#what else are you supposed to call a tomato when it's a tomato

[guzhufuren]

You call me "girl"? Huaien said "Unbelievable" 😆

Li Le, Wang Yunkai and Fan Lanyue in BTS of Meet You At The Blossom

[solxamber]

Imagine having mc take care of dorm leaders that turned into animals like riddle a hedgehog, leona a lion, Azul a octopus, kalim an otter, vil would definitely be a peacock, idia would be a cat, and lastly malleus a dragon. They would definitely turned into animals due to some spell and I mean imagine seeing a huge dragon outside the ramshackle dorm, it would be really shocking and funny at the same time. 😆

Zoo Tycoon: Housewarden Edition

In which they accidentally turn into animals.

a/n: i started vibrating the minute I saw this because that's such a cute concept and I have no self control so here we go

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle turning into a hedgehog was not on your to-do list today. But alas, here you were, holding a furious, tomato-colored hedgehog that refused to be handled by anyone but you.

“Aw, look at his little face!” Ace cooed, leaning in way too close.

Riddle puffed up, his tiny spines bristling in pure indignation. You could practically feel the how dare you emanating from his quivering form.

Deuce, ever the voice of concern, scratched his head. “What do we do now? Can he… even turn back?”

Ace smirked. “Maybe we just keep him like this. He’s a lot cuter when he can’t yell at us.”

Riddle launched himself at Ace’s hand, delivering a swift poke with his needle-sharp snout. Ace yelped, flailing backward dramatically. “Okay, okay! Geez, he’s still scary even like this.”

You cradled Riddle closer to your chest, where he settled down, still glaring daggers at the others. Somehow, he was perfectly content in your hands, even though he practically vibrated with rage whenever anyone else got near.

As the day went on, Riddle’s hedgehog antics only grew.

At lunch, he sat on your lap, sniffing your sandwich like a tiny food inspector. “You want a bite?” you teased, holding out a crumb.

His tiny paw batted it away with a disdainful look. Well, as disdainful as a hedgehog could manage. He turned his head toward the teapot, making his intentions very clear.

“Oh, of course. Tea for the hedgehog,” Ace snorted. “This is getting ridiculous.”

Later, in the library, Riddle climbed onto your textbook, curling up into a spiky ball to block your reading. You tried to nudge him gently. “Riddle, I need to study.”

He uncurled just enough to glare at you, his beady eyes burning with absolute authority. Message received: study time was over.

By nightfall, you were exhausted. Riddle was perched on a pillow next to you, looking surprisingly regal for a tiny woodland creature.

“Alright, Your Majesty,” you said, rubbing your temples. “How do we turn you back? Should we call Professor Crewel? Or maybe Professor Trein?”

Riddle chirped in protest, clearly not a fan of either option.

Deuce had another bright idea. “What if it’s, like, a true love’s kiss thing? Isn’t that how these fairy tale curses usually work?”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”

But Riddle fixed you with a surprisingly intense hedgehog stare, his little nose twitching.

“Wait, are you… agreeing?” you asked, mildly horrified.

Ace snickered. “Do it. Kiss the hedgehog. For science.”

After much internal debate (and external heckling), you sighed and leaned down to press a soft kiss to Riddle’s tiny forehead.

There was a burst of light, and suddenly, you were nose-to-nose with a very human, very flustered Riddle Rosehearts.

He scrambled backward, covering his face with his hands. “W-well, that was… unexpected.”

“Unexpected?” you echoed. “You asked for it!”

Ace howled with laughter in the background. “So it was true love’s kiss! You two are so gross!”

Riddle glared at him, but his ears were still bright red as he turned to you. “I suppose… I owe you my gratitude. And, um…” He cleared his throat, fidgeting. “Would you—if it’s not too much trouble—consider going out with me?”

You blinked. “Wait, you’re asking me out now?”

Riddle crossed his arms. “You did kiss me. It’s only proper!”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Sure, Hedgehog Prince. Let’s go on a date.”

Riddle muttered something about proper decorum, but his small smile said he wasn’t too upset about it.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona turning into an actual lion wasn’t even the weirdest thing that had happened this week, but it was definitely in the top five.

“C’mon, Prefect.” Ruggie grinned as he all but shoved you into Leona’s room, slamming the door behind you before you could protest. “I got stuff to do, and someone’s gotta deal with him. He only listens to you anyway!”

You turned to find Leona—the lion version—lounging on his bed like the world’s crankiest housecat. His massive paws stretched lazily, his eyes locking onto you with the unmistakable air of finally, someone competent.

“Uh, hi, Leona,” you ventured, waving awkwardly.

He grumbled, a low rumble of approval that shook the floorboards, and flicked his tail in a way that said, Don’t leave.

It became clear very quickly that Lion Leona was just as much of a diva as Human Leona.

First, he refused to eat the steak that Ruggie brought him, pawing at it disdainfully until you had to personally cut it into perfect bite-sized pieces. He made a satisfied grunt after his meal, flopping down at your feet like you were the royal food taster he’d personally hired.

Then, there was the grooming incident.

“Leona, you have something stuck in your mane,” you said, pointing to a suspicious tangle.

He gave you a look that said, And?

Sighing, you grabbed a brush and carefully worked out the knot. To your shock, Leona let out a rumble that sounded suspiciously similar to a purr.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He blinked slowly, the feline equivalent of a smirk.

Ruggie, ever the opportunist, couldn’t resist stopping by to witness the chaos.

“Wow, Prefect, he’s basically a giant kitten with you around,” Ruggie teased, leaning against the doorframe.

Leona growled, a low warning rumble that sent Ruggie scurrying back. “Okay, okay! Sheesh, no need to get territorial. Have fun babysitting!”

You sighed, scratching behind Leona’s ears. “You’re really not helping my case, y’know.”

Leona just huffed and leaned into your touch, clearly unbothered.

By the end of the day, you were sprawled on the bed next to Leona, who was taking up approximately 80% of the mattress.

“You’re kinda cute like this,” you admitted, running your fingers through his mane. “Not that you’re not cute normally, but… y’know. Less grumpy.”

He gave you a look that somehow conveyed I am never not grumpy.

Feeling bold (and maybe a little delirious from exhaustion), you leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead.

There was a sudden, blinding flash of light, and before you could process what was happening, Leona was back in his human form, lounging beside you with his trademark smirk.

“Well, well,” he drawled, propping himself up on one elbow. “Didn’t know you felt that way, herbivore.”

You spluttered. “I—what—this was true love’s kiss?! That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever—”

He leaned closer, cutting off your rant with a low chuckle. “Guess that means you’re stuck with me now. So… dinner? Or are you gonna keep brushing my hair all night?”

Your brain short-circuited, but you managed a weak, “Dinner sounds good.”

Leona smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “Smart choice.”

From outside, Ruggie’s muffled voice shouted, “Hey, did it work? Can I come back now, or is he still a murder machine?”

Leona groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Sevens, someone muzzle that guy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning into Leona’s side. Maybe being stuck with him wasn’t such a bad deal after all.

Azul Ashengrotto

To be fair, you weren’t exactly surprised when Jade and Floyd ambushed you outside Mostro Lounge. Their grins alone screamed mischief.

“Shrimpy~,” Floyd sing-songed, grabbing you by the arm. “C’mon, we need your help.”

“Azul’s having a little… situation,” Jade added with a cryptic smile. “And we think you’re the only one who can help.”

Before you could protest, you were unceremoniously dragged into Mostro Lounge, through a hidden door, and deposited in front of a massive aquarium. Inside was—

“Is that an octopus?” you asked, squinting.

The octopus—no, wait, Azul—floated pathetically in the corner, looking as done with life as an eight-legged creature could manage.

“Yep,” Floyd said cheerfully. “Boss turned himself into an octopus. Wouldn’t let anyone near him, though, so…”

Jade handed you a bottle filled with suspiciously glowing liquid. “Breathing potion. You’re going in.”

“Excuse me?!”

Before you could escape, Floyd picked you up like a sack of potatoes and dumped you into the tank.

You flailed briefly, realizing the potion worked—thank Sevens—but also realizing you were now face-to-face with Octopus Azul.

“Uh, hi?” you ventured, swimming awkwardly closer.

Azul didn’t respond, but one of his tentacles twitched and pointedly smacked the glass. You got the impression he was saying Why me?

“It’s not like I asked for this, y’know!” you huffed, crossing your arms. “Your goons threw me in here!”

Azul floated closer, his large, round eyes narrowing as if to say Yes, and they will pay.

It didn’t take long for Azul to warm up to you, mostly because he realized you weren’t leaving.

“Are you sulking?” you teased after his sixth dramatic float to the other side of the tank.

A tentacle flicked water in your direction, splashing you.

“Hey!” You swam closer and poked him on the head. “Don’t be such a baby.”

Azul responded by curling a tentacle around your wrist, pulling you closer.

“Okay, fine, you’re cute,” you muttered, patting his squishy head. “There, happy?”

Azul’s tentacles tightened slightly, and you were 90% sure he was smug about it.

After what felt like hours of tentacle shenanigans (including one terrifying moment where Azul tried to steal your potion bottle), you sighed.

“You’re lucky you’re adorable,” you said, booping his forehead.

Azul blinked at you, his gaze softer than usual. He looked so pitiful and huggable that, without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead.

There was a bright flash, and suddenly you were face-to-face with human Azul, who was sitting awkwardly in the shallow end of the tank, his face as red as a lobster.

“W-What did you just—”

“Oh my Sevens, you’re back!” you interrupted, relief washing over you. “Thank goodness, I thought I’d have to live in here forever!”

Azul cleared his throat, clearly flustered. “I—thank you. For… that.”

“No problem,” you said breezily, though your face felt like it was on fire.

Azul hesitated, fiddling with his glasses. “Would you, ah, perhaps… accompany me to dinner? As a token of gratitude, of course!”

“Sure,” you said, smiling. “But only if you promise to stop turning yourself into an octopus.”

He flushed even deeper, complaining something about “unavoidable circumstances,” but you couldn’t help laughing. Maybe dating an occasionally-octopus Azul wouldn’t be so bad.

From outside the tank, Floyd’s voice rang out: “Aww, Boss finally grew a backbone! Way to go, Shrimpy!”

Azul groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I’m never hearing the end of this.”

You patted his shoulder. “Welcome to my life.”

Kalim Al-Asim

You really should have known something was wrong when Jamil showed up at your doorstep, eyes bloodshot and twitching slightly.

“I need your help,” he said, and those four words alone should’ve been your cue to lock the door and pretend you weren’t home.

But you didn’t, and that’s how you ended up sitting in Kalim’s opulent room, staring at a very excited otter splashing around in a gold-lined kiddie pool.

“You’re telling me Kalim turned himself into this?” you asked, pointing at the small, slippery creature currently attempting to roll onto his back and failing.

“Yes,” Jamil said, deadpan, rubbing his temples. “And he refuses to let anyone near him. Except apparently you.”

Kalim—the otter—perked up at the sound of your voice, flipping over and waddling toward you. He made a happy chirping sound before flopping dramatically onto your lap, his tiny paws grabbing at your shirt.

“See?” Jamil muttered, folding his arms. “This is why you’re staying here. I can’t deal with this anymore.”

Kalim was, to put it mildly, a handful.

One moment, he was contentedly snuggling in your lap, and the next, he was zooming across the floor, knocking over priceless vases and dragging an entire silk curtain into his pool.

“Uh, Kalim?” you called, watching as he tried to balance a sparkling golden spoon on his nose. “Maybe we don’t need to destroy the room?”

Kalim chirped in protest, clearly having the time of his life. He then waddled over to you, clutching the spoon like it was a treasure, and deposited it in your lap with a proud squeak.

“Well, at least he’s sharing,” you muttered, patting his head.

From the corner, Jamil was silently mouthing “thank you” over and over like a man who had just been freed from a lifetime of torment.

Kalim’s kiddie pool was more like a miniature lagoon, complete with floating toys and what looked suspiciously like a jewel-encrusted raft.

At some point, Kalim decided it would be fun to drag you into the water.

“Hey—wait, no!” you yelped as his surprisingly strong little paws grabbed at your sleeve, pulling you toward the pool. “I’m not getting in there!”

Kalim chirped insistently, his big otter eyes boring into your soul.

“Oh, come on,” you groaned. “Don’t give me that look.”

He gave you the look.

Five minutes later, you were sitting in the pool, soaked and glaring at Jamil, who was clearly struggling not to laugh.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you snapped.

“Immensely,” Jamil said, smirking.

After hours of otter chaos—during which Kalim managed to steal your shoe, splash water in your face, and attempt to juggle three golden coins—you finally sat back with a sigh.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, patting his head as he snuggled against you.

Kalim let out a happy chirp, his little paws clutching your hand. He looked so ridiculously adorable that, without thinking, you leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead.

There was a sudden burst of light, and when you opened your eyes, Kalim was sitting in front of you, back to his usual self—though still dripping wet and grinning ear to ear.

“You kissed me!” he exclaimed, his face lighting up like the sun.

“I—uh—well,” you stammered, your face heating up.

“Does this mean you like me?” he asked, tilting his head with an innocent smile.

Before you could respond, Jamil groaned from the corner. “Sevens, just ask them out already.”

Kalim turned to you, his grin widening. “Will you go out with me?”

You blinked at him, still processing the fact that you had just kissed an otter-turned-human. But then you smiled, nodding.

“Sure, Kalim.”

Kalim cheered, pulling you into a hug that nearly knocked you over. Meanwhile, Jamil sighed in relief, celebrating about finally getting some peace and quiet.

From the doorway, a passing student peeked in, took one look at the drenched mess of a room, and decided it was better not to ask.

Vil Schoenheit

The day Vil Schoenheit turned into a peacock was the day you realized that your life at NRC was destined to never be normal.

“I don’t know how it happened!” Epel blurted, waving his hands in panic. “One second he was lecturing me about my skincare routine, and the next—poof! Peacock!”

“Of course, he’s a peacock,” you muttered, staring at the magnificent bird perched on the Pomefiore chaise lounge. The peacock in question—Vil—looked at you with a familiar haughty glare, which was impressive considering he now had beady bird eyes.

From the very beginning, Vil made it clear that he refused to be handled by anyone except you.

When Rook tried to approach him with a soothing poem about the beauty of nature, Vil screeched so loudly it sent even the huntsman scrambling.

When Epel tried to shoo him toward the door, Vil flared his tail feathers in a display so intimidating that Epel backed away, muttering, “This is worse than when he makes me wear lip gloss.”

But when you stepped forward, Vil immediately strutted over, his glossy feathers shimmering under the light. He circled you once before settling at your feet, letting out a dignified coo.

“Well, at least someone likes me,” you muttered, kneeling down to pat his head.

Vil preened under your touch, looking every bit the diva he was even in bird form.

Life with peacock Vil was… an adventure.

For one, he refused to eat anything that wasn’t served on fine china.

“Are you serious?” you asked, holding up a bowl of birdseed.

Vil turned his head away with a disdainful chirp, his tail feathers twitching in annoyance.

“Fine,” you groaned, dumping the seed onto a porcelain plate. “Happy now?”

Vil cooed in approval, delicately pecking at the food like it was a Michelin-star meal.

Then there was the incident with the mirror.

You found him perched in front of the Pomefiore vanity, admiring his reflection with an intensity that could only be described as borderline obsessive.

“You’re really leaning into the peacock thing, huh?” you teased.

Vil shot you a look that screamed How dare you, you pleb? before returning to his reflection, fluffing his feathers dramatically.

After a few days of peacock antics—including Vil refusing to let Epel touch his feathers (Glaring at him like he was screaming "He’s going to ruin them!”) and scaring off an unfortunate group of first-years with his aggressive tail display—you decided enough was enough.

“Alright, Vil,” you said, sitting down beside him. “We need to figure out how to fix this.”

Vil cooed softly, nuzzling against your hand.

You stared at him, your heart melting a little. He was undeniably cute in his current form, but you missed the human Vil—the one who could scold you for slouching and deliver a flawless monologue at the drop of a hat.

Without thinking, you leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his feathered head.

There was a blinding flash of light, and suddenly, you were no longer holding a peacock but a very human—and very flustered—Vil Schoenheit.

“You… kissed me,” he said, his cheeks turning an uncharacteristic shade of pink.

“I—uh—well, you were cute?” you offered weakly.

Vil blinked at you, his usual composure slipping as he processed your words. Then, to your surprise, a small smile tugged at his lips.

“Perhaps we should make this official,” he said smoothly, though the faint blush on his face betrayed his nerves. “Would you like to go out with me?”

You stared at him, your brain short-circuiting for a moment. Then, you smiled, nodding.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Vil’s smile widened, and for the first time since he’d turned back, you saw the confident, radiant Vil you knew and admired.

From the doorway, Rook peeked in, his eyes sparkling with delight. “Ah, the beauty of true love!”

Epel groaned, muttering, “This is the weirdest dorm ever.”

Idia Shroud

The day you were unceremoniously dragged into Idia’s room by Ortho, you knew something was amiss.

Ortho clasped his hands together as you stumbled inside. "Please take good care of Big Brother!"

“Wait, what?” you started, but Ortho was already zooming out the door, leaving you alone in the darkened chaos that was Idia’s sanctuary.

And there, sitting in the middle of the room on a glowing gaming chair, was a cat.

A very grumpy-looking cat with blue flame-like fur tips and unmistakable, judgmental yellow eyes.

“Idia?” you whispered, staring at the cat.

The cat hissed—its ears flat against its head. Yep, that was definitely Idia.

"Ortho wasn’t joking…" you muttered, inching closer.

Idia-the-cat glared at you, his tail swishing like a disapproving metronome. But as soon as you reached out a cautious hand, he hesitated before begrudgingly letting you scratch behind his ears.

He let out the tiniest, most reluctant purr.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, your grin growing. “You’re so cute like this.”

The purring immediately stopped, and Idia swatted your hand away with a mortified meow that screamed, Don’t push it.

It didn’t take long for you to realize Idia-the-cat was just as much of a shut-in as his human counterpart.

When you tried to offer him some cat toys Ortho had left behind, he ignored them completely—until you dangled a toy shaped like a gaming controller.

Then, he lunged at it with surprising ferocity, claws out and eyes gleaming with an intensity that said, This is serious business.

You had to stop him from knocking over his prized figurines while he chased the toy across the room.

“Idia, stop! That’s a limited edition!” you cried, diving to save a teetering anime girl statue.

Idia froze mid-pounce, his tail twitching guiltily.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you said, setting the figure back on its shelf. “You’re worse than Grim.”

Idia meowed in protest, and you could swear he was rolling his eyes.

After a few hours of babysitting Cat Idia—during which he refused to eat anything but snacks from his secret stash and managed to trap himself inside a VR headset—you were completely exhausted.

You flopped onto his bed, sighing. “Idia, you're my friend, but you’re so much work.”

The cat jumped up beside you, curling into a surprisingly neat ball. His flame-like fur glowed softly in the dim light, and for a moment, he actually looked peaceful.

Unable to resist, you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his head.

There was a sudden flash of blue light, and you yelped as a very human—and very embarrassed—Idia Shroud appeared beside you.

“W-What just happened?!” he stammered, his face as red as his fiery hair tips.

You blinked at him, your brain struggling to reboot. “Uh… I think true love’s kiss broke the curse?”

Idia froze, his expression cycling between mortified and completely panicked.

“Wait, d-does that mean you… like me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because if you don’t, I-I’m just gonna go dig my own grave now—”

You cut him off with a laugh, your cheeks burning. “Yeah, I like you, you dummy.”

Idia stared at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Then, after a moment, he managed a small, shy smile.

“I… like you too,” he mumbled, fiddling with a lock of his hair. “So, uh… do you maybe wanna… go out? Like, on a d-date or something?”

Your heart did a little flip. “I’d love that.”

From the doorway, Ortho peeked in, his face lighting up. “Brother, I knew you could do it! This is the best day ever!”

Idia groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Ortho, please!”

But despite his embarrassment, he couldn’t stop the small smile that lingered on his lips.

Malleus Draconia

The day began like any other—except for the part where a massive dragon blocked the sunrise by parking itself right outside your window.

You blinked blearily, rubbing your eyes. Surely, this was a dream.

Then you heard an enthusiastic voice from below. "Good morning! Do you like your new dragon?"

You leaned out the window to see none other than Lilia Vanrouge, waving up at you with far too much cheer for this absurd situation. Beside him, Sebek was on his knees, his fists clenched, eyes practically bleeding tears of devotion—or frustration. Hard to tell with Sebek.

“Lilia,” you called down, “what the hell is that?” You pointed at the dragon, who was now looking at you with suspiciously familiar glowing green eyes.

“Oh, that’s Malleus!” Lilia replied, as though this was completely normal. “He seems to have had a little… magical mishap.”

“MISTAKE OF FATE, NOT A MISHAP!” Sebek roared, glaring up at you like it was somehow your fault. “AND THE YOUNG MASTER HAS CHOSEN YOU TO TEND TO HIS NOBLE FORM!”

You stared at the dragon—Malleus—again. His enormous tail thudded against the ground in what you could only assume was agreement.

“...You’ve got to be kidding me.”

After some coaxing (read: being dragged out by Sebek while you were still in your pajamas), you found yourself face-to-face with Dragon Malleus.

He lowered his massive head toward you, his glowing eyes narrowing in what you could only describe as smugness. When you hesitated, he huffed, a cloud of warm smoke billowing over you.

“Okay, okay, I get it! You want attention,” you grumbled, reaching up to pat his snout.

The dragon let out a low rumble of approval, curling his tail protectively around you.

Sebek sobbed dramatically in the background. “TO THINK THE YOUNG MASTER TRUSTS YOU ABOVE ALL OTHERS! IT IS BOTH AN HONOR AND A TRAVESTY!”

“Sebek, for the love of the Seven, stop yelling,” you snapped. “I already have a headache.”

Lilia chuckled from his perch on a nearby tree. “Oh, this is delightful. I wonder if I should be worried for you or amused by Malleus’s possessiveness.”

Dragon Malleus growled at Lilia, his tail sweeping protectively in front of you like a giant scaly barrier.

“Noted, noted!” Lilia said with a laugh, holding up his hands.

After a day of being followed around by a giant dragon who wouldn’t let you out of his sight (and growled at anyone who dared approach), you were officially at your wit’s end.

“Malleus,” you said, crossing your arms. “I know you’re stuck like this, but you can’t just… kidnap me for emotional support!”

Malleus blinked at you, his big dragon eyes somehow managing to look both sheepish and stubborn.

You sighed, stepping closer. “You’re kind of cute like this, though,” you admitted, reaching up to scratch his snout. His eyes half-closed in contentment, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

Then, on a whim, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his scaly cheek.

There was a sudden burst of magic, and you stumbled back as the massive form of the dragon shimmered and shrank. In its place stood a very human—and very flustered—Malleus Draconia.

“Child of Man,” he said, his face uncharacteristically red. “Your… your kiss… it broke the spell.”

You stared at him, your brain buffering. “Wait, true love’s kiss was the answer?!”

Malleus nodded solemnly. “Indeed.”

From behind you, Lilia cackled. “Oh, how romantic! A tale for the ages!”

Sebek, meanwhile, looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “T-T-THE YOUNG MASTER’S TRUE LOVE?! UNBELIEVABLE!”

Malleus stepped closer, his expression softening as he looked down at you. “If this spell has revealed anything, it is that my feelings for you are genuine. Will you allow me to court you properly?”

You blinked, your face heating up. “Uh… yeah. Sure. But maybe next time, we skip the whole ‘giant possessive dragon’ thing?”

Malleus chuckled, taking your hand. “Anything for you, my treasure.”

Sebek fainted on the spot.

Masterlist

[charliemwrites]

Men At Work - Part 3

I know this has been a little slow to start, but things should progress a little more quickly from here. I wanted to establish some of the groundwork for this weird dynamic they all have but unfortunately, these men don't know the meaning of slow, even in my own head.

No Content Warnings

“How are the repairs going?” you ask.

It’s just Nikto today, returning your Tupperware from dinner the other night. He’s covered head to toe once again, all that’s visible are those glass blue eyes. One way mirrors - hiding everything beneath the surface.

They remind you of… something. 

Hmm. When you figure it out, they’re sure to make an appearance in your next novel.

“On track,” he answers in that sharp, staccato way you’re learning is just his way.

Unfortunately for him, that just makes you more curious. You know it’s a bit obnoxious - you’re not entitled to information, you know that. And most of the time you curb the inquiries tapping at the back of your teeth. But he’s in your house, snuggling your traumatized cat. If he’s got a problem answering casual questions, you’re certain he’ll have no problem letting you know.

“You’re redoing the whole thing?”

“Most of it. Foundation is good. The rest - дерьмо.”

You don’t know a lick of Russian, but you can guess.

“Good bones,” you hum in understanding. As if you know anything about construction. “That helps. When do you think it will be done?”

He shifts, sharp eyes flicking between your busy hands, the door, and Rasputin holding him lovingly hostage.

Little guy is currently perched on your shoulder, face buried against your collar in abject despair that his bestest friend hasn’t come to visit. Shithead is poaching (or attempting to, anyway) the sandwiches you’re assembling. So far, she’s only swishing her tail, biding her time. You’re keeping an eye on her.

“Two months. Three if any of us are called.”

You hum, reach for the tomatoes. It’s only because you’re looking at him that you notice the slightest twitch around his eyes. Beneath his mask, you’d bet he’s scrunching his nose.

“No?”

“I will eat.”

You leave the tomatoes off. Guy mews sadly, you tilt your head to press a kiss to his little ear.

“So, two or three months. Krueger said you’ll move in then.”

“Da.”

You top the sandwiches with a final slice of bread and turn to the oven. Spin back just in time to catch Shithead’s paw reaching for Krueger’s designated sandwich. Nikto eyes the plate of brownies in your free hand; you bite the corner of your mouth to keep from grinning.

“What about the yard?”

Nikto tilts his head. If he didn’t give the impression of a particularly large predator, you’d call it cute. As it is, even spiders and snakes endear themselves to you somehow.

“What about yard?”

“Any plans for it?” You sneak an extra brownie onto Nikto’s plate. Reward and apology for wrenching conversation out of him. “Grass? Trees? Flowers?”

He blinks. Just once. Some sort of intuition tells you that even that behavioral tic is a big social step for him.

“No.”

“Oh, uh… gravel then?”

“We mean no plans,” he corrects.

“Oh! Alright, I suppose that’s a long way off anyway. There’s still so much work to do on the inside.”

But it does get you thinking. What even goes into fixing a house? And how do they know all this stuff? The electric, the insulation, the… whatever else goes into a home. Is it just Weird Things they picked up from the military?

You stare contemplatively at the house’s exterior as you walk the plates across the street with Nikto. (Ras is riding on his shoulder and Guy refused to detach his claws from yours. You fear for the state of your home with Shithead left behind, but neither you nor Nikto had a spare hand to wrangle her with.)

Nikto practically kicks the door in, shouting for the others as he goes. Guy chooses that moment to start crying - uncanny sense for appearing pathetic as possible.

Konig must hear him halfway down the stairs, because the steady boot steps get faster after a moment.

“Oh, bubchen! Why are you sad? What has happened?” Konig coos, nearly running to your side.

Of course, now that he’s gotten what he wanted, Guy’s volume lowers. He makes a pleased little “mrow” and slinks off your shoulder and into Konig’s reaching hands. You’d call him a traitor but you’re a damn sucker for a big man with a cute animal. 

“You two are ridiculous,” you laugh, setting the plates on the counter.

It’s already been replaced since last you saw it. Black granite, very sleek. You like it. (Which of them installed it? Nikto? You usually catch glimpses of him on the ground floor.)

“He is a baby, Biene,” Konig protests, “he must be treated like one.”

“He’s already five!” You reply, like you don’t have a papoose for when your hands are too full to snuggle him.

“Did I stutter? I do not think so. This is a baby.”

You have to turn away to hide your laughter, pretending that taking the foil off the lunches requires your full attention.

Krueger steps up behind you while you’re not looking. The heat of him is what alerts you, the only reason you don’t jump when his rough voice comes by your head.

“Where is the Shithead.”

“Hello to you too, Krueger. How is your day?”

He grunts and reaches past you, trying to snatch up a brownie. Without a thought, you slap at his hand - balk at the sharp whack sound it makes. He jerks his hand back in shock.

“You deny me my dearest friend and you attack me in my own home.”

You spin on your heel, mouth already open. False start as you realize he’s even closer than you expected. The height difference doesn’t seem like much until you’re eye level with his neck. You untangle your tongue and ignore the smirk growing at the corner of his scarred mouth.

“This is barely a house, never mind a home,” you scoff.

He snorts - that smirk turns to a full blown grin. A little crazed. Unfortunately, that makes it more attractive. (And the bastard probably knows it too.)

“You insult me too, now.”

“Sure, but I brought you food.”

He flicks his eyes to the plate behind you and arches a brow.

“Bring me the little Sheisskerl and I will forgive you.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Go get her yourself.”

What the hell did you just say? Inviting a man into your house unaccompanied?! You may not be a true crime writer, but you know better.

You still don’t take it back.

He locks eyes with you, gives the distinct impression that he knows exactly what you just thought and he’s amused by your obstinance.

“Fine.” He reaches past your hip. Smells like sweat and something that reminds you of heat. Solder? Certainly not anything you’re used to. “Behave, eh? Konig is easy to take advantage of.”

You snort and glance at Konig over his shoulder, who’s glaring now. (Somehow no less intimidating even with Guy nuzzling at his mask.)

As Krueger turns, he takes a big bite of brownie, humming appreciatively under his breath. You shake your head, then turn to Konig.

“If you want to steal one of his sandwiches, I’ll look the other way.”

Konig barks a short, sharp laugh of surprise. It startles you a bit, but not enough to wipe the grin from your face. You know he really means it when he sounds like that.

“How are the bathroom repairs going?” you ask.

“They are going well!” he answers. Then launches into an in-depth explanation of all the ongoing projects. Replacing walls, rewirings, outlet and light installations. What doesn’t go over your head is almost too fast to understand as his accent thickens with excitement. You nod along anyway, because you asked, and he’s stupidly endearing - big muscular man getting a bit squeaky while he rambles about pipes.

He barely even notices Guy’s little paw reaching until it’s shoved into his open mouth. He sputters as you burst into laughter, gently tucking Guy’s arm against his chest.

“Why would you do this?!” he asks, only to receive a slow blink in response.

“He’s saying you need to eat,” you giggle, nudging Konig’s plate.

“Oh, that’s right! Thank you for the lunch!”

Barely a couple bites in and you hear the door open again. Krueger stomps in with Shithead bundled in his arms, one hand under her bottom, the other around her tummy. She’s got her head tilted all the way back to chirp and chitter at him.

“Why are you carrying her like that?” you ask, choking back a giggle. 

“It is how she wishes to be carried.”

You blink at her - but sure as shit, she’s perfectly content being held like a child’s toy.

“Well good luck eating like that.”

“You won’t feed me?” he leers.

“I don’t want rabies if you bite me.”

His laughter is even harsher than Konig’s. You like it instantly.

All that’s left is to hear Nikto’s.

Agatha is outside when Nikto walks you back home.

(Krueger huffed that he had too much work to do for the day, but he would see you for dinner. While you were still blinking in shock at his self-invite, Konig transitioned Little Guy back into your arms. All the while grumbling at Krueger’s impatient German.)

She scowls as she notices your two-person parade. Nikto’s juggling Little Guy and Rasputin; you’ve got a firm grip on Shithead and the stack of dirty plates. You snort a bit just thinking of her paranoid comments about them being bad men. Sure, they might be in some ways, but it’s a hard sell when Ras is trying to lick at the edge of the mask around Nikto’s eyes.

“Afternoon, Agatha,” you call, just to be petty.

“When is your fiance coming by again?” she calls back. “Such a lovely young man.”

Your mirth dries up in an instant. “I broke up with my boyfriend four months ago. I thought I told you.”

You did. You know you did. Because she’s a nosy pain in the ass that was asking about your Easter plans with him (trying to invite you to church once again) when you told her that you left him. She’d even fussed about it at the time, saying that there’s hardly anything that can’t be healed with time and understanding.

(It was only your commitment to your own privacy that kept you from asking how much time it takes to smooth over someone cheating with your cousin.)

At your side, Nikto grunts. You glance sideways at him, wondering what he must think.

But his eyes are on Agatha. Even Rasputin has paused the grooming routine to narrow his one eye at her.

“Is this the one that looks in mailbox?” he asks, louder than you’ve ever heard.

Loud enough that she hears. And flushes redder than the poppies in your flowerboxes.

“That’s her husband, actually,” you answer. She sputters, and an incredibly immature bolt of satisfaction suffuses you.

He grunts again. Eyes her up and down. “Maybe we leave surprise for him next time, da?”

You press your lips together, but it does nothing to prevent you from grinning. He’s deadly serious, though, which somehow makes it even funnier to you.

“Maybe!” you reply in a tone that really means absolutely.

Nikto shuts the door on her face before Agath can get out a threat to call the police.

“You’ve got a petty streak,” you say, grinning at him.

He tilts his head. “You like.” He doesn’t even sound sure if it’s a question or a statement.

“Yeah,” you giggle, “I like it.”

He grunts and takes the plates from your hand. “We wash. You think about dinner and revenge. Da?”

You plop yourself onto a stool by the kitchen counter. “Da.”

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Masterlist

[willowsnook]

Done Waiting

Lando Norris x bsf!reader

She isn’t you

Hi, could I request a salami sandwich with tomato on wheat bread, please, and thank you. Request from @itsnotsophiasworld

—-------------------------------

MF: SOS, can anyone fly to Spain to check on Lando? From what I’ve gathered, he is staying in an Airbnb by himself and very much in his head. I’m caught up in some work stuff, or else I’d make the trip myself. 

Your heart sank reading Max's text to your friend group. Lando had been having a rough season and was constantly getting ripped apart in the media, no matter what he did. All you could do was make sure that he knew you were there for him and try to be around as much as possible, which was easy as you also lived in Monaco. But after the last race before summer break, none of you had heard from him. 

Looking at flights, you quickly replied to the group saying that you could go. One of the many perks of working remotely was that you could pick up your computer and go anywhere, so leaving to help Lando was a no-brainer. There was a flight leaving tonight, so you purchased that and started to pack. 

You wished the world could see him the way that you did. He was a caring, down-to-earth friend who would do anything for the people he loved. It was hard for anyone who knew him not to like him, and it was hard for you not to be in love with him. 

It hadn’t taken you long after meeting him to fall for his charm, but he had been dating someone else then, so you settled for friendship. That was three years ago, and you’d dated guys since, but the feelings still lingered. He could make you feel like you were the only girl in the world, so it was easy to get sucked in. 

Ultimately, you valued your friendship too much to ever act on it, even when you were both single. You’d been through too much together to risk losing him. You had a hunch that he felt the same way about you because of how overly affectionate he was with you compared to everyone else and that you were usually his first call. Still, his life was busy, and you understood that a girlfriend didn’t fit in that picture right now. 

Landing in Spain around 10, you grabbed your luggage before jumping in a cab to the address Max had sent you. The Airbnb was a cute little beach cottage right on the ocean, and you inhaled a deep breath of salty air and instantly felt better. 

The door to the house swung open, and you were greeted by what seemed to be a very irritated Lando. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Making sure you don’t do something crazy,” you replied, mirroring him with his arms. 

“I want to be alone.”

“I don’t care.” 

You stared at each other for a while, neither one giving in before he finally sighed and moved past you to grab your suitcase, grumbling to himself. The cottage had windows on the backside, allowing a constant view of the ocean, which you could appreciate. Lando put my luggage in the guest room before joining me as you looked at the water. 

“You didn’t have to come; I’m fine,” he muttered. You looked over at him with a sad smile, reaching your hand down to grab his. 

“I wanted to come.” He gave you a small smile, and you took in his exhausted state, noting just how bad it really was. 

“Why don’t we get some rest? Then you’ll be ready for a full day tomorrow,” you suggested, and he looked over at you. 

“I’m here to relax, y/n,” he said, and you smiled mischievously. 

“It will be relaxing, I promise.”

It was not relaxing. 

You dragged Lando out of bed at 7 a.m. to go on a run, and he was not happy with you, but you were just happy he came along. Jogging through the little town, you could tell that his mood was improving as he kept pace with you. 

Out of breath, you were hunched over as you two had climbed to the top of a dune. 

“Are you not relaxed?” Lando teased, and you gave him the finger. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” 

“Yeah, I need to log on when we get back to the place,” you wheezed, and he handed you his water bottle. “What are your plans for while I work?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, scroll through social media hate, maybe watch all my old races and critique everything I did; the possibilities are endless.” 

Shooting him a look, you sighed, “That would be funny if I didn’t know you’d already been doing that.” 

He looked down at his feet, and you moved over to him, wrapping your arms around his torso. His head found your shoulder, he breathed deeply, and you held on tighter. 

“You’re going to be okay Lan,” you said, looking up at him. 

“I know,” he said sadly. 

Lando spent the rest of the day in the water while you worked, slipping away to get groceries for the night. He hadn’t had time to hide all the takeout bags and boxes he had been surviving on, so you figured a homecooked meal would do him well. 

Having dealt with him being a picky eater for a while, you were finishing up your favorite spaghetti and meatballs recipe when he came back into the house. 

“Smells great,” he commented and you smiled. “Can we eat outside?”

“You read my mind,” you replied, plating the food. 

Eating on the back deck, you felt a sense of serenity as the sound of waves crashing filled your ears. 

“This place is amazing; how did you find it?” You asked, turning to Lando. 

“Honestly, I just opened the app and picked the first place I saw that looked secluded,” he admitted. “I just wanted to be away from everyone.” 

“We are here for you to lean on Lan,” you said softly. “I’m never going to leave you.” 

“I know that, but I just don’t want to disappoint you,” he confessed, and your heart sank. 

“Lando Norris,” you said, forcing him to look at you. “There is nothing you could ever do to disappoint me. I am so insanely proud of everything you’ve accomplished. Please come back to Monaco with me tomorrow.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” He whispered, holding out his arms. You climbed into his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and running your fingers through his hair. 

“You buy me so much shit so I have to be nice to you,” you joked and he giggled. He pulled his head back to look at you, and your breath hitched because of the lack of distance between the two of you. Shifting, you tried to move back but his grip on you tightened so you leaned down to bring your lips to his. As you were a millimeter away his phone started to ring and you rested your head briefly against his, groaning internally. 

Sliding off of him you handed him his phone as it was Max calling. Hearing him tell Max he was coming home the next day made you smile, and you gathered all the dishes to clean up. He joined you a little later, and neither of you brought up the almost kiss; you wrote it off as something that happened in the heat of the moment. 

—------------------------------

Zandvoort was a dream, and you were so glad you made the trip with your friends. The next race you were going to was Singapore and Lando had invited you, Max, and some others to hang out the week before in Portugal. 

Your friend group had rented a big house, and you were ready to soak in the sun and relax after taking the week off work. Pietra and you had flown in together and met up with everyone that night at dinner. 

“Hi, I’m Mary,” a girl you didn’t recognize said to you, holding out her hand. You smiled back warmly, introducing yourself. 

“Mary and I met at a shoot early this year,” Pietra explained, and you nodded. You chatted with her for a while over dinner, glad to have another girl on the trip. 

You were less happy the next day when you watched this girl throw herself at Lando every chance she got. Right now, you were watching as she asked Lando how to show her how to hit the ball off the tee at the golf course where you guys were. 

“Ya know I went golfing with her two weeks ago, and she had a perfect swing,” Pietra muttered and you grimaced, watching Lando wrap his arms around the girl to guide her swing. It seemed like she would find a way to touch him no matter where you went. Up against him at dinner, clinging to him in the pool, leaning on him while you were watching a movie. 

At this point your jealousy was flaring up and you were trying to keep your composure, especially because this girl had been nothing but nice to you. What made it worse was that Lando entertained it, accepting her advances right in front of you. Your mind replayed that almost kiss back in Spain and the way the two of you had gotten closer since that trip. It had seemed to you that something was changing in your relationship, but clearly not. The whole trip you felt like your heart was being ripped apart and you were starting to wonder if you needed to take a break from being around him until you could get over your crush. 

Two nights before you were supposed to leave the group ended up at a club downtown as a pre-celebration for what you predicted would be a Lando win in Singapore. Rounds and rounds of shots were taken and you were dancing with Pietra on the dance floor trying to have a good time. 

You briefly glanced back at the VIP section, and your stomach dropped. Mary was sitting on Lando’s lap, and you watched as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Water instantly filled your eyes, and Pietra looked concerned before following your gaze. She looked at you with such sadness that you decided then and there that you were done. 

Leaving the club you walked back to the Airbnb alone. You weren’t sure if it was your drunkenness or just the emotional exhaustion of the situation but you started to get angry. Time after time, you were there for him and this is what you got back. It would be different if he had made it clear from the start that he wasn’t interested but he didn’t do that. He slept in your bed back in Monaco on nights like these, he spoiled you constantly with gifts, and you knew that he had told other drivers on the grid to back off from you, laying a claim. 

God, you were so fucking over it. 

You gathered all your stuff and threw it in your suitcase, calling for a cab to take you to the airport. You made it down the stairs just as Max was coming in. His face fell as he saw your bag. 

"No y/n don’t go,” he pleaded, and you shook your head, already feeling tears start to fill your eyes. 

“I can’t fucking do this anymore Max,” you said, voice cracking. “I have to protect my heart.” 

“You know he loves you,” he said moving towards you to hold you. “Everyone knows that.” 

“If that’s true, why have I watched him with her this whole weekend? Why did I just watch him sit there when she stuck her tongue down his throat right in front of me,” you yelled and Max stayed silent. “Exactly. I need some space to figure out how things can move forward between us.” 

Max helped you carry your bag outside and the two of you stood silently waiting for the car. Just as it pulled up, Lando walked up to the house, alone. 

“Y/N!” He called out, not seeing your suitcase yet. “Where’d you run off too? I was looking for you.” 

You turned around and his eyes widened seeing your tear stained face, his gaze flickering down to your bag. 

“What’s going on?” He asked hoarsely and you just shook your head turning back to get into the car before you started to sob. 

“Let her go mate,” you heard Max tell him and you looked out the window to see him holding Lando back. The sight made you cry harder as the car finally drove off. 

Lando’s POV

Watching the car disappear down the street, Lando turned to Max, panic and confusion colliding in his mind.

“Why is she leaving, Max? What the hell happened?”

Max let out a sigh, his eyes searching Lando’s face with a mix of frustration and pity. “Mate, she’s in love with you. And honestly, you’re in love with her too, even if you haven’t figured it out yet.”

Lando froze, the weight of Max’s words hitting him harder than he expected. He thought of all the moments he spent with you—the late-night talks, the shared laughter, the comforting silence. He thought about how he’d let Mary get close, but each time she reached for him, a nagging feeling crept up inside him.

She isn’t you.

The thought was so painfully clear now. It didn’t matter how kind or fun Mary was—she wasn’t you. And suddenly, he realized why none of it felt right.

“I need to go,” Lando said suddenly. “I need to go to the airport.” 

He took off down to the main street hailing a cab but when he finally got there, you were gone. 

—--------------------------------------------

You skipped the Singapore GP. You didn’t even watch it on tv so you didn’t know why everyone was wondering why despite winning, Lando looked miserable standing on the podium. 

He had texted you a million times begging you to call him but you declined the call everytime. You were trying to move on. You’d started running again in the mornings, working out of coffee shops,  and hanging out with your girlfriends. Basically you were doing everything in your power to not think of him; and it worked until 10pm each night. Then you were miserable. 

It was two weeks after Singapore when you heard knocking at your door one evening. You weren’t expecting anyone so you were especially surprised to see Oscar standing on the other side of your door. Considering he didn’t live in Monaco, you didn’t really know what to say, just stared at him silently. 

“May I come in?” He asked politely and you nodded, stepping aside to let him through. “Nice apartment.”

“Thanks,” you replied following him into the living room. “What are you doing here?”

He settled down on your couch, motioning for you to join him and you sunk down on the other side. 

“I need you to tell me what happened when you and Lando were in Portugal,” he said slowly and you immediately looked away. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you mumbled, playing with your hands. 

“It does matter,” Oscar insisted. “It’s okay if you finally rejected him but I need to know how to fix him.”

Your head snapped up, “I didn’t reject him Oscar. He basically rejected me.” 

“There’s no way,” Oscar said, shocked and you told him everything that had happened from you flying to Spain for him to him making out with that girl at the club. 

“Trust me when I say that I’m not trying to invalidate your feelings, but I feel like this is a big misunderstanding,” Oscar said and you rolled your eyes. “He is so in love with you y/n. All he does is talk about you.”

“Then why did he never tell me!” You said, voice rising. “I’ve been there the whole time Oscar, and he has never said anything. I want to be with someone who isn’t afraid to love me.” 

Oscar’s heart broke at your words, knowing you were feeling this way. 

“I came here y/n, because he is a mess without you,” he said. “I’ve never seen him like this and it’s starting to affect his racing so I’m begging you to at least think about talking to him.” 

—-------------------------------------

You would have thought that Lando would stop texting after a while but he didn’t. Every morning he texted you “good morning” and gave you updates on his day even though you weren’t responding. His plan seemed to be to slowly chip away at you until you were ready to come back and unfortunately it was working. 

Brazil was the next race that your friend group was attending and you went back and forth on what you should do before finally deciding to book a flight. Max must have told Lando because you immediately were notified that your flight had been upgraded and your hotel had been booked. 

Because of a work event, you weren’t going to be able to get there until Saturday night and probably wouldn’t see Lando until qualifying or after the race. You joined Max and Pietra on the track, bright and early on Sunday morning and you were wondering how Lando would survive with it being this early in the morning. 

Oscar gave you a big hug when he saw you and you could tell he was incredibly relieved that you were there. Qualifying was 20 minutes away and you heading towards the Paddock club when you turned a corner and were immediately wrapped up in two arms. Inhaling his familiar scent, you relaxed into his touch. 

“I missed you so fucking much,” he said into your ear and you hummed in reply. You were still unsure about pretending like nothing ever happened. He pulled back to look at you and his excitement was contagious, pulling a small smile out of you. 

“We’ll talk later okay?” He asked and you nodded. “I have a lot of things I need to say to you.”

He kissed your forehead before running off and you tried to keep your cool. Qualifying was good for him and you were feeling good about the race but a little nervous about the weather conditions. 

Sitting with Max and Pietra in the paddock club the mood was very much anxious. Lando had been doing great until a red flag reset everything. He had fallen down because of pitting and you watched as he went off the track on that first turn, your heart sinking. The rest of the race was a blur and he finished in P6 which you knew would not go over well with him. 

After the race, you felt hesitant heading back to the McLaren hospitality area. You weren’t sure if he’d want to see you, especially in his disappointment. But as you lingered by the entrance, you caught sight of him. Lando was drenched, exhausted, and his usual radiant energy seemed dimmed. Still, he locked eyes with you, a faint smile managing to pull at the corner of his lips.

He walked over slowly, stopping right in front of you. “You waited for me?”

“Of course I did, Lando,” you replied softly, feeling the gravity of the moment settle in. “I always do.”

He nodded, then glanced around at the crowded area. “Can we go somewhere… quieter?”

You followed him through the paddock until you found yourselves outside in a secluded spot overlooking the track. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, Lando took a deep breath.

“I was an idiot,” he began, voice raw with honesty. “You don’t know how many times I replayed that trip to Portugal, thinking about what I could’ve done differently. I didn’t understand how much it would hurt you… I was blind to everything but my own mess.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going, unable to hold back.

“You’ve been the best part of my life for years, and it took almost losing you to realize how much I’d taken you for granted. I’m sorry, y/n. I thought I was protecting you by not… admitting how I feel. I thought if I never said it out loud, maybe it’d hurt less. But I can’t pretend anymore. I love you.”

Hearing those words, the walls you’d built around yourself began to crack, the anger and disappointment from before softening as you looked into his eyes.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” you whispered and he gave you a soft smile. 

“I know, I’m sorry I didn’t see it before.” 

When he kissed you, it was tender and full of all the unspoken words and missed opportunities between you. As you pulled away, you both smiled, feeling the weight of the past couple of weeks finally lift.

[kissingchamber]

illicit affairs

𝜗𝜚 synopsis: Tony finds out his son is dating his intern. His intern!

𝜗𝜚 pairing(s): MCU!Peter Parker x Stark!male reader; Tony Stark x son!reader

𝜗𝜚 warning(s): nothing really this is just silly fluff and Tony being clueless

𝜗𝜚 note(s): English is not my first language!!! Based on this request, hope u enjoy anon :3 title from taylor swifts "illicit affairs" !!

Everyone in the Avengers tower knows you and Peter are dating! Well, almost everyone in the Avengers tower knows you and Peter are dating. The only one who hasn't yet figured it out is the one and only, Tony Stark, your dad.

Honestly, it's a surprise he hasn't found out yet with the way you and Peter have been looking at each other with longing heart eyes and cuddling during movie nights. And he calls himself a genius...

It's sort of become a game for you and Peter, seeing how long it'll take for Tony to realize what's really going on.

What makes it even more unbelievable is that Pepper was the first one to know!

─────────────── ⋆ ───────────────

You make your way down to the lab where you knew Peter would be— he'd texted, telling you he would be down in the labs today— working on something for his suit with Tony.

You slide into the lab, finding Peter sat in a chair, eagerly chatting with your dad and typing something on a tablet at the same time.

You come up behind him, wrapping your arms around him, hugging him to your chest and burying your face into his hair. "Hi, Pete." You murmur.

"H— hey!" Peter's face flushes a pretty pink color and you can't help but smirk. He's so easily flustered.

You almost forget Tony is there until he starts talking. "Oh, hey kid! Care to help us a little? We could really use an extra set of hands." He says, acting like the way you're holding Peter is totally platonic.

You nod, mumbling a sure, but not before sending Peter a look. He cannot be serious... He shoots back an agreeing gaze.

─────────────── ⋆ ───────────────

It's movie night, most of the Avengers are scattered across the room, sitting in all kinds of weird positions that make you want to laugh. You and Peter are laying on one of the couches, practically entangled together.

Everyone is arguing about which movie to watch when Tony walks in with Steve trailing behind him, their arms filled with snacks.

Steve looks at you and Peter, mumbling something about lovebirds and takes a seat on one of the recliners.

Tony settles on a loveseat next to Pepper and joins in on the movie debate.

You and Peter share a look, Tony definitely heard what Cap said, right?

─────────────── ⋆ ───────────────

You walk into the kitchen where Peter is sitting on a barstool, leaning onto the island and nodding along to whatever Tony— who is currently refilling his coffee cup— is saying.

You press a kiss to Peter's cheek in greeting, sitting down on another barstool. He gives you a soft smile in response and grabs ahold of your hand.

Tony finishes getting his coffee, ruffles your hair and leaves the room wordlessly, like you hadn't just kissed your boyfriend— that he doesn't know is your boyfriend— right in front of him!

You and Peter stare at each other for a silent second before bursting into laughter. Tony is so clueless it's hilarious.

─────────────── ⋆ ───────────────

When Tony finally does find out it's possibly in the most embarrassing way ever.

You and Peter were in your room, making out on your bed, when Tony walked in.

"Dad—!" You yell and scramble to get off of Peter, whose face is currently the shade of bright red reminiscent of a tomato.

"Sorry, sorry!" Tony says quickly, at least he sounds apologetic.

You glare at him with no real heat in your expression. "You could've, you know, knocked before you came in. Like you're supposed to." You grumble.

"I know, I know. But uhm... since when were you two a thing?" He asks, almost sounding hesitant.

Peter looks like he's trying his hardest not to laugh, barely succeeding. "Everyone else figured it out months ago, if that gives you any idea."

"What—" Tony begins but you interrupt him; "And Pepper was the first one to find out"

"And she didn't tell me!?" He sounds so betrayed, it's so funny you can barely respond. "Apparently not!" You get out before bursting into giggles, Peter laughing beside you.

Tony turns on his heel and rushes into the hallway "Pepper!" He cries out.

At this, you and Peter can't hold it in anymore, erupting into the kind of laughter that makes your tummy hurt and leaves your sides sore afterwards.

And he calls himself a genius.

𝜗𝜚 note: this is longer that anything ive posted previously so thats why this took me so long to post 𖦹 ´ ᯅ ` 𖦹 thanks 4 reading!!! reblogs r super appreciated!! :3

[anjelicawrites]

Paring: Lestat de Lioncourt x reader

Synopsis: sick and tired as you are of Lestat’s treatment you decide to put your situationship on hold, until he comes for you. Inspired by the SDCC trailer.

Warnings: toxic relationship, kissing, p in v sex, blood drinking, biting, choking, clit pinching, edging, violence, butchering of the French language.

A/N: reader is AFAB. They/them pronouns used, but French is a gendered language, which forces me to decline the adjectives as feminine whenever Lestat uses them when referring to reader.

The bustling in the dressing room is doubled by the fact that there’s no space to move; the concert is due to start in no time and you are all still running about, trying to prepare the man of the hour, the rock star the people in the arena are cheering, whose name they’re screaming at the top of their lungs: The Vampire Lestat. The one and only.

NSFW and 18+ only please!

Your current walking, not breathing headache. The undead man you’re trying to ignore with all your might.

You had asked a colleague to do his hair and makeup these last few nights, even though you’re supposed to be his personal stylist, and threw yourself into working with the rest of the band as a revenge for the way he’s been treating you lately; you know you’re on borrowed time, that he’s letting you give him the cold shoulder that, if he truly wanted, you’d be still working on him, whether you liked it or not.

You almost crash in one of the documentary crew people: they swarm everywhere and are always in everyone’s general space, filming and asking questions. You try to lay low, do your job and then hide until the next concert, yet you feel like the journalist, Daniel Molloy, has his eyes trained on you behind his tinted glasses, and you don’t like it: Lestat has a rabid fanbase, if anyone had the inkling he’s fucking you (because to call whatever it is what you two have a ‘relationship’ would be an exaggeration), you’d have no peace.

Lestat has been a menace, more than his usual self, during rehearsal and in his dressing room, unhappy with the various options for the Halloween concert, changing his outfits too many times and now your colleagues are in a hurry to prepare him, hence why you’re here instead on your perch backstage, ready to do touch ups in between songs.

You ignore his stunning eyes as you bend to finish applying the last layer of powder on his forehead and nose.

“Ma choue.”

You can hear is deep voice in your head, almost snapping the small brush in a half in annoyance: he knows you hate it when he calls you ‘my cabbage’, it makes your blood boil that it’s supposed to be a term of endearment; who, in their right mind would call someone at least dear to them ‘cabbage’? Might as well call them ‘lettuce’ or ‘ tomatoes’!

“Tu me manques.” He continues, his face not betraying any emotion, while his hand moves sneakily to caress the inside of your tight; in your head his voice has taken that low timbre of when he’s deep inside of you, fighting his orgasm.

“Would that be all, Mr. De Lioncourt?” You ask, coldly, moving away from his grasp. “You don’t look like you need me.”

Your words echo his when he dismissed you, not longer than a week ago, right before the first day of shooting.

As used as you are to his mercurial moods, that day you were already angry with him, his careless words were the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back and made you decide to put whatever the two of you have going on (“Still better than Twilight” a voice in your head keeps telling you) on an indefinite hold or, as indefinite as he’ll decide it’s going to be.

Before leaving for the backstage, you let one single thought ring through your mind, positive as you are that he’s listening:

“Fuck you Lestat! The only thing you miss is my blood!”

To everyone else his face betrays no emotion, you’re used to read in between the lines with him and the twitch of his mouth tells you there’s going to be hell to pay: you’ll burn that bridge when you’ll get there, if ever, now it’s your time to be an asshole, and have fun while you’re at it.

You run into the dressing room swearing under your breath: how in the name of all is holy and sacred you forgot one of the foundation sponges here? You didn’t even use it on Lestat!

In a hurry you start rummaging through all the crap and garbage your colleagues and Molloy’s crew have left around: between your crazy work hours and the concerts dates being so close to one another, you don’t have the time to buy a new one and you find yourself hunting for this stupid one that’s finished God only knows where.

“Looking for this, ma choue?”

You turn around too fast, whipping the muscles of your neck painfully to look at Lestat, who has closed, and locked, the door behind his back and is leaning against it, pink sponge in his hand.

You know he’s fresh off the stage after the third encore, the pinkish red of perspiration is staining the dying makeup and collar of his elaborate shirt.

“I should have known you had taken it.” You growl back.

“What should a man do when he’s been ignored?” He says nonchalantly. “You left me with no choices, ma belle.”

Instinctively you start looking for a way out of the small room, knowing all too well there’s only the door, and that he stands on your pathway out of here and towards the safety of your hotel room.

“Perhaps, a man, should ask himself why he’s been ignored.”

You square your shoulders, yet your insecurity is betrayed when you start pinching the inside of your right arm, where he’s first bitten you.

The wound has healed nicely, the scar remains, too small to be truly noticed if not for the constant redness of your picking at the skin there.

You remember when he first drank from you, so many months ago when you still believed the whole ‘Vampire Lestat’ persona was just a stage play; he had looked at you with those eyes, mesmerizing, whose color you couldn’t truly name, making you feel like a lamb would in front of a hungry wolf, right before gently grabbing your uncovered arm to bite the delicate skin and drink enough blood to make you feel dizzy on your feet.

“And what did a man do?” He asks, advancing like the predator he is, as if he owns the room hell! The entire building.

You try to stand your ground, shoulders squared, legs firmly planted on the floor: the bridge is here, you might as well go down swinging.

“Oh, I don’t know, treat me like a blood bag and demean me in front of the cameras?”

Two days before your personal bombshell, he had complimented the taste of your blood, and responded a second too late, when you had bluntly asked if he looked at you like he would a steak, then the whole ‘Do I look like I need you?’ incident had happened: the proverbial icing on the cake.

To be absolutely clear, you don’t expect anything from him that is not great sex (narcissist or not, he knows how to show you a good time and not having to breathe to live helps when you’re going down someone) and a bit of consideration.

“Oh, that.” He stands in front of you, impossibly tall, cutting off any escape route. “Would you like me to apologize publicly? Perhaps in front of the crowd tomorrow?” He mocks you.

And you fall for it: hook, line and sinker.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” You growl, invading his personal space, as if you’d ever pose a threat for him.

In a second you find yourself against the wall, arms stretched over your head, your work bag on the floor.

“What would you do, ma choue, how would you stop me?”

You’re so angry you’d kill him with your mind, if only you could!

Uselessly you try to kick him, squirming in his light hold, until he’s plastered against you with your legs around his trim hips.

“Let me go, now!”

That wins you a laugh, a low rumble against your chest: he knows that you know that he loves when you fight back, that your fascination with him doesn’t stop your fiery spirit to burn bright, like a light in the darkness.

“Why would I do such a thing?” His lips leave butterfly kisses all over your pulse point. “After scheming to have you here. That would be most stupid, wouldn’t it?”

Slowly, seductively, his hips grind against yours, his erection already pushing against your core, almost forcing a wail of need from your lips: even angry you missed the liquid need pooling in your belly as soon as your bodies are near, how his touch would ignite your desire and burn any reasoning to keep him away.

“I hate you so much!” And you both know is a lie.

“Then why can I smell how ready you are for me, ma petite?”

You let your head slam against the wall, baring your neck to his fangs, now tracing a path of goosebumps leading to your collarbone and heaving breasts.

You squirm against him, not trying to evade him, but because you need him desperately: you want to tear his clothes off his body and fuck your rage and pent up desire until you are both spent on the filthy carpet of the dressing room.

The words almost leave your mouth, when knocking on the door, followed by the voice of your fellow make up artist stops you, and him.

“Are you coming or not?” She asks from the corridor. “I need to shower! Come on!”

“I’m on my way!” You shout back, your desire retreating as your brain reminds you of the way he’s been treating you.

Lestat eyes you with a smirk on his lips; for a moment you think he’ll not let you go and blow your illicit relationship for the whole crew to see. His eyes seem to shine as he stares into yours, searching, searching as you wonder, again, what color they truly are.

“Saved by the bell.” He murmurs in your ear, letting your shaky legs off from around his hips. “Off you go, ma petite lapinou. You’re not going to be as lucky the next time.”

You’re still trembling as you grab your bag and rush to your friend, cursing yourself for being so weak in your resolve.

As per your contract you, and the other two make up artists, are supposed to share the hotel room to kill the costs for the whole production; the rest of the crew does the same, while the actual band members have rooms for their own, usually in a better hotel than the one chosen for you all.

The wandering life you have all chosen has changed those plans: in fact you have the hotel room all for yourself, since one colleague is in a committed relationship with one of the sound technicians (they always crash together), the other is in a situationship with a girl from Molloy’s crew; the relationship is even more toxic than whatever you have going on with Lestat, yet the two always bunk down together.

You don’t mind having all the space, and the bathroom for yourself: you love the quiet after a concert and before you are all on the road again.

You exit the bathroom, your skin still warm after the shower. You hear the TV on in the background, not giving it much attention: it’s just white noise to keep you company as you dry your hair and decide what to wear to go out with some colleagues.

“Now, what is this?”

You screech in surprise and almost slip on your ass.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Why are you here?! I’m naked!”

Lestat looks at you from the armchair where he’s sitting, long legs encased in skin fitting leather and a white shirt half unbuttoned to showcase the hard planes of his chest you’re trying very hard not to ogle.

“You haven’t answered my question, ma petite lapinou.”

He’s holding your Taylor Swift pink T shirt, showing it to you with a frown on his brow.

Him and Taylor, better, the respective fan bases have this crusade going on, sniping at each other: the swifties being absolutely rabid whenever one of Lestat’s songs is higher in the charts or his tours sold out faster than hers. Taylor has published another remastering of her latest album and Lestat responded with new songs that beaten her to the top: it’s an ongoing messy feud and Lestat loves throwing jabs at her and her fans in his interviews. Thank God he has no control over his X and Instagram accounts.

All of this considered, you bought it before your fallout with him, as a prank: you thought about appearing in his hotel room clad only in that to see how he would react, and reap the benefits. You deciding to withdrew from the ‘relationship’ killed that idea; you have been using it to sleep.

“It’s a T shirt.” You answer.

“That I can see.” He says reigning in his annoyance at your pretend ignorance. “I have never pegged you as a fan of mademoiselle Swift.”

“With the things you don’t know about me, you could build a ladder from here to the moon.” You shrug your shoulders, hoping he’s not snooping in your mind right now.

He throws the T shirt in the general direction of the bed and spreads his legs even more, the outline of his bulge clear against the tight fitting leather.

“Going somewhere, ma petite?”

His voice is a low rumble that goes straight to your core.

“Yeah.” You feign indifference. “Out with some people, have fun. I have decided I’m going to play drunk trick or treat.”

He’s not wearing any makeup now, he looks like a carved marble statue come to life, yet you can see curiosity etched on his beautiful, alien features.

“I am not, comment tu le dis, privy to this particular brand of trick or treating.”

You tighten the towel around your head, you’re going to need it.

“It’s pretty simple, actually. I go out, get drunk and fuck the first person I meet. Having an orgasm, finally, is going to be my treat. It has been too long.”

In a heartbeat you find yourself slammed against the wall. You should be used to his inhuman speed, yet he’s managed to knock the breath out of your lungs again.

Your ears are ringing, the towel having done a poor job at shielding your head from a hard knock against the wall: one of these days you’ll get a concussion. How fucked up is it that you’re accepting your fate so calmly?

Your vision swims as your eyes try to focus on his face, now contorted in rage: Take that asshole, you think.

“Who would be the lucky candidate, ma petite?” He growls, his hand finding home around your throat. “Perhaps one of Molloy’s subordinates? Or one of the sad men drinking themselves in an early grave in the hotel lobby?”

“Anyone would do.” You spat back, despite the pressure of his hand. “You wouldn’t know how to find my clit with two hands, a flashlight and a neon sign pointing at it!”

For a second his hold is too tight, cutting off your air supply completely: is this how you die?

The thought flies out of your head when you find yourself on the bed, coughing and trying to absorb as much air as your poor lungs can manage, Lestat between your splayed legs: you have gotten to him, to his pride and possessiveness. Revenge tastes so sweet, knowing you can slither under his skin the same way he does with you.

“Ouch!” You whine when he strips you of the towels, uncaring of the cotton burning your skin.

“Two hands, a flashlight and a neon sign, is that what you said ma belle pute?”

You try to push him away, fruitlessly: he’s far too heavy and strong for you, even if he were a human man, yet you trash under him and try to go for his eyes, like a cat, until two of his long fingers pinch your clit cruelly.

You cry out in pain, arching under him in the vain attempt to escape your punishment.

“I hate you so fucking much! I wish I could put a stake through your heart and see you die!”

He doesn’t move for a second; he truly seems a marble statue, Bernini’s masterpiece, betrayed by the shining of his eyes.

You scream when his fangs pierce the delicate skin of your neck, and his cock slams into you.

The pleasure is a wave that engulfs you and your senses. You don’t know where you are, who you are, you’re only feeling his heart beating to the rhythm of yours as his hips meet yours, again and again, fast and hungry in the desperate pursuit of his own end.

You can’t plant your feet on the mattress, too taken by the impossible high you’re experiencing, all of your senses drunk on him and on the pleasure burning through you, the tight band in your belly snapping, forcing another scream from your lips.

You whine when his fangs leave your neck.

Through the roaring of your own blood in your ears, you can ear his moans of pleasure when the pain of your nails in his back finally register in his brain. Through hooded eyes you look at his beautiful face, now marred by the red of your blood, his pupils so enlarged you can’t see the color of the iris.

He’s still hard inside of you, not pounding away anymore his hips have taken a sensual, slow rhythm, meant to savor the warmth your body provides.

He kisses you when you try to say his name, your taste, metallic and heady in your mouth, pushes you into a frenzy he doesn’t let you follow, forcing you to go slow and feel the way he owns your body.

You arch your spine when he starts kissing your neck and chest, unhurried and possessive, his cockhead finding your G spot to bully it again, to feel your walls clamp again around his erection, too slow to throw you into the throes of another orgasm but enough to keep you on the razor’s edge, your moans and keens music to his ears.

You buck under his weight when his skilled fingers find your center again, massaging your bud with slow, deliberate motions.

“Two hands.” He groans after a vicious push. “A flashlight and a neon sign, n'est-ce pas? Then why are you moaning, ma belle?”

You grab his arms, needy and desperate for the end he’s denying you, embarrassed by the squelching sounds your cunt makes around his cock.

“Anyone would do.” He spats in your face, pinching your clit cruelly, to enjoy your whines of pain and how your body squirms under his.

You want to beg for mercy, scream how sorry you are but his devious fingers have rendered you speechless and thoughtless, mad for an orgasm he’s denying you with a cruel smile.

His forehead meets yours, now that the pace is slow. He’s switched to French without truly realizing what he’s doing, too lost in feeling your muscles clench and massage his cock: he’s missed your body, something you must never know.

His tongue finds the bites on your neck, licking lazily at the blood still spilling as his hips pick up the pace again, grinding cruelly against your puffy clit, drunken words of appreciation fall from his lips when your cunt wounds so tightly around his cock, forcing him in deeper and deeper, the fullness blanking your mind to his words and to the world around you.

You shatter like crystal again, forcing him over the edge as well, your combined screams of pleasure reverberating against the cheap walls, his breaking the table lamp on the desk.

Your cunt milks him of all he can give and robs him of his strength; it’s a miracle he manages to pull out and fall by your side, unfocused eyes trained on the chipped ceiling.

You hear him stretch luxuriously next to you as you try to find the strength to go to the bathroom and deal with the mess of blood and semen he’s left on your body.

Your legs wobble when you stand and the room spins as you bend to retrieve your Taylor Swift T shirt fallen on the floor, after your ‘activities’; you hear him say something in French, his voice a low purr and you can feel his eyes trained on your naked arse.

“Shall I remind you I have taken Spanish in high school?” You say, wobbling to the bathroom as you feel his come slide down your legs, ignoring how he grabs his shirt to wipe the excess of blood on his face.

When you come back he’s still laying in bed, smoking, arms spread on the headboard as if he owns the place.

“This place is horrible.” He says, as if you had chosen it yourself. “Sincèrement affreux."

“Your tour manager picks the place for us, which means that you did.” You retort, sliding in bed to put your head on his naked shoulder. “This one isn’t so bad. The clown themed one was worse.”

“Clown themed?”

He wants to know more, but you’re already asleep, out like a light; he can hear the whooshing of your blood through your veins, now that your heartbeat has calmed into your usual tattoo.

Without waking you up, he kills his smoke and tries to make himself comfortable on the lumpy mattress: perhaps that’s why you have been in such a bad mood lately. He will look into it as soon as he wakes up from his slumber: he’s going to be famished and his tour managed looks delicious.

[mischievousmoony]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚎

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟸 ⟡ 𝚓𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜' 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕

⟢ james potter x fem!reader

⟢ summary: modern restaurant au; after training with james for a few weeks, people have started calling you his . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁1.3k

⟢ warnings/tags: coworker!james, coworker!marauders, slightly anxious!reader, not proofread

⟢ the new hire masterlist ⟡ main masterlist

note: i hate seafood but i keep putting it on my fictional restaurants menu ? kept this one pretty simple so i could get it out there <3

"Crab cakes, go." James says, eyes darting up from the menu he's holding to look at you from across the rickety staff room table.

You don't miss a beat, describing the dish as you would to a customer, "The crab cakes are one of our most popular appetizers. They're pan seared and served with sofrito escabeche, a zesty blend of onions, bell peppers, and tomatoes—so I highly recommend them if you're looking for something tangy—and they have a to die for berbere aioli drizzle."

"Tell me more about the berbere aioli. What is that?" James questions, playing the part of a curious customer.

"The berbere aioli is a spicy-chili sauce that I'd say is just shy of medium in terms of spice level. It complements the crab cakes really well, but you could always order it on the side if you're not too sure about it."

"That's my girl," James praises, "You're a quick learner, you know that?"

"I don't know about that," you protest, looking down at your hands that lay politely folded on the table in front of you. You try to mentally will yourself not to blush at James' approval.

"It's barely over a week since you started and you know this thing like the back of your hand," James argues, gently tossing the menu down as he leans back in his chair, "And there's so little time to sit and study here."

You have a funny look on your face when you meet James' eyes again, eliciting a gasp from him.

"You've been studying the menu outside of work, haven't you?" he squints, speaking in an accusatory tone.

"Shouldn't I?" you ask, and the fact that it's a genuine question has James clutching his chest over his heart.

"No! You never think about work unless you're getting paid!"

"How else am I supposed to learn this whole menu in a timely manner?" you cross your arms defensively.

"Who said anything about a timely manner, Love. I was weeks out of training before I had the whole thing down."

"Yeah, well you're more..." you trail off, trying to find the words.

"More what?" James is quick to sound defensive.

You put your hands up as a sign of innocence, "Just laid back. You're a go with the flow kind of guy. As opposed to me, who's more-"

James interjects, "Stuck in your head," nodding along without a doubt that that's what you were going to say.

You look at James, a bit of surprise and alarm swirling around in the pit of your stomach. He was spot on, but how could he possibly be? He barely knows you, after all.

"What?" James seems to sense your confusion, "I've noticed the turmoil in those eyes of yours. You're doing it right now."

You look bashful, so James graciously changes the subject.

"Whatever, just promise me you won't ever think about this place when you're off the clock again!"

"Promise," you agree, despite his request being impossible.

For whatever reason, your mind seems to always be on work. Not even in a stressed, overthinking way like you'd expect from yourself. It seemed to be little random tidbits from work infiltrating your mind throughout your days. Like sometimes, you randomly think of a joke James said once. Or you see something funny and want to show it to him. Or you think about how nice James is when you mess something up.

Okay, maybe they're not so random after all.

"What're you thinking about?" James interrupts your thoughts.

Just as you're about to start stammering through an excuse, Mary pops her head into the room.

"There you guys are!" she says, "I just sat you guys. Table six."

"Thanks, Mary. We'll be right there." James responds.

"I had Peter bring them some waters because I couldn't find you guys for a while—oh, he's back today by the way, did you know?" Mary asks, but doesn't stick around for James to answer, "I have to get back. Table six, guys!" Her voice echoes the reminder as she's already disappeared from your sights.

James shakes his head at her, amused by the way she jumps from one thing to the next without taking a breath.

"Peter?" you question as you and James begin to stand from the table.

"Yeah, he does bussing and some food running, a helping hand for us servers, really. He was on vacation." James explains as you follow him out into the dining room.

Your eyes fall on table six, a table for two that beholds two kind looking older ladies.

"You think you can handle this?" James juts his chin in their direction.

"Yeah," you say confidently. You have already taken the lead on some tables while James supervised. So far, it's been going well. Your first table you had to ask James to help answer some questions—maybe that's why you wanted to learn the menu so quick, it made you feel sheepish—but after that one time, James hasn't had any notes.

"Alright, I'm gonna check on our other tables then."

"Wait," you gave yourself whiplash with the way you craned your neck swiftly to look at him, "You meant handle it alone?"

"Yeah," James looks down at you reassuringly, his eyes filled with warmth, "You can do it."

"Uhh-? No, what if I-"

"Get out of that pretty little head of yours," he interrupts, "You've got this."

The sincerity in his tone incited a bit of confidence in you.

"Okay, okay. Okay sure," your shaky voice became a little more steady with each word, and you started walking to the table.

"Wait!" James carefully takes hold of your wrist. The progress you had made in easing your nerves is out the window.

"You'll need this," James slides his server book out from his apron and held it out to you.

"Right," you say quietly, smiling as you took it from him.

His hand fell from your wrist as he bid you good luck. He watches you for a moment as you greet the table, a proud gleam in his eyes.

Marlene appears beside James, a tray of waters and soft drinks balancing on her palm, "Your girl's taking orders on her own now?"

"Just the one table for today," James replies.

Marlene hums approvingly and saunters off to deliver the drinks.

James registers her words only when she's already left, "Wait, my who now?" he asks the wall.

His furrowed brows relax as he decides he kind of likes the sound of it.

After checking on your other tables, getting refills and putting new food orders in, James notices a congregation of his coworkers at the host stand so he decides to join in.

"Who's that?" Peter asks, swinging a rag over his shoulder.

Lily follows Peter's gaze to you, who's delivering some bread and butter to table six.

"James' girl?" Lily questions, "She started last week, she's been doing pretty well so far I think."

"Any reason in particular we're calling her that?" James decides to ask on his approach, having heard that phrase twice in under ten minutes.

"Ah, well, she hardly talks to anyone else." Marlene drawls.

"Eh, she's just a bit skittish," James provides an excuse for you, "it's kind of cute."

Lily and Mary share a look.

James continues, "She'll get used to you guys soon enough, just be nice." He really only says the last part to Marlene.

"I am nice," she defends.

"Well, you're not mean," Mary offers and Marlene scowls at her.

James chuckles, and turns to Peter, "How 'ave you been, mate?"

Peter opens his mouth to share details of his vacation, but he's interrupted.

"What are you all doing up here?" Nate hisses, appearing suddenly as if out of thin air, "You know how bad it looks for nearly my entire staff to be slacking off in the front of the restaurant?"

Before anyone can disperse or defend themselves, Nate continues, "And you're supposed to be training, Potter. Where's your girl?"

"Me?" your choked voice rings from behind him.

Everyone peers over at you, standing there shellshocked and blushing with a pitcher of water in your hands.

[ghouljams]

'Til Death (Remember Me in Your Will): Chapter 2

Rating: Mature (Minors Do Not Interact) Words: 4.4k Tags: David "Hesh" Walker/F!Reader, Sugar Daddy au, Dom/sub undertones, flirting Summary: You start dating Hesh as a way to supliment your income. It's not like you've never sugared before, you know how to play this game. It's just too bad Hesh seems to have his own ideas about what this relationship is.

<- Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ->

ao3

To be honest you don’t expect a call the next day. Despite the dinner, the kiss, the expressed desire to get to know you, something had to have been wrong for him to not take you home. So you busy yourself with work, and text your other sugar daddies when they pop up in your messages. You take your work bestie, Mari, to your favorite sandwich place for lunch and enjoy the chatter. You don’t think about the heavy hand that had settled on your back, the stroke of calloused fingers, the heady rush of Hesh’s attention. You have other things to worry about.

“You alright?” Mari asks when you shudder at the shivery feeling memory shakes down your spine.

“Fine,” You tell her, too quickly. She raises a brow in response and you roll your eyes. “Seriously, it’s nothing. I had a weird date last night.”

“Date date, or…” She waves a hand, filling in the blank with a meaningful look. She’s not a fan of mentioning your other work out loud. You suppose you get it, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but it works for you.

“Other kind of date.” You clarify.

“What was wrong with him?” She asks, picking the tomato off her sandwich.

“Nothing,” You shrug, “He was perfectly polite, paid for everything, looked good in a suit-”

“But bad in bed?” Mari finishes.

“He didn’t even take me home.” You correct, and she gives you a look like ‘what’s wrong with you then?’ You can’t blame her. You’re wondering the same thing. “He hasn’t even texted me today.” You admit.

“Yikes.” Mari hisses, “Not good.”

“I know,” you groan, “but there’s plenty of fish in the sea, and I have plenty of other, uh,” you pause trying to find the best word for them for public conversation, “dates.”

Your phone buzzes on the table next to you with an incoming text. You give it a quick glance and feel your heart squeeze with something like disappointment that it isn’t Hesh. It’s one of your other innocuously named sugar daddies. First name, last name, with no discerning emojis or nicknames. Honestly you’d hesitated to put Hesh’s name in as “Hesh” but he’d said at dinner he rarely heard anyone call him “David” these days. Still, it felt almost intimate to plug those four letters into your phone.

It’s a daddy that doesn’t mind waiting on your texts, likely just checking in to see when the next time you can organize a date is, so you turn your attention back to Mari. You’re not a fan of texting when you’re with someone else, and it’s not urgent, so you’re fine ignoring it.

“Not the new guy?” Mari correctly guesses. You sigh, lean back in your chair and drag a hand down your face.

“Nah, one of the older ones.” You tell her. She makes a face.

“I don’t know how you do it,” She shakes her head.

“I don’t know how you eat your tomatoes separate from your sandwich, but I’m not judging.” You retort. 

“Fair enough,” She nods, plucking an aforementioned tomato slice off her plate and taking a bite. “Don’t you think about finding, like, a real relationship?” She mumbles around her mouthful.

“Ugh,” You make a face, “After what happened with Josh?”

“Point taken.” Mari makes a face in return. “Hey can I have half your sandwich?”

All business, she offers you half of her sandwich in return, already plucked clean of tomato. You laugh and pick up one half of your meal to trade her. 

You’re walking back to work when you spot a familiar face.

You grab Mari’s arm and haul her closer to duck down and hide behind her. Or at least hide as best you can, you get your face out of view. Mari looks at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“That’s Hesh,” You hiss at her as she raises a brow, “the guy from last night.” She glances around. “Brown hair, black coat, tall.”

You know when Mari spots him because her eyes go wide.

“And gorgeous?” She whisper-yells at you, “What is wrong with you? Why wouldn’t you lead with that?”

“Him being good looking is not the problem,” You whisper, “it was a bad date, I don’t want to see him.”

“You said it was fine,” Mari mutters, shuffling along with you despite her grumbling.

“Not if he won’t text me!” 

Mari keeps looking at him, totally un-subtle with her glancing. “Maybe he thought you would text him?” She reasons, you glare at her, “He keeps checking his phone, and he’s, like, with people.”

“Oh my god.” You groan, “Just get me out of here.”

“Just keep walking you fuckin’ dork, he’s not even looking over here.” It’s Mari’s turn to haul you, dragging you in the opposite direction of your failed sugar daddy and towards your building. You try not to look too pathetic a mopey as you trudge along beside her. You desperately want to mope though. Just your luck to run into the guy that wants nothing to do with you.

You manage to make it through the last few hours of your work day without incident, your work tiring enough without the added headache of a man’s feelings.

You turn them over in your head though. Maybe he was waiting for you to text him. If he was he didn’t know much about how this worked, but then again he didn’t seem like he’d done this before. Part of you felt a little bad at the idea you were ghosting Hesh. Inadvertently ghosting, but ghosting nonetheless. 

It was just that so much of the relationship came with a script. Your interactions with him weren’t free, and it was his job to know that. Especially after he turned you down last night. If he really does want to get to know you better then why the fuck hasn’t he texted you? It’s not like you’re sitting around waiting for him. If Mari is right then the only person who’s waiting around is Hesh. You have other people to cater to.

Speaking of. You tug your phone out of your pocket and skim the short text one of your daddies sent you at lunch. Nothing unusual, asking about meeting up for the weekend, offering some time by the country club’s pool in exchange for your usual allowance and his usual dicking. You click over to your calendar, you could do this weekend. Saturday maybe, then you could do brunch with one of the “busy” ones on Sunday. 

Your fingers hover over Hesh’s name. You could text him. It wouldn’t break your protocol or anything to text him and just let him know that you’re open to getting to know him as well. You just need to make sure he understands that getting to know you comes with a price tag. You’re not dating him, not really, and he needs to know that as well as you do.

If he’s looking for someone to get to know, it isn’t you.

You lock your phone and focus back on your work.

The sun is setting by the time you clock out. Your computer is still warm in your bag as you meander to your car. You’d gotten a few texts about scheduling from daddy #1 and you were feeling decent about your weekend plans. You check your phone for the hundredth time as you start your car. Still nothing from Hesh. You don’t know why you bother sitting in the empty chat you have with him, your phone hasn’t buzzed, no typing bubble has popped up, and you’ve lost all hope that the guy had any real interest in you. It was a good date, but something about you didn’t fit for him and he wasn’t going to call you.

You’ll check out your usual sites once you’re home, see about finding someone to fill the gap he was supposed to fill in your monthly expenses.

Or you could bite the bullet and text him first, your rational brain reminds you. Why the hell are you playing hard to get when he’d be paying to see you? Hell you’re probably the easiest thing to get, basically a product on display at the store. 

The least you could do is just check that he isn’t interested.

Your apartment feels painfully empty when you open the door. The box of Josh’s things is still sitting by the door. You’re not texting him again to come get his garbage. You’ll pitch it at the end of the week. Honestly you don’t think you miss him as much as you miss his dog. Maybe you should think about getting one again.

You scroll through petfinder as you kick off your shoes and lock the apartment door behind you. Maybe you should crack open a bottle of wine with dinner. Fuck, what are you even having for dinner? You fire off a quick text to one of your friends with a link to one of the dogs on petfinder as you glance over your stock of leftovers. 

She gets back to you fast, you thought she was working late today, didn’t she have a shift at the hospital? You glance at your notifications, paypal.

“Hesh Walker sent you-”

Your eyes widen a little, fuck that’s a lot of money. What the hell? He doesn’t text you all day and now he’s-

[Hesh Walker: Was starting to think I scared you off.] Flashes at the top of your screen. 

You tap on the text and note that you sent the listing for “Java, 12 weeks” to Hesh, not Hana. His typing bubble pops up and you quickly switch to a different app. You’re popped back into paypal, staring at four digits with no tag. 

Was he waiting on you to text him? 

[Hesh Walker: The dog’s cute.] At the top of the screen, then:

[Hesh Walker: image]

Your finger hovers over the button to quick switch between apps. You tap it twice and are treated to a photo of a dopey looking german shepherd. Its mouth is open with its tongue hanging out the side, a little white greys its muzzle but it’s eyes are big and watery. Puppy. 

[Who’s that?] you type out quickly. Too preoccupied with the thought of more dog photos to remember he sent you way too much money for just a text.

[Hesh Walker: Riley.]

[Hesh Walker: Busy day?]

You frown, it’s exactly the sort of tactic you’d use to figure out why a daddy hadn’t been responding to your texts. Which means he was definitely waiting on you to text him. Why? You’re not exactly ascribed to traditional relationship markers, but wasn’t the guy supposed to text first after a date.

[Didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.] You tell him instead of delving into your personal life. [Turned me down pretty hard after our date.]

The typing bubbles pop up, leave, pop up, leave several times before Hesh sends something.

[Hesh Walker: I’m sorry.]

You blink at your screen. You think this might be the first time a man has just… flat out apologized to you. No trying to explain it, no trying to make excuses, just a flat apology. 

[Hesh Walker: I meant what I said about getting to know you.]

[Aren’t you a gentleman

[So no sex?

[That’s not really how this-

You delete your third text in a row. You don’t want to be too sassy after he just paid you. God, he paid you. You don’t even know what he paid you for.

[What’s the money for?] You send instead of responding to his text.

[Hesh Walker: For texting me.]

[Hesh Walker: I’m trying to buy your love.]

You laugh and quickly cover your mouth with your hand. Despite being alone in your apartment you feel a little embarrassed for laughing at such a corny joke. 

[So what are the rules here?] You respond with a smile.

[Hesh Walker: Why don’t we grab coffee and talk it out.]

Your eyes flick towards the ceiling trying to remember if you’d scheduled that brunch date for Sunday. God, you really should schedule some time with your friends too. 

[How about brunch, Sunday?]

[Hesh Walker: My treat.]

[Of course.]

You close your phone and go back to rummaging through your fridge. You could order take-out, but you already went out to eat today, you can’t throw all your money into food. Maybe pasta? Or you have some chicken left over from- from- Jesus you need to get groceries.

Your phone buzzes.

[Hesh Walker: Gonna ask it again: how was your day?]

You type out your reply quickly, resigning yourself to take-out. [Fine, just trying to figure out dinner.] You switch to your favorite delivery app and start scrolling. What looks good? It’s been a long day, you haven’t really given yourself the time to think about food.

[Hesh Walker: Staying in or going out?]

[Ordering in

You tap your finger against the side of your phone. You’re not doing great at texting this guy, he’s given you money, he deserves more than a two word answer. You delete your reply and type a longer one.

[Thinking of ordering in, but I haven’t decided yet. What about you?]

Perfect. As much as it’s moderately annoying having to switch between apps when you’re trying to use one, you don’t like being dismissive with the guys paying your rent. You do have some manners after all.

[Hesh Walker: I was going to check out this pop-up.]

He sends a link along with his text and you tap it open to look over the small plates and fancy pictures. The food looks phenomenal, and the restaurant itself has a sort of cozy, intimate, vibe that you’re sure is every influencer’s nightmare. Which means it’s not just a shitty gimmick restaurant.

[Looks cool!]

[Hesh Walker: Great, I’ll pick you up.]

You blink at your phone. What?

[What?]

The typing bubble pops up and you watch each little dot bounce as you wait.

[Hesh Walker: They’re going to give me a two-top whether you’re with me or not, and if I’m going to have dinner I’d rather it be with you.]

[Hesh Walker: So I’ll pick you up.]

[You don’t know where I live.] Is the only thing you can think to respond with.

[Hesh Walker: Then send me your address.] Like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

You drum your finger against the side of your phone again, tap tap tapping at your phone case as if the steady rhythm will solve all your problems. Nevermind that you didn’t agree to dinner, can you really just send this man your address? He seemed nice at dinner last night, and if he did turn out to be a murderer it wouldn’t be hard to find him considering how public his (and your) profile on the website you’d used was.

Your stomach grumbles as you think.

Shhh.

You send Mari a quick update on the situation and let her know that if you’re not at work in the morning the police should definitely be called, before sending her Hesh’s profile picture.

[Mari: 👀]

[Mari: that’s the man you fumbled???]

[Mari: previously fumbled sorry]

[Mari: I’ll let the cops know they’re looking for the hottest man in California.]

You roll your eyes and switch back to Hesh’s messages, take a deep breath and send your address through.

[Hesh Walker: Be there in 30]

Thirty? Thirty minutes? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Okay. 

You hurry to your bedroom to strip out of your work clothes and dig through your closet for something date-worthy. You’ll barely have time to slap some makeup on, and --Christ-- is this a heels sort of place?

You sniff one of your dresses to be sure it’s clean and tug it from the hanger. You scroll the pop-up’s instagram to see if there are any customer photos. Definitely worth dressing up a bit, you learned your lesson after your first sugar daddy: Better to be overdressed than underdressed for dinner. You pull a pair of heels out from under your bed and check your time. Ok, looking good. You tug the heels on and stand in front of your mirror. Looking good there too. You’ll grab a jacket and- fuck you have to change your backpack out for a purse.

You’re barely put together by the time someone’s knocking on your apartment door. Which shouldn’t happen. The building has a doorman. Is he just letting people up? 

You try not to look harried when you slip out the door to greet Hesh. You shut the door tight behind you, unwilling to let him get a peek at your apartment. 

He looks good, that same long black coat he was wearing earlier opened to reveal a deep navy suit that- no that- that’s definitely an officer’s coat. Your eyes dart to the ribbons over his breast pocket, the colorful lines delineating service, the brass buttons, the pins. Fuck, is he in uniform?

You drag your eyes to his face. His green eyes sparkle, creased at the edges by his smile. You pointedly do not look at his mouth, even as memories of last night’s kiss fill your mind.

“Are you in uniform?” You ask, unsure where to start the evening when you haven’t had any time to prepare.

Hesh hums, his hand slipping to press against the small of your back, guiding you away from your door.

“I didn’t have time to change, just came from the base.” He informs you. You have to focus on the way you walk, overly conscious of how close he’s walking, the way your arm brushes his side each time you take a step, you can smell his cologne. Rich and earthy, musk with a heady bourbon finish. You spare a glance at his face, trace the proud line of his nose down to the pink lips. The 5 o’clock shadow he’s wearing makes you think he’s telling the truth. “You look beautiful.” His thumb rubs against your dress, sending a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps prickle your skin. God, you hope he doesn’t notice.

“Thank you,” You don’t mention how off guard his invitation caught you, but you sort of want to, he should know the hell he’s put you through today, “I thought this place deserved a little dressing up.”

“Nothing for me then?” Hesh asks. You glance to make sure he’s joking and find him grinning at you. Your stomach flips. You must be hungrier than you thought.

“Not after ghosting me all day,” You tell him with a smile, a joke for a joke.

“Thought you’d wanna take charge,” He tells you, he nods at your doorman, his hand itches lower, fingers just skating over the edge of your panties. His voice is low when he leans close, dripping like caramel down your spine to settle between your legs, “But if you’re happier taking orders, I’m very good at giving them.”

“Military humor.” Is all your brain can spit out to respond with. It doesn’t do anything but make Hesh hum, his hand sliding low over your ass, big and warm and absolutely tantalizing.

“Something like that.”

The only thing you remember from the car ride to the restaurant is Hesh’s hand on your thigh. You think maybe you talked about something, but mostly you’d been too focused on why your body seemed so focused on something so simple. Were you really so used to doing the seducing that you couldn’t handle when a man took the lead?

No, that wasn’t it. Plenty of the men you sugared for were assertive. All of them, at least, knew what they wanted and how to ask for it. It shouldn’t make your head spin just to feel a hand on your thigh.

It had been like this on your first date with him too, you’d forgotten all about the money because he was just so… magnetic. That’s what it is. Some background trait, some square of his shoulders, that makes people look when Hesh walks in the room. You could lose yourself in it if you aren’t careful, forget what you were here for.

A text about your electric bill snaps you out of your thoughts as Hesh discusses his reservation with the hostess. You bite the inside of your cheek.

You’re here for the money.

Hesh’s hand finds the small of your back again and you stiffen without meaning to.

“Don’t tell me you’ve dropped the seductive act already,” He teases in a low voice, leaning close. You pout your lips and tip your head to look up at him.

“You wound me, I wasn’t acting, I really am that hot.” You like the way he smiles in response, the low acknowledging hum he gives you as he guides you to follow the hostess to your table.

“I can’t argue with that.” Again the deep cadence of his voice sends goosebumps over your skin.

He pulls your chair out for you. It’s not the first time a man has done that, not even the first time Hesh has done it, you’re used to it, there’s no magic in the gesture, and yet…

You sip your water as Hesh takes his seat, ignoring him as much as you can get away with while he orders wine. It’s just because he caught you off guard with the impromptu dinner invitation. You’re off your game, you just need to slip back into the right headspace. You need to get hold of the reins again.

“So how was your day?” You ask when the waiter leaves to fetch whatever bottle Hesh decided on. You need him talking about himself, something to let you find the undesirable parts of him. 

“Boring, and I doubt you want to hear about military forms all evening.” He responds easily.

“You never told me what exactly you do,” You remind him, as if you’ve just remembered yourself. He pauses, and gives you a long look, before settling his elbows on the table and leaning forward to speak in that low soothing tone.

“You’ll have to get to know me better to learn that sweetheart,” He smiles, “can’t go spilling military secrets to just anyone.”

“What?” You smile, matching his posture, you feel yourself falling into that familiar working headspace as you push your tits against the neckline of your dress, “You think I could be some foreign agent?”

“Tryin’ to seduce me aren’t you?” Hesh responds, though there’s no accusation in his tone.

“Is it working?” You ask, tipping your head. You wish he’d kiss you. He’s so close, his face just inches from yours. His eyes flick to your lips, like he can read your mind. 

He hums in assent.

You squeeze your legs together under the table, stifle the breathy noise that rises in your throat as your stomach flips.

He sits back, and you’re treated to the slow drag of his eyes over you, hot and heavy on your skin, burning like fingertips as he waits for you to move. You aren’t even sure you want to, there’s a part of you that likes this, that likes being on display for Hesh. Validating in some way that attention from the rest of your daddies isn’t. Maybe it’s because he’s younger. Maybe it’s the way he leans back in his chair and tips his head, like he has all the time in the world to oogle you.

You jump back into your seat when the waiter returns with the wine.

You don’t even hear them rattle off the menu.

Nor do you put up any fight when Hesh orders for you.

You’re too conscious of the way your dress brushes your skin, the way your hair tickles against your neck, the way the warm restaurant air slides over your body with each person that passes your table. You’re too conscious of the way Hesh watches every move you make.

And yet the conversation is so easy, so effortless, that you hardly notice you’ve finished your meal.

Hesh stops in front of your building. You’d expected something different when he’d said he was taking you home. It seems you are, once again, being denied a proper end to your date. Impromptu date. You try not to let it sting.

“Thanks for the ride,” You try not to let your voice give anything away, grabbing the handle and turning to get out of the car. You don’t get far before Hesh’s hand has grabbed the back of your head and turned you back towards him, his lips sealing over yours. You exhale sharply through your nose, letting your eyes drop closed as he kisses you. His lips move against yours, an insistent push-pull that coaxes you into following, lures you into parting your lips for his tongue as it swipes over their seam. 

He positively devours you, his mouth hungry and the hand on your head demanding as he licks into your mouth and twists his tongue against yours. You suck on the wet muscle testingly, and feel the satisfied groan that rumbles through his chest. It emboldens you enough to push into him, to lean your weight into the kiss as you tilt your head, your hands finding the lapels of his coat to try and holding him in place as his teeth catch your bottom lip. 

You do your best to follow his lead, your hips aching with how you’ve turned towards him. All you can think about is crawling into Hesh’s lap and grinding your hips against him, feeling his big hands stroking over your curves, his deep voice murmuring in your ear. You make a small noise into the kiss, and the hand on the back of your head tightens. 

Your seatbelt is already off, it’s easy to lean further across the console, to settle your hand on his thigh as you press into him. Your fingers brush the hard clothed length of his cock and your breath shudders to a stop as Hesh hisses.

His hand clamps over yours, pressing your palm against his hard cock like a lifeline, and for a brief moment you think he might fuck you in his car. You’re not opposed to it. He pulls your hand away from his lap and sets it back in your own.

“Thank you,” He tells you steadily, “this was fun.”

“Are you not-” He shakes his head, and kisses you once, chaste.

It’s like dumping cold water over your head.

“I’ll see you Sunday.” He assures you.

You don’t bother watching him drive off with how quickly you stalk back to your apartment, cheeks burning with the shame of yet another rejection.

[vinestaffery]

Scythe X cop or detective reader where Scythe kidnaps reader to join her cult or somthing

of course!! im a bit tired atm and my schedule bursted up again, so the other people that have requested, i will be taking a bit of a while to post them fully, but i promise i am working on them!! sadly this is gonna have to be a drabble, im so sorry </3

Characters: Scythe, GN! Reader Prompt: One-sided Romance I think???, Small Drabble Warnings: Usage of (pet) names; Mentions of murder; Slightly descriptive but vague of how Scythe killed civilians; Religious themes; Kidnapping; Drugging; Scythe being a literal serial killer; Indoctrination(?)

Days were never suppose to be this harsh. You were always looking for new angles for the strange disappearances of many civilians in Lost Temple, yet it seemed like every new case was to mock your work.

Someone was watching you, for all you know.

Days were becoming longer, more dissociative then regular. Someone was watching you, you could feel it. It was like being played with like prey, if anything, a piece of meat in the claws of a carnivore.

But, it didn't let you shoot you down off your pedestals. You still, somehow, no matter what found a way to link to your suspects. White, gold and teal clothing, and the way the victims were left.

Cut, bloodied and garnished. Ripped apart in one slick-move, a slice. Head, shaven off of it's horns before being squashed like a tomato with a heel.

You were connecting up the dots to your very last suspect; Scythe.

You met her a few times, once at a bar, another when you had nearly gotten into some beef with some stragglers late at night. She was somewhat always there to support you, but would be never seen again. You took note of this.

When the investigation was left up to you, the police huddling outside for their break; the sun blared down below the alleyway. The shadows were your spectators, witnesses to a brutal massacre of several.

It was her. It was her, how she always disappeared, how everything seemed to become more of a blur. She was always there.

All she had to do, was find her, or catch her in the act.

"I'll get you, one way or another," you whispered to yourself.

"Well, you've bet to get on wit' it, don'tcha?"

A voice seemed to silence all thoughts. You didn't turn to face the new opponent.

You readied your hand-gun that was strapped to your left thigh, hand hovered cautiously over it.

"You and ya littl' ol' brain, finally come to make senses haven't cha? Fufufu..." Scythe laughed, a claw raised and a large weapon rested on her shoulder.

Your heart was thumping, you had no clue what had happened to the people that were here before; blood leaked across the floorboards.

"You must watch yourself, Snake, or else," you threatened, vile in your throat and hatred in your words.

"Or else what, my fine sheep, you goin' to do something?" Her name-calling was getting on your nerves. "The sheep, the one who follows, threatenin' big ol' me? Why, what a show."

"You best watch your tone, or else I'll get those men to take you away-" "And do what? Shoot me with this?" She plucked a gun from her pocket, you could hear it fall and chatter on the cold, hard ground. It rung in your ears.

"Say, maybe if you are ta hear me out, I'll leave ya' be!" Scythe snarled in a smirk, eyeing at you as you gave a small turn. Your hand still readied by your waist.

"And what must that be?" You questioned.

It took her seconds before she was up close, hand over your prepared one as she pulled you into a hold. Your hands, crunched in her soft leather glove while the other one, outstretched and squished by her metal.

"Scream, and everyone in this town's blood will be on your hands, rabbit," You were petrified but held in your sounds, clogged in your throat. You could just throw up.

She took notice, and started dragging you away. In a sorts of type of kidnapping, it was uncomfortable. She caressed your cheek, holding you close as she kept viable eye on you.

Everything started to become fuzzy, did she slip a drug into you by chance? No, she couldn't have. That's not her sense of style. But, everything and everywhere became unrecognizable.

"That's it, we're nearly there, my sweet," Scythe was astonished at how you were still able to walk, to even keep yourself up with her as you seemed to become tired and unable to respond.

Her scorpion tail came back close to her once more.

"Fucking- scorpion.." You pointed out, the tip of her stinger dripped a certain chemical before you fell into the warm-heated sand.

Light's blared into your face as you suddenly awoke. Your back was in pain, brain spinning and pleading to be free from it's coffin.

"Fuck-.. where?"

"Ah-ah ah! Don't want the doctors hard-work to be demolished shall we?" Scythe's voice rung through the room. It echoed in your ears.

"Where am I!" You screamed, but it seemed no use as she walked over. Her heels clicked to the solid, clear marble ground.

A hand reached over, two clawed fingers pinched at your chin and made her look up. God, she was tall, and quite beautiful, for a serial killer. "Wouldn't wanna wake up the others now, do we?" Her scorpion tail threatened as it reached in view.

Eyes widened, and a simple nod in command. She let go in a rough manner.

"Now, you best listen to me, or else you'll end up the same way those people ended up," Your ears wanted to close, but you made eye-contact with her.

She took it as an agreement.

"You've rose quite an interest in me, my sweet. I wouldn't think such people like ya' would be so heavily fascinated in my work of art," Work of art? What is she talking about? Those were never work of art. Those were polished crime-scenes of horror. Onslaughts.

"Now, I wouldn't want my favourite detective, my favourite sheep to be close to finding out about me now do I?" You shook your head.

"Good. Now, if you want to live and make it out of this room alive, you best follow my words," Alive?! "What do you mean 'make it out alive'? I have no deeds to share with you!" You spat.

"Oh, but you mustn't think of it that way. Think of it as a way of... saving you and mine's life. You see, I work for someone quite special deity," Special? Who could be anymore special then the SfOTH? The respected deities, gods if you will?

"There's no one as special as the SfOTH, those deities would crush someone as despicable as your boss."

That struck a nerve.

"You best keep that mouth shut, or else I will do more damage then what my boss would do to you and everyone in this god-for-saken town," Her weapon in hand, you squeaked. You stayed quiet once more.

"... Now, where was I? Ah, yes. I want you to join me, in order to protect you from the harms that might come your way for your... case," "Work with you?" "Yes."

You could nearly laugh! But you couldn't, you'd die.

"...Any benefits?"

"Oh, darling. Benefits were already arranged the first time we met," You snarled. Of course, she was planning this all along at the very start.

"Now, do we have a deal?"

Silence.

A long, period of silence.

"Well?"

You couldn't stop thinking about your family. Your friends, people you considered close.

"You best answer me, clock is ticking."

Your father, mother, what about your pets? What about, what about, what about?!

A slam of the chair, and a rising heat of pain strucking your face as you cried out.

"I've given you one chance at this, now you best answer me! Yes, or nay?" Scythe knelt down to face at you.

"One."

No Answer.

"Two."

No answer.

"THREE-"

"I ACCEPT! I will join your stupid- fucking team!"

...

"Good."

[pomplalamoose]

mkay soooo what if when the rebellion was living on hoth u and (like late anh!luke or esb!luke both would be cute lwk) went to a more tropical planet w lots of beaches tghr whilst looking for more possible bases and of course you guys just happen to get stranded n day a few vacation days on the beach!

but since luke is from tatooine n there’s barely even water in the AIR he’s never seen in a girl—specifically you, in a bikini. and since you guys have been on hoth for a time he’s never even seen you in a t shirt. like you just “what’s wrong” n he’s as red as a tomato.

anyway what i’m trying to say is you two making out in the beach n then leads to beach sex please please please oh my god. and don’t hold back on the gross details

18+ !!!

cw: a little bit of pining, a little bit of fluff, eventual smut, like seriously, mdni!

• initially you think nothing of it when the unbearable heat forces you to remove your jacket

• too great is the relief of feeling the gentle breeze cool your sweaty skin that you fail to notice the way your exposed arms seem to impact Luke

• Luke who is trying his hardest to be respectful, who is giving his best not to stare

• Luke who fails spectacularly

• Luke who, upon you sensing his distress and turning around, turns beet red and wide eyed, looking away immediately

• "it's just a pair of arms", he tries to tell himself staring down at his feet in the sand

• this certainly is nothing he hasn't seen before

• Force, he intimatedly knows what a person looks like naked and you are nowhere even near that state, he needs to get it together!

• though no matter how plausible he makes it sound in his head, the reality is, in fact, a lot harder to deal with

• because it's not "just" a pair of arms

• it's yours and he can barely tear his gaze away

• he can't quite recall the moment in which he first let his thoughts wander and they settled on you, doesn't remember when it was that he first started wondering how you'd look under all that thick winter clothing necessary to survive on Hoth

• only, that he never got the chance to hold your hand in his without those damned gloves on

• that it was never a possibility to even touch your face

• that your body was nothing more than an illusion he made up for himself during his countless daydreams

• only, that he half-feared you'd simply disappear into a cloud of cold air without all those warm layers keeping you tightly wrapped together

• but now, sitting before him, is a picture he'd nearly didn't dare to hope ever laying his eyes upon

• there you are, in nothing but a T-shirt and pants, and so close, so real, he desperately wants to reach out his hands

• he longs to finally find out how you feel

• he wants to trace his fingers up and down your arms for no particular reason, wants to touch every single freckle and mole he can find

• is your skin as soft as it looks?

• is the fine hair he sees shimmering in the sunlight when you move a certain way?

• when you raise your arms to fix your windswept hair, so does the hem of your shirt, revealing a sliver of your mid-riff and Luke nearly explodes

• he's at a loss for words, completely helpless in light of your beauty

• there's nothing more except the need to latch on to you and never let go again

• of course, at this point, you would eventually come to realize your appearance's effect; Luke is not being what one would call subtle and the love-drunk look in his eyes is hard to miss

• "have you been to the water yet?" you ask gently, feeling a little shy at being gazed at so intently, hoping to focus his attention on something else

• it works

• Luke, absolutely clueless and very happy to follow you everywhere you want to go is concerned immediately

• "wait, wait...do you know how to swim?"

• of course you do and he's so relieved until he remembers he can't

• imagine his face when he eventually admits to it

• the slight crease between his eyebrows, his unhappy, nearly upset frown

• how is he supposed to keep up with you now?

• how is he supposed to keep you safe?

• imagine his smile returning like the sun rising in the morning when you assure him you don't mind

• you only want to dip in your feet, would he not like to join you?

• imagine his eager nod, the delight in his eyes at the foreign sensation when he's finally standing beside you

• imagine the giggle that escapes him at how the water draws back and returns swiftly with every gentle wave

• at how it washes around his feet, how it feels when he wriggles his toes in the wet sand

• imagine Luke's surprise, the light shock, when you splash him, the droplets suddenly raining down all over him

• then his delight, the childish excitement

• he wasn't aware this was something you, and he too, could do!

• before you know it he's chasing you down the beach trying to get back at you

• with his long legs and ability to move over sand much faster than you are, you don't stand much of a chance

• though of course this doesn't stop you from fighting back as soon as he gets to you and it's not long after that both of you are sopping wet

• imagine him laughing freely, something you don't think you've seen him do before

• your heart beats faster

-

• it's when you're both out of breath, staring each other down to gauge your next movements, that the mood, so playful before, switches

• you can't put your finger on when it happened, can't explain how, but the dynamic between you has changed

• like your little game helped Luke make up his mind, emboldened him even, his blushy look and adoringly shy eyes are no more

• instead you're faced with a determination that raises goosebumps all over your skin, as he slowly makes his way towards you, his strong thighs parting the water with every step

• you don't know where to look

• not when he's suddenly this close to you, so close you can smell the salt on his skin and the wind in his hair

• carefully, as if afraid to scare you away, he reaches out, starts to run the fingers of his right hand up and down your left forearm

• you let him

• his gentle touch makes you shudder and unbelievably so he moves even closer, drinking in your subtle reactions

• "Luke I-"

• your voice is breathy, a little unstable

• but when you turn your head aside in embarrassment, he's quick to reach for your chin

• for a moment it's quiet, words simply eluding you in the face of your confusion and desire

• it's Luke who finally speaks again, who voices aloud what you had been thinking about, secretly hoping for, all along

• "please, may I kiss you?"

• and then, nearly inaudible, with such longing that it makes your heart ache, "just this once?"

• and all you can give in return is a nod

• imagine the light in his eyes, brighter even than the most radiant of stars, as he cups your face in his large hands and touches his lips to yours

• imagine how he slowly, so very slowly, pulls back, clearly not wanting the moment to end already

• imagine the look in his eyes, a look that seems to silently plead for more

• and the relief when he finds the immediate answer in yours

• imagine the gasp that escapes you when he finally, unabashedly, dares to take initiative and pulls you flush against him with a jolt

• imagine the pure joy that arises at being kissed like this, with such fervor and enthusiasm it weakens your knees, for once silencing your mind

• imagine the deep sense of peace that comes with being held so closely in strong arms as if they never plan on letting you go again

• you feel safe

-

• the persistence and thoroughness with which Luke continues to explore your mouth surprises you

• he kisses like he's starving, like he can't get enough

• like he may never get the chance to taste you again

• like he's afraid you're going to stop him any moment now

• meanwhile nothing could be further from your mind and it is without hesitation that you follow his lead, that you let him place you down upon the warm sand as if on the softest, most luxurious bed made just for you

• quickly his lips are on yours again and it's not long before they start to wander, to explore your features and limbs as leisurely as his hands do

• mesmerized, like in a trance, Luke traces the lines of your body, peppers kisses to every inch of you he can reach, his excitement at the ability to draw soft sighs and moans from you palpable

• soon unintelligible pleas start to spill from your lips as your arousal heightens with every passing minute

• you're growing desperate, are aching for more, for his deft fingers between your thighs

• but despite Luke's hardened length pressing insistently against his wet pants and repeatedly brushing along your upper legs, he makes no move to fulfill your wish nor to sate his own desires

• not even when you experimentally roll your hips upwards in hopes of gaining at least a little bit of friction

• he's not done exploring yet

• his attention focuses on your chest instead and you have no other choice but to continue clenching around nothing as he tentatively licks and, at length, begins to suck your nipples into his mouth until you're ready to cry out in frustration

• covered in sweat, the sand has begun to cling to your skin, rubbing against you with even the smallest of your movements and you're not sure what to make of it

• you're overwhelmed, helplessly overstimulated, almost wishing for it to stop

• though when Luke presses his knee in between your legs, giving you the chance to grind against him, it's suddenly not enough

• it's not nearly enough and your impatience finally exceeding your shame, the urge to beg becomes too strong to withhold

• for his touch, his fingers

• his cock

• "please Luke. Please just- just fuck me already"

• this catches Luke off guard though he remains silent, takes time to observe your shaking legs, your flush, quivering skin, the quick rise and fall of your chest, your wet eyes

• it shakes him out of his revery, like your words only now led him back into the present moment, made him realize for how long he's been toying with you

• how painfully desperate he is to seek his own release

• truly, he has no intention of leaving you like this, on the brink of an orgasm and close to tears

• but he's stalling, he knows, holding back, unsure of how to proceed and afraid to hurt you

• what if you're not ready to take him yet?

• lost in thought his fingers move gently along the waistband of your underpants until they dip lower in wonder, his knuckles slowly grazing over the wet spot where your dripping arousal has soaked into the fabric

• he is the reason for this, the reason for your pleasure, he realizes

• and he wants you, has wanted you for a very long time

• having made up his mind he carefully pushes a finger deep inside of you, pleasantly surprised at how easy you allow him entrance

• "no", he breathes when you try to strip off your panties to better grant him access

• "I want you like this"

• Luke makes you cum several times before even considering to free his cock from its confines

• too deeply does he enjoy your cries and twitches growing in intensity to accept for pleasure of his own to distract from it

• too hypnotizing it is to watch his fingers disappear into you again and again until they're deeply coated and practically dripping with your arousal

• too satisfying are the obscene squelching sounds that arise, louder and louder the faster he drives into you

• if it were up to him he would continue like this forever, unbothered by his own urges, content to simply watch

• though as you grow tired he eventually takes mercy

• he fucks you until you're close to passing out with pleasure, your face held tightly between his hands

• until your back is sore with being rubbed over the sandy ground over and over and over again

• until there's sand everywhere, in places you don't even dare to think about right now, and your legs are quivering from how long you had to keep them this far apart

• until he is panting, ruthlessly chasing his orgasm with hard, fast thrusts that shake your entire body and cause your eyes to roll into the back of your head

• until tears are streaming down your face and not even the sounds of the crashing waves are able to drown out the wet slapping noises when his hips meet yours in a near frenzy as he buries himself balls-deep in your throbbing heat

A/N: I'm so excited I finally, FINALLY had the time to work on this request!! Really, I couldn't get it out of my head since you first sent it in and not being able to write it all down immediately was pure torture😩

Thank you for your patience! I hope you don't mind the way this turned out to be a little fluffier than anticipated, I just couldn't help it. I love my Luke being desperately head over heels for the reader <33

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Overtime 9

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss, Mr. Hansen, runs you ragged but you find solace in an unexpected friend.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Jake Jensen.

Author’s Note: This one is dedicated to my dearest @thezombieprostitute

Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

As you come in sight of your desk, you stutter step. Every day when Mr. Hansen gets in, rarely before yourself, he closes himself in his office. He never says good morning, never has a ‘hello’, usually only a tossed jacket and cold shoulder. Not today. 

You stare at Mr. Hansen as he leans against your desk with his arms crossed. His eye socket is purplish blue and a bit swollen. He winces as he narrows his eyes at you. 

“Critter,” he greets. 

“Sir, I brought you a coffee,” you wiggle the cup free of the tray and hold it out. “How’s your eye?” 

“You don’t look very well-rested,” he ignores your question. “Figured you would since you left in such a hurry.” 

“Mr. Hansen--” 

“Save it,” he takes the cup and hold his fingers over the lid. “It’s cold.” 

He takes the lid off and turns. He plunks it down so it splashes on your desk and he reached to your monitor. He takes the little dancing kitten and rams it into the cup. “Go get me another.” 

You can’t help a whimper as you step up to grab your figurine. He keeps you from getting to it. You can already see the felt soaking through.

“Sir?” You whine, “why--” 

“I need a new coffee. Scurry off and get it, Critter.” 

Mr. Hansen is rarely nice. You might call him the meanest person you’ve ever met but he’s worse today. Is it his ex-wife or is it you? Is this because you would stick around past dark? And if you did and came in worn out or late, what then? It’s a game with no winning. 

You take a step back and set your chin, “yes, sir. Coffee, sir.” 

Your voice is willowy and hollow. He faces you, weighing you with a glare. You turn and stomp back to the door, dropping the cardboard tray in the blue bin on your way out. You have to get away from him before you scream. 

It’s not just that he ruined your kitty, it’s everything. You’re so confused by him. You don’t get why last night he acted the way he did and now he’s a bigger jackass than before. That's right. A jackass. 

You forge ahead without hesitation. This building is suffocating, the indifference of others is biting, and everything about your existence is grey. You hate it all. 

Your instinct guides you through the motions. They know you at a glance at Esther’s. They get your coffee ready and you pay with the company card. You leave and drive without urgency. 

Back at the office, you head up with dread heavy in your heels. You take a breath before you near Mr. Hansen’s door, a brief glimpse of your still coffee-submerged figure on the way. You stop and stare at his door. Your heart is racing. 

Your hand moves to the lid without thinking. You peel it off carefully and gather saliva on your tongue. You dip your head and quietly spit into the coffee. You put the lid back and stand straight. You can’t knock. You look down at the cup and sigh. You can’t give him it now. Why did you do that? 

Too late. The door opens and you flinch. Hansen swipes the cup from your hand, “about time. I’m not supposed to be waiting on you, critter, other way around.” Your mouth falls open but you can’t speak. You're helpless. Again. You hate that feeling. “No tomato red today? Too bad?” 

He eyes you up and down and you slump. He raises the cup and slurps through the slot. You bite down and watch him, cheek twitching. You don’t feel so bad anymore. 

“Sir, is there anything else I can get you?” You ask. 

“A smile, how about that, critter?” 

You furrow your brow. 

“Other way, sweetheart.” 

You wince. Sweetheart... you’re critter. A rodent. Not anything else. 

You smile, it’s brittle and painful. He winks and doffs his cup, “good girl.” 

He takes a step back and slams the door in your face. No thank you. Just humiliation. 

You huff and shake your head. You go to your desk and slip your purse underneath. You boot up your computer and twiddles your fingers on your thighs. You’re uneasy, you can’t settle in. 

You remove the felt kitty from the coffee cup. It’s soppy and stained. You dump both in the bin under your desk. It's ruined. There’s no saving it. Forget it. 

Hansen’s calendar is busy that day. He has golf at one. Good. He'll be out of office. You start on the inbox and your own bings. You usually let yours pile up. There’s never anything important. You catch the title before the notification disappears. 

You switch to your own account and open the new mail. It’s from logistics; a general account without a name. Your nerves stir as you read the offer for an interview. Tomorrow. Wow, that’s quick. Jensen came through. And whoever this G is that signed the single letter at the bottom. 

You hit reply and Hansen’s door opens, giving you a start. Your pulse picks up and you minimize your response. Mr. Hansen teethes the plastic lid of his cup as he tuts and approaches. 

“I need new golf gloves for this afternoon.” 

“Sir,” you grab your notebook and a pen, “I can go grab some--” 

“No, you’ll come with me,” he demands. “I got big hands. I can’t have you bringing me those one size fits all bullshit.” 

“Yes, sir,” you close the notebook. 

“Could use a new shirt too,” he says thoughtfully, “something that brings out my eyes.” 

You look up at him, “right now, sir?” 

“Right fucking now,” he checks his watch. “Christ, what’s gotten into you?” 

“Nothing, Mr. Hansen,” you click around your screen and lock the computer. “Let’s go.” 

You bend to grab your purse and hook it over your elbow as you stand. You feel him watching. You come around the desk and he meets you on the other side. 

“You know,” he blocks you with his arm, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you pissed off.” 

“Sir?” You step back. “I’m not--” 

“You’re not?” He challenges. 

“No, sir.” 

“Then lighten the fuck up,” he sneers and pinches your cheek. You can’t help but swat at him and he catches your hand. “Woah, woah, we getting frisky?” 

“No, Mr. Hansen,” you wisp as he squeezes your wrist, “you surprised me--” 

“Aw, crit, how long have you been here?” He lets go and taps your cheek mockingly, “keep up.” 

His sole scuffs as he turns and struts off. You trail behind him like the mouse he calls you. You sniff and watch him sip from the cup. It is kinda of funny. He has no idea what’s in it. It’s as much vindication as you’ll ever get but hopefully, you won’t have to deal with him for much longer. 

[agentoffangirling]

Season 1 of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. is not bad. It really isn't. To both a longtime fan and a complete newcomer to the MCU, it would not be seen as a bad show if they just did more than surface research on it

If you look at the ratings on Rotten Tomatoes for the show overall, it has a 95%. 89% for s1. On IMDB, 7.5/10, with their lowest episode being only 7.1/10. Critics like it, audiences like it

So why is it that it is viewed so negatively by a large majority of Marvel fans? And to that I say: they never stuck around till the end of the season

See, when AoS was coming out, there was massive hype around it. Marketing would have you think that it was some type of Avengers crossover, with people like Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff showing up every other episode (but hey, this is Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Not Agents of T.H.O.R.)

This is what led to the massive turnout of 11 million viewers for that first episode, but when it turned out to be a show about S.H.I.E.L.D. featuring new people, like it always was supposed to be, people very quickly tuned out

(Even tho, hey, it's a SPY show and you only watched 1 EPISODE. Give it some time)

But most didn't give it time. They wanted to see Hawkeye and Fury and Maria go on adventures that would stand the test of time, fighting Loki and essentially just being mini Avengers, and when that didn't happen, they left. They wrote early reviews claiming that the show didn't meet expectations and wasn't worth the time. You get a very sharp dip from episode 1 bc marketing claimed this was an Avengers show, and people felt that it fell short

Those reviews are what Marvel fanboys use now, without ever watching the show themselves or pointing out that they're literally 11 years old. They bring the idea that the show is boring and lazy, putting aside the fact that basically everything else from it is called innovating and jaw-dropping. They praise the use of THEIR ideas in other Marvel shows, but call it plain in their home territory. They don't bother

So hey, if you're planning on watching Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., please ignore literally everything those fanboys say. They haven't watched the show, those early reviews couldn't stand watching past episode 2, just ignore them. Trust the fandom when we say that not only is season 1 perfectly fine, it's truly amazing fun, and so many of the plotlines they executed in that season are incredible

Because if we all stopped at season 1, there wouldn't be any shows

[chiharuhashibira]

hi besiee (Love ya stories) I was wondering if you could make a fluff/smut head cannons for Sanemi like the fluff one is about he period what he would do if the fem reader was on her period (LIKE ME OMGGG) and the smut is like uhhh... BRUH I JS HAD IT OMGG OMG OMG OMG got it the smut is like when the reader upsets Sanemi and you can do the rest I have nothing else anyways bye bye bestie! (if you don't wanna do it you don't have to ^-^ bye bestie!) PS - js call me Octavia it's my name-

Hi Octavia~ Thank you for this HC request!

Alsooo I am so happy that you love my stories 💓 Appreciate the love and support UwU

And with that, I'll try my best to make this HC fluffy and pinch a bit of lemon 🤭

Enjoy~

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒅

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐗 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Content Warnings: Upper part is SFW but don't scroll down past the NSFW Warning if you're a minor! MDNI!

🌸𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐰𝐚🌸

❥ Whenever you're on your period, the days are quite overwhelming for Sanemi. At least before.

❥ When you first told him that you'd gotten your period, the man was like... "Are you really supposed to say this to me?" and blushed redder than a ripe tomato. Give the guy a break; you're his first girlfriend, so he didn't know how to react.

❥ But then he had figured out that giving you foot massages, cuddling with you, and at least lessening his grumpiness helped a lot.

❥ And so he does that, accompanied by lots of kisses and, yes, pampering. If you want food, he'll give you anything; he would even cook for you on those days.

❥ Whenever you have period cramps... (See 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝑴𝒆 𝑹𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆)

❥ The man is really sweet. Little did you know that he had a calendar marked whenever you're getting your period. And when you saw this, he told you that he just wanted to be extra sweet to you on those days, and he just wanted to prepare for it.

❥ But then, period is equal to no sex. And this could sometimes make Sanemi a little impatient.

❥ Yes, he won't force you to have sex with him, but that doesn't mean that he won't do anything to relieve himself.

❥ At night, when his sex drive is too high, he will often pull down his pants and jerk off beside you. But then, even if he is not trying to wake you up, you'll end up waking up from his little grunts and muffled moans.

❥ And whenever that happens, you'll try to "take care of him" as much as you can. Yes, taking care could mean you taking the initiative to pump his cock up and down, making the man buck his hips up in pleasure. One thing about Sanemi is that he hates his sword being touched by you, but he loves his cock being held by you. And so, that's what you usually do. Jerk your boyfriend off with an unpredicted rhythm that would eventually not just make him cum once on your hand, but mostly twice.

❥ Taking care could also mean boob job. You would often place Sanemi's hard shaft between your boobs, making sure to give a great blow job as you licked the cum on the tip as you rubbed it up and down. Yes, Sanemi loved the way you looked as you did that, kneeling in front of him with his cock between your boobs or inside your hot mouth.

❥ Those are the usual nights, but then, your period could also mean mood changes. When it reached Sanemi's peak and you upset him, he would often roll his eyes at you and leave you for a bit. But then you'll realise you made him feel bad, so what you'll do is mostly give him all the love.

❥ And love could mean you giving him intense blowjobs, with Sanemi tugging your hair or holding your head to make sure he can fuck your mouth deeper.

❥ To make it up to him, sometimes you'll end up swallowing all his cum, showing it on your tongue like a good girl before doing so. Sometimes, you'll also end up letting him give you a facial, making sure you retain eye contact as he ejaculates on your face and boobs, as the Wind Hashira loves that fearful and seductive look of yours.

❥ But yes, you're on your period, so after that intense "work up" and "making up" with Sanemi, he'll give you the best aftercare, cuddle with you after, and tell you how much he loves you before you both end up asleep.

"I love you, baby. You're the best thing in this world. I'm glad I have you."

𝓘 𝓱𝓸𝓹𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓵𝓵 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓸𝓷𝓮!

I was thinking to do an intense scene (like the one in Saltburn if you already saw it), but I can't XD I just can't HAHA

Thank you so much for reading this HC!

As always, feel free to comment, reblog, and request!

Ja ne~

~𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓾-𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷🌸

[astroboots]

Past Lives

Author's note: Prequel to Every You Ever Me (but can be read as standalone).

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You meet Miguel O'Hara for the first time in a life-changing encounter.

Word count: 1.3k words

Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist 

You're standing on platform B at Main Street station, teeth chattering as you zip up your jacket. You're freezing your tits off.

This is why you don't like going all the way to Flushing. As bad as the stations get closer to the city, reeking of piss, body odor and stale vomit, at least it's always warm underground. Out here, there's no shelter, the tracks are exposed to elements.

It seems as if you are the only one stupid enough to come out here at 6 am on a Sunday, because there's barely anyone else here on the platform.

It's dreary and dark. The leftover snow has melted leaving only grey sludge and a slipping hazard behind.

From the corner of your eyes, you spot movement on the tracks.

You don't think much of it at first. Must be another oversized rodent feasting on discarded pizza, except... it's much too large for that, maybe a dog?

Your head whips back to get a closer look and the sight has your blood freezing to ice.

Is... Is that a man?

You stare at the bulky build crouched over on the tracks. Even as he's bent down, you can see that the man must be freakishly all.

"Sir?" You call out hesitantly.

He doesn't answer you. Doesn't pay you any attention at all. Is he drunk? He's dressed in dark blue spandex from head to toe, obscuring any facial features, wearing a sparkling Lucha Libre mask like he's on his way to WWE.

Yeah, definitely drunk then.

You glance up nervously at the departure board. The green LED light ominously reads: "4 Min".

If the man doesn't get off the tracks he's going to be pancaked by the oncoming train.

Walking up closer to the ledge, you shout across to him. "Hey! You need to get off the tracks."

He doesn't move out of the way.

Shit!

You don't understand. How did he get there. There wasn't anyone on there just a second ago. You would've heard if someone had jumped down from the platform. Where did he come from? Did he materialize out of thin air?

"There's an oncoming train," you try again. It doesn't make a lick of difference from the first time you shouted.

Why you think you can talk sense into a drunk who seemingly can't hear you (or is pretending to not hear you) is beyond you.

Glancing up at the board, you only have 3 minutes left now. It would be entirely too late to call for staff to help. By the time they'd show up the man would already be tomato paste across the tracks.

"Sir!" you shout again. But nothing.

Shit. shit shit shit.

He's not moving of his own accord. The only thing that could get him to budge would be to tackle him... which is absurd for you to do. You must be nearly half his size.

But what else are you supposed to do? Stand by and watch a man die?

You get queasy at the doctors when they draw blood for check ups. You cry when the dog dies in a horror movie. You would never be able to walk away from a man dying, only a few feet away from you. It would haunt you for the rest of your life.

In the corner of your eyes, 3 minutes turn to 2. Before you have the time to slow down your thoughts and properly think, you're already scooting down against the ledge and jumping down the track.

What the fuck are you doing. Why are you risking your life for a drunken stranger?

Your heart is hammering through your chest, beating its way up your throat. You feel queasy with adrenaline as you squeeze your eyes tightly shut.

In the total darkness behind your eyes, you leap forward, with your entire body weight as you slam into him.

There's an angry growl of surprise as you make contact. The man is built like a brick wall. It's like you ran up to a building and collided with hard concrete.

Both of you tumble across the tracks and in that split second that seems to last forever, there is a pandemonius roar that bellows out behind you. Wind whips past your side so hard that it's painful, and you think to yourself that maybe you didn't make it in time.

Except you did.

Because when you open your eyes, instead of eternal darkness all you see are scarlet red eyes, staring up at you with wide shock. You've never seen eyes like this before. They shine like rubies even in the dim dark.

Underneath the blue mask, the man is gorgeous. All sharp angles, and cut jaw with pouty lips that belongs to a Hollywood starlet-- Wait where's the mask?

You could've sworn that he was wearing a mask over his face before.

You don't get to contemplate on that thought for long. There's a flash of glaring light blinding you, the grinding screech of gears closing in.

Oh fuck.

The northbound train is arriving.

You need to get up. Need to climb over the ledge before it's here. You try to raise yourself up on your elbows, but the strength is zapped out of you. Rubble digs into your knees. Everything stings and burns.

The yellowed lights are too close, the screeching of metal is right in your ears.

Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh god! There isn't enough time. You're going to die.

A strong grip envelops your waist, hoisting you up. The ground below you disappears. You don't know how, but gravity seems to fall away, and you find yourself high up in the air as the sight of train tracks recedes.

You're flying.

Looking up, you see the man's face once again covered in the blue mask from before. He's holding onto you with one arm, while the other is stretched outwards into the empty air. There's web connecting his hand to the sky as he swings you through the landscape of Flushing beneath your feet.

From up here, even something as vast as New York looks small.

He lands the both of you on solid ground, on a nearby rooftop, arms still wrapped firmly around you as he sets you down on your toes and doesn't let go until the back of your heel is firmly planted.

You on the other hand, are still holding onto him tightly. Hands in a death grip into the muscle of his forearm.

Up close, he's staggeringly tall. The angle you have to crane your neck to look up at him feels unnatural, like you're observing a landmark monument, not just a person.

The mask disintegrates, the red and blue material disintegrating to reveals his face to you again.

You're too stupefied by the events that have taken place in the last few minutes to react appropriately

"Are you--" you start, but you don't know how else to finish that sentence. Is he what? What do you want to ask him after he flew up in the sky and saved you? Is he human? an alien? Do you ask him what just happened? Where he came from? Why the hell he was on the train tracks and didn't move! even though you told him to?

You blink up at him, running through each one of the questions and stupidly instead, you settle for the simplest one of all.

"Are you okay?"

He's smiling at you, an amused expression glinting in his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he answers.

Stretching out an arm above him, a string of web shoots out from the palm of his hand into the sky.

"See you around," he says. Then he swoops into the air and he’s gone. 

Author's notes: I got some questions a while back about how Miguel meets Nena, and this is part of that answer.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[alwaysonthemend]

Author's Note: Requested by the lovely @mindastreamofcolours Please don't throw tomatoes at me I know this has taken FAR too long (I'm the worst I'm so sorry) But I hope the length is enough of an apology for the wait. If you see any typos... no you didn't

Also sorry if you got tagged twice. Tumblr was against me posting this apparently and I was ✨struggling✨ but I think I got it fixed now.

Warnings: Fem!reader, threesome (no slash) / unprotected sex / spitting / spanking / oral (m. and f. receiving) / hand jobs / masturbation / voyeurism / arguing / josh being josh / jake being a little shit / dom and sub jake / dom and sub reader / soft!dom josh / MINORS ABSOLUTELY DNI. 18+ ONLY PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

Word Count: 7k+

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ✺ ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It started years ago – this little… arrangement that the three of you have. And at this point, none of you can even really remember how it had started. But, you suppose, the why and how don’t really matter anymore. 

All that matters is them. 

All that matters is that your life had changed from the very minute you were hired as their makeup artist. Your life changed to revolve around them and their needs. 

And you love every second of it. 

The rules (though none of you have ever really stated them outright) have always been simple. 

One: Don’t talk about it with anyone else. No one needs to know what goes on behind closed doors and no one needs to concern themselves with something they won’t understand. This works for you three and involving others would only complicate things. 

Two: No jealousy. At least, no more than a little showing out here and there. They work together (and they love each other more than anything else in the world) and this cannot ever get in the way. No questions, no pissing contests, no anger, no holding it against each other. There are nights where you leave with Josh and there are nights where you leave with Jake. There’s nothing else to it. 

And finally, three: Never at the same time. 

The arrangement is simple, really. You’re there to help them get their frustrations out now that they’re far too famous to be sleeping around with just any old roadie like the old days. They trust you. And you trust them. It’s easier this way for everyone. They get to blow off some steam and you get the most mind blowing sex of your life – all while getting to travel around the world doing what you love (for a handsome paycheck). 

Plus, there’s satisfaction in knowing that despite there being thousands of men and women out there who would give anything to have them the way you do… it’s you who they go to. It’s you who they trust. 

And anyways, you’re fairly certain that none of those screaming fans would be able to handle them like you can. 

Though it had taken time, you had learned over the years what makes each of them tick – the thing that drives each of them absolutely crazy. 

They’re both so similar and yet so different at the same time. Sun and moon, yin and yang… whatever you might call it – they balance each other in a way that few can understand. 

Their differences are subtle, and yet they make all the difference in the world. 

Josh loves to watch you. He wants to see how your face contorts in pleasure and how your tits bounce when he fucks you. He wants you on your back with your knees up to your chest so he can watch his cock slide in and out of you. He wants to watch you unravel around his cock as he whispers sweet things into your ear. Good girl, clever girl, beautiful girl. All you have to do is lay there and take it – let him pleasure you with his skilled tongue and big cock. Call him baby and Joshy in your sweetest voice and he falls apart inside your cunt, whining and moaning so prettily for you. Josh will give you orgasm after orgasm after orgasm until your body just can’t take it anymore and when you’re finally spent – laying there in a daze,  he’ll grin and kiss you softly. 

And then there’s Jake. Ever the dark to Josh’s light… he wants you to beg for it. He wants you cock drunk and desperate as he brings you to the edge over and over and over again until you’re left as nothing but a whiny mess beneath him. He demands respect. You call him sir or you will receive punishment. You do not cum unless he tells you to. You are obedient to him and him alone (though he always remains a slave to your pleasure despite himself). He likes you on your hands and knees where he can grip your hips and reach around to squeeze your throat as he pounds into you mercilessly. And his mouth. The vulgar things that spew from those plump lips of his leave you blushing like a schoolgirl. You’re his whore, his slut, his pretty little hole that he gets to use for the night. And when he finally, finally lets you cum…it’s the closest to Heaven on Earth that you’ll ever get. 

But yet, as different as they are from each other… they’re the same in all the ways that matter. Your pleasure is at the top of their priorities. As much as you are there to help them relieve themselves on the road… they never take you for granted. At the end of the day, you call the shots and you have both of them wrapped around your finger completely. They’ll follow you into the depths of Hell if you ask them – which you’re sure is where all three of you are headed anyway. It’s an addictive little dance that you all play and you’re sure that it can only lead you all down the path of destruction. And yet… none of you can find it in yourselves to care. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ✺ ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You already know that they’re pissed. You can practically smell it in the air as you wait patiently in the green room, waiting. 

They had already been having one of those days – where everything seems to go wrong and they’re both intent on blaming the other for it. You’d been watching them do their dance all day. Listening to their bickering and passive aggressive little remarks at each other as the hours wore on and on. As close as they are��� as inseparable as they are, there are days when they can’t seem to stand each other. 

And unfortunately, the tension between the two of them had manifested itself on stage tonight. Of course, you’re 100% certain that none of the members of the audience had even noticed, but you had. And they sure had. 

Josh had been late to the curtain drop. Perpetually late to everything else, he’d always had the decency to at least be on time for his own concerts until tonight. Jake’s shoulders had tensed practically up to his ears at the confused sounds of the crowd as they realized that they were one man short and though you couldn’t see him, you’re sure that the glare that Josh had probably received had been pointed and harsh. 

And then of course Jake’s equipment had malfunctioned briefly, causing him to angrily gesture at his tech to get the problem fixed. It hadn’t taken longer than two minutes and few even noticed the mishap, but the shit eating grin that Josh had given Jake only added to his building rage. 

And finally, the nail in the metaphorical coffin for the night… Jake had decided that it would be a wonderful idea to cut Josh off in the middle of one of his little bits, effectively silencing his joke with a piercing whine from his guitar. 

You’d known immediately that it was over. They'd pushed each other far enough and you would be the one to suffer the (delicious) consequences. It’s just a matter of who gets to you first. 

If Jake reaches you first, you know that you’re in for a night of complete sexual agony and he’ll push you to your limit until he deems you’ve begged him enough for it before finally giving you an orgasm that you’re sure to remember for months to come. And you’ll surely be waking up tomorrow with a bright red ass and a hitch in your step. 

And if Josh gets to you, well… it’s harder to tell with him. Perhaps he’ll decide on a vibrator for the night – getting to watch you fall apart serving as the perfect distraction from his troubles. Or perhaps his tongue will instead be his weapon of choice, using it to make you cum until you physically can’t anymore. 

Either option sounds wonderful and you can’t quite tell which one you want more. The wait will be well worth it no matter which boy is the one to reach you first. 

– 

The sound of the door opening stirs you from your thoughts. You turn to see Josh (the lucky winner for the night) eyeing you like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. At this point, you’re pretty sure that you are. 

“Y/n.” 

That’s all he says. It’s all he has to say. Even from here you can see his eyes are blown wide and his chest heaves as his eyes drink in your form. Standing there, cloaked in velvet, he’s the picture of sin. The gemstones on his suit glitter as he stands there and you meet his hungry gaze with an innocent smile. 

“Hi, Joshy. Something wrong?” The lilt in your voice is sickly sweet, building up the tension that will inevitably make him snap. 

He only hums – the sound rumbling deep in his chest. 

“I think you know what's wrong, baby.” He whispers, dropping his hand down to palm his hard cock through the velvet. 

Well shit you think to yourself, an excited thrum coursing through your veins as slick pools between your thighs. If he's starting something here… he's desperate enough to not be able to wait for the short ride back to the hotel. All the signs are pointing to tonight being one that you won't forget. 

“Bad day?” You question, leaning back on the sofa where you're sitting and giving him your very best doe eyes. 

He nods, a sigh escaping from between his teeth as his hand grazes his crotch– his throbbing length obvious to you through the tight material. 

“Anything I can do to make you feel better?” This game is making you even wetter… the promise of what you know is to come. Without another word, you slide your body downwards until your knees hit the floor. You glance at him, patting the sofa with your palm. “Bet I can make you forget all about today, baby.”

“Fuck.”  He practically moans, biting his lip as he stalks across the room to look down at you. “You gonna be my sweet girl? Help me relax?” 

You nod, your mouth watering at the sight of his cock straining the fabric of his jumpsuit.

He grins devilishly, unzipping his suit and pulling the fabric down so that it rests around his thick thighs. With grace, he eases himself down to sit on the sofa, leaning back and spreading his legs. 

He never wears underwear in these tight suits and you’re grateful as you sit and stare at his cock. Flushed red and rock hard, it curves upwards to rest against his belly. 

Making a show of it, you hold your palm open and allow a string of saliva to drip from your mouth into your waiting hand. Josh groans at the sight and you waste no time as you wrap your palm around his length, slowly pumping him as you keep your eyes fixed on his. 

A flush has overtaken his cheeks and a light sheen of sweat beads at his hairline. He's got his plump bottom lip caught between his teeth as he fights to keep his eyes from rolling back. He wants to watch you stroke his cock. 

You drop your focus to his throbbing erection, flicking your wrist as you continue to tease him. You press your thumb into the spot just beneath his head and a whine escapes him. You keep the pace slow – too slow for his liking. Working him up until he can't stand it anymore. 

“Don't tease, baby.” He whispers, his tone soft but demanding. 

His hand covers yours, halting your movement as he gazes down at you. You know what he wants. You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, flattening the muscle as you look up at him through your lashes. 

“Fuck, there she is. My wonderful girl.” He mutters, placing the head of his cock on your tongue. He doesn't push in yet, instead taking a moment to admire the sight before him: you, on your knees, tongue obediently extended and your eyes glittering in the dim light. 

Slowly, teasingly, he slides his length into your mouth and you close your lips around him. Relaxing your jaw, you allow the blunt head of his length to hit the back of your throat. You gag slightly around it, exhaling strongly through your nose. Placing both of your palms on his thighs, you dig your fingers into the meat of them as you start to bob your head up and down. You keep your tongue pressed into the underside of him, drawing a loud moan from between his pretty lips. 

You pull out all the tricks you know, making sure to gag every now and then because you know it drives him wild. Tears stream down your cheeks and saliva drips from the corners of your mouth and Josh is quickly coming apart beneath you. 

Just as his cock begins to twitch, signaling his impending orgasm, you’re both broken from your moment at the sound of someone clearing their throat. You pull off him, wide eyes turning to be met with none other than his twin – a dark, dangerous look on his face. 

“What a fucking sight.” He says with a grin, stepping further into the room. 

Josh eyes him warily, his cock softening at Jake’s interruption. 

“What do you want, Jake?” You ask him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“You’re kinda interrupting something, here.” Josh says snidely, sitting up straighter and pulling his jumpsuit back up to cover his cock. 

“I didn’t say you had to stop.” Jake shrugs, taking a seat in the chair opposite the sofa. “Just patiently waiting for my turn, is all.” 

You quirk a brow at him. He’s never done this before – neither of them have. You can sense the tension and anger radiating off Josh – and Jake seems entirely too comfortable as he sits there watching, a smug little smirk on his face. 

“Wait somewhere else, then.” Josh demands, sitting up straighter and glaring at his brother. 

Jake only meets him with a grin, sitting back in his seat and spreading his legs to get more comfortable. 

“I’m good here. Won’t take long anyway.” 

Despite yourself, you huff a laugh at his joke and then it's your turn for Josh to glare at you.

“Fuck off, Jake.” Josh tells him, jerking his head for the door. “Be fucking thoughtful for once in your life.” 

Jake sits forwards suddenly, placing his elbows on his knees and narrowing his eyes. 

“That’s rich coming from you, brother. Easy for you to say when you always get your fucking way.” 

“That’s not true and you know it.” Josh snaps, eyes fiery. 

Jake scoffs. 

“Fucking diva.” 

“Asshole.” 

“Boys.” You cut in, wiping your palms on your thighs. “Enough. I’m not doing anything with either of you if you’re going to act like children. You,” you glance at Josh, “now you know that you can be controlling and nitpicky sometimes.” Josh’s eyes narrow at you and he opens his mouth to protest but you start in on Jake instead. 

“And you” You glare at Jake, washing the smirk off his face. “You know that you like to stir shit up and make people mad on purpose because you think it's funny. You both have been acting unreasonable all day and you will not be using me as a piece in your little games with each other.” 

Josh looks suitably chastised and Jake too has the decency to look a little guilty. You rise from your place on the floor, knees protesting slightly. Both of their brown eyes track your movements, their facial expressions exactly alike. Fucking twins you think to yourself. 

“Can you please make him leave?” Josh begs, pleading with you with his eyes and a tiny pout on his lips. 

“No. I’m the one who’s leaving. I’m not fucking either of you until this” you gesture between the two of them, “gets resolved. You both know what room I’m in. Get your shit together and figure it out.” 

With that, you stalk confidently across the room, throwing open the door and making your way to the exit of the venue. Just as you round the corner, faintly you can hear Josh’s voice – angry and high pitched, “You couldn’t even let me have one fucking moment with her, could you? You asshole!” 

Rolling your eyes, you call an Uber and wait for it to take you back to your hotel. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ✺ ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You take a nice, hot shower as soon as you get back. You take your time, allowing yourself to relax and forget about your idiotic twins. Once you get out and dry off, you check your phone to see a text from Jake. 

I’m sorry.  

You just giggle at the message. You know he’s never being malicious. But he does enjoy stirring shit up sometimes without really thinking about the consequences. You figure you’ll leave him on ‘read’ for now so he can sit there tonight and stew for a little bit.

Just as you turn it off, the screen lights up again with a text from Josh. 

im sorry baby

You figure you can answer him. He hadn’t been the one to try and involve you in their pissing match anyways. You send him a quick ‘It’s okay.’ before turning your phone off for good. Once changed into a pair of comfortable cotton panties and a tank top, you slip under the covers in the hopes of getting some good sleep. 

–  

A loud knock wakes you. 

Sitting up, you rub your eyes and try to get your bearings. You’d been sound asleep. 

Another knock against the door. 

“Fuck, coming!” You call, climbing out of bed and making your way to the door, fully expecting one of the twins to be waiting on the other side. 

The door swings open and you stop dead in your tracks. Both twins stand across the threshold, matching twinkles in their eyes. 

“Hey, angel.” Jake says kindly, as if both of them showing up at your door in the middle of the night is perfectly normal. 

“Um. Hi?”

“May we come in?” Josh asks you, grinning slightly as he takes in your state of (un) dress. 

“I guess?” You step aside, allowing them both to step into the room (annoyingly in sync as they walk). You close the door and lock it behind you. “Is everything okay?” 

“Wonderful, actually.” Jake says, plopping himself down in the desk chair and swiveling back around to look at you. 

“You and Josh figure things out, then?”

“Yup.” Josh says, popping the ‘p.’ 

“Great.” 

They’re both silent for a minute, making you squirm slightly under their dual gazes. They know something… or want something. You can feel it in the air. They’re up to something. Whether good or bad… you have no fucking clue. 

“Is there a reason that you’re both here?” You ask, sitting on the edge of the bed as Josh comes to stand in the middle of the room. 

“Yes. Though whether or not both of us stay is up to you.” Josh starts, glancing back at his twin for a moment before continuing. “See, we realized that we were both being a little overly dramatic today.” 

“Which Josh started.” Jake butts in. 

“Shut up, Jake.” Josh says, narrowing his eyes again and you’re worried that they’re going to start all over again. But Josh lets it slide. “And neither of us really want to give you up for the night seeing as how we’ve both had such a shit day.” He pauses and looks pointedly at Jake. “Regardless of who started it.” 

“And see… we thought that maybe – just this once, neither of us should have to wait. Figured that maybe we could share you for tonight.” Jake cuts in. 

“Share me?” You ask slowly, brain working a mile a minute as it tries to make sense of his words. Surely he doesn’t mean… right?

“Only if you’re comfortable, of course.” Josh says easily, hands moving about slightly as he speaks. “Or you can tell us to fuck off and we’ll leave you alone for the night.”

You swallow thickly, heart thrumming. 

“Share me…” You echo, brows pinched together. “As in, you both… with me. At the same time.” You speak slowly, still trying to wrap your head around the idea.

“In essence, yes. If you’d like to.” Jake says. 

You’re silent for a long moment – each of them waiting patiently for you to speak again. You’d be a big fat liar if you said that you hadn’t thought about it before. Having both of them… the ultimate sin that your mind loves to throw at you whenever you’re alone. Nights in between touring when you lay alone in bed, your own hand between your thighs to relieve the ache that the twins leave in their absence. Your thoughts – unable to choose, swirling between both of them. Their faces, the same but not, plaguing your mind’s eye and making your aching pussy soaked. Josh’s sugary words and Jake’s dirty compliments echoing through your ears all mixed up. The thought of having both of them at once – as wrong as it may be… just the thought alone usualy has you coming apart in seconds. 

And now here they are, offering you your deepest desire on a silver fucking platter. 

“Okay.”  You breathe out, voice shaky but sure. 

“You’re sure?” Josh asks, stepping towards you and brushing his fingertips down your cheek. “It’s your choice.”

“You won’t hurt our feelings by saying no.” Jake adds, smiling ever so softly at you. 

“And I’m saying yes.” You tell him with all the confidence that you can. Because you do want this. More than anything. You want to be fucking ruined. 

And yet… you’re not sure where to start. This is new territory – one that feels as though it’s too good to be true. Perhaps it is. 

“I believe I interrupted something earlier.” Jake says, once again leaning backwards in his chair. “Perhaps we can start by letting you finish what you started.”

Jake must have sensed your hesitance, deciding instead to tell you where to start. You’re infinitely grateful for him and his ability to sense when you need guidance.This is familiar for you – letting him take control. It’s natural the way his velvet voice tells you what to do. It makes this easy. 

You nod, gaze sweeping to where Josh stands, his face eager as he watches you slide off the bed to come and stand before him. 

“On your knees for me, sweet girl.” Josh whispers, easing his sweatpants off his hips and then hooking his fingers in the elastic of his boxers and pulls them down as well. He’s already hard and leaking, probably aching to be touched after being interrupted earlier. Slowly, you ease down onto your knees. 

“Suck his cock, angel. Make him feel good.” Jake’s voice is smooth as whiskey, just barely above a whisper. 

You do as he says, opening wide and letting Josh slide his cock back into your waiting mouth. 

“Shit.” He hisses, tossing his head back as his tip hits your throat. His hand comes up to tangle in your hair as he begins to thrust into you softly, giving your throat a moment to adjust to the intrusion before picking up his pace. 

You can feel the wetness between your thighs as you sit there letting him use your mouth – the cotton of your panties surely completely drenched through. Something about the noises Josh is making coupled with the feeling of Jake’s dark gaze on you has you feeling like you could come completely untouched before the night is over. 

The sound of a zipper being undone has you pull off Josh and snap your gaze over to Jake – Josh whimpers at the loss of contact but you’re more concerned with the sight of Jake easing his own hard cock from his pants and wrapping his fist around himself. He strokes his hard length lazily, eyes never leaving you. 

“Did I tell you to stop?” He asks, a sharp edge to his voice. “Keep sucking him, angel. You look so pretty like that.”

Josh’s finger hooks beneath your chin, forcing your focus back onto him and you gasp at the sight. His eyes, normally a soft brown, are blown almost black with lust. His cheeks are flushed and his breathing is heavy as he gazes down at you. 

“Focus on me.” He says softly, his thumb coming down to caress your bottom lip. He tugs at it, dragging it downwards slightly before gripping your jaw a little harder. 

You take the hint and open your mouth again. 

“Good girl.” 

This time, you do give him your full attention as his thrusts into your mouth grow more confident. You gag around him and you hear Jake let out a quiet little groan at the sound. Spurred on, you relax your jaw even more, taking Josh even deeper. 

“Oh fuck.” Josh whines, head tossed back in pleasure. “Good fucking girl.” 

His cock twitches on your tongue and he pulls out, a string of saliva connecting his flushed tip to your mouth. 

You pout slightly, having wanted to taste his release but he only smiles at you. 

“Not yet, baby. I wanna savor this.” He caresses your jaw lovingly. “On the bed.” 

You hastily comply, scrambling to sit in the middle of the large bed and looking at your twins – waiting for them to tell you what to do. 

“Look at that.” Jake says with no small amount of pride in his voice as he stands up and begins to strip from his clothes before striding over to the side of the bed. You take a long moment to admire him. 

You eye the way his biceps and forearms flex as he moves, your mouth waters as you admire his plush thighs, and your own thighs clench at the way the strength of his body is balanced by his curves that are so rare to find in a man. He’s nothing short of breathtaking.

“Always so eager to please. Just waiting to be told what to do.”  He hums, hand still lazily stroking his leaking cock. “Strip.”

“That’s a good girl.” Josh mutters, watching you with hungry eyes as you pull your tank top over your head and slide your soaked panties down your legs, kicking them to the floor. 

Josh, the only one still clothed, begins to strip himself – but your focus is ripped from him as Jake comes to stand at the edge of the bed. He grips your calf in his strong, calloused hand, using it to yank your body around and onto your back. There’s no finesse to his movements as he manhandles you into the position he wants, the hunger in his eyes infinitely clear. 

Once on your back, Josh climbs into the bed between your thighs. He settles his weight between them, using his palms to spread your legs wider and exposing your glistening folds. His back muscles flex as his lithe form settles, his amber eyes glittering up at you. 

“She’s dripping.” Josh murmurs, tongue darting out to lick his plush bottom lip. “Stunning.” 

You whine, inching your hips towards him slightly, your core aching to be touched. 

“Desperate little thing.” Jake’s velvet voice rings out through the room, his hand coming down to tangle in your hair. He stands at the edge of the bed, his hard cock merely inches away from where your head hangs off the edge.

Another pulse of need rocks through you as your brain catches on to the possibilities that this position grants you. With Josh nestled between your thighs and Jake’s aching member so close to your mouth, you have no doubts about where this is going. 

As if in answer to your sinful thoughts, Josh swipes a finger through your folds, just barely brushing against your swollen clit and making you jolt. 

“Josh, please.” You whine, spreading your legs wider for him – begging him silently to give you more. 

“She just loves to be eaten out, don’t you?” Jake murmurs, looking down at you squirm on the bed. “Go ahead, Josh. Give her what she wants.” 

Josh relents, delving into your core and circling your bundle of nerves with his tongue. The feeling is sudden – aggressive even, and the stimulation makes you cry out loudly. He hooks his arms around both of your thighs as he begins his assault, using his talented tongue to completely unravel you. 

Jake, never one to let the spotlight last on Josh for too long, taps the head of his cock on your lips. Without hesitation, you open your mouth and let him slide his member between your lips. With your neck hanging downwards, he reaches all the way to your throat with ease. You moan and swallow around him, making his composure crack slightly as a groan escapes him.

“Fuck. Perfect little mouth.” He praises, beginning to thrust delicately into you. “Tap on my thigh and I’ll stop.” He says through clenched teeth and all you can do is moan around his cock in response. 

Josh’s slender fingers suddenly join in the mix as he plunges them into you – curling them in a way that makes your legs feel like jelly as he keeps lapping at your clit with your tongue. He moans as he does so, his hips rutting into the mattress below him as he pleasures you. 

If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’re sure that you’d be screaming from the pleasure. Between Josh’s menstrations and the sound of Jake’s breathy moans as he fucks into your mouth, your orgasm is already rapidly approaching. 

Your arms thrash about widely, finally coming down to fist into the sheets as the crest of pleasure builds within you. Josh is unrelenting, using all the things that he knows makes you fall apart. Jake is faring no better than you, his face twisting and contorting in pleasure. 

“Come on, Y/n. Be a good slut and cum, baby.” He encourages, voice shaky with his own pleasure. “Enjoy it. You’re not gonna get another one for a long while.” 

With that, the band snaps and your orgasm rips through you – drenching Josh’s face as he works you through it. Jake pulls from your mouth, allowing you a chance to get a full gulp of air as you writhe beneath them. 

Josh sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and grinning from ear to ear. 

“Tastes like candy.” He says, licking his lips as he gazes at your spread out form. 

All you can do is lay there stunned for a moment as you recover, chest heaving. 

“She’s a sight for sore eyes.” Jake murmurs, caressing your jawline with his pointer finger. “Bet that pretty pussy is just aching to get fucked, isn’t she?” 

You nod, body already aching for another orgasm. 

“Does my beautiful girl want my cock?” Josh asks, gripping your ankles and pulling so that your head now rests fully on the bed. 

Just as you open your mouth to reply, Jake cuts in with a dangerous lilt to his voice. 

“Don’t assume, brother. Maybe she’d prefer someone else’s.” 

“Doubtful.” Josh snarks, glaring daggers at his twin. 

“Fuck, stop.” You breathe out, sitting up to glare at both of them. You try to keep your face stern, but the thought of both of them arguing over who gets to fuck you has more slick pooling between your thighs. “No arguing.” 

“Your choice then, baby.” Josh grins, a smug smile on his face as if he already knows your answer. 

But in truth, even you don’t know. In fact, you have half a mind to let them continue arguing if only to further fuel the fire between your legs. But you figure that encouraging them would only end in all out warfare. Instead, you just grin at them, a wonderful idea coming to life in your mind. 

“Jake.” You start, turning to meet his dark eyes. “Get on the bed.” 

He grins and complies, eyes glittering thinking that he’s going to get his way. He always does when it comes to the bedroom, but tonight you want to challenge him – remind him and Josh who’s really in charge here. 

Jake crawls over to you, a dominant air about him as he moves to smother your body with his own. But instead of allowing it, you press your palm into his chest and push – shoving his back roughly into the headboard. 

Air escapes his lips in a shocked huff as he stares at you – completely taken off guard. Josh, seeing his expression, laughs quietly.  

“Angel, what-” 

You shush him. 

“Quiet.” You glance between him and Josh. “You both said that I’m in control, didn’t you?” You ask, though it’s not really a question. You all know the answer. 

Jake nods and Josh whispers a quiet ‘yes.’

With a grin, you turn your eyes to face Josh, his lips parted and eyes watching your every move – just waiting for you to tell him what you want. 

Without a word, you nudge Jake’s legs further apart before settling yourself on your knees between them. His chest moves up and down rapidly as he looks up at you. Though he’s letting you call the shots, you’re sure that you’ll pay for it some other time. But for now, you’re going to enjoy it.

“You know, Jake…” You murmur, sweeping your palms up his thighs and feeling the muscle twitch beneath your fingertips, “You love calling the shots. Maybe even more than Josh does.” You drop your hand to play with his cock – lightly pinching his tip between your fingertips and making his hips buck upwards off the bed. “I feel like maybe it might be time for a taste of your own medicine, yeah?” 

A delicate, almost silent whimper escapes him. It’s so quiet that you might have thought you imagined it… but the way his cock twitches and his chest heaves gives him away. 

“Josh?” Josh, sitting silently and watching you, perks up as you finally turn your attention back to him. “Come here, baby. Right behind me.”

Josh complies, crawling over behind where you sit between Jake’s thighs. Without a word, you slowly ease your chest downwards, spreading your own thighs and allowing your ass to stick up invitingly in the air for Josh. You wiggle your ass and a shaky exhale punches out of him, his hands coming to rest on your hips. 

As he does so, you sweep your gaze up to meet Jake’s eyes – his pupils blown wide with want. Opening your mouth, you teasingly lick up his shaft, swirling the tip of your tongue around his head, before pulling your mouth away again. 

“You don’t get to come until I say. Understand?” 

He nods and you wrap your arms around his thighs and dig your fingers into the soft flesh. 

“Words.”

“I understand, angel.” 

Tossing your head back over your shoulder to look at Josh, you ease your hips back towards him again. 

“Let me fuck you, pretty girl.” He begs, his hard cock pressing into your ass cheek as he waits for your permission. 

“Go ahead, Joshy.” You tell him, keeping your voice nice and sweet just like he likes. “Make me feel good.” 

You descend your mouth back onto Jake’s aching cock as Josh enters you with one long thrust. You moan, causing Jake to groan at the vibration. 

“Fuck, just like that.” Jake moans, his hand coming up to grip your hair but you swat it away. You want to enjoy the control for a while longer. 

Josh’s hips slam into yours rhythmically, his pace slow and precise. With each glide of his cock against your walls, his head nails that special place inside of you. It takes all of your focus to keep bobbing your head up and down Jake’s length, making sure to keep your tongue pressing up into him – making him writhe and moan as he fights to keep himself from rutting his hips up into your mouth. 

“Baby,” Josh moans, his voice sounding wrecked as his hips increase their speed. “Fuck, I can feel you fluttering around me.” 

The wet sound coming from between your thighs coupled with the sound of Josh’s skin hitting yours and the sound of your mouth moving up and down Jake’s cock makes a delightfully symphony of pure lust and sin. You know already that this night will forever be cemented in your mind for years to come. You will never be able to think of it without growing wet. Josh’s cock is stretching you so wonderfully and Jake’s pretty noises are making your clit throb. 

Saliva dribbles out of the sides of your mouth, drenching Jake’s cock and just by the sound of him alone you can tell that he’s close. Josh’s pace is beginning to grow frenzied, his breaths coming out in tiny little moans as his own orgasm approaches. Hearing both of them, Jake’s hot, aching cock twitching on your tongue, Josh’s cock hitting all the right places… it’s like every one of your senses has been overtaken with them. Their sounds, the feel of them. Fuck it’s the best feeling in the whole fucking world. And as much as you don’t want this to end, you just can’t fight your orgasm anymore. 

You cry out around Jake’s cock, throat constricting around him as your release rips through you. Josh is a moaning mess as his own orgasm overtakes him, his cock painting your walls as he buries himself inside of you. His hips keep going, overstimulating himself with your clenching pussy as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

Finally he pulls out, murmuring praises for you as he tries to calm down. 

Through the haze of pleasure clouding your mind, you register Jake’s cock twitching on your tongue. He needs to cum, his whines echoing over the roaring in your ears as he holds himself back, waiting for your permission. 

You pull off him, robbing him of his finish and a feral growl escapes him at the loss. You’ve enjoyed not giving him what he wants and the power has gone to your head it seems. But you’ve pushed it too far. 

Faster than what you thought possible, Jake sits up and fists your hair in his grasp. He yanks backwards, exposing your throat for him and you can’t help but moan. 

“Brat.” He whispers, leaning in close to you. His eyes look over your shoulder to Josh, who’s eyeing the both of you warily. “Move.” Jake demands, but Josh doesn’t do it. “Move.” He demands again, eyes blazing. 

A fresh wave of slick escapes you, dripping down your thighs and drenching the bed below at the anger in Jake’s voice. Making him wait, telling him what to do… it had been wonderful while it lasted but this is the Jake that you want. 

“Josh.” You whine, unable to face him fully because of Jake’s hold on your hair. “Do as he says.” 

Gingerly, Josh moves up in the bed. As soon as he’s out of the way, Jake grips your waist and flips you, pushing your back into the mattress as he hovers over you. His cock, neglected and no doubt aching, grazes your stomach and your thighs clench together in the hopes of soothing the ache there. 

“I agree to share you for the night, I let you call all the shots. Fuck I even let Josh be the one to fuck you…” He says darkly, his fingers gripping your sides and digging into your skin harshly. “And this is what I get in return, huh?” He laughs, sitting up just a bit to grip his cock in his hand and pump himself a few times, his precum making it easy for him. “No more nice. You’re gonna lie here,” he says, sliding his tip through your wet folds. “And you’re gonna fucking take it.” 

Josh, breaking his silence at last, leans back onto the headboard and spreads his legs. 

“Be good for him, baby girl. Just lie there and look pretty doing it.” 

The shock of his words has you momentarily breathless but then Jake spears you with his cock, effectively silencing your thoughts of anything other than the feeling of him stretching you. You cry out, hands fisting in the sheets at your sides as Jake starts a merciless pace. His hips are like lightning, pounding into you at a pace that you’ve never experienced before. 

From the corner of your vision you can see Josh, his hand dropping between his thighs, his dick rock hard yet again despite having only just cum moments before. He moans your name at the first glide of his hand over his cock, his knees falling open wider and his jaw hanging slack with pleasure. 

"You look so fucking pretty like that, baby." Josh's words come out shaky thanks to the pleasure coursing through him. "Fucking hell."

Jake, his face contorted in almost a snarl, snaps his hips into yours like a man possessed. It’s so fast and so soon after your last orgasm that your pussy feels like it's on fire – icy hot sparks mixing with the pleasure as your body trembles beneath him. You open your mouth to speak – to demand more or for him to stop you have no idea, but all that comes out is a high pitched, whiny moan. 

“I don’t fucking care.” Jake grits out, licking his thumb and dropping it to circle your clit. Your body jolts, the pain of overstimulation finally melting away to fiery pleasure.

Josh’s moans grow louder, the sound of his fist over his cock matching the pace of Jake’s hips – brutally fast and unforgiving. Your name falls from between his lips, interrupted only by groans and whimpers as he brings himself to the edge yet again. 

"Cum for us, baby. Make a mess." Josh encourages, his hand never slowing.

"Give it to me. Come on, angel." Jake's demand is firm but his voice wavers and cracks as he holds himself back.

The band that has been building and building in your lower belly finally snaps and your whole body goes taut, your muscles contracting and shaking uncontrollably as your release washes over you. Jake’s pace finally falters, his hips stuttering and a loud, feral groan falling from between his plump lips as he finally finishes. Josh’s voice rings out as he paints his hand and belly, his own release hitting him at the sight of you. 

– 

As the fog of lust and wanton, filthy desire finally begins to dissipate, the three of you are left lying there trying to get your breathing back under control. As harshly as Jake had been fucking into you just moments before, he’s delicate and soft as he slowly pulls out of you. His hands caress your sides, his rough fingertips ghosting over your skin and making goosebumps rise in their wake. Josh sits up and leans forward to brush your sweaty hair from your forehead. 

You smile lazily up at them, body still buzzing with pleasure but tiredness leaching into your muscles. 

“Better now?” You murmur, a lazy smile on your lips. 

“Infinitely.” Josh answers you, eyes glittering.

“Thank you, angel.” Jake says, pressing a feather light kiss to your belly. “So good for us.” 

“The best, even.” Josh adds, tone equally soft as Jake’s kiss. “And all ours.”

“All yours.” Is all your tired brain can come up with to answer. And it's the truth. You’re theirs. Completely. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ✺ ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

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[cissa-calls]

Countdown to Agatha All Along: Day 843

Agatha and Y/N: *opens door*

Wanda: “Well, how was the play? Did you enjoy it?

Y/N: “It was wonderful!…at least what we saw”

Agatha: “The theatre has changed a lot since I last went, the etiquette? The structure? Dull.”

Wanda: “Wait, back up: what you saw? Did it not finish?”

Y/N: “The finale is actually happening as we speak, but we had to depart early…for reasons.”

Agatha: “Apparently you’re not allowed to “throw rotten fruit at the actors anymore” or something silly.”

Y/N: “You grand-slammed a tomato into Romeo’s face when he was crying over Juliet’s corpse!”

Agatha: “How else are you supposed to let the actor know they suck? It’s called audience input! Can no one can take a critique anymore?”

Y/N: “Yes, but those are usually transmitted via an online review! Not by making Elizabethan instant pasta sauce on the actors!”

Y/N: “The worst part of all of this? Now I’ll never know how it ends!”

Wanda: “To Romeo and Juliet? THE most popular Shakespeare tragedy?”

Agatha to Wanda: “Can I throw a tomato at them?”