t even touched you yet. 

Finally, he’s back on the bed, kneeling between your thighs as he parts them roughly, his hands gripping your knees and pushing them apart. Your chest is heaving at this point, the fabric of your shirt sending bolts of heat down your spine as your nipples rub against it. Poe leans over you, his cock dragging across your stomach and your back arches off the bad, chasing the feeling of his tip and the pre-cum that’s glistening on it. He just smirks down at you before gently pushing your shirt up, his fingertips barely brushing your skin as he bunches the fabric until it’s halfway over your head and covering your eyes. The more you squirm, the more your arms pull at the shirt and the more it darkens your vision. You huff in frustration and he tsks, “You’ve been walking around the base all afternoon with your tits on display underneath that thin fabric?” You smile, your top teeth dragging over your lower lip as you bite it, and he groans, a low rumbling sound that is heavenly and turns you on even more. 

Then you’re yelping as he tugs at your nipple with his teeth before moving on to suck a hickey into the meat of your breast. He repeats it on the other side, your back arching as you try to chase the pleasure it brings. You feel him lay down between your legs, kissing down your stomach before nipping at your hips. He hooks your knees over his shoulders and then he stills. He just lays there, his lips pursed as he blows on your clit and makes you shudder, his hands digging into your hips and holding you down so you can’t lift your them to meat his mouth. 

You’re breathless as you beg, the words coming out in between your groans because the waiting is just too much. “P-poe, please. Pl-lease do someth-thing.”

That’s all it takes.

He licks you, moaning as he drags the muscles through your folds and tastes you like he’s never tasted anything sweeter. His tongue dips in and out of you, circling your hole and making you squirm. Then he flicks it out against your clit. And you pull so hard at the belt you think you might pull a muscle in your arm, but his hands never leave your hips and you can’t chase his mouth for more of that beautiful feeling. All at once he’s sucking, sending shivers through your body as your thighs tense up and you do your best not to squeeze his head. You’re so close, teetering on that edge, the pressure coiling in your abdomen, pulling taught and tight and ready to snap-

Then he stops.

You think you must yell, or at least throw a curse word out at him, or something.

Before you can even stay mad that he brought you to the edge and refused you, his finger is inside of you and your hips come of the bed, pushing it in deeper. He curls it against the spot that makes you see fucking stars, and then he’s fucking you with it before adding a second. Curling and thrusting and sending you towards that edge again. 

Right as you start to tremble, a soft whine escaping your parted lips, he stops again, your walls fluttering around his fingers, searching for the slightest movement to send you careening off that edge. You feel tears prick at your eyes, the coiling pleasure in your abdomen raging so hot that you think you might actually cry. 

But instead of tears, you cry out as Poe simultaneously adds a third finger and sucks on your clit. Your walls clamp down around his fingers as he fucks you through it. Your eyes flutter closed underneath the blindfold, and you’re sure they roll back, as your hips jolt off the bed, chasing his mouth and that hot tongue that sends electric shocks down your spine and through your limbs. You’re trembling, definitely squeezing him in between your thighs, but you can’t bring yourself to care as the coiling, tight rubber band of pleasure snaps so hard that it feels white hot. 

When you finally come down, he’s still drinking you up, lazily licking you and moaning into your folds. When he stops, he leans his head against the apex of your thigh, his facial hair tickling the already sensitive skin, as he watches his fingers slide in and out of you, shimmering with your juices. Even though you can’t see him now, you’re well aware of his fascination because he’s done this before. You gasp when he finally drags his fingers out of you fully and crawls over you, leaning down to kiss you as he pushes the t-shirt all the way up to your wrists. His tongue dips into your mouth, both of you moaning as you taste yourself on him. When he breaks away from you, you look up at him with big eyes, “Let me touch you.”

He smirks, kissing you once more before moving back between your legs and positioning his dripping cock so that the tip rubs your clit. “No,” Poe watches you as he slides his dick against your clit, making you pull at the belt and throw your head back, biting back a moan. Then he’s moving again, positioning himself before sheathing his cock in you with on thrust, his hips snapping against yours. You cry out, the pain and pleasure mixing low in your torso and coiling into the start of another orgasm. You wrap your legs around him, hooking your ankles behind his back and he palms your knees, spreading you and using your legs as support as he pounds into you. The way his hips dig into you with every thrust has you seeing stars already and you can tell by his furrowed brow and heavy breathing that he won’t last long but he reaches down to thumb at your clit anyways, pushing you towards your release again. “Cum for me.”

And you do. It overtakes you before you even have the chance to fight it, coursing through you and firing every synapse in your body at once, it overwhelms you so much that you barely make a sound as you squeeze his cock. Your eyes close and you pull at the bindings, your wrists aching under the pressure and all the while, he fucks you through it, his pace never faltering as he continues to hit that spot inside you that makes you feel like you might be on fire in the best way possible. 

He doesn’t cum until you start to come down, your walls finally letting up just enough for him to tense inside you and paint them with himself. He collapses against you, shuddering as he nips at your nipples, low groans bubbling from his throat as he finishes pumping himself into you. He shakily reaches up to loosen the belt as he pants against your chest and you immediately pull your hands out to reach for him. You rub your hands through his hair, trace your fingertips up and down the curve of his spine, knead his shoulder muscles… you do all of it, just reveling in the afterglow of orgasms and in the fact you can touch him now.

Poe finally turns his head so his cheek rests against your sternum, whispering against your skin, “Don’t get tired on me yet, darling. I’m not done with you.”

[mrs-hollandstan]

Can I request mob tom Holland & reader, their marriage is arranged, Tom is not happy abt it as he loves someone else, he's cold towards her but she's a dedicated wife. He starts falling for her but feels guilty & is even more rude to her. Harrison realises it & dances with reader in party & gets all touchy, Tom gets jealous & has rough possessive sex with reader. Later he talks to her apologizes & all fluffy.

Okay, so I changed it a lil because I got an idea for a soulmate writing like this in the shower last night haha so here’s that, but I’m actually pretty proud of it and I hope you enjoy. Some NSFW down below.

Tom could have been arranged with any other woman in the world, but when it just so happened to be his soulmate, he was more irritated than ever and just nasty to you, mostly because he didn't enjoy the idea of being forced into a relationship just because the universe said so. He was cold and pissed beyond belief every time he was forced to be in the room with you. He liked making you jealous, liked spiting you when he slept with other girls. You were relatively neutral in sexual excursions just out of pure fascination and the fairytale like idea associated with soulmates. And Tom found that even after you were married and you were sweet in the beginning, you didn't seem to care about the women that came in the house for Tom. Even if you felt everything he did to them. 

The more he realized you turned a blind eye to avoid the fighting and the fluttering in your belly whenever he walked in a room just off of the idea that the universe wanted you together, the more he realized why the universe wanted you together. The match was uncanny, you were a balance. You were beautiful, smart and perfect and it just made Tom more angry. He was meaner, and Harrison was starting to catch onto why. He liked to refer back to that urban myth from primary school where if someone bullied you, they liked you. And for Tom, it was true. 

The night of a GALA held at Tom's mansion, Harrison had been the sweetest thing ever. He was pretty too and Tom could feel everything you felt towards his best friend. Especially the way Harrison's arm wrapped around you and you leaned into him, laughing about something he said. You'd had alcohol, Tom could feel the buzz, and the way Harrison met his eyes told Tom that Harrison was doing it on purpose. And Tom watched you lean against Harrison as he swayed you back and forth on the dance floor, your head laid over his shoulder. The warmth Harrison exuded made Tom warm and you felt the jealous flurry in yourself, but chose to ignore it instead relishing in the affection Harrison was providing that you hadn't had in a while. You loved the way Harrison laid his head over yours to make you feel safe. That is until it's ripped away from you. 

Harrison is careened back and punched in the nose, blood immediately gushing from the broken appendage as your body absolutely burns in a jealous rage so strong it brings tears to your eyes,

"Don't you ever do that again!" Tom screams in his best friend and right hand man's face, eyes dark and crazy before he grabs your wrist and tugs you after him towards a lounge around the ballroom. He slams the door, bracing you against it as he flicks the light on. He cages you between his arms and it should scare you, but it doesn't because the feelings he has coursing through him aren't anger towards you but something foreign. Lust, want. He leans in suddenly, his lips pressed to yours. He presses his body to yours when you reach up to thread your fingers through his hair, his arms wrapped around your waist after a moment. He lifts you, your legs binding around his waist as he carries you to the small couch in the room. He lays you on it rather roughly, reaching down to unbuckle his belt. You reach beneath your dress to scurry from your panties, Tom's eyes hooded and dark, never pulled from you before he's forcing you to your knees, gently nudging into you. But he doesn't let up. The second he knows you're adjusted, he's pounding into you, his heart encased in a prideful glow. He's the reason you're whimpering and crying, not Harrison. 

He brushes the sparkly, baby blue dress up over your hips, drawing his hand back to swat your ass roughly. You jolt, letting out a yelp and he does it again to the other cheek,

"Aah fuck." You whimper, dragging your nails across the fabric of the couch beneath you. Tom growls, dragging you up further by your throat, his hand wrapping in your hair as he demolishes you still, 

"You like that love? You like feeling so full of your husband's cock?" He spits, watching you nod. He knows that this is all you've ever wanted. You've always wanted to have him all over you, praising you, being rough with you, giving you the affection Harrison had. He knows you're touch starved because every time someone does touch you, whether it's a brush of your hands or rubbing up your arm, whatever it is, you ache minutes, hours after it, wanting more,

"Answer me the correct way." He growls in your ear, listening to you whimper, 

"Yes! Yes I love being full of your cock. Fuck!" You cry out, letting him push you back down, shoulders pressed to the cushion beneath you as he amps up his speed, screams and cries leaving your lips as he reaches beneath you to strum your clit. You move back against him, listening to him grunt and moan. You know he's almost there and he knows you are too, leaning over you to nip at your ear, 

"Cum for me. Show me how much you appreciate this cock." He growls, letting your head fall back against his shoulder, 

"Fuck Tom… fuck!" You cry, letting out a string of curses before you cum and he swats your ass again, praising you through it, 

"Good girl." He coos as he draws out and jerks his own cum out across your lower back. He pants as you lay beneath him, struggling to catch your breath. When he stands and isn't touching you, he can feel the panic that sets in you, he can feel the used feeling that courses through your body like blood, he can feel the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes as he finds a towel to dry you off with. He returns, your eyes avoiding of his before he fixes his tie and huffs, brushing your dress down, 

"Sorry I just uhh, I didn't… I didn't like seeing him all over you. It uhh… it made me… jealous. And I don't know why because… I've always said I hated you but… I don't think I do." He mutters, sitting on the floor in front of you. You sit up, finding your underwear, 

"You broke his nose." He waves a hand in front of you, 

"I know. And I owe him because I know he did it on purpose. Danced with you…" He says. You cock your head, 

"What do you mean?" You can feel the uncertainty within him as he swallows, avoiding your eyes, 

"He… knows how I've felt about you recently." He murmurs, your eyebrows knitting together as he fixes himself, running his fingers through his curls,

"What?" You ask. He glances up at you, dark eyes sparkling. He swallows and nods, glancing behind you, 

"Yeah I uhh, h-he likes to tell me that it's like that uhh, ya know, if someone bullies you, they like you-"

"So you're trying to tell me you've… been mean to me because you… like me?" You ask. He sighs and nods, 

"Yeah and now I feel fucking guilty about it. I just… I realized a while ago that you're pretty and smart and you don't have a care in the world and it's so different from me and I… I understand now why the world put us together. I need the balance." He explains, eyes finding yours. And you can tell he isn't lying. He feels warmth, feels comfort in your company, feels a buzz in his heart that is pure adoration for you. You crawl onto the floor with him, sitting at a distance as if you've crawled into a lion's den. Your mouth hangs open for a moment, shoulders coming up in a shrug,

"Wow, I didn't know." You let out breathlessly. He nods, 

"I know. And… I'm… sorry for the way I've treated you." He says with a sigh. After another moment sitting across from him, staring at the face you’ve been in love with, unknowingly, since you were ten, you crawl forward and lay your head over his shoulder warrily. He relaxes after another moment, laying his head against yours. You reach out and take his hand, his fingers falling around yours and squeezing. You sigh,

“I forgive you… if it’s any consolation.” You mutter. He hums, 

“You shouldn’t be so forgiving with me. I’ve been very rude to you.”

“Yeah but whether or not you were doesn’t matter. You’re my soulmate and that’s all that matters. That’s why I’ve given off those feelings within me that I didn’t care about all those other girls. It’s because I know that you’re my soulmate and whether you like it or not, I knew eventually you’d come around.” He purses his lips,

“That’s all you’ve wanted and I’ve let you down.” He says with another sigh,

“But now look at us.” You remark, drawing his eyes to yours with a finger under his chin. He hums, eyes cast down to your lips for a moment before he leans into kiss you softly,

“I am sorry. I promise I’ll try. I’m… I’m over having enemies outside of this fucking house and turning you into an enemy under my roof. I have… the opportunity sitting right in front of me to a good life, a family, and I just need to stop being such an ass. I just… I do wanna accept what you’re… offering as far as love goes.” He remarks softly, cheeks burning red. You giggle,

“You don’t have to be embarrassed admitting you want me to love you Tom.” You remind, rubbing his leg. He nods,

“I know but… it’ll be weird for the both of us, having to adapt to… doing things together and being together and… finally accepting being in love.” He admits. You nod,

“Definitely, but we’ve got this Tom. No one has to know if you’re that uncomfortable. But we can do it.” You reassure. He nods, glancing up for a moment before he licks his lips,

“I want to. I do want to and I want Harrison to know more than anyone.” He says with a chuckle. You smile, 

“After you apologize for breaking his nose.” You mutter. He chuckles again,

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He admits before huffing and standing, holding his hands out for you. You stand, holding his hands tight in yours. He sighs, 

“I uhh, when we get seriously into this, I think we should… we should have a wedding. I like you in dresses.” He says. You smile, running your hands up his arms,

“Right, yeah, I know how you feel about girls in dresses Tom. But yeah… a wedding sounds really nice.” You admit, his eyes lighting up as a smile crosses his face,

“Anddddd…”

“Yeah, I know what happens after we actually get married. I think it could be a good time.”

“Me too.”

“Only because you like sex. Interesting idea to see you with a baby.” You mutter. He chuckles,

“I could be a good father.”

“I think that’s definitely something for the future. A wedding is more plausible than kids right about now.” You admit. He nods,

“That’s valid. Now… I gotta… go find Haz.” You nod,

“I’ll come with. Just because I’m worried about him.” He nods in return, holding your hand as he walks you towards the door. He swallows, glancing down at your hands, other hand resting on the doorknob. His eyes meet yours then, sparkling in thought before he nods and you know it’s him coming to terms with being dedicated to you. And for once, he’s actually excited to be your soulmate.

[asthmark]

❝ comfortable ❞ l.mk

synopsis → “oh, i’m mark. mark lee.” he gives her a lop-sided grin, reminding you of a high school boy. the kind you would have a crush on.

word count → 3k

a/n → instead of admitting to the fact that this has been in my drafts since october what if i just said i was watching superm interviews and got inspired.. would anyone believe that??? anyway superm on the ellen show was a fever dream lol

your leg bounces nervously as your makeup artist touches up your look and you stare at the tv screen in anticipation. you were finally making your television debut. you knew you were blessed for the wonderful opportunity, especially for how new you were to the music industry.

you had started like nearly every other artist; posting covers on youtube. these were well received and gained a good amount of views and likes but your career really took off when you began creating original content. every time you would release a single, it would make it on the trending page thanks to your growing fanbase and exposure to the general public, who seemed to like you. soon enough, requests to interview you whether it be on radio, tv, or magazines were high and, thanks to your managers, you found yourself in los angeles, backstage in a studio, waiting for the ellen degeneres to introduce you to her live audience and thousands of viewers at home.

“don’t move so much, miss l/n,” the woman trying to apply your highlighter comments. “you’re smudging your makeup.”

you force yourself to sit still as you apologize. “sorry. pre-show jitters.”

the woman smiles, emphatically. “i understand, sweetheart. i would be nervous too.”

you’re quiet for a moment, debating if you should continue conversing with her. “can i be honest?”

she hums as she dabs a beauty blender into your cheek. “go ahead.”

“i am so nervous that i’ll mess up or say something stupid. the only thing close to an interview i’ve ever done was a q&a on my youtube channel. and at least i could edit stuff out then.” you huff. “if i make some kind of mistake on my tv debut, my career will be over before it even started.”

“well, think of it this way,” she says. “you went from a moderately popular youtube channel to the ellen show. that doesn’t happen for no reason. there are people out there who really admire you.”

you chuckle in disbelief. “it’s crazy to think about people actually wanting to see me. i still can't believe it.”

she giggles, softly. “they know there's something worth seeing.” at seeing your small smile, almost as if you were barely realizing your own star status, she laughs. “you seriously gotta wake up, girl. you’re famous!”

you smile at her, finding humor in her words. “thanks for the wake up call.”

you both direct your attention to the tv placed backstage that broadcasted what was happening on stage. you listen in to ellen’s monologue as she tells jokes and addresses current topics. before long, there’s a knock on the doorframe. you half expect a staff member to let you know that you’ll be on soon but instead you hear a quiet, “hello?”

you and your makeup artist both turn to the boy standing in the doorway. he's wearing a black jacket paired with dark, ripped jeans held up by a belt. he goes to bow, then remembers that korean etiquette does not apply and decides to wave as a greeting instead. you reciprocate the gesture. he stands with only one foot inside the room, almost as if he’s too polite to enter without being given the okay.

“did they send you to get your makeup done?” the woman who had done yours says.

he nods. “they said something about concealer and bb cream, i think?”

she smiles. “yeah, it’s basic stuff. come on in. what’s your name, dear?”

“oh, i’m mark. mark lee.” he gives her a lop-sided grin, reminding you of a high school boy. the kind you would have a crush on.

“well, mark lee, i’m lily. i’ll be doing your makeup, making sure you look pretty for the cameras.” she motions to you. “i'm just about done here so i’ll be right with you.”

“okay, thank you.” he shuffles in, his eyes glued to you and you hold his stare. he nods, a wordless greeting as he settles in next to you. in return, you throw up a peace sign and he smiles at your casual behavior.

“you know what? somebody used all the setting spray. i’ll be right back, i’m just going to steal some from my co-workers.” with that, lily darts out of the room.

it’s pure silence between the two of you until you spark conversation. “i didn't get to introduce myself but i'm y/n.”

“i know,” he responds, quickly. “i'm kind of a fan, actually. i mean, it’s practically impossible to not be. you’re all over the place. especially with the new single you dropped... which is a bop, by the way.”

you smile at his simply-worded praise. it was a nice switch up from the professional reviews you received from critics. “that’s so cute. i’m honored.” you miss the way mark’s ears turn slightly pink at your words. “but enough about me, what do you do, mark?”

“oh, me? i’m in the k-pop scene.”

you hum. “that’s a good genre to be in. which group?”

“right now i’m promoting with superm, it’s kind of like a side project. but originally, i’m in a band called nct.”

you lean forward at hearing the familiar name. “nct? as in, nct 127?”

mark’s eyes light up. “yeah! you know us?”

you nod, enthusiastically. “oh my god, yes! you collabed with ava, right?”

“we sure did. are you guys close?”

“i help her write lyrics sometimes.” you lower your voice down to a whisper for dramatic effect. “i wrote the chorus to ‘sweet but psycho’.”

the way mark’s jaw drops is almost comedic. “no way! that song got her famous, dude!” his lips curve into a playful smirk. “just because of that i’m gonna have to get you in the studio.”

you return the mischievous look. “is that a promise?”

“i’m back!” lily announces, giving mark no time to respond. she gives no warning as she spritzs you with the bottle she had gone to retrieve.

you cough, choking on the mist. “no heads up?”

“sorry, dear. you’re on in two minutes, no time to waste.”

you feel a chill go up your spine. it was finally time.

mark nudges your arm. “you okay?”

“a little nervous.” that proves to be the biggest understatement of all time because in reality your heart is doing somersaults.

“hey.” you stare at him, his brown eyes boring into you. “you’ll be fine. there’s nothing to worry about. you got this!”

you smile at his words of encouragement. he cared about you and you find that your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason now.

“i'll be here to cheer you on while you’re out there and i’ll be back when you’re done to tell you how amazing you did, okay?”

you nod.

“now get out there!”

“well, we have a great show for y’all today,” ellen says, clasping her hands together, having just finished her monologue. “i mean, it’s always great but the exciting thing is we have two musical guests today.”

the audience that cheered wildly is shown on screen. you almost forget about the knot in your stomach when you see some people in the crowd wearing shirts with the cover art and quoted lyrics of your last single.

“i see you guys are ready so, without further ado... let’s get started. our first guest is a soloist who has made quite a big name for herself in such a short period of time. she currently has three singles on the billboard charts, her most recent music video is number one trending on youtube, and she has a new ep coming out soon. here for her television debut, please welcome y/n l/n.”

you walk out from behind the stage, a huge smile on your face. the crowd screams and you wave to them until your hands become too occupied hugging the hostess who greets you with open arms and a proud smile. once the hype dies down and your entrance music fades out, you take a seat, opposite of ellen.

“how have you been y/n?”

“amazing,” you respond, letting your hands fall neatly in your lap.

“and why is that?”

you sigh, wistfully. “everything has been going so well for me lately. i mean, i feel like all these doors are opening up for me all of a sudden. i think i finally made it.”

“you’re just barely realizing that?” ellen exclaims.

you laugh, along with the audience. “kind of, yeah. it just all happened so fast.”

“is there an experience that comes to mind where you finally realized how famous you are?”

you try to think for a few moments before your eyes light up. “okay so, i was at a mcdonald’s like, last month and i went through the drive thru and ordered some nuggets and fries. so, i pull up to the window to pay and it’s around 2 a.m. so the cashier guy is super out of it, like he’s not even paying attention to me. finally, he goes to grab my card and he gets a good look at me and just freezes. like, full on shuts down. so i ask him if he’s okay and he nods so i try to hand him my card again but he goes, ‘no, you’re famous, you don’t have to pay’. and in that moment i just knew.”

“hold on, pause,” ellen announces, dramatically. “you’re telling me that you have been nominated as artist of the year, gained over ten million followers on social media and made your national television debut but the thing that really made you say ‘wow, i’m famous’ was a couple of chicken nuggets?”

“ellen, c’mon,” you begin, seriously. “it was a twenty piece.”

“oh, well, that changes everything,” she says, playing along with you, as the audience erupts into laughter.

the rest of the interview goes smoothly, running on jokes and sarcastic energy. you discuss your young age (thus resulting in some of your baby pictures finally being revealed to the world), millennial culture (the crowd went wild when you explained terms such as netflix and chill to ellen who claimed she didn’t understand yet her sly smirk said otherwise) and your upcoming ep (that you would be giving a sneak peek of later on in the show).

you continue chatting once the commercial break is announced and ellen showers you with praises, commenting how young talent never failed to amaze her, although it did make her feel old. you get to thank the hostess and tell her how much you appreciated her sweet words and the opportunity she had given you before the crew is dragging you backstage so you can prep for your upcoming performance.

you’re greeted by a “that was awesome!” and a high five one you get backstage.

you flash mark a full smile. “couldn’t have done it without my hype man.”

just then lily walks in to touch up your makeup.

“and my hype woman!”

she just rolls her eyes and chuckles as she reapplies gloss to your lips. 

“seriously though, y/n. why did you have to be so perfect? the bar is all the way up here now.” to emphasize his point, mark raises his arm as high as it will go.

“hey, i only tried hard because you’re up next. you’re a hard act to beat, mark lee. i mean, you’re charismatic, charming, witty; basically every talk show host’s dream.”

he scoffs yet you see how he avoids your gaze, your compliments obviously flattering him to the extreme.

a staff member walks by, cutting your conversation short. “y/n, you’re back on in one. superm is on right after.”

you and mark turn back to each other, speaking the same two words at the same time.

“good luck.”

ellen introduces you again, only this time you hold a guitar and stand in front of a microphone once you’re back on the stage. you perform a never before heard song but judging by the roaring applause and standing ovation you receive by the end of it, it’s another successful hit.

you bask in the amazing response and then you’re ushered backstage for the last time. you catch sight of the staff placing more seats on the stage as you exit and you smile eagerly, knowing exactly what’s to come. you search the hallways for your new friend, hoping you can catch him before the show goes back on air. you’re almost about to give up when you hear your name being called.

you lock eyes with mark who stands a couple feet away, barely hidden from the audience’s view. even from where you stand you can tell he has a nervous smile on his face. you jog towards him and to your surprise, he envelops your figure without a second thought. in return, you tentatively wrap your arms around him.

“great job,” he murmurs, breath fanning your ear. “i really did cheer you on.”

“i’ll make sure to do the same.” you hesitantly pull away from his embrace, holding him at an arm’s length away. “go get ‘em.”

he gives you a determined nod and you watch him rush on stage, the audience’s wild cheering increasing. their energy didn’t fade once throughout the interview and just as you had suspected, mark was doing wonderfully. he clearly thrived in interviews; his awkward, boyish nature enchanting everyone in the studio, yourself included.

ellen crosses her legs and clears her throat. “so, i have to ask you something, you know, for the fans.”

the group leaned forward in anticipation, awaiting her next words.

“are any of you dating?”

the crowd released noises of amusement at hearing the very personal question. you can’t help but feel intrigued although you knew ellen has always been quite the invasive person. you watched as the seven boys looked around at each other, unsure what to say but before their silence can become suspiciously long, mark ends up taking the question.

“why are you always so curious about this, though?” he blurts.

the audience absolutely eats up his response, cheering at his bluntness. even you find it humorous, shoulders shaking with a chuckle. that’s definitely gonna become a meme, you think.

“it’s my job!” counters ellen. “why are you so defensive?”

the crowd is very responsive to ellen’s rebuttal, ‘ooh’ing in amusement.

mark’s silence only pushes the hostess to continue teasing him.

“does it maybe have anything to do with y/n?”

your smile drops. had she seen you two? you’re not sure why you feel so exposed; after all, you had just been talking.

ellen’s lips adorn a sly smile at mark’s stunned reaction. “you seemed to be getting very comfortable with each other backstage.”

the black haired male stumbles over his words before he gets a semi-coherent sentence out. “we just, um—we just met.”

“oh really? you two looked like you had known each other forever.”

mark chuckles breathlessly, eyes glued to his lap, obviously at a loss for words. ellen stares at him expectantly so he mutters, “i like making friends.”

ellen, the audience, and even some of the band members laugh at his response.

“well, i’m sure there’s a lot of fans out there that wish they were your ‘friend’.” her tone makes it clear she doesn’t buy his excuse but she prods him no further, instead turning to stare into the main camera. “when we get back superm will be performing their title track ‘jopping’. during the commercial break, please feel free to place your bets as to how long mark and y/n will remain ‘friends’.”

the camera pans to mark for a couple seconds; his ears are bright red and his cheeks are dusted light pink, his makeup doing nothing to help hide the blush. his eyes dart around, anxiously and then they cut to commercials.

you shake your head, smiling at the entire situation and just how big of a dork mark was.

you attentively watch superm’s two performances, eyes mostly glued to a certain rapper. you sit patiently in the makeup room, waiting for mark to return backstage so you can congratulate him but he never appears. you try to conceal your disappointment, even when lily enters the room, smiling brightly.

“well, the show’s over, doll.” she removes her makeup stained apron and glances at you as she places it on a nearby rack. “hey, why the long face?”

you stare at your reflection in the mirror, no longer bothering to hide your pout now that your frustration had been made known.

“you did great, if that’s what you’re worried about. just ask mark.”

“he left,” you mumble. “i thought i’d be able to catch him before he left and we could… i don’t know, talk a bit more? i just really—” you trail off.

“like him?” lily suggests, too loudly for your liking.

your head snaps towards her, eyes wide, only confirming your feelings.

“don’t worry, dear, you can say it. i won’t tell ellen,” she jokes.

you sigh and slump down in your seat. “yeah. i like him.”

“well, then, i have good news for you.”

you half-heartedly hum, allowing her to continue.

she waves a piece of crumpled paper in front of your face. you grab it from her, staring at it curiously.

“what’s this?”

she nods her head at it, encouraging you to find out for yourself. “open it and see.”  

you obey, unfolding the tiny item. your eyes struggle to read the words inside but if you squint, they become clearer.

please call, me i would love to become closer ‘friends’.

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

it’s mark btw :)

you can’t contain your smile at the cute little note.

“he’s adorable,” you say, mostly to yourself but lily audibly agrees.

“he ran into me as he was leaving and begged me to deliver that message to you. which reminds me, i’m supposed to let you know that he wishes he could have stuck around but his schedule is ‘crazy tight’ so he had to ‘dip’. his words not mine.”

you nod, grin widening. “thanks, lily.”

“my pleasure. nothing like young love.”

you give her a glare although it’s all but threatening.

she folds her arms, teasingly. “so, are you going to give him a call or what?”

you’re sure she sees the phone in your hand and the way your fingers press the numbers on the keypad, excitedly but nevertheless, you decide to answer.

“i’d be crazy not to.”

[supernaturallyobsessedchic]

Emergency! Part 5

Part 5 – Rattlesnake

Summary: A rollover crash has multiple squads responding to rescue, clean up and investigate the cause. During clean up Dean is bitten by a rattlesnake. An earthquake strikes, being the largest L.A has ever experienced since the 90’s. And the reader, was out shopping when it happened, trapping her under debris. Jack’s father is at Rampart for an operation, staff, and squad 51 learn of how toxic of a Father Lucifer is.

Warnings: Scary Situations, Suspense, implied Smut, Fluff, Brief toxic parent angst, long one full of suspense and action!

Word Count: 4,233

Square: Girls Night (There is a girls night in here, and I’m using it to fill my square for @supernatural-jackles Tell me a story bingo)

Bingo Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Mobile Masterlist

a/n: this takes place a year or so after Virus. This story is going to be a long one.

~

“Would it be a miracle that people were actually careful and safe?” Gabe says, walking into the stations kitchen.

“One could only dream.” Cas says.

“Who’s turn is it for making lunch?”

“It’s either the father or the son.” Michael says.

“It’s my turn for lunch nimrod.” Dean says, playfully getting Gabe in  playful chock hold while rubbing his knocks on his head.

Gabe struggles to get out of the Winchester’s grip.

Dean let go with little protest.

“He’s the one that did the father and son crack.” Gabe whined.

“Yeah but Dean knows not to mess with me.”

“You are just as bad as Sam with the pranks.”

“How is little bro by the way?” Gabe asks.

“He’s good, won his first case at a firm downtown. Can’t remember the name of it. And he and Jess are actually getting married by the end of this year.”

“Oh it’s about time that kid popped the question.” Michael says.

“Yeah, he and Jess are coming down for Thanksgiving, they’ll meet Y/N…”

“Have you ever met Y/N’s family yet?”

“She doesn’t talk about her family much. I don’t push her if she’s not comfortable with it.”

The stations alarm goes off.

“Station 51, rollover accident…” The dispatcher giving the location as the station jumped into action.

 They got to the location, on the winding dirt road in the mountains outside of LA. Seeing the car that rolled over the guard rail and down the slope.

“What do we got?” John asked the other station that responded.

The captain wearing a big white 20 on his helmet.

“Rollover, driver’s unconscious and we don’t know his condition.”

“I’ll send my paramedics on it.”

Dean and Cas getting their supplies and rushing to the car.

They recorded his vitals on their notepads.

“Cas go relay it to Rampart, I’ll stay here with him.”

“Got it.”

 “Rampart squad 51. Rampart this is squad five one.”

Bobby happened to be by the radio.

“Go ahead 51.”

“Rampart, we have a rollover accident, the victim is trapped in the car. Vitals are, BP 120 over 79, pulse rate 78. Pupils dilated and sluggish.”

“Can you get the victim out without using the jaws?”

“Negative Rampart, driver side door is jammed.”

“Then start an IV, just have some normal saline to keep him hydrated. Can’t risk a head injury going unnoticed. Follow protocol, and we’ll be waiting for you.”

“10-4 Rampart.”

 A little over a half hour passed and they managed to get the victim out of the car and in an ambulance and is on the way to the hospital.

Cas and Dean were packing up the squad.

“Shit, forgot the drug box by the car, I’ll be right back.” Dean says.

“’kay.”

Dean jogged down the hill to the car to pick up the drug box when he heard a rattle.

His heart sank.

Where was it?

It wasn’t until he saw the danger noodle jump at the moment he picked up the drug box, biting down on his arm. Then latching on.

Dean managed to calmly grab the snake by the head, forcing it’s mouth open. Getting it to release him and he threw the snake far.

He grabbed his radio.

“Station 51, it’s Dean. I just got bit by a rattlesnake.”

He quickly worked his belt off his waist to make himself a tourniquet.

“Gabe, Kevin, get down there now!” John ordered.

They hurried down the hill to Dean’s aid.

 Earlier that day…

“Alright that’s the last of them.” Y/N says to herself as she got all settled in Dean’s house.

They had just recently took things to the next level and she has moved in with him. She was off work taking the time to finish settling in. But Dean’s 24 hour shift just started, so Dean was away at work, saving people.

“Now, a girls night…er, day.” She says, knowing who to call to hang out with for the day.

She pulls out her phone, calling up a few girls she knows and knows they’re off.

“Hey Donna, you up for a girls night?”

“Oh hell ya girlfriend, who’s all gonna be there?”

“Well, you, me, Rowena the overnight RN, Jody. I want to invite Charlie, a friend of Dean’s but I think she’s working.”

“Girl, I can’t wait! You want me to meet you at your place or Dean’s?”

“I just finished moving in with Dean, I’m at Dean’s. You can meet me at Dean’s.” She explained.

“Oh, ho-ho-ho, girl, we need to catch up!”

The girl was full of energy and Y/N could feel it through the phone.

“Yes we do, see you here in a few, and I’ll call the others.” She says, hanging up.

 The doorbell rang hours later calling the girls. She opens the door.

“Hi!” Donna cheers, holding two cases of beer.

“You know how to party, Charlie’s off today she’s on her way with some wine as well.” Y/N says letting her in. Closing the door behind her.

“Oh, I like her already.”

“Jody got caught up with a Drunk Driver and won’t make it. But Rowena is coming so it’s just us four.”

“Still a good girls night, so what else are we doing tonight?”

“Probably catch up a bit, binge some Netflix shows. The Witcher season 2 is coming out soon and I want to rewatch that.”

“Oh, Geralt can hunt me down any day.”

“You do realize the man is hundreds of years old?”

“Yeah, but Henry Cavil isn’t.” she winks.

Y/N rolls her eyes with a giggle.

The doorbell rang shortly after revealing Rowena. And moments later, Charlie.

 “You two are so going to get married.” Donna says, downing her second bottle of beer.

“He really is, really sweet, kind and the perfect kind of guy for me. He knows my schedule. And I know his. We both were scared the hours of our work would mess things up. But with how many times the man gets hurt on the job while I’m working I am always assuming he’s purposely getting hurt just so he can see me at work.”

Charlie giggling. “I see that being a thing he does.”

Rowena sipping away at the red wine Charlie brought.

“Ro, how are things with you girl?” Y/N asked.

“Oh, you know. Saving people, taking names…”

“She’s in love.” Donna deadpans.

Rowena rolls her eyes with a  smirk.

Y/N gasps. “What’s his name?”

“His name is Arthur Ketch, he the neurologist up on Fourth Floor. He works under Singer.”

“Oh I know of him, I mean, Bobby is planning on retiring and isn’t Ketch supposed to take his place?”

Rowena nods with a hum. Still having a playful smirk on her face.

“Oh you are so in love with him.” Y/N says with a smile.

“He may have taken me out on a date a few days ago and we have another date tomorrow night.”

“Ro, I’m so happy for you!”

“Thank you sweetie, and I’m happy for you and Dean, don’t let that one go darling.”

“I don’t see that happening, just as long he stays safe on a job. I’m worried of him getting seriously hurt on the job. I mean that virus a year ago, that really scared me. I thought I was gonna lose him.”

The girls nod, understanding.

“Anyone up for some hot guys and monsters!” Donna says, entering the room with a glass generously full of red wine.

“Girl, you’re gonna regret the headache the next day.”

“I’m off work tomorrow, so if I get a migraine I’m good!” she says chuckling.

The girls rolling their eyes at their friend.

“Rowena, would you be able to drive her home?”

“Yes, she’s at least on the way home for me.”

“Thank you, last thing I want is to give poor Jody another drunk to worry about.”

“At least I’m the fun kind of drunk.” Donna says, getting the Witcher on Y/N’s TV screen.

 “Ro, drive safe!”

“Will do sweetie, have a good rest of your night!” Rowena says, escorting a silly drunk Donna to her car.

“I’ll drive her car home tomorrow.” Y/N offers.

“Will do darling, goodnight!”

“Night!”

“Y/N that was the most fun I’ve had, never thought of you to be the nerdy type.”

“Oh, I’m a nerd in disguise if anything.” Y/N winks.

“Ugh, why are you straight!”

“Not sure.”

Y/N’s pocket happens to vibrate at that moment.

“Hello?”

“Y/N?” Hearing Dr. Kline’s voice on the other end.

“What’s up Jack?”

“It’s Dean, he’s been bit by a rattlesnake, he’s on his way in on the top of Engine 51.”

“I’m on my way.” Y/N says, not hesitating grabbing her keys to her car. Hanging up the phone quickly from him.

“I’m going with you sweetie.” Charlie says, following y/n to her car.

Turning the keys she turns on her emergency flashers and speeds her way to Rampart hospital.

 “Engine 51, what are the patients vitals?” Jack asks.

Dean, takes his own pulse, his own blood pressure. All while Cas drove the squad ahead of the engine.

“Pulse rate, 95. O2 Sat, 98, Respiration 18, BP 120 over 65.”

“Dispatch relay to Engine 51 to start IV using Ringers Lactate.” Jack asks.

“Engine 51, Rampart advises start IV using Ringers Lactate.”

“10-4” Gabe says over the radio.

Dean having heard the radio begins the process to start an IV.

 “There goes Engine 51!” Charlie shouts, while Y/N sat at the red light. Seeing the engine tear through the intersection.

Her light happened to turn green for her.

“Hold on.” Y/N says. As she starts pressing on the gas pedal slowly pushing it to the floor. Her tires squealing.

 Gabe looked up hearing tires. Looking over the edge, he sees a familiar car.

“Oh shit, his girl is right behind us.” He says.

Dean chuckled. “And I’m the worry wort.”

“Engine 51, Rampart is requesting an update.”

“Relay to Rampart, patient is starting to experience numbness around the mouth, and he’s drowsy.” Dean says on the radio.

“Engine 51 you’re breaking up, please repeat.”

John grabbed the radio.

“Relay to Rampart, Patient is started to experience numbness around the mouth and he’s drowsy.”

“Roger that.” Dispatch says.

 “Venom sounded like it hit a vein.” Jack says.

“Y/N’s gonna be so worried.” Meg says. Standing next to Bobby and Jack at the nurses station.

 The squad, the engine pulled into the emergency entrance. Y/N pulled into the parking lot near the emergency entrance, finding a spot quickly. She quickly parked it, turned off the car. Jumping out, locking the car. Charlie staying close to her.

 Meg stayed by the door, waiting for Y/N and Charlie.

“How’s he doing so far?” Y/N asked.

“We started a skin test with the antivenom. Hopefully he doesn’t have a reaction, that way we can start treatment right away.” Jack says.

“How long do we have to wait?” Y/N asked.

“20 Minutes.”

Y/N and the rest of the members of station 51 nodded, understanding.

“Let’s go wait guys.” Charlie suggested.

Everyone left the room, trying to keep their hopes high despite their shoulders slumped.

 As the night came to a close, and he didn’t have a reaction to the antivenom skin test and he has been laying, sound asleep in his room as the antivenom worked it’s magic on him.

Y/N laid in his bed with him, curled into his side. Her head on his chest, listening to the calming rhythm of Dean’s heartbeat.

Dean began to stir awake, feeling a warmth at his side. Waking up a bit more he sees his favorite girl in his life laying at his side.

His arm came up around her, holding her close. Placing a loving sweet kiss atop her head as he fell back asleep, letting the rest and medicine work it’s magic on him.

 The next day…

Y/N arrived on time to the hospital to pick up Dean, filling out his discharge papers another patient was being brought in.

“Who’s that?” Dean asks.

“Jack’s dad, he never talks about him.”

“Why is that?”

Jack happened behind them.

“I was adopted, he gave me up when I was, like 5.”

“Jackie, son how are you?” the man asks from the bed.

“You don’t call me son.”

“Since when can a father—”

“You may be my father by blood. But not a true father.”

“What did you expect me to hold your hand? Kiss your booboo’s when you got hurt like some sort of pansy?”

“Oh now I see why.” Dean mutters in Y/N’s ear.

“How long is he gonna be here anyway?” Jack asks the medics that brought him in.

“His cardiologist what’s him to have a pacemaker in today. So he’s gonna be here for a bit.”

Jack groans under his breath.

“I’ll hand him over to someone else?”

“Why do you suck ass?” His father asks.

“Okay, listen here dude.” Y/N steps in.

“Y/N, please—” Jack says.

“No, you can either treat the staff of Rampart emergency with respect or we can and will kick you out for your hostility.” She says.

He shrunk in his bed.

“Will you be on your best behavior or will I have to send you to a different hospital?” she asks.

“I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Good. And if I hear your antagonizing him, or any more of our staff we will transfer you. And you won’t be welcome here again.”

“Understood.”

“Good.” She says, storming out of the hospital.

“Don’t piss her off, can anyone remind of that?” Dean asks jokingly as he follows her out.

 Later on that day…

“Dean, babe, I’m gonna go do some arrands really quick.”

“Alright be safe sweetheart.”

She goes to the living room, where he sat watching Netflix, giving him a quick kiss on his lips. But Dean quickly places a hand on her cheek deepening the kiss. Clearly wanting more.

“Babe, maybe tonight. But I need to head out to stay ahead of traffic.”

“Fine, drive safe baby.”

“Always do!”

“Says the crazy girlfriend chasing a fire engine!”

“I’m not that crazy!” She laughed.

Dean chuckled as he heard her laugh, closing the door behind her.

 She pushed her cart around Target getting not only food, but some cute lingerie for that night. Even grabbing Dean something from Spencer’s for them to try in bed later.

She felt the ground tremble slightly. The hairs on her arms stood up on end.

“No not now.” She mutters.

Without warning, the ground shook violently, taking her and other shoppers to the floor. The power going out, items being thrown on the floor. The lights swinging wildly, ceiling tiles falling. They were having a bad earthquake. And she was smacked in the middle of LA, in a multilevel mall.

Meanwhile Dean back at home had just turned off the oven having cooked himself some pizza for lunch after noticing Y/N having ate already.

He heart he windows vibrate, feeling the ground tremble slightly. He stood in the kitchen still yet alert.

When the ground gave way again to another violent shake, but only enough to cause their dishes to fall off the countertop, the cupboard doors swinging open and closed. The TV rocking back and forth on the stand. Dean dived to the table to get under it, and wait it out.

Meanwhile back at Target, screaming shoppers can be heard throughout more than just Target.

Once the shaking had calmed down, she knew they had to get out immediately.

She quickly pulled out her phone. Seeing the alert had gone off.

An 7.5 earthquake.

“How big was that?” someone asks.

“I don’t know but that was big!” someone else shouts.

“My phone says 7.5, it was big enough.” Y/N shouts.

“Oh god, we’re dead!”

“Okay, Okay, don’t panic, we just have to get out of here before the aftershocks kick in.” Y/N suggests.

“Where can we go, we’re on the top floor!”

“At one part of the mall this is the ground floor, we just have to find another one of the exits. Avoid the escalators, we have to get out before the floor collapses on us.” She explains.

“I’m with her.”

“Oh my god! Someone help me!”

Bring on the victims. She thought.

“I’m a nurse, what’s wrong!” Y/N shouts.

“It’s my husband, he’s bleeding!”

She ran to the panicked woman.

“Where at?” she asks.

“His leg, a shard of glass from the wine cut him.”

She examines his leg.

“Do you have a belt sir?”

He nods.

“Let’s get it off of you and make a tourniquet.” She says.

Y/N helps him get his belt off and works on tying it above the cut on his leg. Not too tight but tight enough.

“Okay, do you got him?” she asks the man’s wife.

“Yes, but where---”

“I came in from the ground level entrance, it’s a ways north, we just go this way.” She pointed out.

“You make it sound so easy, how are you so calm?”

“I’m an emergency nurse at Rampart.”

“You’re so amazing, thank you, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, now lets get out of here.”

“Alright everyone, you can follow me, the ground level entrance is this way.” Y/N shouts.

And she began leading the herd.

“Do you hear that?” Someone asked in the Food quart.

“Oh shit, they didn’t turn off the gas.” Y/N muttered.

“GET AWAY FROM THE FOOD QUART!” She shouts.

Just as the people ran in a panic out of the doors near the food quart leading to one of the parking lots out on the ground level, an explosion of fire broke out in a couple of the restaurants in the food quart.

“We’re dead!” a number of people shouted.

“We’ll get out of this, just stay calm and follow me!” Y/N encouraged. As she and everyone behind her, around her, all shielded themselves from the fire.

 Dean, in his car sped his way to station 51.

“It’s all hands on deck, there’s fires everywhere.” John says as Dean entered the station.

“Y/N’s at the mall.”

“Which one?”

“The one off of Center Pointe.”

“Shit, that’s one of our calls. Get suited up, and lets go.”

As the alarm goes off in the station, Dean hurries to the squad, grabbing his fireman’s bottoms and coat.

“I got your boots and mine, lets go!” Cas says, getting in the passenger.

Dean not wasting anytime, turns on the squad and follows the engine out of the station, speeding towards the shopping center.

 “Are we there yet?” a little girl asks.

“Almost there sweetheart, we just have to---”

“Wait!” someone pulls Y/N back.

Y/N grabbing the man’s arm noticing a drop.

“The floor caved in…shit, that’s what I was worried about.”

“Oh, now what!?”

She looked around, finding another way through the store down below.

“Look there’s an exit down there.”

“But it leads to the underground parking.”

“Still it’s a way out, just wait here then, there’s an incline here, I’ll just climb down and see how far the exit is from the underground parking.” Y/N says, determined to get these people out and out alive.

Sliding down the concrete ramp, she jogs through the store, climbing through a fissure in the wall, seeing the garage not perfect but from where she was there was a path closest to the building leading out to daylight.

She hurries back to the scared people.

“There’s a straightforward path outside from here, come on, if we hurry---”

The ground began to shake, throwing her off balance.

“Oh no it’s an aftershock!” someone shouted.

 The engine managed to get to the shopping mall, seeing a fire in one section. Coming to a stop they can feel the aftershocks.

“Shit, we have to hurry, Dean, Cas, find a way in. Kevin, Michael, find us some water!” John ordered.

Dean taking the squad closer to the building, scoping out a way in.

“We could try there.” Cas suggested.

“It doesn’t look too structurally sound Cas.”

“It’s holding up so far.”

“True. Okay, but lets find a plan B.”

“And C.”

“And D.”

 “I hear sirens!” Someone shouted.

“Come on, the opening is still here!” Y/N shouted.

“Go on baby, mommy and daddy are right behind you.” A pair of parent said to the small girl.

She slid down the concrete ramp, looking scared and timid but Y/N stood by close until her parents met up with her.

“Okay, keep it going, we’re almost out of here!” Y/N encouraged.

It seemed to be going smoothly, everyone was starting to rush down the ram and running outside, frantically.

 “Dean look!” Cas shouted as Dean made a loop around the Mall.

“That’s a good sign, okay, let’s help them.” Dean says, bring the squad to a stop.

“Engine 51, this is squad 51, Cap, there’s an couple of entrances above ground that are stable, but we found one by the underground parking, a large number of survivors are coming out.”

“Copy that.” John says.

“Anyone hurt!” Cas asked as he got out.

A number of people saying their fine, scared. A select few coming forward with injuries of cuts.

“Good job miss on making that tourniquet.” Dean commented.

“Oh, I didn’t do that, a nice lady, a nurse from Rampart did it.”

Dean’s heart dropped. Y/N was in there.

“Did you see her?” Dean asked. Unable to hide the panic look in his face.

“We ran right past her, she led us out that way.”

“Atta girl, Cas you got them?” Dean asked.

“I got them, go.” Cas says as he attends to the couple.

Dean got to the opening and he could see a familiar figure in the dark dusty parking lot.

“Y/N!”

“Dean!” she shouts, turning to find him in the opening.

People still trinkling out. Dean helping them out the best he could.

“You hurt!”

“No, I’m fine, just help them!”

What started as a light tremble got slightly stronger, another aftershock.

“Oh fuck, Y/N hurry up!” Dean shouted.

Y/N hurried the people out. And just as she was making her way to Dean she heard a puppy barking. Stopping her dead in her tracks. She began to search for it.

A puppy scurried out from under a car with a limp, barking fearfully.

“It’s okay baby, I got you.” She says, hurrying to the scared puppy. Looking at it’s paw. Seeing a shard of glass in one of it’s paw pads.

“Poor thing, I got you.” She says.

She heard a crack in the concrete. All of a sudden the ceiling looking closer and feeling a lot closer. She fell on her rear, the ceiling seemed like it didn’t want to stop.

No. she prayed.

The after shock stopping just as soon as it started, the ceiling stopped.

“Y/N! Please say something!”

“I’m okay!” she shouts.

The concrete already sounding unstable, she hurries, crawling on all fours with the puppy in her hand, she even brings her feet into the crawling.

Like a domino effect, the ceiling begins to collapse.

A little girl stopped by one of the cars, scared, crying. Not stopping, she grabs the girl by the arm, and continues to crawl.

“Run guys, run!” Dean chants.

“Keep going sweetie, keep running!” Y/N tells the little girl.

The girl being the first out, dives into Dean’s arms.

“I gotchu sweetheart!” Dean tells her.

Y/N making a dive out, landing on her back with the pupping in her chest as the parking lot collapses behind her in a cloud of dust.

Y/N got up, still holding the puppy, trembling in her arms, licking her graciously on her neck. As if it was thanking her for saving her.

Dean stood by the squad, consoling the child, sees Y/N walking with a puppy in her arms. Panting from the adrenaline. Hurries to her, engulfs her in his arms.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine.”

“You go to Target and you come back with a puppy.” He smirks.

“I couldn’t resist, he was cute!” Y/N giggles.

“So far, everyone’s okay, in one piece, little girl’s back with her parents.” Dean informs her.

“That’s good.”

“Is it me or does danger just seem to find us?”

“Something.”

 The next day…

“Come here Tremor!” Y/N coaxes.

The Basset Hound Puppy running over, his ears flopping in the wind. Making Y/N giggle.

“Good boy!”

“I’m home!” Dean shouts from the house.

“Go get daddy boy!” she encourages. The puppy making a mad dash for Dean. Only to trip on his ears in the run. Earning a laugh from Dean and Y/N.

“It’s okay buddy, I gotchya!” Dean says, meeting the puppy halfway, and picking him up.

The puppy showering Dean in licks.

“Been good for mommy.”

“Still working on potty training, he peed in the house, that’s why I opened it up.”

“Eh, it’s a learning progress for the little dude.”

“Yeah, so, how was work today?”

“Oh, same old. Rescued a cat from a tree, saved a heart attack victim. The usual.” Dean jokes.

Y/N giggling. Giving him a kiss on the lips. Only for him to deepen it, the puppy getting jealous and licking both of them.

“Okay, Tremor, we get it.” Dean goes.

“And I owe someone some sexy fun time tonight.” Y/N says playfully as she heads back inside.

“Yes you do.” Dean says. Following her at her heels.

~

A/N: How did you like it? I’m so glad my block is gone and I was able to cook this up. Let me know how you liked it! Feedback is always appreciated! :3

Dean Girls:

@pandazombie69, @luci-in-trenchcoats, @supernatural-jackles, @becs-bunker, @jayankles, @jeaniespiehs20, @mlovesstories, @winchesters-favorite-girl, @flamencodiva, @megzdoodle, @lyarr24, @akshi8278, @anotherspnfanfic​

~

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