#wishing i had reasons that could enter my brain so i could get a grip of myself

[exhaslo]

Over-Time Ch16

(CEO!Miguel x Shy/Clumsy!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4,Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9, Ch10, Ch11, Ch12, Ch13, Ch14, Ch15

Warning: MINORS DNI, SMUT, sexual thoughts, slow-burn, mentions of sex, bullying, cussing, fluff, touch starved, shower sex

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You felt like you were in a movie.

Penthouses like this only existed there! Who would have thought that people truly lived in homes like this. For whatever reason, you thought Miguel would have a regular apartment like you.

You forgot that he was a CEO.

Miguel's bathroom felt nearly the size of your own little apartment. It was large and quiet fancy. Hell, he had a hot tub, a regular stone tub and a large, beautiful rainfall shower.

"Whoa, does your toilet speak too?" You asked, honestly curious at this point.

"Haha,"

Miguel burst into a small fit of laughter towards your cuteness. He took your hand and started to kiss you. Pressing you against the wall, Miguel reached his hand towards the shower, turning the water on with ease.

"Mhpm, Miguel~"

"Have another question?" Miguel asked as he took off his shirt.

You tried to say something, but Miguel captured your lips with another passionate kiss. His tongue exploring your mouth as his hands worked their magic. Your clothes slipping off with ease one after the other.

"W-What...mhm~ What d-desires...do you have?" You asked between kisses.

Miguel grunted softly as he took off the rest of your clothes. He took his off and pressed you against the shower wall...Water rolling down your skin.

"A family," Miguel groaned as he lifted you up, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist, "Kids of my own."

Your heart started to race as Miguel stared into your eyes. His harden dick rubbing against your dripping crotch. Your body grew hotter, feeling Miguel's growing sex drive. All it took was one sentence and you would be Miguel's all night.

"Hah, that's...sweet," You managed to say, wishing to have Miguel ravish your entire being, but not yet.

"After we deal with this mess, I'll make sure to fill you so much, (Y/N). I want you to have my babies," Miguel groaned lowly.

"I'd like that,"

Honestly, you couldn't think straight. The steam from the shower along with Miguel's kisses and grinding was fogging your brain. All you could focus on was his touch and how much you wanted him to fuck you.

Wrapping your arms around Miguel's neck, you whimpered and whined as he teased your aching hole. His dick just poking against it, begging for entrance.

Like a starved man, Miguel's kisses became rougher. His grip tighten as he lifted you slightly. Your body arched slightly as you felt Miguel begin to enter your body.

The pain soon subsided as you felt full. Miguel made his home inside you, making sure to fill you to the brim. You had gotten used to the size of Miguel's dick by now. Sure, it still made your brain fuzzy, but it felt so good.

Clenching against his dick, you whimpered a moan. Miguel understood as he started to move. Unsure if it was the shower or you, everything felt hotter. Miguel was able to thrust into you with ease, sending shivers up your spine.

Resting your head into his shoulder, you tried to hold onto Miguel, but you felt your body grow weak with every thrust. His tip hitting your cervix with each thrust into you. His dick stretching you out and making a home inside your cunt.

Miguel gripped your ass as he pumped into you. Every thrust getting rougher and quicker. Pressing you against the wall, Miguel started to grunt and moan in your ear as you kept squeezing his cock.

"Fuck, want you now, (Y/N)." Miguel hissed.

Your head was getting foggy and it was getting slightly hard to breathe from the steam. Feeling the pool of heat getting more intense, you cried out a loud moan as you cam from another thrust.

"Good girl,"

"M-Mig," You muttered.

Miguel grunted as he held your hips, giving you a few more pumps before unloading inside you. Inhaling deeply, you whined softly as you felt your womb filling up. Relaxing for just a moment, you gasped as Miguel bend you down, your ass towards him.

"Miiiig," You whined, your chest pressed against the wall.

"Just once more," Miguel whispered in your ear, sliding his dick inside you again, "My cute clumsy, (Y/N). So perfect, taking my dick so well."

"Mhm~"

"Taking such good care of me," Miguel kissed your shoulders as his hips slapped into yours, "For staying with me."

"Ah~ Miguel~" You cried out.

Your legs were shaking and your arms grew weak. The pleasure was overwhelming you. Biting your lower lip as Miguel kept kissing your back, you leaned forward as his hands played with your breasts.

His dick feeling like it went deeper with each balls deep thrust Miguel gave you. Your pussy clenching and sucking him in more, begging for more. You were at war with your own body, desperate for more pleasure.

"God, it's so tempting to make you mine now, (Y/N)." Miguel grunted, kissing your ear, "I promise to tell you everything."

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Miguel grunted softly as he looked down at your naked body. Water streaming down your sides as he kept thrusting into you. Your head resting against the shower wall as your moans grew sloppier and louder.

Chuckling softly, Miguel groaned as you cam once more against him. He held your body up before giving you a final few thrusts. His seed pouring into you once more.

"I love you, (Y/N)." Miguel whispered in your ear before giving you a gentle kiss.

Lifting you up gently, Miguel made sure to wash you thoroughly. Your peaceful expression making him feel better about confessing to you. To think he managed to have someone like you.

His precious little mouse.

Miguel was determined to protect you. Miguel was determined to make sure that you knew everything about him. Just the thought of you leaving him hurt. The thought of Dana hurting you boiled Miguel's rage.

"I won't let her ruin this."

Miguel grunted softly as he finished washing you, drying you and then putting on his pajamas on you. Once he put on his own pants, Miguel grabbed his phone and decided to make a few phone calls.

This was something worth fighting for.

You were worth fighting for.

Miguel was not going to let Dana win this. He was going to do everything in his power to make sure that the two of you stay together without worries.

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Next Chapter

@timidquindim @decentsoupperson @ivkygirly @reader-1290 @daddyfroglegs @eepybunny0805 @ddreabea @iamperson12280 @migueloharasoulmate @tojishugetiddies @koko-1025 @hyeinwluv85s @daisy-artfield @migueloharastruelove @a-lil-whore @hcqwxrtss123 @the-pan-liquid @tojisfav @pochapo @bubblegumfanfictions @brighterthanlonelythoughts @ghstypaint @mangoslushcrush @synamonthy @scaleniusrm @moonspectorx @dorck26 @a060403 @lunablackcosplay @soraya-daydreams @lovefanfic1 @mymrsweirdnessshipperstuff-blog @pretty-pink-princesss @corpsebridenightamare @razertail18 @gachagator @droolingmuttt @miguelsfavwife @ryzguy06 @raideaters-blog @manishkaworld @keidilla @byjessicalotufo @pigeonmama @k3ythesapphic @acesangels @stealingyourturts @angel-xx-1 @amberbalcom14 @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @oscarissac2099 @keepghostly @zeyzeys-stuff @k3ythesapphic @nightingale1011 @uncle-eggy @safixiovi @flaps200 @dahehow @weirdothatwritess @gerblinradio @electronicchaoschaos @mafiaanomaly @keyisloved @unwrittenletter @reader4life @leenasgirl200 @oscarissac2099 @mari0-o @cinnamoro1l @leryg0 @hizzielover @resident-clown @girl-of-multi-fandoms @sana-408-blog

[chaotictomtom]

:((( maladaptive daydreaming really came back full blast i absolutely hate it here (my brain)

[mrsstarkey1]

whipped - rafe cameron

summary: rafe totally isn't whipped for you

word count: 1.5k

warnings: just curse words

a/n: check out my most recent rafe fic !

"Alright, what the fuck is up with you?" Topper finally asked Rafe, grabbing onto his shoulder. "We're at a party surrounded by chicks and booze, and you're over here sitting alone looking like you're gonna kill yourself."

Rafe shook Topper’s hand off of him, smoothing out his sweatshirt that Topper had just grabbed onto, "get your hands off me, man." 

Topper held his hands up, "I'm just worried about you, dude."

Rafe simply rolled his eyes, reaching down to the cooler by his chair to grab a beer. He cracked open the can and took a long sip, "happy now?"

Topper scoffed, "whatever, man. At least do a bump," he said, reaching into his back pocket.

Rafe shook his head, "I'm good."

"Oh come on," Topper started, beginning to pull out the plastic bag, only to be stopped by Rafe's grip on his arm.

"I said fucking no, Top. Jesus."

"Alright, alright," he said with a defeated sigh, turning to walk back toward the lively side of the party.

He stopped when he reached Kelce, putting a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "Hey, you know what's been up with Rafe lately?"

Kelce shook his head a little, "whatchu mean?" he slurred.

Topper pointed back to wear Rafe was sitting in a chair, arms crossed, just staring straight in front of him, "look at the fucker. Offered him a bump and he said no. He's acting extra bitchy than normal."

Kelce shrugged his shoulders carelessly and started to walk away, but stopped abruptly when a thought entered his mind. "Y'know what it might be? That y/n chick isn't here," he said, eyes widened in realization.

Topper gave him a puzzled look, wracking his brain for any recognition of a y/n. "Who?"

Kelce rolled his eyes, "come on man. Y/n y/l/n. She was in a couple of our classes senior year. Rafe ran into her at that bonfire a couple weeks ago, remember? He was smiling and giggling and shit and blew us off when we asked him about it," Kelce only paused briefly before hitting Toppers chest, "yeah, yeah now that I think about it, he's in an oddly good mood when she's around, and extra douchebaggy when she's not. Shit's crazy, man," he said with a shake of his head.

Topper vaguely remembered the girl he was talking about. He thought for a moment, a plan forming in his slightly intoxicated mind. "You got her number?" he asked Kelce.

"I think. Here," he mumbled, shoving his phone against his chest before taking off toward the girl that had just called his name. If Rafe was actually whipped over this girl, Topper was going to figure it out.

After calling your number about seven times, he finally got an answer. "Jesus Christ Kelce, what do you want?" you'd asked, irritated tone evident in your voice.

"Heyyy y/n, this is Topper Thornton. What are you up to right now?" He asked in his nicest voice he could pull off.

Topper could practically hear you roll your eyes, "currently I'm wishing I'd never given my phone number to Kelce. What do you want?"

"I just wanted to invite you to this party I'm at right now," he said, only now realizing that he had no reason to back up this invitation without spoiling his plan. "It's uh- really fun. And I was just sitting here thinking, 'y/n y/l/n would really like this party'," he said, slapping his hand on his forehead at his own words.

On the other side of the phone, you were sitting in your car outside the party you could only assume Topper was talking about now. You were planning on attending the party from the jump, you'd just lost track of time watching TV. "What's so good about the party, Topper?" you played along for the fun of it. 

"Uhh-" Topper thought for a little too long, "there's uh, beer?" He said, sounding unsure of his words.

You rolled your eyes, but composed yourself. "You know what, Top? You've convinced me. I'm on my way," you said with fake sincerity, smiling at your own acting.

"Really? Great, see ya," Topper hung up the phone, a proud smile on his face. Now all he had to do was watch and see if Kelce was right.

You opened your car door after a couple moments, and made your way inside the house. You squeezed through the crowd of people in the living room, trying to get to a less crowded area.

You stopped in the kitchen, scanning the room for your friend that had invited you. She was nowhere to be seen, so you opted to go get a drink first.

You grabbed a beer out of the cooler, sipping it slowly as you leaned against the kitchen counter, still looking around the room for your friend. Your eyes landed on a familiar figure sitting on a chair outside, only visible through the glass doors. You smiled a little, immediately walking toward the back door.

"You look like you're having fun, Cameron," you said once you reached him, sitting down on the table in front of him, your knees touching his.

Rafe's lips twitched into an immediate smile, eyes lighting up at the sight of you. He leaned forward a little so he could hear you over the voices of everyone around you, "hey, how long have you been here?"

"Just got here. Why? You been looking for me?" You asked with a smirk, putting your free hand out to shove his shoulder lightly.

Rafe looked down, an involuntary red flush starting on his cheeks. "Course not," he waved the accusation off quickly, in a comically unconvincing tone. "But I am glad you're here. These parties bore the hell out of me."

"Oh come on, Rafe Cameron bored at a party?" your eyes flickered down to the beer in his hand. You grabbed it from him, eyes widening at the realization it was nearly full, "and not even drinking a beer?" You questioned.

Your eyebrow raised as Rafe simply shrugged, "just not feeling it recently, I guess. The last party I actually had fun at was Kelce's a couple weeks ago, remember?" his smile widened as he spoke, "when we absolutely demolished everyone at beer pong."

You laughed with a nod, "course I remember. You're the best pong partner I've had in years," you said truthfully, a smile plastered on your face.

Rafe's expression turned impossibly more bright, eyes lighting up at the sight of your smile and the angelic sound of your laugh. He tore his eyes from you after a moment, so he could actually form words. "Do you uh- have any plans for later tonight?"

You opened your mouth to say something, but all that came out was a shriek as cold liquid splashed on your shoulder and down your back. You stood up abruptly, wringing out your now beer-soaked shirt.

"Oh shit," a guy slurred from beside you, "my bad."

Topper got up quickly from his chair across the room after witnessing the incident, starting to move toward the two of you. He had just happened to look over just as- okay fine, he was watching intently the whole time.

He prepared himself as he walked to pull Rafe off of the guy that had just soaked you in beer - no doubt in his mind that Rafe would start a fight.

Rafe stood up from his chair quickly, only spending half a second sending a glare toward the drunk idiot who'd done this. He placed his hands on your shoulders, “are you alright?” he asked, worried eyes scanning over you.

Topper's eyes narrowed as he watched Rafe turn his attention fully to you, as the drunk guy stumbled back into the house. He watched intently as the rest of the scene played out, completely opposite from what he expected.

You laughed, nodding your head. “I’m good, I just reek of Bud Light now,” you glanced down at your shirt, “and I look ridiculous,” you said with a chuckle.

Rafe quickly unzipped his jacket, shrugging it off of his shoulders and placing it loosely over yours, "what an asshole," he muttered.

You slipped your arms into the sleeves, chuckling a little at how they fell so far past your hands. You rolled the sleeves up a little, and zipped up the sweatshirt. “Thanks, Rafe. My hero,” you said with a grateful smile.

Rafe’s grin widened uncontrollably at your words, and he quickly tried to shake the giddy feeling off of him, "you uh- you wanna go inside? It looks a little less crowded in there.” 

You nodded, slipping your hand into his as you navigated through the crowd of people together.

Topper let out a shocked breath as he watched you and Rafe walk through the doors and out of his sight. "Well I’ll be damned," he muttered to himself with a shake of his head, "he is whipped."

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[mythicamagic]

Death Comes Knocking

AN: Not finishing projects seems to be the norm right now- so just take this lil 1,000 words of Lobo/Muerte x reader bc he gave me brain worms okay? Puss in Boots The Last Wish was so good you guys omg.

Pairing: Muerte x Female Reader

Rating: T

Summary: She's given a stern warning. 'No more of your kind are allowed' so she extends an offer to Death in return.

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She’s seen him before, on the faces of those she’d loved. Their eyes would glaze over and become empty, void of all animation, becoming quiet and still as they took their last breaths. There- in the right hand corner of that glassy void in their pupils- the shadow of Death could be briefly seen, passing over and stealing all light.

The silk spinner has witnessed this countless times- from the luxury of these people’s bedsides as they peacefully passed, to freak accidents involving one too many drunken unicorns and a travelling puppet show. The world she inhabited was colourful, vibrant and endless- so it stood to reason that in this world, Death himself could be a real, breathing creature.

She just never expected to gain a personal audience with him.

“You’re becoming lonesome, inmortal.”

The woman jumped, startled so badly she lost grip on the white sheet she’d been taking down. A large hand snapped out to catch it mid-air, slowly lowering it back down to her in offering. It took a moment for her frozen hands to accept it, gazing up at the creature looming over her washing line. His shadow swallowed her whole. He gazed at her with a kind of unblinking- red eyed fixation- the kind that betrayed his identity before the suffocatingly still atmosphere did, as if time itself had frozen.

A wolf had entered her garden.

“Hate to be a bother…but when you get lonely it becomes a problem for me,” he continued in his perfectly polite tone. There was a faint, gravelly edge to his voice, but it hummed pleasantly in her ears rather than frightened her.

Recovering from her shock, the silk spinner folded her sheet and placed it atop a waiting pile.

“How so?” she found her voice.

“Well, you repeat the cycle, of course- the one that led you here,” he wandered around her humble garden, taking care to weave around bird feeders and windchimes without so much as a strand of fur brushing them. He moved on two legs like any human, not an odd sight. The graceful fluidity of his movements was alarming though. Deliberate and predatory. He was looping around her in a lazy circle that was slowly tightening. “It’s only natural…everyone’s predictable in a few certain ways: one of them is the universal truth that when you get lonely, you seek company,” he mused, finally stopping before her. “And the company of mortals just isn’t cutting it anymore, is it? Hm, my friend?”

He stood a good several feet taller than her. Not even attempting to crane her neck up, the woman tidied her basket and lifted it as if readying to walk back into her tiny cottage. “I’m fine. I don’t need anyone. They all die eventually, I’m not sure why you’re worried.”

With that said she took a step, only to find her wicker basket snagging on something- a sickle. The wolf practically used it as a fish-hook, turning her back to face him, and this time she had no choice but to gaze down the grey expanse of his muzzle straight into those vibrant red eyes.

“You’re not listeniiing~” he sing-songed in a gentle, cajoling tone full of too much teeth. He tilted his head with a patronising smile. “What cycle led you here?”

As if she could forget. “My creator was…lonely,” she murmured. “So, he made me, and eventually more of my kind.”

“Right you are! And I’m not such a big fan of that. Of your…kind,” a single deadly claw skimmed her cheek in a whisper of steel on flesh. The suggestion of it sent her heart racing. “You’re all so heavy. I can feel you.” All at once the playfulness vanished from his expression, leaving only a quiet sense of malice and frustration in his tight whisper. “The world won’t withstand the weight of too many of you.”

“So you’re here to stop me before I can even think about creating more immortals, is that it?”

“Bingo! My work here is done,” the wolf leaned back with satisfaction, and it felt like the garden could breathe again. Air entered her lungs, and the silk spinner shuddered quietly when his shadow drew away, allowing sunlight to kiss her skin anew.

With his silent warning given, the wolf swung his previously concealed sickle up onto his shoulder and happily strolled toward her humble gate, whistling an eerie tune.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she murmured, so quietly it was a surprise he heard her at all. But he halted immediately in his tracks. She could see his hackles rise a little just beneath the folds of his hood. “I’m not afraid, so there’s no reason for me to listen to you- Muerte.”

Death turned and met her even gaze. His silver fur fanned gently in the breeze, his tail flicking with agitation.

“Oho I really don’t think you want to go there,” light glinted off his sharp rows of teeth, the points glinting like treacherous mountain peaks. “True I can’t harvest your soul, but you’ve seen the life flashing before people’s eyes as I’ve taken them.”

He was suddenly there before her again, tilting her chin up with the flat of his blade. Her body automatically tensed, watching as the black specs of his pupils shined white, two moons hanging in a blood-soaked sky. “You were there, just as much as I was. You know- cordera- how painful it can be. How painful I can make it,” hot, panting breath fanned over her upturned face. Those rows of teeth were now inches from her ear as he leaned in close. “You won’t die, no- but are you really prepared to suffer me, over and over again, for breaking the rules?”

She swallowed. It was impossible not to picture the numerous grizzly ways she’d seen or heard people die.

Satisfaction leaked into his animalistic features. “Heh, thought so. Be seeing you.”

But I…I’m still alone.

Before he turned away, Death seemed to notice her expression. “If you’re really that hungry for company, then find the other heavy ones weighing this world down.”

“I don’t uh- get on well with the others,” she admitted weakly, knuckles relaxing from her death grip on the wicker basket. “We’d be living together if we enjoyed each other’s company.”

“Touché.“ He shrugged his large shoulders, resting a sickle on one with a bored look. “Well it’s not my problem, figure it out on your own time.”

Alarm flashed through her chest inexplicably as he finally turned away.

“Wait-“

“Carajo!” he hissed, glaring at her like she’d overstayed her welcome despite him being the one to approach her home. “What is it now?”

“Since you’re the one who has a problem with me creating fellow immortals- but I’m still hungry for company- the solution is right under our noses, no?” She smiled and dropped her basket to spread her arms wide, gesturing to the humble space situated on the mountainside. “You will become my companion.”

It amused her to see his dark features become blank with genuine surprise. His triangular ears perched upon his head flicked and flattened to his skull as if he’d tasted something sour.

“Cómo fue?”

“You are Death incarnate,” she said, confidence filling her tone the more she spoke. Yes- why hadn’t she thought of it before? This was perfect. “You won’t die- and I can’t be killed and won’t age. It makes sense to keep each other company.”

“You want…my company? Mine?” He shot her a look like she was crazy.

“Is that a problem?”

He tilted his head, falling silent for a long, silent moment. His eyes narrowed, sweeping over her frame as he stalked closer. “…You must be starving very badly, if your need has driven you to beg for me to be in your midst. Only the souls of the suicidal and desperate call for me.”

“I’m not quite that far gone in my apathy for life. I’m 500 years young,” she smiled, offering her human hand out to his monstrously large, silver furred one to stop him from baring too harshly down on her, stopping him in his tracks. “But yes, I am…famished,” the admission slipped out oddly breathlessly, though she was uncertain why.

His mouth slowly upturned, sizing her up in an entirely different way from before. Intrigue, perhaps? He looked just as hungry as she felt.

“Well, well. What big eyes you have,” he purred, gazing at her intently with a wicked gleam in his own red hues.

She returned his smile with one full of teeth as her hand became engulfed in fur and warmth.

From that day on, Pygmalion’s immortal bride kept Death’s company whenever he had a moment to spare.

---

End

[atinystaypixie]

can u do ony cheatin on his gf w y/n nd his gf walk in 🗣️

Baby anything for you. Ilysm😙💜 sowwy this took so long I was so conflicted on where to set it and how to do this😭

MDNI!! 18+

WC: 1.6k+, pstt not proofread

CW: Cheating (don't do it. That's how you get shot😠)

🎵I can't say his name 'cause he be cheatin' (I love you, baby)

Yeah, and I'm the reason 🎵 (my honest reaction to this)

She was such a a sweet lady. Bright smile, positive attitude, never frowning. She greeted you every morning, offered you the desserts she would bake, even helped you bring in groceries when needed. She would tell you how her boyfriend enjoyed them and thought you would some too because she made so many.

But the tall, handsome man staying with her cancels her out. Her kindness didn't matter when his dick was being this kind to your pussy. You had never felt this pleasure until you met the kind woman's boyfriend. Her smile was sweet but his smile was making your thighs clench. He caused a heat to rise in the moment he locked eyes with you a few seconds too long.

She treated him well. The bake goods she offered you were often ones she made for him but went overboard and would have too many. "Onyankopon loves these but I made too many and thought you would like some while they are fresh." The beaming smile and cute basket she had while at your door would warm the hearts of anyone.

"I can see why your boyfriend loves them. They smell delicious." She never picked up on how you went around saying his name.

She was a good woman, but Ony couldn't focus on that when he could only think about your walls squeezing around him. You enticed him, stuck to his brain, made his dick only hard for you. He's just a man. What was he supposed to do when his dick picked better than his brain? The moment he saw you he could only think about fucking you till you saw stars. It wasn't like his girlfriend was anything short of a beautiful body, but your body…your body made him think sinful thoughts. Thoughts that shouldn't even occur when he has a loyal, beautiful girlfriend that he lives with.

You wish you could feel bad about going behind your sweet neighbors across the hall back but you can't. Not when you count the seconds after she leaves to run across the hall to the door Ony left unlocked for you. He already had it planned because this wasn't the first time you've entered his apartment in your skimpy tank top and shorts that had your ass hanging out. This was a routine that had been going on for months. It wasn't your fault she worked day shift and Ony worked night. You were just doing her a favor and keeping her man happy while she went to work.

Ony appreciated the favor you were doing his girlfriend the most. The moment you walk through the door his hands are on you. There is no need for a hello, not when the best greetings came from the unfaithful kiss you two shared. Your tongues swirling each other's, his large hands squeezing and gripping your ass, your hands running up his chest to wrap around his shoulders, the airy moans. If anyone saw you they would think you were lovers who had been separated for centuries and happy to be back together.

"Damn, baby. Feel like it's been forever." The dark skinned male speaks as he picks you up by your thighs and carries you to the kitchen island. "Let me see that pretty face." He's biting at his bottom lip adoring the face of the woman who turned him into a cheater. Taking his hands, he starts caressing your thighs.

You can feel heat rising to your face as you look at him. "Ony, I was just over here yesterday and you saw me before you went in for your shift last night. Don't play." You laugh at him. His girlfriend didn't need to know you never said his name because you were well acquaintanced with his name, except it was the version of his name that a regular neighbor wouldn't know.

"Too many hours passed by. I missed you." His hands travel higher on your thighs and he leans into you. "Missed this pretty pussy too." His voice is deep and sends shocks straight to your cunt.

"Then show me." You didn't have to tell him twice. He pulls you so that you are laying down on the kitchen island with your legs around his shoulders. He pulls your shorts to the side already knowing you aren't wearing panties. You both were always ready for each other in easy access clothing. His tongue licks a heavy stripe up your slit and stops at your clit to kiss it. Ony is holding eye contact with you as he slowly releases a spit from his mouth letting it leak past your clit down your pussy. The sight causes a soft moan to come from you. His spit mixing with your arousal.

He takes his thumb and follows the trail before spreading your mixture around making a mess between your thighs. Ony likes when your whole pussy is shining from the mix of your essence and his spit. It makes you even more enjoyable to eat. He then spreads your folds and gets to work. The way he swivels his tongue from your entrance to your clit has you gripping his head. He never leaves an inch of your cunt un-licked.

When he latches onto your clit, he pushes two fingers inside of you. It doesn't matter how many times you take his unloyal dick, you always need to be stretched for him. You have tried to play a big girl and do it without the prep but you only ended up crying like a whore as you tried to bounce up and down on his thick length.

Between the flick of his tongue and the movement of his fingers inside of you, you feel your orgasm approaching quickly. "Cum on Daddy's tongue, baby." The way he's talking into your pussy only adds to your pleasure. Your hips are pushing into his face and your eyes are locked shut. Your breathing is picking up and you feel your stomach tightening. "Ony. Ony!" The chanting of his name has him smirking and dragging his fingers inside of you rougher, hitting spots that make your back arch.

A shaky moan escapes you as the tightness in your stomach releases. Your juices being caught by Ony's awaiting tongue, coating his taste buds. "There you go. Good girl. Good girl." His thumb rubs your clit working you through the high he just gave you. He pulls you up by your waist and presses his lips to yours letting you taste yourself from him.

You whine into the kiss, "mmm fuck me, daddy." The handsome man flashes his pearly whites and chuckles. He takes your shorts and slides them off one leg leaving them to hang on one of your ankles. You didn't notice but at some point he slid his own sweats down. He hooks your legs around his shoulders and teased your entrance with his tip.

"You want me in you, baby?"

"Yes. Please, daddy." He holds your head making you hold eye contact with him as he slowly guides himself into you. You shouldn't be this intimate when you don't belong to each other, but damn does it feel good. Your mouth hangs open as you feel every inch and every throb of him. You pussy opening to allow his dick into your deepest parts. There's a deep rumble rising from his chest when he fully finds his forbidden home in you.

The slow pull out of you has your voice going high before it's cut off from him slamming back into you. He's fucking you like he loves you. Slowly dragging himself out before pushing back in with a disrespectful force. You being folded in half and the eye contact is only melting your brain more. Your thoughts are blank, the only thing up there is the man fucking you on the kitchen island in the apartment he shared with his loving girlfriend.

Ony picks up his pace, his mushroom tip hitting your gspot repeatedly. Sweat collecting in both of your hairlines as your face to face moaning out from the pleasure you only find in one another. His legs are getting weaker from the wetness of your walls that won't stop milking him. He picks you up and sits on the kitchen floor with you. You start grinding your hips into him not wanting to lose a second of the feeling of his dick moving inside of you. Ony starts pushing you back and forth. Your bodies disconnect just to come back to each other with a loud smack each time. You can't control your moans, they're echoing through the apartment that you know you don't belong in.

"Ony! Fuck, I'm cumming! I'm gonna-"

"Hold it. I'm almost there." He cuts you off feeling his dick twitching inside of you. He's fucking you on his dick so hard your moans won't even fully come out. Stuck between breathy whines and clouds cries. "Do it, baby. Cum on my dick, pretty girl"

He doesn't have to tell you twice. Your eyes squeeze shut, body clings to his, and thighs shakes as your juices splash on his stomach. You can feel his thick cum coating your walls. Your eyes open and close as they flash white, making you look possessed.

"Onyyyy!!" Your voices rings out.

It's loud, so loud you didn't hear when the door opened. Between the slowing slaps of skin and your moans combined with Ony you didn't hear the sound of the soft footsteps approaching you, the only sound that registered was the scream she let out.

"OH MY GOD! ONY WHAT THE FUCK!" The first time she heard you say her boyfriend's name was in a drawn out moan as she caught him cumming balls deep in you.

This was going to be interesting to explain. You couldn't care though, your post orgasm haze was too great as your body was still clinging to the cheating man who couldn't be bothered to pull out of you

✨

Thoughts of a Slutty Virgin - 🧚🏽‍♀️

OMG! Y'all don't understand how conflicted I was about this. It still turned out kinda bleh but like ITS BEEN ON MY MIND SINCE MY BABY SENT THIS IN😭

ENOJOY!

Pixie's Masterlist

Wanna join my taglist?

Taglist: @444ghosty @un-lawliet @witchbybirth @tophamhat-kyo @nobianna

[molzies-fanfics]

Kouros

A/N: I think this is the main reason why I don’t draw male anatomy often lol. I can’t imagine what the people around me would think if they saw photos like that on my phone, I’d be mortified! So I tried to channel that kind of feeling into this fic, and because I need to write for Donnie boi more and I think his reaction would be a hell of a lot funnier I decided to go with him! Hope y’all enjoy!

UPDATE: it’s been well over two years since I began the draft...but I’ve done it! it’s here! IT’S ALIVE! this fic I mean...starting uni next week so wish me luck guys!

 Donatello x gender neutral reader

words: 753

Requested by: @choccoshake​

Donnie knew you loved art, doodling, painting, graffiti, you name it you most likely did it. It was similar to how he had to get a blueprint down or the itch to write equations almost everywhere. He was surprised his brothers weren’t annoyed with the incessant scribbles but sometimes there were just as bad with how they wrote their names all over the place, especially the glaring graffiti of Leo’s name before you entered the area of his ‘bedroom’.

 However having a significant other that kept most of their drawings to themselves was a welcomed change of pace. You often found inspiration whilst sitting in his lab, which made him feel like a piece of him gave you the little creativity push. It gave him fuzzy butterflies in his stomach to say the least. Sometimes you used his printer to print out references for your work, you sometimes used the grid method and other times it was just better to have it to scale besides where you were working. Donnie never pushed to see what you were working on, you always gave him a heads up before peering over his shoulder by brushing your fingers over his shell or mumbling his name softly.

 That was until he went to fetch something from his printer this morning and found not only his papers on ‘how to get pepperoni out of an engine’ (don’t ask) but an incredible amount of pictures of shirtless dudes.

 Human shirtless dudes to be more precise.

 Even though Donnie had the suspicion that this was purely for art’s sake, he couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that shot through his chest.

 Not only were most of these men pure muscle but they were clearly human…something he was very much not.

 You were invested in drawing anatomy, of course that included human men. He tried to think of this from a more logical point of view, but he couldn’t help the ‘what ifs’ from entering his mind and taking over his somewhat uneventful morning (besides the pepperoni incident).

Before he could come to anymore conclusions he knew he had to talk to you…or at the very least give you your references.

“Hey Y/N?” Donnie’s voice called out from his lab as he entered the lair. You were perched on the couch, fully engrossed in your drawing.

“Yeah babe?” you answered, not bothering to look up. This was normal behavior between the two of you. If either of you were working then you wouldn’t bother looking up unless it was something important. Donnie felt hurt nonetheless. He really needed you to look at him just for the sake of seeing him.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” The turtle asked, gripping the papers to his chest as if they would protect him from his feelings.

Finally, you pushed your sketchbook to the side as you focused all of your attention on him and only him.

“Sure! What’s up?” You grinned. Dread began to settle over the terrapin’s face as he didn’t want to be the cause of distress. Yet he couldn’t get those damn thoughts out of his brain.

“I just wanted to know about these?” He smirked slightly as he showed you the pictures.

“Oh…those were just for drawing. They look a bit stupid though huh?” Giggling, you apologized for using his printer without checking first.

“That’s not what I wanted to talk about, I mean kind of, but not at the same time?” your expression morphed into confusion as he rambled.

“Okay? Wanna sit with me?” You offered as he walked around the couch, sitting very close to you as he took a deep breath in.

“It’s just…when I saw these I couldn’t help feeling jealous. You draw anything and everything and I understand that includes the male anatomy of…humans. Your own species. I think…I felt like you could do so much better than me.” The purple banded turtle’s walls came down as shrank into his shell.

“Don, you are my boyfriend. I care about you so much it hurts sometimes. Yeah I draw people all the time but maybe I should focus on something else…” you trailed off, taking the references from Donnie and dropping them on the floor.

“What’s that?” he asked meekly.

“Can I draw you?” your eyes gleamed, your hands resting on his cheeks as you asked.

“Oh-of course!” chuckling to himself, he let out his signature snort as you scrambled for your sketchbook beginning a detailed sketch of your Donnie. Your muse, Donatello.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Can I request a Kai Parker smut

stuck in 1903

kai parker x reader / masterlist

summary; being trapped in the prison world after sacrificing yourself to protect your friends, leads to some very embarrassing and frustrating situations / warnings; kai being an annoying lil shit, mentions of death, smut, possessiveness, imprisonment,

the prison world, perhaps it would have been slightly peaceful if an entrapped witch was not following your every move like an obsessed ghost. he was relentless, stalking his threatening footsteps after your own, prowling for a manner of attention.

“if you stop this whole, ‘let’s walk in y/n’s shadow’ charade, i will have sex with you. can we pursue a deal concerning the matter?” instantly, the witch muted his movements, gripping onto the side of the aisle shelf as he studied you, searching to see if your prospectus contained serious regard.

once he had come to a conclusion, he raised his eyebrows. kai had tried his darnest to keep you contained in that house that he likened to call a home. there was something he didn’t wish for you to discover, he was keeping you isolated from everything within the empty world that his family had banished him to.

that made you think, that it was possible, that perhaps other souls had entered the enclosure of this world, and that was why you were seeking, in the hopes of providing yourself with the comfort that you weren’t alone in this cursed nation with the one, and the only, to your misfortune, kai parker.

there wasn’t much that you knew about him, he was a practical talker, rather than a personal one. he had stocks of questions about the modern world, so that he could relish in the imagery of how much it had evolved without him. a part of you pitied him, but another worried that there was a wisp of darkness that he was hiding.

you didn’t know him, he was a stranger, and that truth made him potentially dangerous. it was safe to always remain on your toes, even if he had a habit of trailing huskily after. it gave him no chance of envisioning you as a sitting duck, every day was the same, but he was the one thing that could change that.

one tip of his mindset, and he could remember that he preferred being alone. and he could kill you, piking you on a stake, despite being human, or using his siphoning hands to drain all life out of your body. this wasn’t your first rodeo with the aftermath of death; bonnie had found a way to bring you back, her power flowed through you, keeping you logically alive, to a fault that was.

parker licked his pork rind exploited lips, collecting the dust from the treat, and bringing it into the cauldron of his mouth. the man was thinking, and that idea alone scared you. however you waited for him to persevere with whatever was unravelling in his mind, although you could have easily passed him by, finding elsewhere to seek salvation.

“is there a due date for that offer, because i’d like to take you up on it right now?” a smirk curved his mouth. perhaps not every day was the same, this was certainly going to be different, that was one thing that was for sure.

he noticed how your shoulders withered from the thought; sex in a grocery store, you had never been so filthy, and despite there being nobody around to bare witness to the sin, it still had your skin crawling. hugging your arms across your chest, you sighed, giving into his slick prompt, leaning your head down out of self disrespect.

kai couldn’t be trusted, you knew that. not for the fact that his own family had sent him here, to wallow in nothing more than the loneliness of his own company. there had to be a reason! nobody’s mother nor father would do such an act for no resolving purpose.

gulping, you finally grew the guts to adjust your gaze on him, and how he tapped his foot, silently demanding a response. “i mean it kai, we have sex, and you stop trailing after me like some stray. you got that?”

he got it. his footsteps came closer to you as he backed you into a shelf along the outer wall, enclosing you against the packets of rustling pork rinds, accidentally crushing their interior contents, as you raised your chin up, obscenely glaring at the mysterious man.

“oh, i heard every word.” he held out his pinkie finger to make a promise, and sickeningly you reached your own out, shaking on it, before he rasped his hand around your wrist, pressing a kiss upon the thin flesh. leaning down, kai attached your lips, humming contently, it had been so long since he had endured the contact of another person.

with his unoccupied hand, he slithered it down your chest, dragging his knuckles down your stomach, before he reached the tender edge of your trousers. he toyed with the band, the action making you stifle any sounds of admitted likening to his teasing; if you did, then he would only continue to do so more.

it felt like forever since you had gotten laid, a large portion of you wanted kai to take you on the spot, which it looked as though that was his intent, and that he definitely would do so. but another felt sick of yourself, these were the extents that you would go to to be left alone, and there was not exactly a plan b if he didn’t.

you wanted to obtain a way out of this place, and possibly the only chance that you had of doing so was to wander away from his ever watching eyes, and strive on your own, trying to discover any evidence of life throughout this semi detached world. you felt like a cattle, being guarded by their herder, he was protecting you from anything that could daunt your mind with realisation.

it wasn’t the fact he was protective, it was more in the terms of possessiveness. though he wanted to leave, he claimed that there was no way out, he was intent on descending your hope of uncovering an escape, from not only the ghost town of your home, but from him also.

“what to first? should i just fuck you or make you blow me?” his teeth toyed with a sly smile, as though he were trying to convince you into a conflict regarding the answer. but instead of growing a fuzzy brain, you simply glared at him, pushing his fingers out from where they had slipped under the top of your bottoms, leaving the man to be a confused mess; it was kinda cute, but for all you knew, his often sublime attitude.

“i didn’t say foreplay parker, only sex was on the table. and that will be all you’re getting, unless you want me to leave you high and dry, and find another resolve to rid myself of your attached escapades of following after me like there’s a wire attached from me to you.”

“fine.” he raised his hands in a motion of surrender, chuckling lightly to himself. “i was just testing my luck, which is clear that i don’t have.” he turned, his brows going up higher on his face as he saw a variety of boxes stacked on one of the shelves. he picked one up, reading over the scripture as you scoffed.

“i don’t think your gonna need xxl, unless you’re going to cum that much since nobody has had their hands on you for a long time. you’ve had to suffice and please yourself for how long again?”

“spicy, i like it. eh, you’re right anyways.” he tossed the box down the aisle, grasping for another like a kid in the candy store, this time it was for the variety of average sized men. kai aggressively ripped the box open, causing the contents of packets to spill all over the ground.

“are you incapable of doing anything like a grown ass man?” it was irritating just watching him fail to do ordinary everyday tasks. he was destructive, and it seemed to be a large part of his personality.

“you won’t be asking that in a minute y/n/n.” he sent you a gruelling wink, making you inherently gulp, watching as he plucked a singular condom off the ground, holding it between his teeth as he began to unbuckle his belt, starting towards you.

“whatever you say kai.” rolling your eyes at his constant cockiness, you pried open your jeans, dropping your panties to the ground, as you caught kai frozen, with a slight swab of drool bathing his bottom lip. “come on, i am waiting, so hurry your ass up before i get bored of doing so.”

“you want this as much as i do, you just won’t admit it.” he lightly sneered towards you, and you felt your body flush with composed embarrassment. perhaps you had thought about the ordeal a little during the time you had been there, but there had to be some excuse! he was the only guy in a worldwide radius, that was a reasonable enough purpose.

when he was rid of apparel on his lower half, he rolled the protection onto his length, as he pinned you completely flush against the shelves of the aisle, one of his hands cupping your ass, before he helped you clamber into his arms, as he held your weight up.

you wrapped your legs expertly around his waist, biting your lip as he ran the tip of his cock against your clit, and then pushed into your walls, his moans reverberating erotically along the column of your throat, as he trailed his lips against your tender flesh.

“fuck, fuck, fuck.” he uttered as he began to thrust. it had been a long time since kai had endured any physical contact, let alone like this. the siphon was relishing in it, slipping his cock in and out of your folds as though that was his lifelong purpose.

for the first time in many years, he no longer felt trapped, he had inched into a small paving of freedom, all because he was inherent not to leave you to abandon alone. you too were also caught up in the web of pleasure, you didn’t here two specific sets of footsteps enter the store, searching for the witch that had claimed that he knew of a route out of this subordinate hell.

they had survived the enduring loss of their own freedom, being sucked from the force of a collapsing vacuum into this lonesome reality. the other side had fallen, and so had their jaws, as they saw kai not only having sex, but with you, their lost friend whom had given her life to previously save them from complicated doom.

bonnie felt borderline disgusted as she watched you shut your eyes and try to bounce yourself on the man’s cock, whilst damon was specifically disappointed. your hands rasped around his shoulders, though their grip tightened as your name was called.

as you turned and saw your friends, it all suddenly made sense. from kai’s behaviour, to his lack of inclination to leave you alone, it was clear that he was hiding you from them and vice versa. “bonnie, damon!” you gasped, unsure of how you were supposed to compose yourself throughout this predicament.

“yes, bon bon, damey.” kai mocked with a roll of his eyes, as he remained still to his own dismay. “could you maybe give us five minutes, we kinda weren’t done here. just let us finish, and- ow!” you slapped the side of his face, scrambling to situate yourself out of his menacing grip.

with downturned eyes, you hastily pulled your clothes back up into place, glaring at the siphon. “you knew didn’t you? you knew that these were my friends and you purposely made sure i was distanced from them!” you growled at kai, your eyes fluttering with disregard for the imprisoned magician.

“well if i had, then you’d be less inclined to spend time with me, and this, would never have happened.” his fingers pried at pointing between the pair of you, amusedly he would say, though you would think otherwise. “welcome to 1903 baby! the world of lies and disgrace.”

“you’re the disgrace, you killed your own family, your younger siblings.” bonnie spoke, and her words made you feel physically sick. “get away from him y/n.” you followed her command, rushing over to her and damon, with shock established in your eyes. you had just fucked a sociopath.

“well, i guess that the jig is up.” he shrugged as he conformed his own clothes to be put in place. the fact that you still felt a rouse to finish what you started made you feel disgusted with yourself, though he deserved to rot here. why did the bad guys always have to be so hot? it just was not fair.

[theweasleysredhair]

Breathless [F.W.]

Character: Fred Weasley

Word Count: 2783

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: “Stop biting that fucking lip!” In which Y/n is a sales assistant working in the Weasley’s store; Fred likes her but finds it difficult to show this, especially since all he wants to do is to throw her against a wall and shag her.

WARNING: this is NSFW, 18+, smutty, sexy times, idk how else to say it. read with caution. or delight. idk anymore.

Tags: @gracemayhateyou @wand3ringr0s3 @theweirdsideofstuff @harrysweasleys @thoseofgreatambition

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: I DID A THING (Fred Weasley is one hot motherfucker just saying)

also this was supposed to be a drabble... oops?

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

Fred wondered why he had hired you.

Well he knew why he had - because you were amazing at your job - but right now, as he watched you, bent slightly at the waist, interacting with some young children who had entered the shop, he severely regretted his decision. The only reason for this was that, due to the nice summer weather, you had decided to wear a skirt. A form-fitting skirt. A skirt that made Fred’s pants a tad too form-fitting themselves.

It wasn’t your fault - the sun had come as a welcome change, prompting the majority of people to be wearing lighter clothes as they hurried through Diagon Alley, so as to beat the heat. You’d just happened to have chosen a skirt that made Fred wish he could bend you over the till counter and pull said skirt up to your waist.

He couldn’t help the way his eyes wandered down your form to the curve of your bum as you reached up to grab products for the customers you were with, or - even better - this morning when you had bent down to pick up something someone (Fred) had dropped. His heart was pounding from the thought, and he was still trying to live down the fact he’d had to ask to swap with George, who was behind the till, in order to hide a certain problem of his from customers and from you - something George had found hilarious, joking about it every time he passed his twin throughout the rest of the day - “Alright there, Freddie? Working hard are we?” - earning more than a few glares.

Merlin though, Fred wanted you. He wanted to be able to kiss you, hold you, love you openly. He wanted to ask you for your input on new inventions, to ask you for your opinion on anything - everything. To be the last one to kiss you at night and the first thing you saw in the morning. And he definitely wanted you in his bed. Or in the shower. Or against the wall.

Preferably all of the above.

He couldn’t remember when he first caught feelings - sometime during your years at Hogwarts, but Fred couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he realised he was in love with you as opposed to just loving you. Perhaps it was that one game of truth or dare that lead to you kissing him - a thought he savoured and thought back to a lot. The way your lips felt against his and how he was able to hold you close in that moment.

All he knew was that he was left breathless in your presence.

He spent the rest of the day with thoughts of you in his head, swirling around as he tried to focus on serving customers. This proved a difficult feat considering you were right by him on the shop floor - talking, laughing, smiling. Fred cursed himself for being so caught up on you, but he couldn’t help himself.

He was so wrapped up in watching the way your lips turned up into a smile, the way your hips swayed as you walked, imagining how they’d feel against his own that he nearly missed George bidding his goodbyes after the store had closed for the day - something about meeting Angelina - as he made himself busy tidying one of the stands near the entrance.

“Hey Fred?” You called from the storage room. Fred blinked, pulling his thoughts away from his fantasies and back into reality, “Yeah?”

There was silence for a moment, and Fred placed the vial he was holding back into its place before wandering over to the storage room just as you entered back onto the shop floor.

“George asked if we could find a place to put these new products,” you said, bringing out a couple of trays of a new product designed to give the taker the temporary ability to read minds.

Fred frowned slightly. He knew for a fact that this product was supposed to be set up at the weekend, not today, before he both cursed and thanked George mentally as he realised his twin had given him some time alone with you - and an excuse as to why.

You’d placed the trays down and began looking around the shop, trying to work out the best place to display them, absent-mindedly pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you did.

Fred’s gaze was directed at where your teeth met your lip and he swallowed, his jaw clenching as he imagined himself being the one biting your lip, and what sounds you’d make whilst he was doing so.

In his haze, he hadn’t realised you’d moved to the opposite side of the till counter, placing some other products you’d taken from another display down as you leant on the counter yourself. The movement caused Fred to glance over at you and his breath immediately hitched in his throat.

He could’ve sworn your top was buttoned all the way to your collar just moments ago and yet now, as you were leaning on your elbows on the counter as you spoke about the idea for the display you had, all he could focus on was the sight of the top of your breasts, in perfect view from the way your top had fallen as you’d leant.

“I suppose we could always move the love potions stand to the other side of the shop,” you looked up at Fred to see his response and instead were met with a soft gaze and no hint that he’d heard what you’d said. You raised your hand up in front of his face, an amused smile now playing on your lips as you watched him jump slightly, pulling him from whatever daydream he’d concocted in his head.

“I’m sorry, love, what we’re you saying?” He reaches up to stroke the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Were you not listening again?” You teased, giving him a playful eye roll. “I’m sorry, I was just distracted,” he replied.

“By what?”

Fred cleared his throat, not wanting to admit that he was very much imagining throwing you against the nearest wall and snogging the hell out of you. He instead changed the subject, he hoped subtly, as he returned his focus to the tray of products on the counter, “We could move the Pygmy puffs over and put the new stand nearer the front.”

“That could work,” you looked around and bit your lip in thought again, “Yeah and then we could move...”

But Fred’s focus was lost again. He knew he should be paying attention, that you’d beg him to know what had him so distracted but he couldn’t help it. Not when you were stood barely five feet in front of him, with your top practically unbuttoned and your skirt hugging your curves the way it was.

“What do you think?” You turned back to him happily, before seeing him in a trance again, “Um... Fred?”

Fred blinked, “Oh um yeah, yeah sure, sounds good!”

“Okay good! And then where should we move the snack boxes to...” And there you went again with the lip biting. Merlin, were you doing it on purpose? Could you tell how badly it was affecting him?

And suddenly Fred was only vaguely aware of you being mid sentence as he interrupted your planning with a growl, “Will you stop biting that fucking lip?!”

You jumped, a bewildered look dancing across your features, “What?”

“Stop. Biting. That. Fucking. Lip.” He spoke in a low tone that hit you between your legs and your mouth dropped slightly.

That’s when you saw it. His skin flushed, jaw clenched. His darkening eyes. Your own eyes wandered down his suit-clad arms, sleeves rolled to his elbows and displaying his toned forearms, knuckles white from gripping onto the counter.

You watched his tongue dart out to swipe across his bottom lip and nearly whimpered.

“Oh yeah? Or what?” You challenged him, purposely pulling your bottom lip between your teeth again.

“Or this!”

And suddenly Fred had slammed you against the nearest flat wall, his hands around your wrists as he easily pushed your arms up above your head. Your chests were pressed together, heaving from the deep breaths you were taking, his forehead resting on yours before he crashed his lips against your own.

He held onto your wrists with one hand, using the other to pull you closer to him by your hip, his tongue licking into your mouth as you moaned, completely taken by the man pressed against you. He ran his tongue across your bottom lip and gently nibbled, finally finding out what it felt like to bite your fucking lip.

You felt him through his pants, hard against your thigh as you sighed into his mouth, your hips rolling against his and making him let out a guttural moan.

He dropped his grip from your wrists just long enough to shake off his suit jacket, leaving him in his shirt as you ran your hands down his chest, revelling in the feel of his abs through the material.

His lips were still on yours, as if he was trying to imprint the feel of kissing you into his brain forever. In case this was a one time thing. In case it never happened again.

And then suddenly his mind was taken over by the feeling of your hands on his chest, unbuttoning his shirt as his own hands ran along the skin underneath your own shirt, fingertips reaching up to dance along the base of your bra, his hands gripping your back as you worked to take each others’ clothing off.

You pulled away for just a moment, pulling your shirt over your head as Fred did the same, throwing your bra somewhere in the middle of the floor, instantly forgotten as Fred put his hands back on you.

You shimmied your skirt down before making quick work of getting Fred out of his pants, mouth almost watering when you saw his hard cock pressing against the material of his boxers.

He pushed his lips back on yours, holding your bum as your hands reached around his neck to pull at the tufts of hair there, earning what you could only describe as a growl from him.

“Tell me to stop,” he groaned, taking in the sight of you, breathless and writhing under him.

“What if... I don’t want... you to stop,” you gasped as his mouth ghosted down your jaw, pressing the occasional open mouthed kiss to your skin.

“You want me to keep going?” He asked, sucking at the skin just below your jawline. “I want you to make me feel good,” you said as you stared up into his dark eyes.

“Darling, I can make you feel better than good,” Fred promised with a smirk.

His lips were then busy licking down your neck, towards your chest and he gently teased a nipple into his mouth, nibbling and earning breathy moans from you. One hand gripped your bum as the other held the back of your thigh, slowly moving round and under your skirt as he lightly ran a finger along the lace of your underwear. “This wet just for me?” He grinned, pulling away from your breast to meet your gaze as you nodded breathlessly, “All for you, Freddie.”

“I like the sound of that,” he replied as he moved to your other breast, giving it the same attention as he hooked a finger under the band of your underwear.

He began trailing kisses down your stomach and then kneeled before you, slowly pulling your underwear down your legs before pausing, looking up at you, “These expensive?”

“I can buy more.”

And with that, he ripped them from your legs, throwing them off to the side, falling somewhere with your discarded shirts.

His warm breath hit between your legs and he gripped your thighs before plunging his tongue inside of you, licking into you and making you gasp. The sound you made when he gently bit your clit was downright filthy, and you swore you could feel Fred smirking against you. He pushed his fingers into you, lazily thrusting them in and out as you leant against the wall, eyes closing in pleasure.

Just as you felt yourself getting close, your breathing staggered as you edged towards your climax, Fred decided to pull away from you, the cold air hitting you suddenly, making you open your eyes and you whimpered at the loss of contact.

“Look at you, being so needy. My needy girl, huh? I’ll make you cum, don’t worry, I’m just... dragging it out a little,” Fred smirked as he stood up, his fingers suddenly entering you again but this time only moving slowly.

You desperately thrust your hips into his hand, hoping for more friction, sighing frustratedly as he tutted and removed his hand completely.

He stepped away from you, pulling his underwear off and you finally caught the sight of his cock, long and thick, precum covering the tip. He grabbed himself, slowly stroking himself as he stepped back towards you.

“Can I..?” You spoke, your eyes following his hands. “Be my guest, princess.”

Fred could’ve died happy, he thought, with your pretty lips around his cock, your hands pumping what wouldn’t fit into your mouth, letting out groans as your tongue swirled around the tip.

He felt himself twitch, when suddenly you’d pulled away and he knew as he watched you stand up with your swollen lips curling into a smile that it was your way of paying him back for denying you yours before.

“Dangerous game you’re playing here, love,” He warned, stepping towards you.

“I’m playing to win,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest and absent-mindedly pushing your breasts up with the action.

Fred groaned, “I need to be inside of you.”

His hands were back on you, kissing you again before he guided himself to push inside of you. You both groaned together, breaths hitting the other as he thrusted up into you, pinning you against the wall. He grabbed your waist, his muscles flexing, sweat beading along his collarbone as you leant forward to kiss his neck, biting the spot under his ear that made him suddenly moan and his hips stutter.

“Look at you, taking my cock so well,” he breathed out, his abs tightening with every push into you.

He then nodded over to the till counter just behind you, “See that counter? I’ve been thinking about bending you over it all day.”

“Then why don’t you?” You gasped out your breath hitching in your throat as he gave a particularly deep thrust.

Without a reply, he pulled out of you, making you whimper at the empty feeling, before pulling you over to the counter quickly. He shoved the product trays onto the floor, unbothered by them crashing to the floor as he pressed a rough, dirty kiss to your lips before turning you around and bending you over like he’d imagined so many times before. His hands roamed across your bum, squeezing before pushing back into you and making you cry out.

His hands were on your waist as he pounded into you, before he reached around to pull you up so your back hit his chest, both of you glancing towards the large front window of the shop.

“Anyone could come by and see us, but you don’t care about that do you? Just as long as I keep making you feel good,” he growled in your ear, and you felt yourself clench around his cock, earning a groan from him.

“Freddie,” you whispered, your head falling back against his shoulder as you felt your stomach tightening, building up to your release, “I’m gonna- I’m gonna-“

“There’s a good girl,” Fred praised, a hand running up your stomach to hold one of your breasts, “You’re so good to me. Come for me, princess.”

You let out a moan as your climax washed over you, collapsing forward onto the counter as Fred thrusted into you a couple more times before releasing inside of you, gripping your hips as he groaned, his head falling against the back of your neck as you both tried to catch your breath.

“I love you,” he mumbled, his lips tracing across your back and down your shoulder. And in that moment, as you were coming down from your high, whispering the words back to him, you knew this was the start of something that neither of you were prepared for.

After all, you left each other breathless.

[a-glimpse-of-fantasy]

The Heist - Part 11

This is a fanfiction game which starts here

You can find the previous chapters here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Or you can refer to the dedicated hashtag ^^

***

English isn't my first language so please spare me for any grammar mistakes🙈

Breathing hard, deep as I could, I racked my brain, looking for a way to get Jake to talk about his past. Where should I start? From this Mark Willow?

I was scared. Scared to know what stories his past held. Jake himself stated that Mark Willow was a man who’d do anything to get his work done. And obviously, he was an evil man.

How in the world did someone like that become Jake’s mentor? Does that mean Jake himself was working with him in the past? Doing evil stuff?

I took a deep breath, calming my heart, thumping anxiously. ‘Let’s trust him. Jake is the man I love. If I don’t trust him…who else will?’ I chanted in my head, taking his rough, wounded hands into mine.

“Jake. I…really didn’t want to pry into your past….” It was harder than I thought; how could I get him to talk without hurting his feelings?

I was too naive. For Jake, his past was painful, whether Jake himself was good or bad. ‘Let’s do this quickly. Let’s not get emotional. Be rational. Rational…’

“I tried my best not to. But I can’t, not anymore.” His eyes trembling, Jake stared right into my eyes. He knew.

He knew for sure what I was going to ask next.

“MC-I-I’m sorr-” I held my finger on his lips, interrupting him. An apology was the last thing I wanted to hear from Jake. My heart ached whenever Jake would apologize or look at me apologetically. Besides, they couldn’t bring us anywhere.

“Jake. Stop saying sorry and tell me. Please, I think I deserve to know that much.” As my grip on his hands strengthened, his head fell further. Jake was unable to look me in the eye.

This was something I had noticed in the past as well. Jake tends to declare his opinion and leave without giving me a chance to argue. Well, not anymore.

“How did you meet him? How did he become your mentor? What sort of work did you do together? I have tons of questions for you.” Hearing him sigh heavily, I cupped his cheeks in my palms, gently raising his head to face me. “You told me that you were one of the good guys. I could tell that as I worked with you to find Hannah too.” I kissed his forehead, to which he stiffened up, “And I believe everything you said. Jake, I believe you.”

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

“Jake, I believe you.”

Those words were the words he desperately wished to hear four years ago. He wanted someone to believe him, that he never had any ill will. That everything he did, was for a good reason.

But why was he hearing those words from this woman? She didn’t even know him at that time. She knew nothing about what kind of a person he was before they met.

Yet this woman convinced him.

He had to tell her everything. For once, he ‘wanted’ to share his part of the story.

Licking his dried-up lips, Jake cleared his throat. “I first met master while I was in the final year in the uni. My friend Kyle and I used to develop programs for fun. We sometimes entered competitions as well. Kyle nor I had great financial situations. So we used to split up the prize money. That year, we won an international competition.”

She nodded lightly to let him know that she was listening. “Many well-known companies offered us jobs after that. So we chose the best one out of them. Just as we graduated, we were hired, and the paycheck was also high. We thought…” A lump in his throat swallowed his voice. Remembering the past…was much harder than he imagined, especially with all the tragedies that fell upon them afterward. "-that all our misfortunes was over." After a pause, he continued.

“Master was our supervisor at the company. He was a great man who was very skilled as well. I always respected him, though he eventually became my hero.”

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

Jake’s eyes kept reddening as he continued. “Maybe I considered him a father figure. You know…” He said, a faint smile on his haggard face, “For kids, their father is their hero. But for me…I grew up never knowing who my father was. I only found out by chance.”

My heart sank. Though he was Hannah’s and Lily’s father, Jake’s father had never seemed to have considered Jake as his son. I wanted to go to Duskwood at once and kick him, at least once.

But this was not the time to get emotional. Be rational.

“One day, master told us a secret, me and Kyle. He was a vigilante. He would hack into government officials’ computers and reveal their corruptions. Even some well-known companies were shut because of his work. I believed he was like a modern-time Robin Hood.”

"Kyle didn’t want to get involved, but I did. Unlike Kyle, I didn’t have a family to protect, so it felt alright for me to take a little risk.”

“So you worked together with him as a vigilante as well?” I asked, to which he nodded, confirming.

“We meddled in many things, especially in government affairs. Corruption was everywhere. I was disgusted with people while my respect towards master only increased day by day. Then one day, Kyle called me in the middle of the night. He seemed to be in a hurry. He told me, ‘Master was not the man you believe him to be. He is deceiving you so he can use you.’ He hung up and disappeared since that day.”

“Disappeared?!” I exclaimed. Jake nodded. He seemed to have gotten more calm and collected.

“Soon, I found out what Kyle meant. Master’s real job was to work for other organizations to bring down the power of the other companies. A gap in the hierarchy will appear whenever high officials or powerful companies are brought down. Those people would fill them. Master even worked for foreign governments, sometimes even leaking the national security data.”

Why Jake was so persistent in not trusting anyone was clear now. His father figure betrayed him; of course, he wouldn’t want to be betrayed again.

“I tried to expose him then. But before I could, the FBI suddenly came to arrest me. I managed to run away, then found out later that master had exposed me. After that, for four years, I tried my best to find Kyle. He seemed to know something. But there were no traces of him at all. Apparently, he had moved out with his mother and sister. His trail was cut off from there.”

Jake leaned forward, tightly gripping my hands. His eyes seemed to plead. “Master always sees one step ahead. MC, even now, he must be planning to kill us and I-” His lips trembled, Jake was stressed, and he looked so helpless. Helpless for me. “I am honestly not confident in protecting you. So please-”

Jake’s plea was cut off by a loud sound in the living room. Jake immediately moved in front of me, guarding me against any harm.

@geocait0815  We are starting again from you...

Next Chapter

[yoonpobs]

Omg requests are open AAAHHH

may i request an oblivious oc and tsundere yoongi who likes holding oc's hands and idk like maybe oc thinks it's bc his hands are cold and his friends make fun of him and oc only realizes yoongi likes her when they spill his secret

as a yoongi stan, this is my guilty pleasure and this absolutely KILLED ME ily for asking this 🤣and double update today???? who am I????? 

hope you enjoy this v fluffy and v yoongi piece <3

pairing: tsundere!yoongi x oblivious&clumsy!oc

genre: FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF

warnings: lots of squealing into ur pillow moments. taehyung, jimin & jin being the saviours tbh

words: 3, 136

Yoongi is staring at you like you spilt milk over his favourite pair of sneakers and you have no idea what to make of it.

“Uh …” You drag, blinking up at him with wide eyes when all he does is level you with a blank stare.

You can hear the distinct chatter of your friends in the background, likely already having their go skating around the rink. They always left you and Yoongi alone, for whatever reason it may be. But you weren’t complaining, you wanted to give him your gift in private!

But when Yoongi only stares at the mass of knit in your palms as you hold it out to him, you can only feel your ears flush an embarrassing shade of red at the subtle gesture of rejection. 

Yoongi was by no means a malicious person, but he was very clear-cut. He was straightforward and it was definitely one of his qualities that you admired the most about him. His ability to mitigate any situation, or look at things objectively was something that you struggled with for the most part of your life. Which is why some people would mistake him for cold or uncaring, but you knew better. 

“Do you … do you not like it?” You ask meekly, eyes darting everywhere but his as they continue to stare you down.

Yoongi doesn’t say a word. Instead, he grabs your hands with his larger palm where your gift lays and observes it, scrutinises it as if he’s there to pick apart any stray strand of yarn. His hand, despite his exterior, is soft and gentle when he holds you; and your brain short-circuits for a good five seconds when he traces a thumb over your knuckles.

“It’s cute.” He shrugs.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Your eyes dart down to your hands and somehow you find them in a familiar position. His fingers intertwined with yours and his palm engulfing yours entirely.

“T-Then why don’t you—” You try to pull away, making an effort to dangle your hand-woven mittens in front of him in hopes of attracting his appeal towards it.

But he doesn’t even bat an eye, just sighs and squeezes your hand tighter.

“I’m holding your hand.” He says pointedly, shooting you a serious stare.

You stutter for a response, and despite the chill in the air you hope he can allude to the redness of your cheeks a result of the wind that blows past you and not the flustered state you find yourself in when he tugs your body closer to his.

You suppose you found a bad spot to give him the mittens because you nearly stumble into his chest at how wobbly you are on skates. You planned his gift for weeks, fully aware that your group of friends was intending on coming to ice-skate. 

“I’m really bad at ice-skating. I’ll just slow you down.” You huff with a frown, still attempting to tug your hand away.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, “I literally don’t care.”

You gape at his bluntness and scowl when he only offers you a lazy smirk. His hand is still tightly wrapped around your own, and you sigh, knowing that it was hopeless to fight against Yoongi when he was far stronger than you were.

“I can skate with Tae or something, he and I are pretty much—“

“No.” Yoongi blinks.

You splutter, “E-Excuse—?”

He snatches the mittens from your other hand and shoves them into his pocket. The action is so quick that you can barely register the way Yoongi is tugging your forehead as you flounder on your feet, already feeling unstable at the way the ice is set on making you fall.

But Yoongi is there like he always is, and he rests a gentle palm on your waist and shoots you a rare and soft smile that makes your heart weak.

“I’ll teach you.” He says it like it’s obvious, “Just hold my hand.”

“Yoongi, I really don’t think—” You weakly protest when he pulls you closer until you’re nestled comfortably by his side, his face set forward as he blatantly ignores you.

“Stop being so stubborn and hold on tight.” He scolds, squeezing your hand when he feels your fingers loosen its grip.

You pout, your other hand patting your cheek in hopes of easing the burning of your cheeks.

.

Lest to say, you are horrid at ice-skating and you wished you stayed home.

Your two left feet was probably the least interesting thing about you, yet it was the one thing that left a lasting impression on the people you’ve met. Whether it be because you tripped up a flight of stairs as you rushed to your next lecture, or if you accidentally torpedoed into a bush while you were attempting to penny

“How are you even real?” He huffs, fingers intertwined tightly with your own. You’re grateful he has a lethal grip on you because you don’t think you’re ready to be doused in ice, even if it was at your own accord.

“I’m sorry!” You whine, hand still clasped with his.

Yoongi doesn’t let go, even if you’re stable on your feet. He never does. He only holds your hand tighter, grumbling something about your clumsiness as he uses his spare hand to adjust the strap of his bag over his shoulders. When he shoots you a look, you feel very much like a scolded child as you pout up at his narrowed eyes.

“What would you do if I wasn’t holding your hand, huh?” He laments, eyes rolling while he tugs you towards the direction of your friends who have somehow all gathered at the corner of the rink.

You stare at your feet, tittering to keep up with his long strides as he keeps the hold on your hand firm. 

“Look, I don’t ask to be swept away—!” You retort petulantly, but Yoongi completely ignores you as he squeezes your hand in response, right as he stops in front of your friends.

You’re still sulking when Yoongi doesn’t let go, shooting you a look that has you pursing your lips shut. 

“Lovely for the two of you to join us,” Jimin snorts.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but you miss the lethal glare he shoots at your mutual friend.

“I’m sorry that my skating skills can’t keep up with you,” You huff.

You see Jin’s eyes dart down to your intertwined hands, before looking up; a knowing smirk on his face that you can’t decipher.

“Seems like Yoongi has it all settled.” He snickers, nudging Jimin by the side.

You can feel Yoongi roll his eyes next to you, even if you pout at Jin’s words.

“At this rate, I think you’re basically joined by the hands,” Jimin says smugly.

You blink.

“She’ll fall,” Yoongi says blankly.

“Look, I said I’d skate with Tae but he’s so adamant!” You cry.

Yoongi shoots you a dry glare, before briefly releasing your hand. You splutter for a second, surprised at the sudden coldness that engulfs your grip and the emptiness that you feel when he no longer has his fingers intertwined with your own.

“What—?” You furrow your brows but Yoongi pats you on the hand to ease your confusion.

“I’m getting you hot chocolate. Your hands are freezing.” He murmurs, and to prove his point; he grabs your fingers and rubs soothing circles on your knuckles to provide you with any warmth he could.

If your hands weren’t warm, then your cheeks definitely were. You couldn’t hold eye contact with Yoongi because he was staring at you so intently that you may have been the one to melt into a puddle on the ice.

“But the mittens—!” You call, but he’s already skating away to the confectionary stand where they sell hot chocolate.

You sigh, dejected as you frown. Did he really hate the mittens that much?

“You are so stupid.” Jin gawks at you with a shake of his head.

You turn your head so fast that you nearly fall over, but Jimin’s grip on your wrist prevents you from doing so.

“And clumsy, God, no wonder hyung won’t let you go.” He scolds.

You frown, “Hey! What the hell is up with the slander?” You whine.

Taehyung stumbles into the conversation, quite literally almost smashing his body against the divider but he manages to balance himself by gripping the hell out of Jin’s shoulders.

“You deserve it,” He sticks his tongue out as you gape at him.

“What?! Why?” You hiss, “You literally just entered the conversation!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, “And I’ve had to see you and hyung doddle around each other for ages so spare me the fucking brain cells because clearly, you need it more than I do.”

“What—?” You splutter.

“You are literally the densest person on this planet.” Jin blinks.

“What are you guys even talking about?” You cry.

Jimin shoots you a dry look, willing the God’s above to give you a semblance of rationality or logic to put two and two together.

“The hand-holding? The constant going out of his way to do things for you? The fact that you’re the only person he’ll ever smile at even if you do the dumbest shit ever?” Taehyung exasperates.

You blink.

“It’s winter and his fingers get really cold—!”

Jin groans, tugging at his hair in frustration.

“No, you idiot! Yoongi literally doesn’t get cold. He’s the human equivalent of a furnace! He literally doesn’t give a shit if he freezes to death. The only reason why he ever holds your hand is that he wants to!” He yells, grabbing you by the shoulder as he shakes your body while you stare up at him with wide eyes.

Does that mean—?

“He hates the mittens?” You cry, face crumbling.

You see Taehyung, Jimin and Jin’s face fall as they all share a look of disbelief.

“I’m sorry but I have no way to defend you.” Jimin blinks.

“I just wanted to do something nice for him! He’s always taking care of me and I thought knitting him a pair of mittens would help with the cold …” You mumble, eyes darting down to your feet as your voice trails off into a whisper.

“Okay, I know I promised hyung I wouldn’t say anything until she figured it out herself but I can’t take it anymore.” Taehyung seethes to the other boys.

Your eyes dart up, furrowing in confusion as Jimin and Jin’s eyes widen at Taehyung’s statement.

“Figured what—?”

“Dude, Yoongi is going to kill you,” Jin warns.

Taehyung scoffs, “Like I give a shit. I’m losing brain cells listening to her speak so this is an act of self-preservation. He’s going to thank me and so are you.”

“What are you—?” You huff.

“Yoongi likes you!” He exasperates, throwing his hands into his air.

The silence is overwhelming, as the four of you simply blink at each other. Your brain is processing his words, but it doesn’t really make sense. You’re confused as you attempt to deduce the meaning behind it until you come to a conclusion—

You look over at Jimin, “Are the two of you—?”

Jimin wants to scream.

“No, oh my God! Yoongi likes you! You!” He shakes you so hard that your head spins, “He likes you so much it’s disgusting and cute so you better do something about it and not accustom us to this torture anymore, okay?!”

Before you can say anything else, you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder. You blink up, and you see Yoongi offering you a cup of hot chocolate, eyeing the rest of the boys weirdly as they stand there with tightened expressions.

“Here you go,” He says softly, helping you blow onto the steaming cup before gently placing it into your hand.

It warms you up immediately, and you only then managed to piece together what Taehyung and Jimin just told you. The realisation dawns upon you as a scandalised expression makes its way onto your face. Yoongi raises an eyebrow, observing the odd behaviour of the four of you as the three boys ignore his pointed gaze.

“L-Let’s go take a seat,” You stutter, pushing on his chest with your free hand as you attempt to skate away from the wandering eyes. The pressure was too much.

“Hey, hold on, you’ll fall.” He gently chides, doing what comes as second nature to him as he grabs your other hand, giving you a squeeze of reassurance.

As the two of you skate away, you miss the sighs that leave the three boys’ lips.

“So, is there a reason why you tried to skate away like you were an Olympian?” Yoongi asks when the two of you managed to settle down in a small bench outside of the rink, tucked a decent distance away.

You look down at your palms, squeezing around the hot chocolate as you pay attention to the steam that escapes the surface.

The words from Jimin was essentially still haunting you, and you wondered if this was some sick joke of his to get back at you for mixing up his toothpaste with his shampoo a few months back. You sulk because this was a really mean joke and your feelings were about to get really hurt if he was lying to you.

“Hey,” Yoongi murmurs, hand reaching out to tilt your chin up to look at him. His stare is so intense that you find yourself cowering away, cheeks red and embarrassed. “Look at me.”

You can’t.

“I-I … there’s nothing wrong!” You squeak, eyes travelling and landing on different people that wasn’t Yoongi. Anyone that wouldn’t cause your insides to melt with just his gaze alone.

Yoongi purses his lips in disapproval, sighing before he sets his hot chocolate by the table next to the bench and turns to face you. You knew that you had no place to run, especially when Yoongi essentially traps you with his eyes, observing your every move.

“You’re shaking.” He points out.

And only then do you realise that you were shaking, and your hands were basically vibrating with the hot chocolate. You cursed at yourself, and the cold.

“I-I’m cold.” You chatter.

Yoongi frowns, reaching out his hand to immediately grab your own to warm them up. But when you spot his hands, you squeak, immediately retracting them as if he was about to bite them off. 

You realise how it looks, and you notice the slight drop in Yoongi’s expression when you reacted the way you did.

“Are you—?” He begins to ask, slow and tentative.

“Not my hands!” You blurt out.

Yoongi pauses for a second before he relaxes his posture and raises a brow at you in questioning.

“Okay …?” He drags, “Where are you cold? Do you need my jacket?” He asks.

You curse at yourself because you didn’t know how to get yourself out of this situation. Especially now that Yoongi was patiently waiting for your response. Your thighs were essentially brushed up against each other, and his body was leaned over ever so slightly that you catch every strand of eyelashes on his eyes.

You were so weak.

“N-No, I … you can keep your jacket.” You stutter, shaking your head as you pat his puffer down when he goes to shrug it off.

Yoongi’s frown deepens, “Well, can you tell me where so I can help—?”

“My lips!” You declare, voice high pitched and loud enough that it attracts a few stares from bystanders.

Yoongi just stares at you, and you’re mortified when you realise what you said, but you can’t seem to stop now that you’ve already dug a hole for yourself.

“My … lips … they’re ... cold,” You clear your throat, blinking up at him with a false sense of determination in hopes of shielding the way your face is undoubtedly on fire right now.

“Your lips … are cold?” He articulates each world tentatively as he observes your face for any reaction.

You nod.

“Yeah. Cold.” You say.

Oh my God, shut up!

Before you can even run away, and it’s as if Yoongi expects you to flee, he pins your hands down with his own and draws closer to your face so quickly that you can barely even catch his next move.

And kisses you.

Smack on the lips.

He pulls away too fast for your liking, and you’re gaping at him like a fish out of the water when you realise what he did.

“You—” You croak, pointing a finger at him.

But Yoongi leans in once more, pressing a firmer kiss to your lips, one that sends your brain into overdrive as you feel yourself melt into his hold. If you were cold, you definitely weren’t anymore. Not when Yoongi is pressed against you like a warm lover by the fireplace.

He pulls away first, again, and you notice the tip of his ears turning red before he offers you that charming smile of his.

“Took you long enough,” He sighs, reaching out to cradle your jaw in his palm. And only then do you realise that Jimin was right, his hand is warm.

“W-What?”

He rolls his eyes fondly, ignoring the way you stare up at him with confused and wide eyes; likely still absorbing what just happened.

“Just hold my hand,” He tuts, reaching in between the both of you to intertwine your fingers together once more as he rests your combined hands on his lap.

“Does this mean …?” You ask shyly, head ducking away from his eyes.

He smiles at you, and you notice that it’s the same look he’s always had whenever he speaks to you.

He brings the back of your hand to his lips and presses a gentle peck to it, causing heat to rise to your cheeks all over again.

“You warm now, cutie?” He murmurs.

You melt, “Oh my God! Don’t—just—I’m literally going to die!” You whine, shoving your face into his puffer as you scream at his suaveness.

He chuckles, low and deep as he unlocks your hands to wrap an arm around your body, tugging you closer until you’re practically glued to his hip like a koala.

“Don’t die on me now,” He sighs, “Just got you to myself.”

“I hate you so much.” Your complaint is muffled into his puffer, but you can feel his grin on the top of your forehead when he presses a warm kiss to it.

“That’s disappointing. I like you very much,” He returns.

You blush, but you don’t push him away when he laughs into your hair, the sound making you melt further into his arms.

You liked him, too.

[hispipsqueak]

Good Little Pet

Satan x F!Reader - NSFW

WC: 2.5K

TW: pet play, anal play, choking, master/pet dynamics, maid outfits, light degradation, unprotected sex

A/N: I’ve been on a huge Satan kick lately. I roast the hell out of him, but would I still die to be his kitten? You bet! Sorry I’ve been MIA for a bit. I have so many fics I’m working on, and not enough time in the day. Thank you for all the support friends. <3 I see your tags and they honestly make my entire life! Also I did proofread this, but I’ve also been staring at it for a week so plz don’t hate me if there’s typos! :D 

All characters are 18+

The House of Lamentation had been unusually relaxed today. Most of the brothers were out, leaving only three home. Surprisingly the room was mostly silent as Levi had his headphones on as he played his game and even Mammon had been quiet, as he fiddled with his D.D.D. 

Satan thumbed through a mystery novel as he sipped his tea. Though he usually preferred to read in his room, the ambience here was relaxed enough for once, that he could focus.

Until the door opened and Asmodeus walked in, dragging you behind him laughing. The two of you had been out shopping and the stack of boxes you held towered above you.

"Ah, Satan could you help me with this?" You asked, giggling about something Asmo had said. Sighing as he placed his bookmark, Satan reached over to help you with the boxes, revealing your smiling face and the cat-ear headband you had on top of your head.

"Satan, isn't MC adorable as a cute cat?! Nya for us MC!" Asmo asked. You rolled your eyes, but put your hand up in a paw shape, letting out a sweet "nya". Satan's eyes widened and he could feel heat rising into his cheeks. He quickly turned around.

"Uh, yes of course. I'll be going back to my room." He placed the boxes on the floor and hurried away as you and Asmo looked at each other confused.

Satan closed his door behind him and pressed his back to the wooden frame. 

Satan often considered himself to be more level headed than most of his brothers, but he couldn't deny his attraction to you. Still, he showed less emotion outwardly than the rest of the brothers and he prided himself in that. However, seeing you in those cat ears, giving cute little meows as your eyes gazed up at him? Satan could feel his growing erection tenting his pants. 

He had seen one of Levi's games a while back that featured a cat girl in a scantily clad maid outfit on the front cover. Now, he pictured you in the same outfit, cat ears atop your head, your skimpy dress leaving little to the imagination as you knelt in front of him, your lips parted waiting for your master's orders.

Fuck. He let out a shaky breath as the image of you bent over his desk, collared and begging for him to fuck you now entered his mind. His hand slid down to his throbbing cock, desperately wanting release. 

A knock at the door interrupted him.

"Satan? You left your book and your tea. I brought it for you." Your voice called out, tentatively.

Shit. Satan looked around wildly. before sitting at his desk to hide his obvious arousal. 

"Come in." He called out hoarsely, hoping you didn't notice the quiver in his voice.

You opened the door, still wearing those damned ears and looked concerningly at him.

"Are you feeling alright? You rushed out of there and your face is really red." You placed his things on the desk as you walked towards him, avoiding the precarious stacks of books around the room. He quickly grabbed a book from the top of a pile and placed it on his lap as you approached him. 

"I'm fine, just got lost in thought." He lied. You raised an eyebrow but didn't press it. The pile of books next to him chose that moment to clatter to the ground and before he could react, you knelt down in front of him to pick up the fallen books. 

He looked down at you and bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. You looked up at him innocently, identical to the naughty visions of you in his mind. 

You placed a hand on his knee and he let out a low groan. Your eyes widened.

"Satan? I-"

"Come down for dinner!" Asmo's voice chirped out from outside the door. You stood up and turned.

"Do you want me to let them know you're not feeling well? I can bring you something back."

Satan nodded. He had to really take care of the very pressing issue at hand and knew he wouldn't be able to sit through an entire agonizing meal.

----

"Pass the salt, Asmo."

"I didn't hear a 'nya', MC." Asmo giggled, poking his tongue out at you. Your hand flew to your hair. 

"I forgot I had these on!" You laughed.

"Let's hope Satan doesn't see those." Levi muttered.

You cocked your head. "What do you mean."

Levi's face flushed. "Uh...no reason, er, nothing!!!"

You narrowed your eyes at the reddening demon.

"Satan's obsession with cats doesn't stop at real cats. Didn't he get obsessed with that stupid cat girl game?" Belphie yawned, sliding his half-finished plate to Beel who dug in happily.

"You mean Neko Magic Maid♡. It wasn't even that good of a game!" Levi said, "It definitely wasn't as good as SuperStar Magic Maid…"

"Yeah. I don't think he was interested in the storyline." Mammon interjected, laughing.

Lucifer scolded the brothers for being crass but your mind wandered. Was that why Satan was acting so weird? After dinner, you headed to Levi's room.

"Hey Levi! I was wondering more about that game you were talking about? The catgirl one?"

Levi didn't even turn from his computer screen. "Yeah it's on that shelf. But if you really like the Magic Maid series you should start with Springtime Magic…AHHH HE'S RESPAWNED!" He yelled, ignoring you again for the game he was currently playing.

You grabbed the game and slipped out of his room quietly. Glancing at the cover you saw a cat girl dressed in a ridiculously short maid costume. Her ears and tail were perked up and she donned a black collar around her neck with a little bell and tag that read 'Master'.

You grinned as you headed to your room. This would be fun.

----

"Satan?" 

"Come in."

Satan turned the page in his book.  Thankfully after that disastrous night, you hadn't worn that headband again, though he'd be lying if he said the image from you that day hadn't been filling his mind as he jerked his cock each night.

He heard you step into the room, but you didn't say anything. Looking up, his jaw dropped.

You were dressed in a maid outfit somehow more revealing than the one from the game. Your breasts were practically popping out of the dress, and the short skirt barely covered your ass. He could see the slight bulge of your thighs over top of your sheer thigh-high socks and he had the urge to bite that spot over and over.

You had the cat ears on again and as you walked towards him, he could hear a jingling noise. Glancing at your neck he saw a simple black collar with his name on the tag and a silver bell. 

"MC what are you doing?" He breathed out shakily. You placed your hand on his chest, gently pushing him into his desk chair.

"Taking care of you…Master." You knelt down on the floor and looked at him expectantly. 

Satan blinked rapidly. He had to be dreaming. 

"Can I please you, Master?" You asked. He nodded, at a loss for words, and you began to unbutton his pants, freeing his rapidly hardening cock. Your hands wrapped around it squeezing, and you slowly moved up and down. Satan let out a groan.

You moved closer, pressing your lips to the tip of his cockhead before lapping at the beads of precum from the slit. You slid his length into your warm, wet mouth and looked into his eyes, swirling your tongue around his cock. This elicited another grunt from the blonde demon.

As you bobbed up and down on his length, he rested his hand on your hair, gently pushing you deeper on his cock. You moaned around him and the vibrations made his heart race. He looked down at you, and noticed the tail that led to under your skirt. 

The realization set a switch off in his brain. He bucked his hips, forcing more of his cock into your mouth.

"Ohhhh fuck. That's it kitten. You like choking on Master's cock?" He asked, his fingers gripping tightly to your hair. You could only gag around him as a response, and the noises you let out were absolutely sinful.

"Such a good little pet. Your throat is squeezing me so well, kitten. But you can go deeper, can't you? Don't you want to please your master?" He asked. 

Frantically you nodded and forced even more of him down your throat, trying your best to breathe out of your nose. As you tried to pull back, his grip tightened, holding you firmly in place. Your eyes watered as you felt his cock throb in your throat and your vision blurred, from tears or lack of oxygen, you weren’t sure. He pulled back and you gasped for air, tear streaked face looking up at him. Satan panicked, apologies already forming in his head before you grinned and pulled him back into your mouth.

“Fuuuuck, such a good kitten. Addicted to master’s cock.” Satan groaned out, his eyes closing as you found your pace on his length. He could feel his release creeping up on him, a fiery feeling in the core of him as your mouth enveloped his cock. The room filled with soft pants and the jingling of the bell around your neck. He met your eyes as you continued to take him deeper. He wouldn’t last much longer if you kept like this. 

“That’s it kitten, that’s it. You want master’s milk? Want your cute belly full of your master’s cum? Tell me, kitten.”

You whined around him, releasing his cock from your lips. 

“Please master. Need to please you. Want your cum.” Your eyes were glassy with tears and drool dripped down the corners of your plump lips. Satan wished he could snap a picture of you looking so lewd.

“Good girl. Milk my cock kitten. Milk my fucking cock.” He gasped as you sped up around him, sloppier and more vigorously than before. Spit coated your chin and spilled onto his thighs as you wrapped your tongue around his cock.

“FUCK! Fuck, just like that!! Oh fuck, cumming!! Take it all, kitten. Fucking take it.” Satan wailed, his muscles tensing as he shot load after load down your throat. You struggled to swallow everything, with some dripping off your lips. Breathing hard, he scooped it with his finger, pushing it back into your mouth.

“Don’t waste a drop kitten.”

You sucked on his finger, a content smile on your face. He reached down, tugging your wrists and pulling you to your feet.

“You didn’t think we were done, did you kitten? Oh no...I want to explore every little bit of you.” He whispered, bending you over his desk. Flipping up your skirt he admired as the tail slid into your ass and gently tugged it, pulling a low moan from you.

“Such a naughty kitten. I can’t wait to fill all your holes with my seed.” He said, his hand palming your ass, before smacking you hard. You jolted forward with a soft whimper. He tugged at your tail again, chuckling as you squeezed your thighs together.

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re already squirming.” His fingers pressed against your drooling cunt. “Already this wet, just from a few tugs on your tail? What a slutty little pet you are.”

You moaned as he pressed his fingers into your cunt, the slick arousal easily letting him into you. He slowly pumped in and out of you as you attempted to grind against his palm, whining when he gripped your hips, stilling you.

“Look at you, kitten. Debasing yourself just to get off. How filthy.” His voice was sadistic and yet your body trembled with desire under his touch. Your brain was hazy with his fingers rhythmically plunging into you and all you wanted was for him to use you for his pleasure. 

“Please Master. Please touch me.” You pleaded, squeezing your thighs together as he pulled his fingers out of you. He pushed you down on the desk, as he pressed his cockhead against your entrance.

“Beg.”

“Please fuck me master. Please let me cum around your cock. I need you so bad, sir – FUCK!”

Satan slammed his cock into you, causing you to cry out. His hand gripped your hip as he fucked himself deeper into you. 

“Scream as loud as you want kitten, no one is going to hear you through the spells in this room. You’re clenching around me so deliciously, pet.” His fingertips bruised your skin and papers and books were knocked off the desk as he slammed into you over and over.

Your body shook and you felt so full with his cock in your pussy and the plug in your ass. You felt stretched to your limit and still he pressed on, fucking you until you saw stars.

“I can feel the pressure of your tail plug through your delicious cunt, kitten. Doesn’t it feel good to be so full? You’re such a lewd little kitten, aren’t you?” As he taunted you with his words, his fingers danced around your clit, causing your legs to feel like they were giving out. Relentless, he continued pounding into you as tears fell from your eyes.

“So, so full. So good, master! Your cock is so perfect, Master.” you babbled, your brain delirious with lust. The fire burning in your core was so overwhelming, your body ached for more and you needed him, needed your master to push you over that peak.

Satan growled, feeling his demon form activate. His tail wrapped itself around your neck, holding you in place as he wrecked you.

“Your lewd little pussy is fluttering around my cock, kitten. Are you going to cum for me? Are you going to cum for your master’s cock?” He panted out. He was close, apparent as his thrusts became harder and faster.

“Yes please Master. Let me cum on your cock!” You choked out, his tail tightening around your throat. Your eyes fluttered as you felt back arch.

“Cum for me, pet.”

That was all it took. You wailed as your cunt clenched around him, creaming around his cock. Your body convulsed and you felt dazed as you gushed around him. 

“Fuck, kitten!” He groaned out. His hand slammed you down as he unloaded into you. He was so deep, you could practically feel his cum in your belly as he shot ropes of his hot seed into your body over and over. After what felt like a lifetime, he slowly slid out of you.

Picking you up he delicately placed you on his bed, wiping aways the traces of cum that dripped onto your thighs. He gently worked your tail plug out and placed it on the desk before covering you with his sheets. 

“You did so good for me, kitten.” He whispered into your skin. Your eyes were too heavy to open, so you just smiled sleepily and curled into his chest. Running his hand through your hair, he undid the cat ear clips and placed them on his nightstand before succumbing to exhaustion, his whispered words barely audible.

“Good little pet.”

[ilici]

bfb.

Summary: You grew up with Dream and Drista your whole life, but as you got older you soon realized your feelings towards Dream. (You are 19 in this and the reader is female for the plot)

MINORS DNI

Warnings: oral fixation, dumbification, choking

Word Count: 2234

Sighing, Y/N looked at Drista then towards her tv, “Hey Drista?” Y/N asked, gaining Drista’s attention.”Yeah Y/N?” She asked, looking over at her best friend, “Does it bother you that your best friend is like 6 years older than you?” They asked, and Drista frowned once she heard the words. “No I like it a lot, I grew up with you and saw you as an older sister to me. You are always there for me, and you can even pick me up early from school so that’s a bonus.” Drista laughed as the last part left her mouth, which caused Y/N to softly punch her arm. “Can I ask you something and you not laugh at me?” Y/N asked, and Drista made a noise, shifting around so that they could face one another.

Y/N took in a deep breath, and looked at the younger girl, “I've known you and Dream all my life, but around the age of 17 I started to realize my feelings for Dream were a bit different.” She explained, stumbling over her words a bit scared of how Drista would react. “I know, I can tell by the way you look at him.” Drista explained, which made Y/N relax a bit, “Is it that obvious?” She asked worriedly, and Drista shrugged, “Maybe to me, but boys tend to be oblivious.” Once the words left her mouth, Drista gasped, “This is like that episode of Victorious!” She said excitedly, and Y/N furrowed her eyebrows throwing her a confused look. “You know the song BFB?” 

Y/N slowly nodded her head, and Drista groaned, “You’re about as dumb as a pig.” She complained, “BFB means best friends brother.” She said, making exaggerated hand movements. “Oh yeah.” Y/N laughed, and softly pushed Drista, “I swear you are a nerd.” She said, causing the younger to giggle. Shaking her head, she got up, “You have school tomorrow, so you need to sleep. It’s two hours past your bedtime. Your mom would kill me for letting you stay awake this late.” Y/N said, and Drista pouted, “Fine.” She said giving up, “I’m going to go take a shower, and I’ll be back. I will try not to wake you if you are asleep by the time I get back.” 

Nodding her head, Drista switched the movie over to Princess and the Frog, turning her lamp off on her bedside table. Y/N walked over and grabbed a pair of clothes from her closet as she practically lived there. Walking out, she mumbled a ‘goodnight’ to Drista as she turned around she slowly made her way to the bathroom. Putting her clothes in the bathroom, she walked downstairs into the kitchen to get a glass of water. “Thirsty?” A voice spoke up making Y/N yelp and jump. “Holy shit Dream. You scared me you dick head.” She mumbled shoving him, as he was leaning against the counter. “Why were you even standing in the dark you weirdo.” Y/N said, getting a glass cup, getting some water. 

Dream watched her movements, and he shrugged to himself, “I have this kitchen memorized like the back of my hand. There’s no need to turn on the light.” He explained, and Y/N was now facing the sink, finishing up her glass of water. “I suppose that’s true.” She said nodding her head, pouring the rest of the remaining water out and put the glass in the sink. As she was about to turn around, she felt his body against her backside. Gulping she kept her eyes glued to the window where she could somewhat see their reflection. “Don’t you want somebody to love?” He whispered, moving Y/N hair over her shoulder as he wrapped his fingers around her throat.

Freezing, Y/N felt herself melt at the gesture, her eyes locked with Dream’s reflection on the window, the only light source being the light above the sink. “What makes you think that?” She asked, trying to keep her voice at a confident tone. Dream chuckled, leaving one hand around her throat, while his free hand reached up grabbing a handful of her hair pulling it back roughly so her head was leaning back. Wincing slightly, she bit her bottom lip not allowing herself to make a sound. “So you’re telling me..” He whispered, leaning down so his lips were right next to her ear.

“You don't want me to just fuck you senseless right here, right now?” He asked, and Y/N felt her entire face flush. “What are you saying right now?” She asked embarrassed, and Dream chuckled darkly, tightening his grip around her neck before he let go, and released the grip on her hair. “You’ll see with time princess.” He whispered ghosting his lips over her exposed neck, which caused a shiver to go down her spine. She finally let a whimper escape, “Dream..” She whispered and turned around to see he had left already. Soon it hit her like a brick, she blushed madly and her heart raced.

“What the fuck just happened..” She mumbled, steadying herself on the counter. Letting out a frustrated sigh, she moved her hand up to touch her neck, where his hand once was. Groaning, she shook her head, “Fuck you for messing with me.” She said, frustrated by confusion and touch deprivation. Walking up and into the bathroom, she started the shower and slowly stripped of her clothes. Getting inside the shower, her body relaxed as the heat consumed her. Letting out a content sigh, her eyes shot open when she heard someone enter the bathroom.

“Dri?” She asked, not daring to look out in case she would lock eyes with the green eyed boy she once saw in the kitchen. “Yeah?” The voice of Drista spoke up, letting out a sigh of relief she relaxed instantly, “What are you doing?” She asked and Drista cleared her throat, “I overheard Dream talking to who I assume was George and Sapnap. But he said that you and him had an interaction in the kitchen.” Drista said, and Y/N instantly tensed up at the reasoning. “What did you hear?” She asked, and Drista shrugged even though Y/N could not see her, “Something about you and him bumping into one another.” She said, and Y/N was thankful Dream didn’t go into detail with his friends.

“Well I am going to bed now.” Drista said, walking out, “Oh hey Dream.” Y/N heard as the door was being shut, Y/N couldn’t help but feel on edge. Her body was craving for Dream to touch her like that again, but she refused to believe it. Hearing the bathroom door open again, this time the culprit tried to make it as quiet as possible. “Having a nice shower princess?” His voice ricocheted off the walls of the shower, and into her ears. Shivering even though her body was under scalding hot water, she looked over his outline visible through the shower curtain. “What are you doing in here?” She asked, her voice wavering a bit from both excitement and fear. 

“I also needed a shower, and I figured why not save water?” He said, alarmingly calm. As soon as the words registered through her brain, the shower curtain opened. This wasn’t the first time Dream and Y/N were close to having sex it almost happened when he was 20 and Y/N was 18. They had gotten into an argument which led to a heated makeout session, which they both agreed to forget. “Dream!” Y/N shrieked when she saw his body come into view. Her entire body froze, as her eyes just took in his bare body. “Like the view? It’s not the first time you’ve seen it. Or the second, or third.” He said, grabbing her hips pulling her towards him. 

Yeah they’ve made out and saw each other naked multiple times, some accidental. But never did she think this would be happening, “I will not touch you, or anything without your permission princess.” He whispered into her ear, and Y/N felt her insides melt at his words. She wanted this, she has for quite a while. Dream has too. But he had patience, but he was no longer patient once he overheard their conversation about him earlier when he was on his way to the kitchen. “Please Dream.” Y/N spoke up, knocking Dream out of his trance, and a smirk found its way onto his features. “As you wish.”

Turning her around he shoved her onto the shower wall, and she leaned against it for support. “Your safe word is Dove.” He said slowly, as his hands trailed over her wet body. He moved over a bit, so the water could hit him as well. “I will then ask for your color. Green means keep going after a short break, and red means stop completely, okay?” He explained, and Y/N nodded her head. He slowly and teasingly trailed a hand up, and wrapped his hand back around her throat, “Will you be a good girl and keep quiet?” He said in her ear, and Y/N nodded her head, “Yes sir.” She said, and Dream growled at the name. “Good girl.” He said, and slowly he used his free hand to finger her so she could be prepared. 

Moving the hand up, he tapped her lips as he inserted two fingers into her mouth, “Suck.” He ordered, and Y/N happily obliged since she loved to have things in her mouth she could chew or suck on. Sucking on his fingers, he slowly removed them from her mouth. Moving his hand back down, the other hand still wrapped around her throat. Slowly he inserted one finger, and she let out a quiet moan as she bit her lip. Slowly he started moving his finger in and out, loving the way her body reacted to it. She wasn’t a virgin, she had lost it when she was 17 with some random guy at a party. Picking up the pace, he slowly inserted another finger, and she bit her bottom lip to hold back the moan.

Picking up the pace of his fingers, he started to curl his fingers searching for the certain spot. Y/N accidentally let out a loud moan when he hit a spot that sent pleasure everywhere throughout her body. Dream smirked once he knew he had found it, “Quieter princess.” He warned, and she nodded her head leaning it against the wall. Thrusting his fingers quickly, making sure he repeatedly hit that spot, she found herself growing close to her climax. Dream noticed this by the way her legs started to shake, and he slowly pulled his fingers out. He licked them clean, and she whined at the loss of pleasure. Smirking, he grabbed his dick aligning it to her entrance. 

Slowly he inserted the tip, and kept going until he bottomed out. Y/N winced from how big he was, “Fuck..” She whispered, in both pain and pleasure, “Please move.” She begged, and Dream knew she wouldn't be able to keep quiet by how she reacted when he entered her. Moving his free hand up, he forced his fingers into her mouth, instantly letting them go to the back of her throat. She gagged around his fingers, as he started pounding into her. Letting out choked moans on his fingers, she felt tears rolling down her face. It was mixed with the water from the shower head, on her left side and her tears. Dream picked up the pace, pulling her body back against him so he could see her fucked out face. Groaning once he saw the tears, and her crossed eyes, he moved his hand from her throat down to play with her clit.

Getting overwhelmed with the sensation she felt herself grow close again, Dream on the other hand didn’t care if she made noises now. He wanted to hear her, he quickly pulled his fingers out of her mouth and held her steady by her hip with his other hand. Y/N felt herself cum on his dick, and Dream felt her clench around him making him hiss at the feeling. He kept pounding into her, making her grow overstimulated. Screaming out, she grabbed his wrist that led to the hand that was toying with her clit. Digging her nails into his wrist, her eyes rolled back and she started babbling out incoherent words, “Is my princess fucked dumb? Is my dick so good that she can’t talk?” He cooed, feeling himself growing closer. Y/N nodded her head, moans and blabbering was the only thing she could let out. Pulling out quickly, he felt himself cum on her ass and some on her lower back. Groaning he leaned his head back and bit his bottom lip. The water was now getting cold, so he quickly cleaned her up and washed her hair, and body before he got out drying her off as she was clearly out of it.

Dressing her, he himself quickly got dressed carrying her to his room. Laying her down, he laid beside of her and wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing her neck softly. “Goodnight princess.” He whispered, and Y/N tiredly mumbled it back.

[whetstonefires]

heavier than a mountain, lighter than a feather

[my take on @misskirby's not-prompt about obi-wan beating palpatine to death with an office chair]

-

Obi-Wan had once touched the cold-burning edge of the Dark Side to give himself the extra edge he needed to cut down the Sith who had cut down his Master. He had fought with rage pushing him, he had fought with all the fear that Qui-Gon lay expiring on the reactor floor, that he might yet win and find himself seconds too late to bring the emergency med-treatment necessary to survive a lightsaber to the chest.

(Not that it had mattered; all he’d gotten from his desperate, hasty win was a few seconds of farewell bereft of comfort, and the burden of Anakin hung around his neck, and oh, he wished his padawan was not a burden. There had been no option but to take him and thus taking him must have been right, but no one should take on a student they did not feel ready for, and he had.)

If he had fought that way this time, he would have lost.

The Sith Master would have done what the apprentice could not, and twisted the Dark Side within him as it rose, and snared him in it, so he could not find his way back to the Light, and used that grip to bear him down with Sidious’ greater power, because the Sith said the Force will free me but it was the way of the Dark to place one will over another by pure force, so even what narrow freedom there was on the dark path was offered to one alone. Even in the best case, he would have been overwhelmed too heavily to fight for more than long enough to finish him.

Perhaps he would not have been killed. Perhaps he would have been kept alive to be used as leverage against Anakin. But assuredly he would not have been able to win.

Obi-wan however had what he would have thought of, if he had allowed himself to think about it, a trick for using his attachments and the desire not to lose them as fuel without reaching into the destabilizing, consuming whirlwind of the Dark Side. It was a dangerous, stupid trick, really, at least the way he used it, although Obi-wan thought of that way as fundamental to being a good Jedi, which would have explained a great deal about him if anyone had known.

The trick was this: it was easy to push yourself to where your limits should have been and beyond using your attachment to a person, without falling into the hungry selfishness of the Dark Side, if you simply did not intend to survive.

When he was thirteen, he had tried to persuade Qui-Gon Jinn, who had not yet been his Master, to use the bomb in his recently fitted slave-collar to blow open a door, killing Obi-wan but allowing him complete the mission, which was not Obi-wan’s mission

It was not difficult to return to that place, that space in himself where serenity came easy because soon there would be nothing left to go wrong or to lose—Anakin had made it difficult, for a long time; Anakin he was obliged to raise and train. Anakin who needed him.

All his obligation to the war and the Council and all the men under his command had not pinned him to himself the way his duty to Anakin had, and—knighting him had been helpful. It had been a relief, to finally cast off that weight. There is no death, there is the Force was much easier to believe of oneself than of those one grieved, and some weeks Obi-wan breathed it in and out with every breath, and there was no fear.

He knew several things, as he entered the Senate through an entrance that was technically, perhaps, a window. One that did not open, at that. That the Chancellor had some kind of failsafe embedded in the GAR’s brains. That the Chancellor was a Sith Lord. That the Chancellor had been using his access to Anakin all these years to hurt his Padawan.

That if he took the time to assemble the rest of the Council and try to stage this as a proper arrest, word would have time to reach Palpatine of Obi-wan having been publicly informed, because Maul was the least subtle sentient Obi-wan had ever had the misfortune of meeting more than once, and that if Palpatine knew the jig was up he would use his fail-safe.

So Obi-wan needed to do this alone.

It was possible, of course, that it wouldn’t be difficult. Sidious was a creature of stealth and insinuation. He spent most hours of his life maintaining a posture of harmlessness. When could he have found the time to do regular lightsaber drills, let alone practice live combat?

But Maul probably feared the man for a reason. So Obi-wan was going to do this as quickly as possible, but he wasn’t going to be hasty.

Spring the trap.

He’d closed himself down in the Force before he got near the Senate building, jumping through the hole he’d sliced into the window with only his physical strength and no Jedi edge, and only when he got near the Chancellor’s office did he reopen his senses just a thread, to make sure there was no one in there meeting with Palpatine whom he needed to keep alive. The Force didn’t slam into him with a warning, which would have to be confirmation enough.

Obi-wan yanked the door open, hurled five primed thermal detonators in the direction of the great ship-like slab of an occupied desk, slammed the ornate portal shut again, and threw himself to the ground at the foot of the wall, as far away as he could get, head tucked under his arms. He was fairly sure he’d seen Mas Amedda in there, standing beside the desk as the Chancellor in his thronelike chair raised his head with a gratifyingly startled look on his face.

Pity. The Vice-Chancellor could probably have explained so much of what had been going on behind the scenes, all this time.

The blast left the office door half-shattered, belching smoke, but Obi-wan escaped with just one splinter, not terribly large, in the back of one calf. His robes and boots had absorbed the rest of the shrapnel that had made it that far. He tugged it out as he got up—no time to do anything more, it wasn’t bleeding much. He drew a deep breath of half-clean corridor air and dashed into the opaque ruin that had been the Chancellor’s office, senses fully unfurled now that the time for stealth was over. Though in the interest of not being an irresistible target, he did not ignite his lightsaber just yet.

The Force guided him through the smoke, and he brought his sword to light even as he swung it through the murk.

It stopped, humming, against a bar of red light that hissed into being at the last instant, and that felt equally inevitable.

“You.” Sheev Palpatine’s face looked like a Sith Lord’s now, twisted with hate and lit red from below. And, gratifyingly, somewhat scorched. His hair had sizzled from the heat, and his left arm seemed to have something at least mildly wrong with it. Obi-wan hoped the explosions had affected at least one of his legs, as well, since his own maneuverability was cut by the shard of door to the calf.

“Me indeed, Chancellor,” he said, taking advantage of his two-handed grip to bear down against the block with extra force. Palpatine bore up admirably, but as his snarl tightened it was clear that it was not without cost. “Or should I say, Lord Sidious?”

The smoke was starting to thin, leaking away out of the shattered room. Sidious was still behind his ruined desk with its weakly sparking console, which seemed to have taken much of the impact for him—he was standing, anyway, sadly. Mas Amedda’s corpse, on the far end of the desk from the one Obi-wan had circumnavigated, was one of the things that was still smoking. Most of the brocade and other decorative fabric in the room must have been thoroughly treated with fire-retardant, but he had not been.

“I thought you might have learned my true name,” Palpatine said, far too complacently for someone whose long deception had been uncovered and who was staving off death one-handed. “But what brought you racing here in such haste?”

“Well, you see, they used to call me Sith-killer because of Maul, and since that’s been proven regrettably in error, I thought I had better—” Sidious tried to fling him back against the opposite wall with a sharp jerk of his wounded hand, and Obi-wan had to push back with the whole of his will and stance to slide back only a few feet.

This had freed their lightsabers, though, and Sidious chopped low with a terrible speed. Obi-wan leapt clear, knowing the blood soaking into the pale fabric of his pants was betraying the weakness in his leg—Anakin had had a point, he admitted grudgingly, about black hiding all kinds of stains.

For better and for worse.

He tried to catch Sidious with an overhead slash while he was up, to keep that red lightsaber busy for the most part, and when it was intercepted used the force of that impact to somersault back in a momentary return to his master’s old Ataru style—not too far, though, at all costs he must prevent the Sith Master’s escape.

Sidious wouldn’t need to get far, just to a room with a working holo transmitter, to destroy everything.

He flung himself back in.

Palpatine sidestepped his next attack, parried another, stepped back with the third. His single arm was telling against him, and while he was regrettably fast his movements were stiff enough that he had clearly taken at least one other hurt. Probably somewhere in the right hip. Obi-wan stayed on the offensive—it was how he’d beaten Maul, after all, though he was at pains to avoid overreaching to the point of recreating Anakin’s loss to Dooku.

His attacks did more damage to the sparking desk, bisected the thronelike monstrosity of a chair, which turned out under all the gilt, padding, and chromium to be mostly of durasteel, got close enough to put additional charred rents in Palpatine’s ornate sleeves. Nearly a minute had passed since he threw those detonators, and Sidious was still alive. Too long.

“Really,” said the politician, dropping his stance to one that would allow him to parry more from the shoulder, his first hint of fatigue. His style was not quite Makashi even as he adapted to the one-handed approach that was clearly not his preference, but there were some notes to it that rang so strongly of Dooku they could come from nowhere else. “What do you hope to achieve?”

“You won’t have Anakin,” Obi-wan said, the plot that had been in retrospect laid so horribly bare with just a few sentences from Maul, supported by a few more from some of their most trusted troopers, put together with a hundred hints and oddities and he should have guessed on his own.

Sidious grinned, the amiable wrinkles of his face lying deeper and more correct, somehow, in this attitude of wild, infinite gloating. “Possessiveness, Master Jedi?”

“No,” said Obi-wan, and it was true because he had given Anakin up, given everything up before he came here. He was holding onto nothing, he was an object in free-fall but not falling, because he was at exactly the right place and momentum at the outer edge of a gravity well that would let him remain at a constant height.

Orbits degraded, given time, if not carefully maintained. And if they were disrupted sharply enough it meant a violent, flaming spiral down into explosive doom, or sometimes out into the fathomless dark. This was not a true, secure serenity like a Jedi should strive for. But it would serve. For today, it would serve.

He fell on Sidious again in a flurry of blows, pushing his physical advantage, but although the Chancellor was clearly straining to keep up this defense, his stamina continued to fail to run out or even noticeably decline, as though he had learned to subsist on some constant well of the Force alone.

Probably he had, because it was welling up out of him, filling the room, an endless pit of the Dark that had lain concealed like a trap under pinned canvas and scattered leaves all this time. He was drawing heavily upon the Dark Side now and that wasn’t precisely goodbut it was promising.

He was beginning to develop something that was not quite optimism or confidence but approached both by the time the progress of the humming, crashing process of the duel took them past the far end of the desk, back into sight of what had been Mas Amedda. Palpatine angled his next fractional retreat toward the corps, away from the cracked and blackened windows, avoiding the treacherous footing of a shattered vase that had probably been a valuable antique.

Obi-wan tried to take advantage of the change in angle in the next rapid, whirring clash of lightsabers.

Unlike every other time they had crossed blades this duel, Sidious simply—shut his off in the moment before contact.

Obi-wan had committed a little too much of his weight to the blow to abort it entirely. Sidious ducked away from the remainder with a sinuous grace even as he activated his weapon again, now on the inside of Obi-wan’s guard—trakata, executed with terrible excellence.

The need for the dodge was the trakata maneuver’s great weakness, and gave Obi-wan time to avoid the worst of the stroke, but even still the red lightsaber clipped him across the wrist—not a clean sweep slicing off the hand entire, but a glancing blow, that seared through the skin and flesh and took a significant bite out of the ulna.

Obi-wan didn’t try to repress his strangled scream, and Sidious leaned into it in the Force, pressing at the pain, stoking it and encouraging it to drag him down into the Dark, where he would be the Sith Master’s plaything. He was smirking now, more deeply and honestly than ever, a laugh rising into his mouth, for if Master Kenobi had had a slight edge in their fight with two hands to one, with the Jedi’s primary weapon-hand incapacitated, the Sith would surely dominate.

In that moment, Obi-wan moved to rebalance the odds. His blue lightsaber chopped down—not onto Sidious’ flesh, which it was clear he guarded with the preternatural awareness of a being whose own self was as valuable as all the Galaxy else, but to sheer through the emitter end of the crimson lightsaber.

It spat and burst but, unfortunately, tragically failed to explode.

As Sidious raised his eyes from the ruined weapon looking like he might explode in its place out of pure outrage, Obi-wan brought his sword back up to go for the decapitating blow now that the Sith had no weapon to block with, but in that moment Sidious’ burnt and broken hand jabbed up, and shot a gout of lightning into his face.

His back arced so violently it threw him off his feet, and it was all Obi-wan could do to keep hold of his lightsaber in his good hand and deactivate it as he went down, to avoid doing himself a worse injury than Sidious had yet managed. The lightning followed him down, scouring its way from just beside his left eye down every nerve ending he had in a screaming, jerking chorus of pain.

The deep lightsaber burn on his right wrist somehow hurt more now than it had to receive, but the force of his constant convulsions kept him from screaming again.

Then it stopped. He had no idea how long it had been, and wondered if Palpatine had become too fatigued to keep up the electrocution. There had to be a limit to how long he could maintain that kind of power output. His chest was heaving, trying with animal need to make up for lost oxygen. Smoke and the scent of dead Chagrian weighed down his sensory world, since his eyes declined to open and most of his body would only say pain.

The whisper of expensive Senate slippers crunched toward him over the rubble of the ruined office with a surefootedness that no one would have expected of the elderly Chancellor. At least he was still here; Obi-wan had angered him enough to bother sticking around to kill him rather than running off to activate the troops.

Or maybe he was confident he could spin this whole event to his benefit—Obi-wan had destroyed the security cameras that would have recorded his Sith activities, after all. Maybe he would say Master Kenobi had been tragically killed defending him from the dreadful Sith Lord. Maybe he would ask Anakin to become his constant protector in Obi-wan’s memory. Anakin would do it.

He was struggling to turn his lightsaber back on and raise it, though getting it between him and the next round of lightning seemed unlikely when he was exposed in a supine position, when Palpatine kicked it. Kicked his hand, actually, so hard at least one bone cracked and the lightsaber went flying.

This weapon is your life.

“Should I summon it back and use it to kill you?” Palpatine murmured, with a deadly, vicious good humor that suggested he knew very well Obi-wan had no backup coming, that the only interruption they could expect would be Commander Fox and his men in red, here to protect the Chancellor. “Or should I step on your throat until you breathe your last? Or should I keep you alive and put you on trial, and drag the name of the Jedi in the mud through you, so that when your Order falls it will be your name that the Galaxy uses to call the killing just?”

Horror twisted in Obi-wan’s chest and Palpatine chuckled, a whispering foul sound that still resembled his polite politician’s laughter. “Yes, very good. I’ll make young Skywalker believe you tried to kill me out of pride and greed and because you despised him, until he curses your memory. Everything that happens now will be your doing.”

The rage and the fear that he had left behind when he entered were flaming up now in Obi-wan, the orbit deteriorating, the gravitational pull of abandoning them and letting the Order down and ruining everything and too little, too proud, the same hopeless arrogant padawan and of that terrible, world-tearing no dragging him down to shatter in fire against them, like he had on Naboo all those years ago but so much more utterly and irrevocably and--this wasn’t all him.

He sucked in his breath, shaking through teeth still clenched too convulsively tight to pull apart for a witty retort to all that poison, and melted away inside himself.

Over him, Sidious frowned, feeling the Jedi escape his grip in the Force. “Are you dying already, Master Kenobi?”

He thought Sidious had mentioned summoning his lightsaber through the Force to encourage him to try it. It wouldn’t be impossible. He knew the feel of it in the Force like he did few other things in the Galaxy; he didn’t need sight to reach for it.

But it was too small, and too far away, and his senses were too scorched and blasted by that awful lightning. Long before his weapon could make it to his hand, Sidious could kill him, even with no working lightsaber of his own. He couldn’t win that way, or even (that far lesser goal) live.

Instead, Obi-wan grabbed for the closest large object he knew to look for that wasn’t a corpse: the sliced-loose upper half of that baroque monstrosity of a desk-chair, conveniently bulky and only a few long steps away, just behind the desk he’d fallen from behind.

It came, and in coming swept Palpatine’s legs from under him, knocking him not quite sprawling, and then the curve of it had smacked into Obi-wan’s outstretched left palm, jolting the broken bone which did not matter in the slightest, and he rolled up onto his knees, graceless but fast, the slab of steel and leather still moving with the momentum that had dragged it to him, and clobbered the sitting-up Sith Lord across the face with it.

One of Obi-wan’s many faults was his tendency to take a vicious glee in striking low his enemies, but he did not think he had ever taken quite the joy from any beautifully executed maneuver that he did from watching Palpatine knocked to the floor by a slab of office chair. Obi-wan lunged after him, not bothering with niceties like getting to his feet, and brought the chair-slab down on his face again, this time with the strength of both arms—his right hand was mostly numb but for hurting, only the thumb and forefinger would move at all, and it was very weak, but none of that interfered with placing his whole forearm against the upholstery and slamming the searing-hot, bare metal inner side down.

There was a crunch, probably nose, and then instead of diminishing the awful seething presence of the Dark Side rose like a hurricane, and Obi-wan felt his throat close as from a powerful phantom hand, cutting off all breathing.

This caused him not an instant’s hesitation, because he had come here fully intending to die.

He raised the sheered-off slice of chair, adjusted the angle so the sharp edge where he’d cut the durasteel was pointing down, and aimed for the throat.

The ensuing explosion threw him after his lightsaber, and he knew nothing after hitting the wall.

[mae-gi-writes]

Once Again (Pt.2) | Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyu!)

ONCE AGAIN | PART TWO

Summary:

Iwaizumi’s broken marriage results in his five-year-old son trying to match him up with his primary school teacher, whom he thinks will make a wonderful replacement for a mother. 

Genre: fluff, angst, f! Reader x dad! Iwaizumi

Taglist: @multi-fandom-fanfic, @168-cm-png​, @bakugouswh0r3​, @yatoatyourservice​, @ayocee​, @marvel-ing-at-it-all​, @astrolcve 

A/N: Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! Thanks to everyone for the kind feedback and for reading my work <3 

< PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART >

----

He swings his beer over the counter, "one more."

He shouldn't be drinking. Imagine the damage it's doing to his organs, alcohol sweeping through his bloodstream and purging him of all coherent thought. Iwaizumi can hear Oikawa's nagging voice in his head even within the depths of intoxication.

Does he care though? He should. He should care. Because his job is basically to get people in their best shape.

And here he is, drinking away his sorrow, still shaken up by the way Hoisuke's fingers had grabbed for him that night. The bundle of nerves he'd squashed down had only intensified upon dropping his son on his mother's doorstep the same weekend and though he knew he should've said something to Mizune, he couldn't find the will to utter the words out, lest they came back to haunt him.

His phone buzzes in his pant pocket and after finishing it out with clumsy fingers, he manages to press down onto the green button.

"Yeah?"

"You're drinking!"

"No."

"Iwa-chan~" Oikawa's voice pierces through the receiver, sickly sweet and yet with a dark threatening undertone, "what are you doing?"

"Fuck off, shittykawa."

"Where are you?"

Iwaizumi doesn't answer. He doesn't need to, for Oikawa's already exclaiming the said bar's name as he takes another sip of his newly-filled beer glass.

"I thought you said you wouldn't drink anymore," Oikawa reproaches, "think of what Hoisuke would say--"

"I said fuck off."

There's a small pause where Oikawa bristles, before he says in a quieter tone, "what's wrong?"

Still, Iwaizumi says nothing but takes another huge gulp of his beer. His head feels buzzed, disoriented.

"Iwa-chan."

The said man press his lips in a taut line.

"Iwa-chaaaan."

"I'll talk to you later," Iwaizumi barely hears his friend's protests before he cuts off the call and downs the rest of his beer like a parched man, eyes narrowing towards anyone who dares reprimand him of his behaviour.

"One more," he rasps out towards the bartender, whose sending him a look that closely mimics one that clearly says he's had enough. But he scowls in response and that's enough to make the bartender's eyes slip away.

Seriously. What is wrong with him? It's already been four months goddamnit. Get over yourself. He wishes he could punch himself in the face. God, he sounds like a loser. He looks like one. And it's no wonder that his wife has left him for someone better, richer. Everything that he's not.

Not to forget that this wound will never leave their son's heart.

"One rum and coke please."

A presence lingers in his right and the brown-haired man turns with a glare at the ready, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed in a thin line to scare whatever stranger that comes a little too close for his liking.

What the--

He stares at you. You stare back at him, just as dumbfounded. Looking the same, yet completely different.

"Miss Y/N?"

"Iwaizumi-san?"

He feels the sudden urge to hide his empty glass, "what--are you doing here?"

"Don't look so surprised, Iwaizumi-san," you chuckle at what you think is his flabbergasted expression, "I'm still twenty-six you know. I came here with a few of my friends."

His eyes slide towards the table in the far corner -- easy to spot since it's one of the loudest -- before he almost misses your question, "and you?"

"I come here often."

"Ah I see."

As you pay the bartender who slides your drink over, you bristle for a bit before you ask hesitantly, "mind if I sit here?"

Iwaizumi shakes his head. It's not like he can say no after all. You're his kid's teacher. And shit, how many beers has he had? He better not run his mouth. It's a dirty habit of his whenever he's shit drunk.

"So," you start off slowly, looking so out of place next to the said man with a scowl so dark it can scare off the most violent of gangsters that the corners of Iwaizumi's mouth tilt upwards in amusement, "how's it going?"

Seriously? You're seriously going to do that? His gaze searches your features for a moment, satisfied when warmth floods your cheeks.

You look away, "you don't have to look at me like that, you know. I just thought you’d want some company."

"What makes you think that?” Iwaizumi says while he flags down another beer from the waiter. 

You blink at him, “I can go if you want--”

The man sighs, rubbing his temples with tiredness, “that’s not what I meant.”

A weird, empty gap of silence ensues. Long enough that Iwaizumi gets his fourth beer of the night in his hand and he takes a grateful swallow. 

He really should not be drinking so much.

"Where do you work?” 

You’re persistent. He’ll give you that, “personal trainer. I work at the sports academy.” 

“That’s cool,” there’s a small smile edging upon your lips, “you like it?”

He nods, pauses briefly, before asking, “do you?” 

Of course it’s a little too close for comfort, especially since you’re Hoisuke’s teacher and all. But you merely relax in your high stool, swinging your legs while nodding eagerly. He can’t help but notice the tightness of your dark jeans, your black high-heeled boots, “I don’t see myself working as anything else. I’m bad with people most of the time.”

Taking another swig of his beer, Iwaizumi feels the tension slowly ease up from his shoulders, “well you’re way better with kids than I am.”

“You’re pretty good with Hoisuke."

“That’s because you haven’t seen him throw tantrums.”

You laugh, "oh don't worry, I have. I know all about his little fits. All my kids have one, at some point."

You say it lightly, but there's definitely love laced in your words and for a minute, Iwaizumi thinks back to the way Hoisuke kept on praising you, the way he spoke so affectionately about you.

"Do you still play volleyball?" You ask him while sipping on your drink.

He mimics the gesture, "sometimes. The guys are all over town so it's harder to meet up now."

"Dang, your team was so good though."

"It was Oikawa that held us together. We weren't that good," he tastes the bitterness of Karasuno's victory on his tongue.

"That's not true," you protest, fiddling with your empty glass, "the only reason why I watched Aoba Johsai's games was because I liked watching you play."

Dark coffee-coloured orbs sweep up to yours at that statement, as if trying to peel layers off yout shell, as if wanting to confirm the truth of your words. You feel like cowering away but you don't, instead holding his stare in hopes that he doesn't notice how your hands tremble slightly underneath his scowl.

And then, features softening ever so slightly, he murmurs out, "thanks."

You know he means it in the best way possible.

-----

One drink turns to two. And two multiplies by four. And soon enough you're tipsy off your head and singing so blatantly off-key you wonder why Iwaizumi's still by your side. You haven't been this drunk in ages and this sense of freedom makes you bold; you tug him to the dance floor to join your friends, order shot after shot as the music gets louder and your head gets lighter, proceed to blabber your mouth off about literally anything and everything that by the end of the night, you wish the ground would swallow you whole so you won't have to deal with Iwaizumi the next day.

You're not entirely sure how you find yourself being dragged by none other than the said man himself, or how your nose is currently lodged in the crevice between his neck and shoulders. But he smells good, like citrus and a mixture of mint and-- you sniff a little more -- is that cookie dough? Your mouth waters just at the thought.

"You smell like cookie dough," the words tumble out of your mouth in a jumbled mess and you inwardly feel like stabbing yourself.

So pathetic. Pitiful really.

"That's Hoisuke," Iwaizumi replies, surprisingly patient even when he's clearly not impressed, glaring at the lamppost ahead, "it's his flavour of the month."

"That's cute!" You giggle, "just like you, Iwa!"

The man sighs while shifting his grip upon your waist, "let's just get you to bed."

You probably doze off at some point or black out because the next thing you see upon opening your eyes next is the ceiling.

Hoisting your head up and groaning when your head pounds in warning, you lie back down as nausea takes over.

Shit. This isn't your room. You know that much.

What the fuck happened last night?

You remember dancing atop tables, remember spotting Iwaizumi by the bar and talking to him because he just seemed so sad and lonely. You remember dragging him onto the dance floor, dancing together, his hands on your waist--

You danced with Iwaizumi?!

The thought is enough to trigger another pounding. You groan once more, placing your hand atop your head in hopes that it will stop it from throbbing. It doesn't. But before you have more time to wallow in your self-pity, the door creaks open and your eyes almost pop out of your head when you spot a mop of brown spiky hair enter the room.

Iwaizumi.

Oh fuck. Your brain short circuits. Fuck fuck fuck.

Surprise crosses his face, clearly having not expected you to be awake yet. He walks over to place a glass of water by the nightstand and grabs your palm to tilt two aspirins into your hand.

"How's your head?" He asks.

"Fine," you wince. It's far from fine. In response, he holds out the glass and you gladly wash down the pills, warm and feeling suddenly vulerable under his stare.

Chewing onto the inside of your cheek, you muster up all your courage to ask, "what--happened last night?"

You don't miss the way his eyebrows shoot up, "you don't remember?"

"...no."

Is that amusement dancing in his eyes? You're not sure since it's gone just as quickly as it came before he says, "you got drunk. Danced on the table, had too many shots and made out with two different men--"

"I'm pretty sure the last part didn't happen."

"You said you didn't remember," he smirks lightly.

"I can't even flirt, let alone kiss strangers."

That earns you a chuckle from his part, causing your heart to flutter slightly as he straightens up, "you probably want to wash up. Bathroom's on the right. I'm in the kitchen if you need me."

"Okay," and as he turns away, you quickly add, "thanks, Iwaizumi-san."

He nods back, exiting the room and finally allowing you to collapse back against the bed to try slowing down your galloping heart. Jesus christ, you think to yourself as you slowly take in your surroundings. From the lack of furniture and with only a few clothes flung over a wooden desk chair shoved in the right, you guess it's his room. A closed laptop and a small plant sits on his desk. On the left is the nightstand filled with sports books and some manga, a closet shoved in a corner and the floor is made in veneered wood.

There's no sign of family pictures, nothing that indicates the warmth of a cosy household. It doesn't take a genius to understand why. While Hoisuke had begged you not to tell his father, you weren't a stranger to the young boy sobbing in-between breaks because he misses his mother.

Well, it's not like you're allowed into family affairs anyway, as much as that breaks your heart.

After a much needed shower and a quick brush of your teeth -- you had to make do with using your fingers with his toothpaste, too embarrassed to actually ask him whether he had a spare toothbrush -- you walk out into the kitchen to see Iwaizumi already seated at a quaint wooden table laden with eggs and toast. Behind him sits the kitchen stove and white countertops next to a fridge fitting snuggly on the left corner. On the far right of the room is a large dark grey couch and a tv set, and just behind it is a small hallway which seems to be the entrance -- guessing by the coat rack and array of shoes. 

"Sunny side up or boiled?" Iwaizumi asks as you take a seat opposite him. He has already poured you a cup of strong coffee and you inhale before sighing in bliss. Your headache already feels slightly better.

"Anything is fi--" you're interrupted by his scowl, quickly changing your answer to, "sunny-side up please."

He grunts, passes you the plate and digs into his own fried eggs, the soft boiled ones forgotten at the centre of the table.

"Uhm, forgive me for point it out, but that's a lot of food Iwaizumi-san," you mumble out, not missing the way his features harden slightly.

"Force of habit," he mutters in-between mouthfuls. He doesn't need to say more, for you're pretty certain he's referring to the family he used to have, those lazy Sunday mornings that started out with brunch.

You eat in companionable silence and though it'a definitely less awkward than last night, your mind still races trying to figure out what to say to erase the permanent furrow between his brows.

Or is that his normal demeanour? To be honest, you're not quite sure yourself.

So you settle for thanking him for last night, to which he replies, "do you usually drink that much?"

"No," you duck your head, avert your gaze, "I got carried away. I'm really sorry."

"Well I wouldn't have expected my kid's teacher to be that wild," he muses while taking a bite of his toast.

Alarm zaps through you, making your eyes go wide, "I swear I'm not usually like that, really. I just--this was an exception--"

"It's fine, miss Y/N. I know," his brown pupils lock onto yours briefly, "I'm not going to report you."

"I--" nothing can really make up for your behaviour last night. You know that much, "still, I'm sorry. That wasn't appropriate," you glance up, chest tightening at the intensity of his stare, unflinching. Unwavering.

He cocks his head at you then, a semblance of a smile along his mouth, "I was pretty entertained, if you ask me."

"Was I that bad?"

"No. But let's just say that you won't want to show your face around for the next week or so."

You groan and bury your face in your hands, "what did I do?"

"You might've broken a beer glass or two," he gives you a look, "on purpose. And tried to steal the Dj's headphones cause he wasn't putting the music you requested."

"Oh god," you want to bury yourself right then and there and to your surprise, you see him laugh softly before he nudges your coffee towards you.

"Drink," he orders, "it'll make you feel less shitty."

You're about to retort with a roll of your eyes, only to be interrupted by the doorbell ringing. From the way Iwaizumi tenses, you know it's not just the mail man.

Excusing himself to go unlock the door as you twist in your seat to follow his figure, shock courses through you the moment your eyes land on Hoisuke's.

Then, his mother.

An alarm bell rings through your mind.

"I thought you said evening," comes Iwaizumi's grunt, totally unlike the guy who'd been chuckling a few seconds ago.

"Hoisuke wanted to come back early for some reason," the woman says, her gaze flickering to yours for a brief moment. It's enough to cause you to swallow hard. She continues, "I'll pick him up on--"

"Miss Y/N?!" Hoisuke shouts out suddenly and before you know it, you're being tackled into the child's arms as if you haven't seen each other forever, "what are you doing here?! Daddy!" he whips his head around in accusation, "you lied about not really really liking Miss Y/N!"

"Wha--No!" Iwaizumi yells as you frown in confusion, "huh?"

"Daddy said that really really liking someone means you wanna be boyfriend and girlfriend with them, like he was with Mama before she moved houses," Hoisuke blabbers on, totally oblivious to how the three of you keep on staring at him in growing alarm, "and then I asked him if he really really liked miss Y/N because I really really like miss Y/N but he said no, but that's a lie!"

"Hajime, what is he talking about?" His ex-wife is quick to narrow her eyes, "what have you been telling him?"

"Nothing, it's not what you think--"

"I think," she pointedly glances at you, "I should leave now. We'll talk about this later."

And with that, she swivels around and storms out, leaving the three of you to stare after her in a mixture of shock and confusion.

Hoisuke, oblivious to the sudden tension, blurts out, "daddy, why is Mama angry with you?"

----

The few weeks following the tiny incident that had resulted in an awkward misunderstanding between you, Hoisuke’s parents and the said child himself had caused you to retreat back into the shell of professionalism that included avoiding Iwaizumi whenever it was deemed possible. It hadn’t been hard since he was usually present and waiting outside class to pick up Hoisuke right on time, making it much easier to avoid conversation with him altogether. 

You’d texted iwaizumi right after reaching your humble abode the day he’d practically saved your drunk ass and though you spent a few spare moments to chat in-between the bustling activities of life, it doesn’t erase the fact that he’s still Hoisuke’s father, one of your dearest students. That, and the fact that you don’t really find it fair to put Hoisuke in-between the two of you, if there’s anything worth digging for anyway. 

Who are you kidding? It’s not like Iwaizumi would ever be interested in you in that sense. Having spotted his ex-wife once or twice proved that his style was of more refined women, the type that would drink wine instead of chug down beer and who’d enjoy gifts such as perfume and romantic dates instead of going on grocery trips and meal-prepping for the entire week. 

“Miss Y/N!” Hoisuke’s voice pierces through your thought bubble and your eyes quickly find his grin as he jumps towards your desk, "are you coming to our house this weekend too?!"

"Wh--What? Uhm-- no I don't think so--" eyes quickly flitting over the classroom, you're relieved to find that the rest of his classmates are long gone, "I don't think that's appropriate."

"But why? I even told Mama that I wouldn't be coming this weekend because you were," he pouted and it took all of your determination not to melt, until his words registered in your brain and your eyes widened, "o--oh, but that's--"

"Hoisuke?" You both turn to see his father's head poking through the door. Your body reacts instantly, warmth flooding through your limbs and flushing through your cheeks.

"Daddy!"

"H-Hello, Iwaizumi-san," you bow your head slightly. He returns the gesture, facial expression not giving anything away. His son bounds up to him with just as much vigor, "daddy, can we invite miss Y/N this weekend too?"

You might have laughed at Iwaizumi's shocked face if not for the fact that you are the person in question.

He splutters, "Miss Y/N has things to do--"

"But she came last weekend!"

"Yes well, it's bad manners to impose on someone when they're not free," Iwaizumi replies sternly, "come on now, we're gonna be late for Karate."

With a loud sigh and a scowl that resembles so much like his father, Hoisuke mutters out his goodbyes while Iwaizumi catches your eye, bowing slightly and muttering a silent "sorry" before he guides his son out of the room. You're glad he's out of earshot that he can't hear the stuttering of your heart against your chest.

You place a hand on your chest, sigh tiredly before looking down at your students' papers, "get a grip, Y/N," you mutter to yourself.

But it's not that easy to control yourself when Iwaizumi is making it so easy to like him.

----

Iwaizumi: sorry about yesterday. 

Y/N: it's okay. Hoisuke’s young, it's normal for him to want for a motherly figure around.

Iwaizumi's fingers drum over his knee as he watches with slight interest the newest male volleyball team practice their serves. He shouts after a few, calling them out for theit lazy postures, but other than that he can't seem to stop his thoughts from winding their way back to you.

"Who is she?" Mizune had asked him on the phone on the day following their encounter. Her tone was friendly, yet held that tone of warning that he was so accustomed to.

"How does that concern you?"

"I want to know who you're bringing around to hang out with Hoisuke."

"She's an acquaintance of mine," he paused, "and Hoisuke's teacher."

"That's inapropriate if you ask me."

Scoffing, he replied, "like what you did's so appropriate?"

A small pause ensued. When she spoke next, there was no mistaking the edge to her voice.

"You can't keep using that against me, Hajime."

"Don't tell me who I can or can't hang out with."

He'd hung up without bothering to wait for her response, seething and red hot with rage blubbering through his stomach.

Of course now that he thinks it over, Mizune has a point. Mixing the professional and the personal have never ended in happy endings. Not that this has ever stopped him before. He doesn't believe in what everyone else thinks is right. That's also one of the main reasons why Mizune couldn't handle it anymore. Or so she said before she went to suck someone else's dick.

His phone vibrates and fishing it out, a scowl instantly shadows his face upon seeing Oikawa's name flash across the screen.

Oikawa: Iwa-chan ~ have you asked her out yet?

Iwaizumi has to force himself to stay in control and not pound his phone to pieces when he types out his reply.

Iwaizumi: No.

Oikawa: BUT WHYYYY~ YOU SAID YOU FOUND HER CUTE.

Oikawa: and Hoisuke likes her. He already knows her.

Iwaizumi: I didn’t say that. And she's not interested.

Oikawa: Just because you suck at picking up cues doesn't mean she isn't throwing them at you 😏😏😏

Iwaizumi: shut up, shittykawa.

Oikawa: Just do it or I'll do it for you.

Iwaizumi: I don't even like her that way.

Oikawa: why'd you rant about not wanting to hurt her feelings yesterday night then?

Iwaizumi's hand rubs at his face with a groan. Oikawa's a little shit most of the time, but he's a perceptive little shit.

Oikawa: I mean it. Ask her out or I'll do it for you.

Oikawa: gotta go now. Match is starting. See ya!~ muah ❤

"Dumbass," Iwaizumi growls under his breath before shoving the phone back into his pocket. Easier said than done to ask someone out so casually, especially when she's Hoisuke's teacher.

If she accepts, great. If she doesn't, he'll have to suffer through humiliation for the rest of the year or avoid picking up Hoisuke altogether.

Oh fuck it.

He lets his body send the message before his brain can catch up to the way he has thrown himself under the bus, shoves his phone back into his pocket and tries to put the thought out of his mind even though the device suddenly feels hot and heavy in his pant pocket.

Iwaizumi: we're having takeout and movie night on Friday. You're free to join.

----

[alwaysmarveling]

Three Strikes, You’re Out

Pairing: Yelena Belova x reader

Warnings: Black Widow spoilers, use of guns, and killing (and therefore death)

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: Sorry for not posting anything in a while! I realize from the warnings that it sounds like angst, but I swear this is overall fluff :)

Yelena saved your life. Not once, not twice, but three times. And not in the “watch out, there’s a car!” way or the “let me save you from the bad guy coming to kill you” way. Yelena had saved your life in the “Y/N, you’re forgetting something” way and the “no, Y/N, you cannot do that” way.

---

“L/N, the person of the hour, I see…” You choked down the rising bile as Dreykov dragged a fingertip down your cheek. You refused to make eye contact with the man, firstly out of hatred and secondly because you knew that if you did, you would shiver. You hadn’t made that mistake since you were 8.

A sign of weakness, they called it. Utter, worthless, garbage, they yelled at you as they beat you in front of the others, being so ungrateful to the only man willing to give you any purpose in life. You took it like a champ, not flinching once. You learned not to do that from the girl who had gotten beaten before you.

“And have you figured out why you might be so special today, my little one?” Not gagging took so much more effort once he introduced the pet name, but you forced yourself to keep looking ahead, keep staring at the faint cracks in the dull wall ahead of you.

“No, sir.” You wished more than anything that he could be talking to one of the other girls in line with you. But here you were, with the man you hated most in the world staring you in the eye, his hand resting gently under your cheek.

“Hmm, respectful, this one,” he cooed to Madame B, as if you wouldn’t have been punished had you not addressed him properly. “Well, L/N, you see that man over there?” As if he had orchestrated the whole thing, a man was immediately dragged into the room, his whines muffled by the burlap sack over his head. The footsteps of the older girls who had brought him in were barely audible, making the man and Dreykov the only things you could hear in the large hall.

“Today is the day you kill. And he, my darling, is your victim.” Dreykov waited for a reaction from you and sighed when he got nothing. “No words, L/N?”

“Wh- where is he from?” The second you opened your mouth, you were expecting punishment—how could you be so stupid as to stutter—but it didn’t come for the reason you thought it would.

“You do not question my orders!” You barely heard his yells above the pain that erupted in your jaw, but your feet didn’t even move an inch. Further pain would come if you were stupid enough to do that. Dreykov quickly gripped your chin in between his grubby fingers. His face now centimeters from your own, he opened his mouth again. “Listen to me, little girl, it does not matter where he comes from. If I am gracious enough to grant you with a task like this, you will do it with no question. If you’d like to respond, it better be a ‘thank you’ or a ‘yes, sir.’ Am I understood?” But he didn’t give you a chance to answer, shoving your face to the left and pressing a gun into your hands. “Now. Let’s go. You’ve got an audience.”

Dreykov stepped back to stand next to Madame B, who watched you like a hawk. You already knew what she was thinking. She must’ve recommended you for this, told Dreykov you were ready for the next step. This was supposed to be a moment of pride for the both of you, but you were just embarrassing yourself and her. She’d probably take it out on you later.

The man had stopped struggling since he’d been brought in, probably realizing that there was no way out of this. At least they’d left the burlap sack over his head. But the second you started walking towards him, begging your hands to stop trembling so you could make the shot—and it had to be a perfect one—he started thrashing in his confines, screaming, begging, and pleading for his life.

“No, please! Please, you don’t want to do this! I have a family! I have a wife! And my kids, they-”

“Kill him now, L/N. I am not very patient.” It’s just like training, Y/N, focus, you told yourself as you focused in on the man’s head. Even though it moved, continuing to whip from side to side, your hands were no longer shaky as you brought them up to aim. Your heart was beating faster than it ever had before. The other girls were at least ten feet away from you, but with how hard it was pounding, you wouldn’t be surprised if they were able to see the rapid rise and fall of your chest. You wanted to apologize, untie the man and set him free, let him go back to his family… but Dreykov was waiting. So your eyes narrowed, your diaphragm relaxed, and your finger pressed down on the trigger. Twice. Once to the head, once to the heart. 

Just like that, he was gone. His pleading stopped. His breathing ceased, and his head lolled to the side.

Just like that, you had killed a man.

You had little time to think as Dreykov approached you, clapping his hands slowly. The slow, steady rhythm disgusted you. The dark red stain growing on the burlap sack made you sick. You needed out.

“Congratulations, Y/N. I expect great things from you.” He squeezed your shoulder before sweeping out of the room.

“Y/N.” You whirled around at the sound of Madame B’s voice, stern but gentler than Dreykov’s. “Take the body outside. Yelena,” Madame B called the name of the girl closest to the door. “Help her. I expect you to both be spotless when you return. Make it quick, girls.”

By the time you finally brought yourself to look back at the man, the blonde was already on her knees working on the ties around his ankles. You’d never talked to her before. It wasn’t like girls really made friends here, but she was in your class. And she was the best in your class. But the two of you had never interacted with each other beyond a sweeping glance over each other’s faces before moving on to the next girl. You’d never even partnered together for fight training. 

But you didn’t have time to worry about Yelena; your focus was on pushing yourself to get closer to the man. If you got there fast enough, maybe you’d make it in time to hear his last breath, to say sorry. But you were devastated to find that you were a few minutes too late, your hope making you as naive as a toddler. Instead, as your fingers fumbled with the rope around his wrist, you felt a wet drop land on your hand. You looked down expecting to be repulsed by the blood, but the drop was crystalline, clear. A tear. But, with no more ties to support the man’s body, the corpse fell into your arms, and you were forced to focus on helping Yelena support the dead weight.

You and Yelena brought the body out of the room, taking it around the back to where it would be dealt with as you slept that night. Neither of you said a word the whole time. Your hands shook, and you were certain Yelena could see it as the torso of the man shakily rose and fell, never quite matching the stilted rhythm of your steps. You dropped the body, but Yelena replaced your empty hands with her own as she silently led you to a bathroom. The faucet handles squeaked as you turned them. Your stare into the mirror was as empty as your earlier gaze at the wall, but still, something was missing.

There was no more determination, no more strength. And whatever scrap of innocence you had managed to maintain up until this point was gone. You were no longer a girl, not even a woman. You were a monster.

But your hands were clean. Yes, a long study of your hands told you that all of the man’s blood was gone, washed down the drain. But the begging? The completely desperate pleading of a man who knew he had no other choice, that even sobbing for his life was practically hopeless?

You reached again for the bar of soap, pressing it into your skin. Your nails dug into the backs of your palms, a last-ditch effort to somehow cleanse the inside of you. If you went just a little harder, you’d make yourself bleed. But that would be good, yes, that would be good because the soap could mix with your blood and-

“Y/N.” Yelena reached for your hands and pulled them apart. Your right hand was still clenched around the soap, not letting it go even though it was begging to slip through your grip. “Stop.”

You turned to her, your eyes wide. She’d done it before you. The first of your year to do it. Madame B swelled with pride when she had taken the shot. But she was fine. Yelena was standing in front of you, her hands dried long before, her knees were stable. How’d she do it?

“You’ll be okay,” she murmured.

“H- how are you…?” You couldn’t finish, but she knew what you were saying anyway.

“The pain only makes us stronger, I think. You’ll be okay.” You nodded slowly, allowing Yelena to take the soap from you and shut the faucet once all the bubbles left your skin. You moved to leave the bathroom and return to the hall, where you would have to return to training as if nothing had happened. A firm hand pulling on your elbow stopped you.

“Y/N, you’re forgetting something.” Yelena turned the faucet back on and wet her thumb before brushing it along your cheek. “There. Spotless.” You couldn’t see what she had wiped off until you noticed the red staining her skin. Oh.

“Yelena, his voice…” The blonde rinsed off her thumb and shut off the sink before turning back to you.

“The pain only makes us stronger,” she repeated, giving your shoulders a firm squeeze.

“The pain only makes us stronger,” you whispered. Your voice betrayed you, though, cracking on the last word as if it knew something was wrong.

The man stopped begging when the bullet entered his brain. But his voice would never stop. No, it would forever live on with you. It would forever haunt you.

---

“I don’t understand why we have to do this.”

“Because if we don’t, we’ll die.”

“So what? What if we do?” The blonde stopped looking out of the scope of her gun to turn to you. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth hung slightly open, but you simply rolled your eyes. You had seen this look many times.

“You did not come this far in the Red Room to give up now, Solee.” And there was that nickname again. Yelena gave it to you after she helped clean you up that one time, and from then on, she rarely used your actual name unless if others were around. But she never explained what it meant, even now, years later, and you could never figure it out.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. The pain only makes us stronger.”

“Good.” The spy, now satisfied, turned back to her gun. 

“But it’s killing everyone else around us.” Yelena sighed, putting her gun away once more.

“It’s called self-preservation, Solee. We do this to stay alive.” Yelena wasn’t sure why Dreykov’s mind control didn’t work as well on you as it did on the others. You still had to do whatever he ordered you to, of course, but your mind was never in it. You didn’t have the singular focus about it that all the others did. You still had a heart, had morals.

But she also wasn’t sure why she listened. She could easily turn you in to Dreykov and rat you out for questioning his orders; she’d certainly be forced to if Dreykov had ever asked her about you. There would be no question about your fate. You’d be killed immediately, written off as just another failure.

Yet, Dreykov had never asked, and when she helped you after you took the life of your first victim, it was like some part of her was forever stuck to you and she couldn’t pull away if she tried. So she did her best to appeal to you, convince you to stay on the mission, even tried to adjust the mission plans so that she was the one taking the kill and not you. But this time, both of you needed to infiltrate, and you’d likely be the one pulling the trigger.

“Besides, it’s not like this one has any good in him. He had it coming.”

“But his family,” you murmured. From your stakeout point, you had the perfect view of the house’s kitchen. The man’s husband and his two kids laughed around the table as they got ready for their day. Someone had turned on the radio a bit earlier, and they danced as they prepared their things. You wouldn’t be taking their lives, but you sure would be ruining them. “They’ve done nothing wrong. They don’t know who he really is. This will destroy them.”

Yelena stayed silent as she continued to fiddle with her weapon. You two wouldn’t move in until later, when the target’s family had left for the day, but she liked to be prepared.

“Maybe I can leave a note or something.” That had Yelena looking up instantly.

“No. No, Y/N, you cannot do that.”

“It won’t be long, just a quick wri-” The blonde stood up and clapped a hand over your mouth.

“Writing a letter could be used to track us down. We cannot leave something like that behind. We can’t leave anything behind. Dreykov wants us in and out. Do you understand?” She could tell from the way that your eyes started to shine that you did. There was no other way about it. And she didn’t mean to be harsh, but she had to if you were going to stay alive.

“But they deserve to know, Leni.” Yelena knew exactly what you were talking about.

“This man is not the same one as the first you killed, Solee. He is not innocent. His family will find out the truth, they always do.” When you finally nodded, she lifted her hand away and returned to her seat beside you. 

-

“You’re quiet.” Yelena’s concern was clear from the way she pursed her lips together. The gravel dug into your palms as you leaned back even further onto them. You looked at your feet before responding, rolling your ankles as if sitting there for less than an hour was the most arduous thing you ever had to do.

“I’m just tired.” Someone else might’ve asked how much sleep you had gotten the night before or asked you if you had your morning cup of coffee. But Yelena wasn’t someone else, and she knew you never really slept and you hated coffee. And she knew physical exhaustion wasn’t your problem.

“It’ll be okay, Solee.”

“Who’s going to tell them that?” You nudged your chin in the direction of the group of three as they ran into the car. They were running late, but they all still had smiles on their faces. You wondered how soon that would change. Yelena didn’t respond; she didn’t know how to. So she settled for resting a hand over yours as the two of you watched the family pull out of the driveway. It was time.

-

“Solee, what are you doing? We need to get out of here.”

“I can’t just leave like this. I can’t leave them like this.” Your hands were practically shaking as you paced the length of the kitchen, the same one the target’s family had been in that same morning. Technically it was still morning. You had the letter drafted. You’d been thinking of the exact words you needed to write. All you needed was Yelena’s approval, and-

“They will be ok-”

“They will not be okay! Pain doesn’t always make you stronger, Leni, it doesn’t!” Yelena froze as you collapsed to your knees in tears, but she quickly burst into action, pulling you up and into her arms. A glance at the window told her that you two were safe for the time being, but you had to get back before Dreykov became suspicious.

“Solee, now is not the time to be having this conversation. You will be killed if you do this, you know that. I’m sorry, but we really need to go.” Part of Yelena’s heart shattered when you pulled yourself together in less than a second, going from a sobbing, devastated girl to a composed spy in the blink of an eye. She hated that you had to do that. That you knew how to do that. But the other part of her heart soared because it meant that you were still trying, still pushing. And if she was honest with herself, some part of her hoped it was because of her that you were still going.

“There is never time to have this conversation, Leni. And is all this really worth it?”

-

“Yelena, Y/N! Dreykov wishes to see you. Now.” The two of you met Madame B’s gaze, each giving her a slight nod before slipping away from the rest of the group to find his office. Neither of you spoke as Yelena fell into step with you.

“Another mission, you think?” You shrugged, your face indifferent, causing the blonde to frown. You’d been closed off, cold even, since the two of you had come back from the mission. She’d been trying to get you to crack even the smallest of smiles, but all of her efforts had been nothing but futile. “Solee, what’s wrong? Please, tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Leni. Let’s just see what Dreykov wants, yeah?” The spy finally nodded when the corner of your lip curled up slightly. It was barely noticeable, but it was something, and that was the best you’d given her or anyone else these past few days. So she forced herself to push past the tight knot forming in her gut and walk with you silently to meet Dreykov.

The second the two of you made it into Dreykov’s office, the door was shut, and Yelena almost let out a yell when you were hit across the face. Wow, whatever you were hit with was hard.

“Which one of you let it slip?”

“I- I don’t- what are you talking about?” It took everything in the blonde to not let her temper get the best of her. Of course, she couldn’t do anything, but she sure as hell wanted to. Rather than explaining verbally, Dreykov launched a live news feed on a screen that covered the entire wall. The camera focused on the target’s family as a headline below read: “Family Blindsided By Assassination of Major Mob Boss.” The two of you had mere seconds to soak up what was going on before Dreykov spoke up again, his voice now more even.

“A betrayal like this could get us revealed. So, which one of you pathetic fools let it slip?”

“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” you spat out after composing yourself. “Neither of us said anything to anybody.” Dreykov narrowed his eyes at you as he approached.

“Listen here, Y/N. You may be one of my best, but don’t think for one second that I won’t have you killed. Those lies will not work here. Tell me the truth.” He could threaten you all he wanted to, force you to tell the truth no matter how badly you wanted to keep a secret; he could do anything to you, make you do anything. But you weren’t scared. Adrenaline was rushing through your veins, but you were tired of the Red Room and its horrors. You were done.

“I. Am. Not. Lying.” You barely noticed it, but a flash of surprise swept across the man’s face for just a moment. You weren’t too surprised by it; it wasn’t like the other girls had been so bold when they addressed him. And you supposed the blood dripping down your face made you a bit more intimidating. But just as quickly as the look appeared, it was gone, and he turned to Yelena.

“Yelena? The same thing goes for you. You are good, I’ll admit, and it would be such a shame to lose you, but if one of you doesn’t come clean, there could be… consequences.” Yelena opened her mouth to deny it. She knew nothing about how the reason for the assassination could have been discovered; to her knowledge, neither of you did. You were both innocent. But, as she opened her mouth to talk, Dreykov turned away, one hand to his ear. Seconds later, he turned back to the two of you, a smile on his face.

“Never mind, my darlings. You may go now. I will handle this. Oh, and Y/N? Go get that cut checked out. I’m afraid it looks rather deep.”

-

Several days later, it was publicly revealed that the target had numerous deals slipping through. Many people were mad at him, and he was getting desperate. A suicide note was carefully slipped into the target’s home—how could the police be so careless as to miss that?—and everything was forgotten. But the permanent scar you had going across your eyebrow would never let you forget it. It would never let you forget how, once again, Yelena had saved your life.

---

You looked down on the brightly lit kitchen and were immediately hit with a sense of deja vu. It was a woman this time, and the kids were older, but it was the same.

No. No, it wasn’t the same. Because this man was innocent. He’d done nothing more than pick up a hard drive one of the rookie Widows had dropped. And while she’d been punished, he now had to be dealt with.

It also wasn’t the same because Yelena wasn’t here with you.

It’d been two months since Yelena had “gone rogue,” or at least that’s what everyone else called it. But you knew what it really meant. Yelena had been freed. She was no longer trapped under the influence of Dreykov. She didn’t have to be a killing machine anymore. But she also didn’t have to be with you. She can’t be with you, you reminded yourself. If you saw her, you would have to kill her whether you wanted to or not. And if not having Yelena with you was hell, then killing her would be… killing her would be the end of you.

But hell certainly wasn’t fun. With Yelena gone, that left you in charge of most missions. Dreykov was supposed to be overseeing, but you hadn’t heard much from him recently. Nevertheless, the missions kept coming, which meant you still had a job you had to do. A job you couldn’t do. You didn’t have the same objectiveness as Yelena. You couldn’t cut out your emotions to see the bigger picture, and with Yelena gone, it would be so much easier to just… be done with everything. But there was always that one thing nagging you. It rang in your head every time your hand brushed just over your brow and every time that man’s pleas rang in your ears.

You did not come this far in the Red Room to give up now, Solee.

So you’d do your best to stay alive in hell, but to be completely honest, you weren’t sure how much longer you were going to last.

-

“Y/N, you ready? Target is in place.”

“I’m ready. Remember, we make this one quick. This man died of a tragic heart attack.” You had the syringe in your pocket. Normally, Dreykov would prefer you to stage it as murder. But this man was innocent, and Dreykov hadn’t been responding to your communication attempts in ages. So the team followed your lead. “Understood?”

“Copy.” With confirmation coming in from your earpiece, you made your way down from your hideout, taking care to avoid being spotted by the occasional passerby or home security camera. You had several Widows posted around the area to alert you of potential obstacles, and two Widows would enter the house with you in case of any unforeseen troubles, but this should be an easy job. Once again, this man was innocent. How many precautions would a man take for his safety if he had no reason to believe he was in danger?

But when you had your eyes locked on the target and asked for a report from your accompanying widows, your earpiece stayed silent. A quick check-in with those in the perimeter showed that nothing suspicious was going on inside, which meant there must’ve been something, someone else, in that house.

A quick glance at your watch had you cursing. You’d been staking this man out for a few weeks now, and his mother was scheduled to come to the house in less than thirty minutes. You didn’t have much time to find out what was going on with the other two Widows. Get the man first, worry about them later, you decided. They were highly trained; whatever was going on couldn’t be that bad. But just as you swung out, syringe in hand, you were tackled to the side, and the needle flew out of your grasp. So this is what took out the other Widows. But you weren’t going down that eas-

“Leni?” Your eyes widened in shock for a second before you immediately charged at her. And no matter how loudly your brain was screaming at you to stop, your body was on autopilot, and, now, completely submitting to the orders of someone that wasn’t you, it was the most ruthless it had ever been. It was demonstrating in full force just how you had earned your reputation as one of the Red Room’s best. And while this was a reputation you had always been ashamed of, you had never hated yourself so much as you did when you attacked Yelena. Luckily for you, she was also one of the best.

“This is so completely and utterly stupid, Leni,” you managed to grit out as you tripped her to the floor. “What are you thinking?”

“Don’t,” Yelena paused to avoid another punch in her direction, “worry about me. I’m trying to help you, you fool!”

“You’re trying to get yourself killed!”

“I’m sorry, Solee.” Before you had time to retort, the two Widows you’d been looking for stumbled into the room. Unlike attacking Yelena like you thought they would, they slammed you to the ground before you had time to land a kick to Yelena’s torso. The shock of their attack was enough to keep you down for a second, just fast enough for a vial of red dust to explode across your face. 

Yelena studied your face as you were exposed to the chemical agent, waiting desperately to see the telltale signs of disorientation that showed it was working. Much to her dismay, they never came, but she soon realized why as your eyelids slowly shut. When they reopened, your face was brighter than she’d ever seen it, a small smile gracing your lips.

“It’s over,” you laughed, immediately jumping into her arms. “It’s really… it’s really over?”

“It’s over, Solee. You’re done. Never again.”

-

A knock at the door brought your eyes away from the window and towards the blonde, a smile automatically growing at the sight of her. “Hey, you comfortable? Do you need anything? I brought a sweatshirt. It’s one of mine, but you should borrow it. It gets a bit cold at night.” You took the gray piece of clothing from the former spy with a grateful nod.

“So this is where you’ve been all this time?” You looked around the bedroom once more. It was nothing special, literally just a room with a gray dresser and a bed in a wood frame surrounded by white walls, but it was yours. Well, technically you didn’t own it, but you would get to sleep here, by yourself; Yelena had even told you that the two of you could go out to get some decorations for it later.

“We move around as we need to, but yes, we’ve been here for some time.” She paused, the silence not quite like the comforting one that usually fell between the two of you. She was waiting for something. To ask something. “Do you like it?”

“Are you kidding me?” The blonde relaxed at your laugh. “I love it. And the other Widows do too. That’s seven of us that you’ve saved today, eight if you count that man, and eleven if you count his family.” Yelena shook her head gently at the last part of your sentence. Nothing meant more to her than her family, but she was amazed at your compassion, caring not just about your family, but the family of every person you ever came across. “Do you always save this many people in one day?”

“Only on the good days,” Yelena sighed softly.

“Today was a good day then?”

“The best.” When Yelena’s hands slipped into yours, you watched the link just as carefully as she watched you as she made the connection. You weren’t pulling away, but you weren’t… you weren’t moving. Yelena could feel her heart stop beating, her throat closing, her diaphragm freezing. You guys had never moved past a friendship, but she’d always assumed it was because you never could. But maybe the real reason was that you didn’t want it to be anything more than that. Maybe-

“Why, because I’m finally here to make things fun?” It was that one joke, accompanied by a squeeze of her hands, that brought her body back to life.

“No, because we had mac and cheese for dinner,” she scoffed. “Always so humble, huh?”

“Yep, that sounds just like me.” The two of you fell into a fit of giggles, just like you always did when you were together. But this time it was different. For once in your lives, there was nothing holding you back. There were no targets to eliminate, no families to destroy, no Dreykov or Madame B telling you to stop being so pathetic and get on with it already. You were both free at last.

“Leni,” the soft call of her voice had the blonde meeting your eyes. You pulled her hands closer to you before you spoke, effectively pulling Yelena closer to you. “Thank you-”

“You have nothing to thank me for, Solee, I-”

“I have everything to thank you for, Leni. You saved me the first time you helped me, and that time you didn’t let me write that letter, and now today. I don’t know how much longer I could’ve kept going if you didn’t free me today. You saved my life.”

“And you give me life, Solee. Nothing in the Red Room was real. The fake pity Dreykov gave us, the ‘purpose’ that they gave us, none of it. But you were, and you still are, the only thing I knew to be real during all those years in that hellhole. You are my heart and soul.” Oh. Soul-y. That was the nickname. “You are the reason I am here today. So thank you.” You watched as she brought the palm of your hand up to her cheek. But when she turned to press a kiss to your hand, your eyes closed on their own accord, as if they knew it was too much to watch her perform the intimate action. You didn’t want to watch it, you needed to feel it.

And feel it you did. The warmth of her lips against your calloused hands, the gentle yet strong support of her fingers wrapped around yours... in less than twenty-four hours you had gone from hell to absolute heaven.

You slowly opened your eyes when her lips were replaced by her cheek.

“Feel good, Souly?” The former spy asked with a chuckle. You hummed, studying her face before responding.

“I can think of something else that might be better.” Yelena simply quirked an eyebrow at you, but the slight smirk on her lips told you she knew exactly what you might be referring to. So with one last flicker of your eyes from her eyes to her lips and back to her eyes, you closed the gap between the two of you—or maybe she did, you honestly weren’t sure—and your lips melted into hers. All the emotions you had felt, were feeling, and could ever feel were poured into the kiss. It was sweet, gentle, and pure, your stomach aflutter with butterflies and your chest swelling with joy, but it was also raw, passionate, and emotional, saying more than two emotionally constipated former assassins ever could.

You two finally separated with your foreheads pressed together, puffs of air being exhaled against each other’s lips as you attempted to fill your lungs with the oxygen it had been deprived of for so long.

It was a while before either of you even thought about speaking again. But there was no need to, not right now. You could talk about what you were later. For now, both of you were perfectly content to stay in each other’s embrace; she, having your whole heart, and you, her soul.

-----

🏷 : @vancityfire13

[scuttling]

Animals

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 2,766 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Insecure reader, Crushes, Some very public secret touching, Fingering, Pool sex, Unprotected sex Summary: Based on this prompt from anon: "Reader in a red skimpy bikini at one of rossi’s pool parties trying to get hotch to loosen up….what happens when she gets a little too close when they’re swimming in the pool?" I uh 🥵 Link to A03 or read below! Going to Rossi’s for dinner as a team has to be one of your favorite things in life. There is always good food, good drink, teasing and grinning and laughter; you all get to decompress, destress, enjoy each other’s company as people and not because someone’s life depends on it.

You get to see Hotch as a person, too, and that’s kind of the best part. He’s the one who needs to relax and unwind more than anyone, so when he’s there with you all, casually dressed, softer, and quick to smile, it’s no wonder you… feel things.

You’re not an animal. You can feel things without acting on those feelings; you are more than your instincts. So what if you get butterflies in your stomach when he offers to pour you more wine? So what if your breathing picks up when he’s so close you can feel his breath on your neck? So what if you end these nights at home, alone in your bed, wishing he was beside you, inside you? He’s still off limits.

Your body’s reactions to him are normal, chemical, biological, and pointless, because he could be standing half naked in front of you and you would still be able to control yourself. You are a brain that happens to be in a body, not a body that happens to have a brain.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself when Rossi invites everyone over, not for dinner, but an evening pool party.

A pool party. Fuck.

You are one hundred percent apprehensive, but for two different reasons. One is that you are a little self-conscious, and you prefer jeans and t-shirts over any other clothing; wearing a swimsuit in front of your coworkers seems extremely daunting. The other reason is that seeing Hotch in his swimsuit might actually be more terrifying, because you talk a big game about being able to control yourself, but if presented with his hot body, dripping wet, maybe his hair slicked back, a drop of water on his nose...

You take a deep breath, blow it out slowly. You’re just going to tell them you feel sick and can’t make it. Probably no one will care anyway.

You’re just gathering your things to leave work for the weekend, preparing to smile sadly and tell your lie, when Hotch appears at your side, his bag slung over his shoulder. He’s leaving work on time for once; it’s a freaking miracle.

“You’re coming to Rossi’s, right?” he asks softly, and you get those goddamn butterflies. You smile, not sadly.

“Yeah, definitely. I need to go home and get my swimsuit, though. I think I have one... somewhere.” It’s been a while since you had a vacation; wherever it is, you hope it still fits. He swallows, nods.

“Right, of course. I’ll see you there, then.” He brushes a hand carefully over your shoulder and passes you, heads for the door. You take another deep breath.

You are not an animal.

Right?

You arrive at Rossi’s house last, because you spent so long looking in the mirror, trying to convince yourself to just accept the way the swimsuit fits.

The only one you could find was from college, a little red string bikini, and since your body is obviously different now, it’s a little too small. You’re mostly covered, though, except for your ass, and no one is going to be paying much attention anyway. These people are like your brothers and sisters—or in Rossi’s case, your fun uncle—with the exception of Hotch, but you know he’s not going to be looking.

You walk into the backyard in your coverup, a cute black and white tunic, and everyone is swimming but JJ and Hotch. JJ is standing off to the side, phone at her ear, and Hotch is sitting on a lounge chair, not lounging at all. His spine looks rigid, but you can’t imagine why.

“Beer, my dear?” Rossi calls, holding up his own Corona. “Over by Hotch.” You smile and head toward him, bending to reach into the cooler for a drink; he looks a little more comfortable when he sees you, and says hello. You reply, then lift the bottom of your tunic to try to twist off the bottle cap, to no avail.

“Here, let me,” he says, reaching for your bottle, and he wraps his t-shirt around it, pops it open and hands it back.

“Thanks.” You take a long sip, your head tilted back; after all the self-scrutiny, you feel like you earned this one. “Why aren’t you swimming?”

“I will; didn’t feel like it yet,” he says, looking up at you, and you put a hand on your hip.

“Only you would come to a pool party and not swim, Hotch. Live a little.” You take another long sip, if you can call it that—the bottle is half empty already—and then set it down on the table, pull your tunic over your head. Might as well undress where fewer people are paying attention. “Come on,” you say, reaching out a hand. “I will if you will.”

He looks you over like he thinks you’re crazy or something, staring at you for a long moment, and then nods, lets you pull him up to standing. He tugs his shirt off too, and you do your best not to stare, because he is even hotter than you’d imagined, his chest broad and strong, arms strong too, and there’s a trail of hair disappearing beneath his swim trunks that you would like to explore with your mouth. You take a calming breath, turn to head for the edge of the pool, and he follows behind you; Derek looks up and whistles, and you feel yourself flush hot.

“Okay, Baywatch,” he calls with a grin, “come toward me again, but this time run in slow motion.” You roll your eyes and remind yourself not to try to cover up. If he sees you nervous, it’s just going to get that much worse.

“Shut up. It’s the only one I had,” you reply, and you look back at Hotch, who’s just standing there behind you and not saying anything. It’s like he’s afraid to get too close to the pool, or something; no way a big bad FBI guy is scared of water, right?

You get in the pool, and it feels blissfully good on this 80+ degree day, even though the sun is down; you dunk your head just to get it over with, before someone does it for you, and when you come up, you hum happily and rub your wet hair back out of your face.

You look at Hotch, who is sitting on the edge with his feet in the pool. It’s a total cop out, and you swim over to him and carefully put your hands on his legs beneath the water. He looks down at you seriously and doesn’t move.

“Come on, all the way in. For me.” He wets his lips, and you’re about 80% sure he’s going to ignore you, so you just let go of his legs and back away; he absolutely surprises you by dropping into the water with a splash. He goes under, pops up and shakes his wet hair, droplets clinging to his shoulders. You laugh out loud and give him a shove, glad, again, that you’d chosen to submerge yourself already.

“Are you happy now?” he asks, voice dry, but with a playful smile, and you nod and smile as well. Yes, you’re happy, maybe a little happier than you should be: you can feel that your nipples are hard beneath the thin material of the bikini top. Your stupid body is sending signals, and you’re entering the danger zone, your brain and body fighting for dominance; your stupid body may be winning.

Do not engage, your brain repeats when you look at wet Hotch, a sight to behold, all big and drippy and firm; your body whispers in your ear like the devil on your shoulder, just go for it—he will feel really good—what’s the worst that could happen?

“Yes,” is all you say, moving closer to him even though there’s a warning bell going off in your brain. Do not engage!! “All I wanted was for you to loosen up a little, to relax.” You’re less than a foot from him, and no one is paying either of you any attention, busy playing with an inflatable beach ball or singing along to the radio or drifting around on a lounge float. You two might as well be the only people in the world, or at least that’s how it feels.

“I’m… loose,” he says, his voice low and rough, and something about it makes you feel less inhibited, like maybe it’s not just you who wants this; your hand brushes his waist, and then his hand brushes your hip, and then you lean closer and your leg brushes…

Very loose indeed, if loose equals horny, because that’s definitely not a gun in his trunks and he’s definitely happy to see you.

“Sorry,” you breathe, but you don’t feel sorry. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, and you brush him more purposefully this time: your thigh against his bulging cock.

Do not engage!!

“Don’t be,” he replies eventually, and then it’s your hand moving of its own accord, palming him, big and hard. He closes his eyes, wets his lips. You want to bite his throat, to lick it, to get your hand down his shorts and feel him; you’re about to do that, your fingers slipping past the elastic, his breath hitching, and then the beach ball smacks down in the water right beside the two of you and you jump apart, startled.

“Sorry!” Emily calls, and Hotch bats the ball back over to them, and then you just look at each other. Was that a close call you never mention again, or…?

Now or never, your body says. He was about to let you put your hand in his pants. Try it again.

You are not an animal.

You try it again.

This time, you make it past the waistband, and you wrap your fingers around his dick. It’s thick, and hot, and smooth, and he reaches out a hand to grip your waist hard, his eyes boring into yours. You wet your lips, move your fingers to the head, rub it, and then you stroke him three times just to see what he looks like when you do.

He’s gorgeous, unsurprisingly, his eyes lidded and his chest heaving, and you rub him softly one more time and then withdraw your hand; apparently you’re cool with groping your boss in the same pool as the rest of your coworkers, but an actual orgasm is where you draw the line.

You are also breathing heavy, so turned on you’re almost shaking with need, and then Hotch reaches down and slides his hand inside your swimsuit bottoms, rubs the pads of two fingers along your slit. It takes everything you have not to moan at his touch, especially when he dips lower, prods at your opening where you are already slick. He takes a deep breath, and it looks like he’s fighting for strength too, which makes you feel a little better.

At least you’re both animals, now.

He pulls back only to get his hand on your ass, to squeeze it so hard your body shifts forward. You look up at him, and he looks down at you, and everything that needs to be said is said with your eyes.

You drift apart a little bit, but you still feel the ghost of his touch and maybe always will.

You float around, and talk a little; you get out to finish your beer, to grab you both another, and now that you know he’s into you, you maybe make climbing out look a little sexy. When you ease back in, hand him his bottle, he makes eye contact while he wraps his lips around it and takes a long drink.

Eventually, the others interact with the two of you, and it feels so strange to pretend that you and Hotch didn’t just fucking fondle each other fifteen feet away. It also feels really dirty, and that only serves to make you wetter. The glances he’s shooting you don’t help that situation much, either.

Garcia and Emily are the first to leave, and then Reid, until the only ones left are the two of you, Derek, and JJ. JJ says goodbye, heads out, and then Derek gets ready to leave. Rossi says he’ll walk him out, that he’s going to turn in, but that you and Hotch are welcome to stay as long as you like, and to just please lock the front door when you go.

“Couldn’t get you to get in, now can’t get you to get out,” Derek teases Hotch; you preen a little, because you know you’re the cause of both, and when Derek and Rossi leave, the air becomes thick with tension again. You open your mouth but don’t know what to say.

It’s Hotch who actually speaks first.

“I’ve thought about doing that for a very long time,” he murmurs, and you move closer to him, get your hands on his waist again. “You are so fucking beautiful, all the time, but in that bikini… were you just trying to tempt me?” he asks, a sincere question, and you shake your head.

“It’s really the only one I own. I got it in college, so it’s a little small now,” you explain, and he chuckles, soft and low.

“Well then, I guess I’m glad you don’t swim much, because you’re absolutely breathtaking. I was having a very hard time keeping my hands off of you, so I’m glad that you… initiated.” He puts his hands on your ass, pulls you closer, and you wrap your legs around his hips, your arms around his neck.

“Me too. I’ve wanted you for longer than I can remember, you’re so fucking perfect.” You bring a hand to his wet hair and guide him down for a deep, steamy kiss, rubbing against his hard-on and moaning softly, since you can, now. “I want you, Hotch.”

“I need you,” he says, and that’s so much hotter; you reach between you to push down his shorts, taking him in your hand and stroking him again while he holds you up, and then you ease your bottoms to the side and guide him inside you, moaning and tipping your head back when he presses in. “Oh, fuck,” he pants, and you cling to him, kiss him harder, and move in his arms.

“Oh, god, Hotch,” you breathe against his lips, working your hips against his thrusts. “You feel so good, so big and hard and good.” He groans, buries his face in your neck, and pumps up into you roughly, like he’s getting close already.

God, this is amazing, pure fucking, the outcome of being up to your eyeballs in sexual tension—you’re connecting the dots now, seeing how some things you thought were innocent between the two of you were absolutely not—and when he comes he pounds hard inside you, and you dig your nails into his neck and bounce on him until he groans and slides out, sensitive.

“Oh, wow,” he exhales, and then he turns so you’re up against the wall of the pool and lets you go, holding out his hands so you know to stay there. You stretch your arms out on either side of you, breathing hard, and he leans in, moves your top out of the way and sucks on a nipple, then reaches down and pushes your bottoms aside again, presses his fingers deep and fucks you with them.

“Hotch, oh, fuck.” He looks up at you through dark lashes, nips at your breast, and then lifts his mouth off and begs you to come until you do, practically strangling his fingers as you clench tight around him.

He pulls his hand away after getting you through it, fixes your suit and then his, and then pulls you back into his arms and kisses you for a long time, full of yearning and passion and satisfaction. You sigh against his mouth, touch his face, and offer for him to spend the night at your place.

He does, and you have sex on the kitchen counter, and in your bed, and then on the floor the next morning.

You animals. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce