#yesterday my fingers were so stiff I could barely type

[fitzselfships]

I want to draw Fuzzy and Stretchy hanging out but. The inflammation :(

[thunderwetter]

Warden's Pet - Overlord x Prowl - Chapter 2

Check this post for Chapter 1, this is going to be a three-chapter-story!

WORD COUNT: ~4900

WARNINGS: 18+ NON-CON, Violence

TAGS: Sticky/Valveplug, Torture, Punishment, Revenge, Restricted Movement, Toy Usage, Electrostimulation/Shockplay, Overstimulation, Spark Play, Non-consensual Voyeurism

Final Warning! Prowl is NOT enjoying this!!!

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When Prowl came back online, his first reaction was a pained groan. It took him a moment to register his position, servos behind his back, leaning against a cold metal wall. Very creative, really, to use his own handcuffs against him. It took a while for his sensory system to work, but with satisfaction he recognized himself to be fully repaired. He could see, he could hear, his frame seemed to be a mess no more. Even his face was fixed, although an uncomfortable sensation was still haunting him, some pain in the joints from the stiffness of being immobilized. Leftovers from a previous surgery, he remembered the feeling, albeit it usually had different reasons.

The current reason for his predicament was sitting at the desk across the room, pedes on top, tapping away at a communication pad. Prowl could still feel him on his tongue and suppressed a gag at the thought of it. Overlord's lips curled upwards with every ping of the comm-pad. He noticed Prowl returning to his senses in his periphery, so he spun the chair around, landing his pedes with a heavy thump, taking a quick snapshot of the view and apparently shipping it through the console. Curious, Prowl thought to himself, whoever was on the other line trusted Overlord with their contact data, they were close enough to be updated on Prowl’s condition, but not close enough to communicate over the personal communication system that would be the standard.

Then again, Prowl’s own personal contacts were limited to those that he worked with regularly, the only current exception being Jazz, who rarely ever utilized the old code. Prowl would not be surprised if he, like Chromedome, had changed his contact data by now.

Prowl did not remember laying on the floor, panting and moaning around a spike that had long left. Neither did he remember Overlord recording this moment of no dignity to send it to Fortress Maximus. He was left to believe that he passed out from being used, from being abused in a beaten state. He was left to believe that his processor had never blanked out.

“Good Morning, Prowler!”, Overlord hummed, an uncannily cheerful melody to his words. A nickname as rarely used as his personal code, usually by the very same person. He checked the line. No, nothing. Still jammed, he had no means to communicate, not even his emergency signal could get out. Perhaps that was why Overlord used the console. Perhaps getting his fingers on it would be Prowl’s way out? All he had to know was who the contact on the other side was, perhaps they would be convinced to help him. But could he really rely on-

“Maxie’s happy with my work, you know.”

No. No, he couldn’t. Fortress Maximus had brought him into this situation and as a convinced realist, Prowl knew he was not gonna go anywhere if his closest contact was the warden. He defaulted his gaze to an annoyed glare, pressing his intake shut to form a straight line. Overlord chuckled. “I fixed you so carefully and all I get is a glare. That supposed to be intimidating?”, he said, the mockery clear as day. He typed a last message into the comm-pad and got up, casually picking up the little pill from the day before and strolling over to Prowl. “Cute.”, Overlord spat out, grabbing Prowl by the chin. He had to reach down to do so, the smaller mech barely reaching his knee in his current posture. “Yesterday, as much fun as I had…”, Overlord licked his lips, caressing Prowl’s face as he did, as if it were an extension of his glossa, “I have so much more in stock for you.”

With that Overlord knelt down, bringing himself closer to Prowl and yanking him up, using the hands that previously caressed his face to choke him against the wall. Of course, the ventilation system was not impacted by such a movement, however Overlord dug his blunt digits into the fuel lines that ran down Prowl’s neck, resulting in a choked noise that allowed Overlord to force his glossa into Prowl’s intake, pulling him into a violently deep kiss. Once they parted he went for the neck, biting at cables, drawing Energon just for the bliss of tasting it. Prowl underneath him tried to pull away with no avail, he vented heavily from the willpower that was needed to suppress any kind of noise that would make his captor happy. He wouldn’t give in so easily. He could use him until his face warped into a state of no recognition and still, his mind would not break.

“Second chance Prowl, you’re only getting three”, Overlord said, lips stained in pink. He held the pill up, offering it to his prisoner in an unnervingly urgent, yet gentle matter. What was it anyways, what kind of drug was Overlord so intent of putting him under? Prowl’s reply was a well-aimed spit, for once his instincts had overruled his reason. He wasn’t getting out of here anyways, he was going to be abused whether he behaved or not, what did it matter? He still had pride, he still had his will and his intellect and those were things that Overlord couldn’t frag out of him. Overlord let out a dry chuckle as he wiped the oral lubricant from his face and rewarded Prowl with a flick to his optic, strong enough to break the sensitive glass. It wasn’t enough to provoke a reaction. He returned to his desk once more, placing the pill on top and rummaging inside the drawers.

With half of his vision gone, Prowl had to tilt his head to get a glimpse of the box that Overlord dug out before casually walking back to him, sitting down cross-legged with an almost serene smile. Overlord was silent. Prowl did not like that. Silence was just another way to torture him, surely. Among the most suspicious behaviors were either chatty bots being silent or silent bots drowning your audials in a flood of information all of a sudden. Prowl had two options, no, three. He could ask Overlord about his plans, however this would most likely either result in his calm smile turning into an arrogant, knowing one, feeding his otherworldly ego even further – or he would receive a reply that would give him everything except for a clear answer. He could also attempt to get into Overlord’s head, figuring out by himself what he had to offer, what he could be planning, what he was toying with inside the container of which the lid had been conveniently angled to just barely obscure the secret item. Besides the obvious wonder of what was in there, what he was planning was another question. Tightly intertwined with the third option was one more: Did Prowl want to know what was going to happen? As much as he hated being out of the loop, only being able to watch, listen and let happen rather than to calculate and take control, what benefit was there to go through the effort of knowing how this would play out? He could demote his mind to be a spectator and just wait. Patience was no weakness of his, he had plenty when needed, but evaluating his current situation was exhausting in many ways.

To only wait, to not act, was that not a surrender in itself?

Silence, he swore to that thought and went back to the second option. Overlord knew a lot about him, information that was without a doubt passed on by Fortress Maximus, perhaps even by a network of bots he had ticked off in the long years of war. Prowl’s jaw tensed up by the mere mention of his name, by the memory of bots not rarely turning violent against him due to some infantile grievances. A heated feeling ran through his pulse. What pathetic behavior it was to not only be bitter about a minor mishap some years ago, but also to not execute this grudge himself. He didn’t expect this cowardice from someone like the unwavering warden of Garrus-9. Prowl discarded the topic and refocused on the box, trying to get a proper view of Overlord’s servos, of his face that was now deep in thought. He looked up. Their optics met. Overlord smiled. “Eager, aren’t you?”, he said, cocking his head. Prowl took a moment to recognize the statement and snapped his neck into a different direction. Maybe in the reflection of Overlord’s optics he would have been able to see what he had in his servos. He considered the thought but couldn’t resume his analysis. He could feel the stare digging into him and didn’t want to risk encouraging the banter any further. Being forced into a position of cluelessness gave him a headache, he had no need for something as ridiculous as this mockery to worsen that condition. Prowl tried to focus on the noises of fidgeting, hoping for hints among the general clutter. He heard metal clicking together in assembly, he heard plugs being connected and if he concentrated very deeply, he heard a slight electrical whirr.

It was an unfamiliar collection of noises, at least up until the point where the whirring grew louder and eventually turned into distinct vibration. He recalled the feeling of a spike in his mouth and shuddered involuntarily, turning his head back to Overlord who, as if in celebration turned the box around with exactly the knowing smile that Prowl had expected to see. As he had predicted. That was good, he thought, he was managing to get a better read on his opponent. He looked down into the container and his short-lived victory immediately died off. The vibration had in fact not misled him, a fake spike was neatly placed in the center. Prowl did not have much experience with them, being too prideful to indulge in this kind of pleasure, however he still recognized by the assembly lines that this was a customizable experience. Considering the parts that weren’t installed and the amount of time spent on building it, Overlord must’ve had chosen a very specific collection of mods. There were barely any hints visible from the outside though and that was what made Prowl feel a sense of dread creeping into his system. He suppressed the urge to throw up and forced his mind to silence itself before the possibilities of what this creation was capable of made him lose his cool. It was a proper size, but smaller than Overlord’s. He hated his ability to even make that comparison.

His face unfazed, he looked at Overlord who was now fully grinning. Prowl’s servo twitched in the sudden desire to punch the grin off his face. He wasn’t in charge of his annoyance today, certainly an inconvenience. Inconvenience was an understatement, he corrected himself, this hateful thinking was a sign of Overlord getting to him. It was an actual problem. “You know what this is?”, Overlord said, feigning innocence as he picked up the toy and turned it around in his servo, allowing Prowl to inspect it. “A false spike.”, he replied dryly. No emotion, no expression, just a voice with a hint of static. Surely left there from the day before. Overlord’s grin widened as he pointed to the box. “What else is there?”, he asked, his voice melodic and amused. He let his thumb caress the underside of the fake spike, an internal clicking could be heard. It was reactive, almost impressive. Prowl’s gaze wandered to the case. He saw cords, discarded parts, cables strewn around in a messy way. It was a sight that would put any orderly mech into stasislock but there was nothing that seemed out of the ordinary. A trick perhaps, to fool him into overthinking. A trick that didn’t work. Being afraid of things that didn’t exist was something he left to the more superstitious mechs, to those that feared things like gods or sparkeaters. He looked back up to Overlord and gave him his reply: “A mess.”

The hollering laughter that followed inflicted only a small injury to Prowl's confidence; his fuel tank however seemed willing to crawl out of his throat in aversion to the sound of being ridiculed. “Maxie was right! Oh, he was so right about you!”, Overlord almost cheered, openly sharing his amusement as he put the spike to the side, spinning the little chest around and plucking some specific electronics out of it. Prowl didn’t recognize them; he was not an engineer, a scientist, a doctor or anyone that would bother himself with such things. “Come on, you’ve never seen these?”, Overlord said, leaning forward and giving Prowl a closer look at one of the roughly thumb-sized circuit boards. He stared at them blankly before replying with a disinterested negative. “Impressive, Prowl, you’re either the most boring bot I’ve ever met- “, Overlord was repeating himself, that was a positive, “- or you really have as little game as they say you have.”

Prowl scoffed, internally rolling his optics. There were many, far more important things than interfacing. Sure, he could not deny the significance in knowing how crucial intimacy was to a social species like theirs, however aside from using it to gain vantage he saw no value in it. Any bot he ever held close had eventually ended up turning their back and surely enough Prowl did not miss the voices around him. Not Jazz’ never-ending cheer, not the Constructicons’ endless support, not the intellectual challenge that had accompanied him through Chromedome. All of these relationships had been temporary alliances for his benefit, a moment of pawns moving alongside each other, alongside their strategist, before ultimately separating again to relocate and adapt a more advantageous position. There was neither time nor need for sentimentality, all it did was interfere with his work. With his mind. With anything. Overlord reclaimed Prowl’s concentration by attaching a circuit board to his neck. A technology similar to Simultronic, perhaps? He remembered the machines; he remembered the addicts that more often than not ended up so lost in their hallucinations that they perished from not consuming any energon. He never pitied them from overindulging. A sudden shock rippled through his body, springing from the neck and rushing through the fuel lines straight to his array. The unexpected sensation drew a surprised hiss from him before he snapped his mouth shut in horror of his own noise. Overlord released a jeering snicker in response and attached a second board on the other side of Prowl’s neck, a second rush to flood his body. This time he was prepared, he remained silent and motionless despite the invasive sensation. Another set of circuit boards was attached to the wrists behind his back, to the insides of his thigh, one right between his doors and a final one on his torso, right above his modesty plating. Prowl mentally prepared himself, expecting a wave of pleasure-inducing signals to flood his body, but nothing happened. Overlord put away the chest and as he was standing near his desk anyways, he resumed to chatting with presumably Fortress Maximus.

Prowl was left to wonder just how exactly their relationship dynamic worked, analyzing the relaxed way that Overlord sat in his chair, legs occasionally jittering in excitement, the expression in high spirits, as every other message had his face twitch just for a moment. One could count the amount of times Overlord drew his glossa over his lips, sometimes biting it, holding it while typing and slipping it back into his intake. Lewd messages as encouragement or motivation, most likely. Disgust was the sole judgement. Without even doing as much as looking at Prowl, Overlord’s expression evolved into an increasingly lustful grin before touching the false spike that he had placed on his desk, caressing it with utmost care. The message that followed let him release an appreciative whistle as he pressed the button in his hand. The button that had previously activated the-

Overlord typed a last message into the communication pad and resumed to Prowl, bringing both the remote and the false spike with him. He knelt down, grabbed Prowl’s face by the sides and wiped away the tears with his thumb, licking the wiper fluid from it as he purred deeply. For once, he didn’t comment on anything, he merely tapped the modesty panel that held back Prowl’s aching interface equipment. “No.”, Prowl said firmly, knowing exactly what the silent order meant. Overlord seemed satisfied by the statement, wrapping his hand around the panel instead and locking their optics in search for fear. All he found was a provocative boldness, unflinching and prideful. He slowly tore the cover from its place, watching Prowl’s expression tense up as he clenched his jaw tightly, keeping his vents steady and controlled. An agonizingly rough creaking sound filled the room along with the growing noise of systems running in overdrive, covering up the barely audible grunt of pain as the plating finally came off, only to lovelessly be thrown to the side. Prowl’s pressurized spike twitched helplessly as the cool air caressed it, the valve vulnerable and wet, aching to be loved, but quickly hidden by Prowl pulling his legs together. Overlord could not ignore such a sweet plea for mercy, forcing his knee between them, travelling his servo up Prowl’s thighs and gently drawing it along the edges of his valve as he pressed the remote in his other hand. Prowl noticed the motion early enough to stiffen up, but his frame was not nearly as resilient as his mind. He grit his dentae as hard as possible, trying to use the pain as a way to remind himself that he was a captive, that this was a forced situation, that this was not pleasurable, but merely the foreplay of worse things to come. Overlord pressed the button for what felt like an eternity, watching Prowl attentively as the initial impact wore off and the previous petulance returned. At least to his face it did, his interfacing equipment was speaking in a completely different tone. Prefluid dripped down Prowl’s spike, lustfully decorating the tip and gliding along the underside in a display of pure want. The valve was just as needy, perhaps even more, making a mess of Prowl’s thighs, vibrant lubricant painting him and the floor beneath. Overlord dipped his fingers into the liquid, contemplating about whether he should have a taste or not. He decided against it, instead holding Prowl’s head steady and smearing the fluids across his face. Overlord licked his lips with delight, putting his servos on Prowl’s knees to spread them apart further. Keeping him exposed with one servo, he grabbed the false spike with his other, kissing it gently, causing it to vibrate ever-so-slightly under his tender touch. Prowl realized where this was going, not that he hadn’t considered the possibility before, it was just the lack of certainty that had been missing from his calculations.

Prowl’s processor had to reset from the amount of electricity exploding in his frame. Too many sources, too much stimulation all in one shock, the moan that left him being no more than a pained cry as his sensory system was violated with pleasure impulses beyond anything comfortable. The temporary disconnect between higher and lower functions led to the vocalization being aired shamelessly as he bent forward, cowering as his frame tensed and trembled, as he tried to calm his voice and ventilations. Insults were muttered, so laden with static that it was barely recognizable which words he attempted to use, oral fluid bubbling from his intake along with the wiper fluid that dripped from his optics. Just with the press of one single button, Prowl had become a mess. Somewhere in his mind he envied the powerful tool. How useful it would have been in the earlier days. How much time he could have saved by using it on his victims.

He inhaled sharply, drawing a slight whistle from his ventilation system before swallowing the pooling oral fluid and shutting his mouth. He straightened his posture as best as he could and gave Overlord a disdainful glare. Even with only one functioning optic, the other still broken after being flicked and cracked, even with tears still shimmering on his cheeks, Prowl’s arrogant defiance seeped through as he held his head high enough to give the illusion of looking down to Overlord. He merely had been caught off-guard, he still had himself under control. He was prepared now; he knew what to expect from the little applications that were so carefully placed in sensitive spots. His doors still twitched slightly, the charge being persistent in them, but as long as that charge was kept far away from his interfacing equipment, he saw no reason to worry. He sorted his processor, attempting to coax his functions into thinking about escapes and plans and mind games instead of giving any attention to the growing pain in his body. The shock that had filled him with heat before had left him to feel suspiciously cold now in its absence. Temperatures were a way to simulate intimacy and comfort. A cheap trick that he was immune to. He knew warmth, but even better he knew the lack of it; the true freezing cold of solitude. He reveled in it. Overlord was doing him a favor. Prowl still had the upper hand.

The last variable was in place; instinctively he unraveled one of his legs, kicking the servo that tried to hold him in place. The cuffs that kept his wrists tied recognized his attempt to fight back as an attempt to flee, activating the programming to send an electrical shock through him to immobilize and prevent his escape. The electricity was amplified by the circuit boards, sending a raging current through his frame, an unfiltered and honest scream fried his vocalizer as the movement had trapped him in a circle of pain. How had he miscalculated this badly? Had this been a scheme? Never, no, Overlord wasn’t that smart. Prowl had expected the cuffs to react, considering he was the one who specifically requested them to be made that way, but he hadn’t thought about the boards. Writhing in pain, there was no way to fight back when Overlord caught his leg and used the leverage to spread him wide and lay him down. “I don’t remember allowing you to enjoy yourself.”, Overlord said smugly before shifting his weight, breaking the hinges of Prowl’s doors, their clattering coming to a halt upon being disconnected from their body. After securing his prey, Overlord realigned the false spike and forcefully rammed it into Prowl’s valve. Prowl swallowed a groan, the pain from being filled so suddenly was nothing compared to the torturous experience he had made just mere moments beforehand, leaving him sore from a mistake caused only by himself. He felt the spike inside him twitch, it was curious just how realistic it felt, how responsive it was. Even more so, how long Overlord waited to make his next move.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, Overlord slowly rotated the spike as he pulled it out before ramming it back into him, fully sheathing it. His heavy servo on Prowl’s chest prevented the deep ventilations required to cool his systems, a pressure right above his spark, it would be easy to just crush it. Prowl almost hoped for this mistake to happen, but this was not the death he wanted. Violated by a tool, by a mech he had attempted to use before. He cursed Chromedome for failing his mission and freeing Overlord. He cursed him for opening his mind to Bombshell. Absentmindedly he began cursing other mechs, with every thrust that Overlord hammered into him he cursed someone else that was somehow at fault for his current situation. It was his last straw, an effort to cling to his own sanity as he felt the false spike slide in and out, the noise of it unbearable enough to make him miss the way his senses had been dampened the day before. Prowl could feel his calipers stretching more and more, having a hard time to let go once they got caught by the surface of a spike that he could swear was growing every time that it pounded into him. His optic was online, his dentae gritted, his ventilation almost calming from the steady rhythm. He fled himself into a safe space of noting other people’s mistakes, of reevaluating situations and knowing that he was the smartest mech in most rooms, that he would end up as the superior victor of every game he played. He reminded himself that this was only happening because of Fortress Maximus’ inability to let go of the past. To see the bigger picture that was so blatantly obvious. He reminded himself that this happened because he was Prowl, he was a, no, the strategist with plans beyond a simple warden’s understanding, beyond the understanding of a psychopath that turns prisons into gladiator pits.

Who else would be able to endure this and keep their integrity intact

The door was still open.

No matter how forceful Overlord was, Prowl seemed to almost doze off while daydreaming, his face was tense, his body under constant stress, but his mind seemed to be distracted, at ease even. Overlord couldn’t allow this relaxation and pulled out the spike entirely, watching as the empty valve twitched, lonely and abandoned. Poor thing, he thought, resisting the urge to invite himself into the warm and welcoming port. He balled the servo that kept Prowl down to a fist, lifting it off of him before smashing it to his chest. Only the slightest grunt was heard, a disappointment. Overlord repeated the motion, with more force. He hit him a third time, and a fourth, until with the fifth a cracking noise announced the injury that he aimed for. Prowl immediately returned to the present, his optic flashing back to full brightness. He felt a stabbing ache in his spark chamber and the warm feeling of energon spreading in his internals. Overlord released the drills from his fingertips, Prowl swallowed down the anxiety that the noise of mnemosurgery equipment caused in him. Overlord was not Chromedome. Overlord was not Bombshell. Overlord was better. Tempering with his mind the direct way was the easiest method of manipulating anyone, but Overlord didn’t do easy, it was not his style. He had to do things in the most complex and extravagant ways, it was in his nature and he knew he could allow himself this arrogance. This indulgence. Prowl turned his head, looking up to see his captor hovering above his chest, the drills not yet activated. He had been waiting patiently for Prowl’s full attention before turning on the drills, slowly resting them on his captive’s chest, a vibration that not only reached his spark immediately but also had his whole chassis feel the sensation. A nudge to his valve was all the warning he got, Prowl tried to disconnect himself from his body, shutting down his optic willingly.

This was not a surrender. This was acceptance. This was preparation. He felt the drills enter his spark chamber at the same time the spike entered his valve. The drills vanished quickly, only being used to make it easier for Overlord to tear open Prowl’s frame to expose his very soul. Prowl shuddered as the cold air hit his internals, the shuddering being answered by the spike inside him activating its vibrations. Overlord grinned, touching Prowl’s spark ever so slightly with surprising reverence. He didn’t seem to have the intention of injuring it, which was about as unexpected as suspicious. Even worse, it was the most pleasant feeling so far, dizzying Prowl’s processor into a delirium that he had a hard time keeping himself out of. He couldn’t hold back a shaky moan, soft and pathetic, only ever so slightly audible but filled with despair. Overlord immediately drew back his servos, leaving Prowl’s spark craving and his valve neatly plugged by the false spike that was still happily vibrating. Overlord stepped back, typed into the console, snapped another picture of his work and returned to the messy scene. Prowl laid sprawled on the floor, leaking, exposed, expressionless. Overlord gave the false spike a kick before bending down and securing it with tape, making sure that it wasn’t going anywhere. Along with it, he taped the remote for the circuit boards to its base, a steady current now running through Prowl that was blurring together with every other sensation into a mess of pleasure, pain and misery. He couldn’t distinguish a punch from a caress anymore, it was all just the same in this void of consistent stimulation. Even his thoughts were no more than electrical signals passing through his processor. Overlord got up, and sighed with contempt. “See you tomorrow, Prowl.”, he said, his voice almost nearing sympathy. He turned off the consoles and lights, Prowl’s body being the only source of illumination as his biolights flickered weakly. Overlord halted for a moment. “Take the pill. I mean it.” He muttered as he left the room.

Prowl couldn’t afford to care.

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And with that, Chapter 2/3 is done!

My ask box is as open as always, currently running an offer for free horny headshot sketches if you wanna see more of my illustrations 👀

Until then, keep your eyes peeled for Chapter 3 and the release of this 'fic on my AO3 where it will have the proper formatting~

[animeomegas]

Omega!Itachi Getting Married

Anon:  Helllooo!!! I was wonderin if u could write for omega itachi getting married. I'd really appreciate it :)

(Hello! Hello! This is the oldest request in my inbox, so I hope this ends up being worth the wait! Enjoy~ <3)

Warning: implied sexual activity

General headcanons - Non-massacre AU:

Itachi has always known that he would get married someday.

After all, it was his duty as clan heir.

But he never expected to actually love his mate. He was required to angle for a politically/socially advantageous match and he had made his peace with that.

If he had to marry someone to keep peace between clans, he would. If he had to marry someone his parents chose for him to keep conflict in the family down, he would.

Itachi’s fatal flaw is that he doesn’t see his comfort/happiness as important.

And while he looked forward to his future children, his future spouse was a neutral event. It would happen, whether he wanted it to or not, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Best case scenario, he might have a new friend, or at least someone he respects, to live with him.

Worst case scenario, he ends up in a horrible marriage. He tried not to think too much about this option.

He never expected there to be any love between him and his future spouse.

Until he met you.

He found a person who actually loved him. An alpha who was as dedicated to a future family as he was. A partner who respected him more than he had ever hoped.

And Itachi fell hard and fast.

So, when you proposed, he felt like everything he had never dared to hope for was coming true.

You went to get his parents’ permission first (and the permission of the clan by proxy) and did the proposal in front of them. It wasn’t ideal, you knew Itachi would be happier with a private proposal, but you also knew that Itachi wouldn’t believe that he had their approval unless he saw it first-hand.

Itachi and his family are very traditional, so you weren’t mated before you got married, instead, you mated on your wedding night.

Itachi is very happy to let his family dictate the wedding. He doesn’t care as long as he’s married to you at the end of the day.

(But he does have preferences that you can extract from him, but getting Itachi’s true opinion, can be like pulling teeth.)

Proposal:

You had known Itachi since you were both 18, two years now. You had been courting him officially for a year and a half before you proposed.

As I mentioned, you proposed in front of Itachi’s parents, to make sure that he knew that you had gained their approval.

Sasuke was also there, after years of bribery, finally accepting of you and Itachi’s relationship. You met Sasuke when he had just graduated from the academy, and he was not impressed by this new person stealing his brother from him when he wanted Itachi to train him ☹

For Itachi, it was a normal family dinner.

He definitely noticed that you were behaving nervously, but he knew his family could be stiff, overly traditional and a little intimidating, so he figured that was the cause of your discomfort.

Sasuke was also staring at you suspiciously the whole evening, but to be honest, sometimes Sasuke was just like that, so Itachi thought nothing of it.

You kept a hand on his knee for the entire meal, only letting go of him when you announced that you had brought dessert for everyone and would be happy to serve it.

Itachi smiled his gorgeous smile at you, so pleased to see you making an effort with his family (or perhaps he was smiling about the desert, Itachi’s sweet tooth is legendary after all. It was difficult to tell.)

Nervously clenching your hands, you walked over to the fridge, pulling out the plate of dango you had hidden in there earlier. It was Itachi’s favourite, and if there was anything to convince him to say yes to your proposal, it was a demonstration of how much dango you were willing to buy for him.

‘Don’t mess this up,’ you said to yourself, gingerly sliding the plate of dango out of the fridge. It was an elaborate platter that had cost far too much. There were seven different dango flavours with an assortment of dips and dressings, arranged artfully with fruit and dried flowers to decorate the plate.

You walked to back to the table and presented the plate with a dramatic flourish to hide your nerves.

Itachi’s face lit up. Despite your nerves, his obvious excitement put a smile on your face. He really was perfect.

And that’s why you can’t mess this up.

“There’s anko, green tea, sesame,” you pointed at each flavour as you listed them. “Hanami and…er… some other ones…?”

Sasuke scoffed at your embarrassing failure to recall the flavours, causing a red flush to creep up your neck. You didn’t even know that there was this many dango flavours before yesterday! Thankfully, he didn’t say anything, perhaps due to the sharp look Itachi had shot at him.

“I made sure to get enough for everyone, but there’s something I’d like to ask for in return.”

You could see Itachi trying to catch your eye, probably to ask what an earth you were doing, but you purposefully avoided looking in his direction.

“The only thing I ask,” you continued, nervously. “Is for a minute of your time before we eat dessert.”

Mikoto smiled at you and nodded for you to go ahead with a gentle wave of her hand. Sasuke simply raised an eyebrow at you but didn’t interrupt.

“Great,” you laughed nervously. “Um, so, er, Itachi.”

Itachi straightened under your sudden attention. He looked immensely uncomfortable and confused, he was probably panicking about you doing something in front of his family that you would regret. He always played liaison between you and his family to avoid conflict and was probably not comfortable with you doing this. Unfortunately, he would never believe that you had his parents’ approval if you didn’t propose in front of them.

“I’ve known you for two years now, Itachi,” you started, finally looking at Itachi in the eye. “And it sounds horribly cheesy, but I think that I fall in love with you more every day.”

A barely audible gasp left Itachi. He was a genius, after all, he had probably figured out where this was going. He looked torn between panicked and elated, seeming to settle somewhere around shell-shocked.

“I’ve come to realise recently that, a life without that love, without your love, isn’t a life that I want.”

You can just about see tears gathering in Itachi’s waterline. It doesn’t look like he’s breathing at all.

With one final rush of bravery, you pulled out the diamond ring that had been weighing down your pocket for months and knelt down onto the dining room floor.

“Will you marry me?”

Itachi’s head whips around to face his parents, most likely preparing some serious damage control. But when he sees his mother’s gentle smile and his father’s subtle nod, he slowly moves his gaze back to you. You’ve never seen him look so shocked before. It was almost amusing enough to distract you from your nerves. Almost.

“I-,” Itachi swallowed hard. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Just say what you want to say, Itachi,” his mother replies, trying to encourage him.

His mother’s words seemed to break him out of his stupor and Itachi breathes out a single word.

“Yes.”

You let out a delighted and relieved laugh, taking Itachi’s hand in yours and slipping the ring onto his finger, and even though his family were all watching you, you couldn’t help but pull him into an embrace.

“I love you so much,” you whispered to him. “I’ll read you my real proposal speech this evening.”

Itachi laughed into your shoulder. His laughter had a hysteric edge to it, his mind still clearly reeling at what you had just done.  

“Real speech?”

“You didn’t think I was going read my real proposal out in front of your parents, did you? No way. They still think we’re virgins and I didn’t want to spoil that illusion for them.”

Itachi quickly and efficiently jabbed you in the stomach and hit you with his infamous glare.

“Okay, I deserved that,” you winced, gingerly rubbing the sore spot.

Finally, you pulled away and moved to dish out the dango. And if Itachi got the biggest portion, well, no one mentioned it.

   Planning:

Itachi lets his clan take over the planning.

He doesn’t want to deal with the stress of having to combat his family at every turn and would much rather just let them do it. As long as you’re there with him, nothing else really matters.

But even when his clan leave the smaller decisions up to him, he’s hesitant to voice his opinions, wanting his alpha to make them as an apology for his family commandeering everything.

But if you pay attention to little signs and reactions that Itachi gives, you can figure out some of his wants and desires.

Overall, there isn’t much to say about the wedding planning, because Itachi doesn’t do much of it.

Things he wants (compromise available/no compromise allowed):

Sasuke as his groomsman and Shisui as his best man – Itachi doesn’t have many close friends or relatives. He has you, Sasuke, Shisui… er, he’d probably invite his old captain Kakashi and… well, you get the point. So, every person who is important to him needs to be by his side at his wedding, and who is more important than his best friend and little brother.

A traditional wedding – He isn’t actually that bothered by what type of wedding he has, but he knows his family and clan will insist on a traditional celebration and as I mentioned, he doesn’t want to fight. The elders will push the wedding to be held in the clan compound and Itachi would be told to wear a traditional Uchiha wedding garment.

A sweets cart – This is something that he won’t bring up, and therefore isn’t bolded, but it’s very easy to see his face light up when he sees this in a wedding catalogue. It’s a wooden cart with different jars of sweets with little scoops for people to help themselves to. Itachi loves sweet food, obviously, but he also thinks it would be something the children in the clan would adore. He kind of really wants one, but he won’t bring it up unless someone else does first.

An early wedding – He won’t fight you or his family about this, but ideally, he would like to get married in the morning, maybe around 8 or 9 AM. Itachi is definitely an early bird who prefers the ambience of the early morning which is part of the reason, but mainly he just wants the performative part of the wedding over and done with so he can start his honeymoon. He doesn’t find it appealing to spend all night pretending to tolerate the elders of his clan who will almost certainly spend their time berating him for his choice of partner and then telling him he needs to have as many children as possible because he’s a powerful ninja that will produce powerful children. He just doesn’t want to deal with it. Leaving at 6 PM with you to go on your honeymoon and finally, finally mate? That sounds much more fun.

To try and conceive on his honeymoon – Obviously, he’s not going to force anything if you aren’t ready, but he would really love to start trying to conceive straight away. He’s desperate to have his own children, firstly, but also, he knows this is his only ticket to retiring from being a ninja. He wants to retire so badly, and so if you’re both ready for children, he doesn’t want to wait.

 The wedding:

You don’t see Itachi for a day before the wedding, as is tradition. You see him for the first time that weekend when he’s walking down the hall towards you.

And as Fugaku walks Itachi down the aisle, you are completely breathless.

He looks stunning.

His hair had been intricately platted with flowers, some lose strands of hair left to frame his face.

He’s wearing a deep red, formal kimono just as you expected, but it looked so much more beautiful than you had imagined.

He looked like royalty.

The whole ceremony flew by, and before you knew it, it was time for you and Itachi to say goodbye and leave for your honeymoon.

Your honeymoon was to be had at a cabin held deep in the woods on the Uchiha compound. The rule was that married couples could not be disturbed for anything other than a life-or-death emergency, so you would be completely alone.

It might have been nice to go abroad, but the Uchiha clan didn’t want Itachi to be distracted by his honeymoon outside of Konoha where he might be attacked and his eyes stolen.

You both had already been by to drop off everything you would need for the week, including clothes, food, games and toiletries.

So, now, all that was left was for you two to get there yourself.

You and Itachi had decided to amble your way to the cabin, taking your time to enjoy each other’s company after a day of socialising with everyone but each other. Not to mention that neither of your outfits were particularly well designed for gallivanting through the forest. It would be rather embarrassing to have to end your self-imposed isolation to go to the hospital on day one, so walking slowly was probably a good idea.

You had been walking for about thirty minutes so the cabin should be… There! You were there!

“Wait!” you shot out a hand to stop Itachi from entering, startling him slightly. “Don’t go in yet.”

Itachi furrowed his brows, absently blowing a stray hair from his face that must have fallen down during the walk.

“I… want to carry you inside,” you admitted bashfully.

Itachi chuckled but stepped closer to let you do it. You beamed at him, pressing a kiss against his lips as a thank you. He looked a lot more tired than this morning; his hair was falling out of its elaborate placement and the makeup you were sure he was coerced into using was a little smudged.

He really was the most beautiful person you had ever met.

With his permission now gained, you placed an arm around his shoulders and another arm behind his knees, before gently lifting him off the ground. You nuzzled Itachi’s neck, enjoying his content scent and the way he sighed happily at your attention.

With your husband firmly in your grasp, you nudged open the front door with your foot and stepped safely over the threshold. You carried Itachi all the way to the bedroom and placed him down gently on the bed.

Itachi leant up to steal a kiss.

“Bringing me straight to the bedroom, you are incorrigible,” he teased, kicking off his shoes and making himself comfortable on the bed.

“I-I wasn’t, I didn’t mean that!” you sputtered, flushing under Itachi’s laughter. Silence fell over the room for a moment as the exhaustion from the day swept over you both.

“Would you mind helping me out of this kimono, please? I think it’s time for something a little more comfortable.”

It took a solid ten minutes to get Itachi out of his clothes and into some pyjamas. Ten minutes and a lot of swear words as every layer seemed to be hiding another one underneath.

“This wasn’t how I imagined undressing you on our wedding night, that felt a lot like pass the parcel but somehow more stressful.”

“Oh?” Itachi questioned, pulling you to sit down on the bed with him, finally free from the constraints of his wedding attire. “How did you imagine it?”

Rather than answer with words, you pressed wet kisses over Itachi’s neck, smirking against his skin as you felt his hand come up to grasp at your hair and a gentle moan escape from his lips.

This was definitely going to be the best part of the celebrations.

[luimagines]

In lieu of what happened yesterday with Wolfie... may I raise you with Bunny Legend?

He despises the form. Why, of all the things he could have been, had to be a bunny? A tiger or even a dog would have been better than that a fluffy, weak... pink mammal! It's not fair that Twilight get a cool one instead of him, which is completely stupid since he is one of the oldest, and far more seasoned in salt of the group. On top of that, how dare he stealing your attention like that!? How is he supposed to make a move if Twilight is always hanging around you as Wolfie? He wants you to be the only one to hear how he feels about you...

...And, maybe, is also because he is terrified of you turning him down, the ache in his heart would be worse than a stab with Twilight watching him get rejected...

But this is why he have been named as the "Veteran" and not something else; he has dealt with a lot of situation before with far less objects at his reach to help him, but he always manages to get through it. He's very cunning and is quick to think on his feet...

...Or at least, almost all of the time he is. Erring is most common when you aren't at your most calm, isn't it?

Legend admits that he acted out of desperation: you had him at his wits end! But it's hard to feel frustrated with himself when you are nuzzling your face on top of his head, little squeaks of happiness and a high pitch voice while you baby talked to him, gussing about his very soft fur and really cute vest. You even called him handsome! You never do that when he is in his human form, you don't even spare him a glance when he rolls his sleeves, making a big of a show of flexing his arms, stretching out and pushing out his chest and arms back, all so you can see how muscular he, too, is. But the only thing you do is oogle at Twilight-- as if he isn't enough of a menace to him-- and that idiot of Mr. Captain when they wrestle together, shirtless. He just wants your pretty eyes on him, those plump lips, cherry from how you are bitting them, shamelessly devouring the two men with your gaze...

...Ugh, just pay attention to him, okay!? He will shower you with all the love and adoration you deserve and more! So please, direct that intensity to him, and only him.

A poke to his furrowed brows broke him out of his mind. Legend cautiously looks up at you. He mentally kicks himself as he is met with your worried eyes, the last thing he wanted was for you to feel any type of negative emotions, so that glint spurred him on rubbing his furred cheek on your free open palm, wanting to change the expression out of your face. It seem to work, you opened your eyes more and even giggled a little before scratching under his chin with two of your fingers.

"Got lost for a second there, buddy?" You whisper. Even if your tone was soft, the vibrations travelled from your chest pressed against the back of his small form engulfing it in a warm and pleasant feeling.

Legend closed his eyes and let all of his weight rest on you, not that you minded, of course. Being the sunshine that you are, you giggled cutely once more and tugged him closer to you, to the point of almost being curled around him. It was a rare sensation; he felt protected for once instead of being the one providing said feeling, he must admit that it was quite comforting, but Legend will forego ever feeling like this again in exchange of you being safe forever, you will always be his priority.

"Hmm..." you pecked his head. "Y'know, you remind me of someone that I like a lot"

His long ears fell flat on either side of his head as his heart stilled.

Like a lot...?

You... already have someone that you hold dear?

You seem to miss how his body grow stiff between your arms as you continued in drowning him in affection. What used to be a delightfull experience, now, it hurts him more than any wound he have ever sustained in his life, more than any burn from fire lizards or the cold, prickly bite of exhaustion of his tired body as he dragged himself through every and more corners of Hyrule.

Your hands played with the small tuff of fur on his head, but Legend's mind was far too gone to properly feel the touch. In its place, his heart dropped and shattered, somehow still beating as he felt the fastening Thumping in his stomach. How foolish and naive of him, to ever believe that he got an opportunity with you. Even the people that you two are travelling with can barely stand him, and they are supposed to be the same person.

Is he really that despicable?

"It's actually funny."

Funny how stupid he is, isn't he?

"He came back a few nights ago, very upset."

Well, that guy clearly doesn't now a thing about suffering. He isn't the one getting his heart demolish while in the arms of the love of his life like him.

You pinched the tip of his left ear and softly lifted it up. "He came back with his hair the same shade of pink that you have! In my opinion" you lean down a Little, as if you were about to share a secret "He looks very cute like that. A shame He will never let me say that to his face..."

Pink? Like the rose tinted glasses he have been wearing all this time-- Uh? Hair?

Are you... Please, don't give him hope like that. He can't take another loss in his life, because if you don't mean it, he would be devastated for good.

He felt your body shifting a little before you let go of him to instead hook your hands under his armpits, slowly lifting him up then turning around his body so now the two of you can be face to face. His tiny nose twitched as you leaned in a poked the tip of your own nose to his pink one, rubbing a little before you leaned back again. Legend layed his pawns on top of your chest, eagerly following your movements when he saw you opening your mouth to continue, he didn't want to miss anything that you are about to say:

"He is a big dork, with an even bigger ego. Very handsome too and... Ugh, Legend, why you have to be such a cactus all the time?" You finished with a tinge of frustration in your voice.

In a normal scenario, he would have argued about that last statement, but he couldn't because of two good reasons: one, he is still in his dark world form, it would be very weird if this bunny you found in the Forrest acted as if it was personally insulted by your words. And second...

You actually like him.

Him, With all of his flaws and bad attitude, you still found and assigned a space in your heart for only him, Legend.

Just as how down he got, his spirit raised up again with vigor, his heart soared from the dark pit of grief that held it a couple of minutes ago taking its rightful place at the peak of the shrine dedicated to your whole being. He didn't even noticed that his skin was ice cold until a burst of heat shot from his feet to the tip of his ears that acted as a catalyst as he threw himself towards your chest, his body felt light as a feathe, he tried his best to fight off the desire to laugh or shout out this waves of overwhelming energies.

Oh, how your chuckles were like the tunes from the most rich instrument in the entire universe being played by the goddesses themselves, more revitalizing than any potion or fairy pond.

"Do you think I should say something, buddy?" You returned his hug.

Legend furiously nodded his head, not think if it will appear weird that he could understand you. You squeezed the tiny bunny between your arms before putting him at arms length:

"Thank you, buddy. Somehow, now I have the confidence to talk to that prickly bitch--"

"--A PRICKLY WHAT???"

...Uh oh.

Even the common noises of the Forrest fell silent at his outburst.

Legend didn't had a second to try and amend his mistake as, suddenly, his vision was thrown into a spiral; everything looked blurry and the wind on his fur was a clear indicator of how hard you launched him away from you. He felt slightly proud at you quick reaction time but...

...No amount of fur can soften the crash on the hard forrest floor, just his luck that he didn't fell on the conveniently batch of dry leaves right beside him. It hurt, not as how bad his heart was hurting, but painful nonetheless.

He just really hopes you won't tell the group about the weird, pink bunny that can talk, or else he won't ever heard the end of it from Sky and Twilight.

-----------

AND IT'S DONE CKSKFJEJCUC IT TOOK ME A LOT OF TIME JUST TO SAY "Legend tried to pull a Twilight and got yeeted out of existence"

I think that Legend has self esteem problems! With what happened in A Link to the past, it's hard to overcome a whole nation hating your guts when you only wanted to help.

You really just said "If no one will provide me with Legend simpage, I'll do it myself"

I'm grinning so much right now. I ended up biting my lip a bit harder than I intended to because I almost screamed at the end when he finally spoke up.

The whole time I was like "But Legend can speak? Why is that not- Oh that's why."

Also, describing how Legend tries to peacock as he stretches to catch the Reader's attention *chef's kiss*.

[bokutoslittlebird]

The Perfect Family

Alpha!Bokuto x Beta!reader x Beta!Akaashi

Author’s Note : If you’ve read the little drabbles and asks with the fluffy BokuAka family, then you’re in for a surprise. Those were not canon to the actual works I created, it was just something nice to write and think about. This will not start off fluffy at all. This will also include the pregnancy process, so be warned of that ; This is a sequel to my Kinktober piece, Threesome with Bokuto and Akaashi ; I’m so sorry it took for fucking ever

Warnings: Omegaverse, noncon/dubcon (explicit use of the word r*pe), gun play, choking, water torture (attempted drowning), gaslighting, manipulation, watersports (briefly, kind of), mindbreak, dumbification, pregnancy, creampie(s), asphyxiation, lactation, knotting, breeding (technically), degradation

Kōtarō’s rut had finally ended, pumping you full and fucking you into a stupor, all while Keiji made sure to have him give you a break. It was the week for you and Kōtarō to catch up, after all. You were bonded to Kōtarō and Keiji now, you were their mate, so you had to be taken care of. With the stinging pain on your shoulder from Kōtarō’s mark, you were only missing the legal document to bind you to Keiji the normal, Beta way. Keiji was currently thinking about which ring to get you, since Kōtarō had already decided on his “proposal” gift. Keiji figured you’d need time to adjust, however, as he was laying on the couch with Kōtarō’s arms wrapped around him, you missing. There was a cute show that they were watching, Keiji was sure you’d like it. You weren’t allowed out of the bedroom yet, so he would have to show it to you another time.

Once Kōtarō had been satisfied and Keiji had recovered, both got to work on making your stay permanent. You attempted to leave, but Keiji was quick to cuff you. Kōtarō held you down, forcing you to struggle until there was nothing left to do except lay there. Kōtarō had to go back to Osaka soon, so he was trying to enjoy his last few days in Tokyo.

“That was a fun show. Cute, too,” his yawning interrupted his sentence, cutting it short. Keiji nodded in response, snuggling closer to Kōtarō. The Alpha was warm and comfortable, it gave him a sense of home. “I gotta go back tomorrow, Akaashi,”

“I know, Bokuto-san,” Keiji sighs, knowing he’d have to work on their new pet by themselves. It was going to be a struggle. At the beginning of the week, you were so pliant and easily coerced into things. Now, you wouldn’t look or talk to them. Kōtarō threw a fit yesterday, screaming and crying because you weren’t the same person, you were much more distant. It’s the same when it comes to Keiji, however. You only looked at him with betrayal and sadness, even then only looking at him briefly. You exhausted yourself, but you were fighting them. Distancing yourself and giving them the silent treatment. It made Kōtarō not want to leave, you being so upset at him, but he didn’t have a choice.

Kōtarō needed to find a new place for everyone to live, of course. With the high probability of you becoming pregnant, you couldn’t be living in Tokyo, hours away from your alpha. Knowing you would be carrying his pups without him around had Kōtarō growling, Keiji gently patting his arm. Kōtarō calmed down at that, indulging in the calming scent of Keiji. Keiji has already been bonded to him, so it wouldn’t be as stressful if he wasn’t bonded — you were both his mates and therefore, you could be trusted in Keiji’s care. It was still hard to go. He didn’t want to leave with the state you were in.

“What place were you thinking about?” Keiji mused, running his finger in a pattern on Kōtarō’s arm. Just something to do as he mentally planned for the upcoming weeks. The type of house would determine how long those weeks would be.

“Some place big, but close by the gym and practice gym. Maybe traditional? I’ve always wanted to live in a traditional, zen kind of house,” Kōtarō’s eyes lit up as he talked, images and scenes of a large house full of his lovers and his children, playing volleyball in the yard. Keiji smiles at that, knowing it would be at least a month. Enough time to have you positively pregnant and to get you settled into your new role. It’d take effort, of course it would, but he could do it.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Bokuto-san,”

“Ya know, we really gotta get used to calling each other by our given names. You’re gonna be a Bokuto, aren’t’cha?”

“Well, of course I am. Just like [Y/N]. We’ll be the Bokuto family,” he sighs, closing his eyes as the name settles in his mind. The Bokuto family has a nice ring to it, he thinks.

Kōtarō spends his last night cuddling you to sleep. You want no part of it, lying stiff as a board as he presses kisses to your neck and rubs his hand over your stomach. It’s a sickening thought, the possibility of getting pregnant. If you really had been ovulating during the rut, you most likely were pregnant. It’s not like you’d know or not, you barely leave the bed to urinate. It’s disgusting to have to deal with, but even when you do get the bathe and do your business, Keiji is right next to you, ready to intervene if necessary. Although Kōtarō is often in there with you, lathering up your body as his touches become less innocent, Keiji’s stone-cold gaze forces you to not attempt anything silly.

When the morning comes, Kōtarō is desperate to keep something of yours until he can see you again. In order to keep him happy, you acquiesce to his demands and let him take your used clothes, yet to be washed. As if the lingering scent of the morning sex isn’t still clinging to his skin. You can’t smell it, nor Keiji, but you know it’s there as you watch him dress himself, tucking himself away as he rambles on about his plans for the future. Three kids for him, two for Keiji, a nice big house, just the ideal lifestyle for anyone. It’ll never happen, though. His delusions will soon shatter when you stay distant and refuse to love him or Keiji.

Keiji waves goodbye to you, saying he’ll come back when he’s done with work. He plans on taking Kōtarō to the train station and then going to work, so you’ll be stuck for the next few hours. Until dinner time, that is. After an hour, you hear a ping from your phone and reach over to look at it. You can still use your phone, of course, but any possibility of calling for help is useless. In this society, nobody would help you. Not only that, your phone is bugged and linked to Keiji’s. He knows when you unlock your phone, what you do at what time, and how long you’re on it. You’re almost positive he can shut it off if he wants to.

The noise is a message from Kōtarō, telling you he misses you already. A roll of the eyes as you lock it, setting it beside you again. You’re able to barely reach the table beside the bed, but none of the drawers. One hand is secured to the headboard, wooden and strong enough to withstand Kōtarō’s ruthless rut. You feel restless as the day has only begun, the next time you will be able to move out of the bed, if at all, will be when Keiji comes home.

The doorknob to the apartment jiggles, making you jump. Keiji should’ve gone to work, so the sudden noise was unexpected. When it finally turns, you expect to see the familiar hair of your former friend, the tousled raven hair and the broad build. Although the man has the proper stature, the hoodie covering his head and the cheap-looking mask covering his face prevent you from properly identifying him. You can’t tell if he’s smirking or not, the intense feeling that he’s giving off tells you he is. With your hand secured to the bed, you really don’t have much in the way of options. The phone is still an option, but you doubt you could get to it in time.

The man lunges towards you, spurring you to attempt to grab the phone. Your fingers brush the metal device before your arm is forcefully gripped and twisted. You scream as your body twists, attempting to lessen the pain. It’s useless, but you still try. When your mouth opens, he quickly shoves something round and hard in it, your tongue pressed against the barrel of the gun.

“Don’t move a muscle,” his voice was low and hoarse, as if he was adjusting it to hide his identity. It was still unfamiliar to you, your brain unable to register what was going on. The man easily overpowers you, using his weight to keep you pinned to the bed. Fear prickles your skin, the chill setting in deep into your bones despite the lingering warmth of the fading Summer heat. It’s a horrible feeling, frozen in fear as your mind races, unable to do anything except stay still. It’s horrible, the fact you listen to the stranger’s demands despite wishing you were dead and out of Kōtarō and Keiji’s grasps. The gun is removed from your mouth, but the knowledge of it being in his possession is enough to keep you compliant, barely acknowledging the man’s hands moving to slip under the dress you were kindly given.

To keep yourself ready and easily accessible to both Keiji and Kōtarō until they had to part, it was best to slip you into a plain and simple white sundress. It was a present from Kōtarō, a small way of saying you were his now. With the lack of panties or other undergarment, you were essentially naked to the intruder as he sat on his heels, dark eyes scanning over your form. You were shaking from the fear, the unknown, but you weren’t attempting to move or thrash about. It was so easy to take advantage of you, you already nice and wet for him, too. The slick buildup from the morning session with Kōtarō lingers, as well as the creamy substance of his seed fucked into you. Unless the intruder was an Alpha, he couldn’t do much damage, but the thought of leaving you alone without a touch, a taste, was too unbearable.

It didn’t take long for the feeling of something hard and thick to push against your folds, collecting slick and teasing, your sensitivity making you whimper at the touch. It was a sudden plunge, forcing himself deep into your cunt as he groaned, your walls clenching around him. You thought the groan sounded familiar, but there was no more time to think on it when he put his hand on your throat, effectively shutting off proper access to your lungs. Your walls tighten again around him, him finding it hard to retract his hips but thrusting back in. His pace isn’t too fast, but his thrusts are brutal as he continues to drive his cock into your sensitive and abused pussy. He’s not an Alpha, you can tell by the lack of an inflating knot, but it still remains that you’re being violated by an unknown man. The whimpers coming from your throat are all you can release, barely sucking in air to stay conscious. When your vision starts to fade, the man and the walls of the room slowly blurring together, you start to panic.

The gun is still beside you, but it’s not your concern. The bullet in the chamber can’t threaten you unless the barrel’s against your head, but the hand currently cutting off oxygen is threatening your life. Attempting to dig your nails into the fabric of the hoodie is useless, his work gloves keeping his hands from getting any marks, either. Your lungs burn from lack of air and your vision slowly fades to black, a heat and chill settling over your body at the same time as you continue to feel his body pinning you down. The brutal fucking is the only sensation you still have, the stinging of your skin as he snaps his hips to meet yours and the squelching sounds from your sloppy pussy, cum and slick spurting and coating his cock as he chases his own high. You don’t know if he finished inside, your sensations dying out as you slip into unconsciousness.

When you wake up, your lungs ache and your face feels wet. When you flutter your eyes open, you’re faced with the creamy beige walls of Keiji’s bedroom, the lamp and phone on the bedside table. A presence is beside you, a large hand gently brushing your hair. Your eyes widen as you jolt, Keiji gently shushing you as he holds you. It’s comforting, someone familiar beside you after the experience you just had. You don’t know what happened after everything went black, but the smell of Keiji’s morning coffee and his cologne calm you down, tears spilling out as your fists bunch up the fabric of his shirt.

“I had a bad feeling, so I immediately came back home. I didn’t expect you to be completely unconscious, what did you do?” He asked, oblivious to what had really transpired. It was painful to recall, the fear from before rising again as you remember the man’s stature, looming over you as he pinned you to the bed. Another fit of tears come, the droplets soaking the white of Keiji’s shirt. “Darling, you need to tell me what’s wrong. What-“

“A stranger,” a hiccup interrupted you, red and tired eyes looking to his face. He looks confused, so you need to press on. “He broke in. Violated me. He— he ra-“

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. If I had known something so horrible would happen, I wouldn’t have left you all alone. You could’ve come with me, but you’ve been so naughty, you know,” his voice is gentle, but there’s a certain chill in his voice that has your fear spiking. His hands are warm, caressing your back as he speaks. “But, you know, you cheated on Bokuto-san and I. I have to punish you,”

“I— I didn’t do it on purpose!” Why were you defending yourself? Your mind had to momentarily adjust itself, the feeling of helplessness from earlier now back. Once the cuff had released the headboard, it was nothing for Keiji to force you into the bathroom. No amount of strength you had could compare to him, nor height. He wasn’t afraid to hurt you either, almost smashing your fingers in the door frame because you wouldn’t let go. “Akaashi, stop!!”

“Akaashi? Now, we can’t have that. You should address me properly, dear,” he grips your face, smushing your cheeks together as you find yourself practically flung into the tub. It’s already full of hot water, almost scalding, as he holds your head under. Struggling once more, it’s futile. His strength far surpasses yours, stature looming over you. Under the water, his image is distorted, but the way he looks down at you feels familiar. Before that thought can continue, you feel your lungs burning as you thrash again, thoughts only focused on surviving. When your head is pulled up, you gulp air as you cough, water sputtering as you do. “You need to be punished.”

“Let me go, I didn’t do anythi-“ your head is once more under the water, nails digging into the flesh of Keiji’s arms as he holds you still. You didn’t get a good gulp of air, so you’re quickly back at the previous feeling of helplessness as your lungs burn, vision blurring. Before everything goes black, you’re once more pulled from the water. Your face is hot, either from lack of air or the heat of the bathroom and water, you’re not too sure. But Keiji is sure of one thing and that’s the way you’re clinging to him. You were digging your nails into him, squirming and attempting to leave, but now your nails were digging into his as your grip tightened around his forearm. You were clinging to him, unconsciously seeing him as your savior, as he was the one who controlled your ability to breathe, therefore your life. He could drown you if he wanted to, but Kōtarō wouldn’t like that. No, he just needed you to depend on him, change your stance on how you saw your lovers.

Keiji also couldn’t help how delicious you looked, drenched as steam rose from the water, your white dress floating around you as if you were an ethereal being. You looked angelic and untainted... an urge to corrupt you washed over him, compelling his body into the steaming water. It was a tight fit, but he managed. With his sweatpants on, it was easy for him to simply push down the waistband and pull out his cock. “Now I have to cover up that man’s scent, or do you want everyone to know you’re a whore?”

“Akaashi, enough, this isn’t any diff-“

“Are you saying I’m a rapist? That’s what you’re implying, right? If you really think that, then I’ll be that. I would never purposefully hurt you,” his words contradict his actions, his hard cock pressing into your walls as he speaks. Sensitivity still lingers, your legs twitching as he sinks down to the hilt. “You’re saying I’m the bad guy, aren’t you? Well, how about I be the bad guy? Let’s recreate the scenario,”

“Akaashi, please, stop!” You cry out, weak limbs attempting to push him off. Hot, fat tears stream down your cheeks as Keiji licks them away, kissing their trails as you continue to sob at the feeling. It was a horrible feeling, being helpless, but a part of you knew you were safe. Keiji wouldn’t let you die, the only thing that prevented you from putting more effort in. Even with the splashing water, he kept one hand on the back of your head to prevent you from going under. Keiji’s pace is always the same — slow strokes, but deep and meaningful as he rocks his hips into yours and makes sure to roll his hips. It’s a completely opposite of Kōtarō’s, brutal and relentless, but Kōtarō fils you out more. Keiji has to make sure you feel every ridge, every vein, every pulse from his cock and have it completely engraved into your mind.

When Keiji gets close, he holds you closer to him, kissing your neck as your hands grasp at the tub’s edges, mind reeling from the force of your orgasms. Your nerves are on fire, your walls constantly clamping around Keiji’s cock like a vice, all while he rides out his own high. He presses a sweet kiss to the mark on your neck, where it meets your shoulder, right where he sports a matching mark on his own skin. It’s Kōtarō’s bond, what links him to the two of you forever. With a final thrust, Keiji spills deep inside you as he kisses you deeply, forcing you to swallow his moan of pleasure as he swallows your mewls. You’re still tight around him, walls fluttering pathetically around his girth as he relishes in the way you feel, keeping his seed locked inside you.

When he breaks the kiss, you’re both panting heavily, chests heaving for different reasons. “There. Now he’s gone,” a gentle kiss on your temple. With those words, a silence settles over the room. Although the stranger may be gone, in his place stands Akaashi Keiji.

The next day, Keiji is home.

“Just a precaution, dear,” he had said. “So nothing else bad will happen to you when I’m not here. You wouldn’t want that, would you?” With those words, he convinced you of his intentions. The previous day’s events had you rattled, the fear of being alone subconsciously rooted into your mind. A small whimper of Keiji’s name, his given name, had him smiling and cooing at you, taking you anywhere in the apartment you wanted to go. It was nice to finally leave the bedroom and bathroom sections, seeing the front room and kitchen, able to hear and see people outside the windows. You dare not let your eyes linger too long on the windows, covered completely with only shadows passing by, nor on the door. The door which had a recently newly installed lock, to take extra precautions. A passing thought of how it seemed to be so quickly enforced comes by, leaving as you become hyper aware of the blank gaze Keiji gives you. It’s not blank, per se. It looks blank to many bystanders, but to you, you know he’s focusing. He’s watching you and analyzing what you do. It’s a test.

A test you seem to have passed, when he calls you back for a bath. He doesn’t guide you there, no threats, just a simple “Come along,” as he walks towards the same bathroom he almost drowned and violated you in. The fear and anxiety of going back has your flight or fight response kicking in, the seemingly easy option of flinging the door open and leaving has your legs moving. But Keiji is quicker, stronger, and smarter than you. Before your fingertips can even graze the lock, your face is slammed into the floor.

“You were doing so well, too,” his feet are planted on either side of you, one moving to plant itself on your back. With a bit of force, you’re screaming as he has his heel pushing into your spine. “You deserve to be punished.”

“Fuck you, Akaashi!” You spit, squirming and wriggling to get him off. When his foot moves, you attempt to get up, but soon he drops down and fists your hair in one hand, the other pushing your cheeks together.

“I should wash that dirty mouth of yours,” he growls, shoving your face against the floor. By shoving, he essentially drops you into the floor. With a burning sensation in your nose, you feel a vaguely familiar liquid trickling out, a small red dot beneath you. He does it once more, making sure to keep his hand on your head to prevent you from getting up. “I trusted you to listen to me, [Y/N],”

“I’ll never listen to you,” you declare, hands balling into fists beside you. “I’ll never forgive you and Bokuto for what you did. I’ll never forgive or forget how you raped me, either!”

“I did no such thing. You enjoyed it, whore. You clamped around me like a vice last night, just as you probably did the stranger that violated you. Can it be consider violation if you were wet? What about when you started to enjoy it?”

“How would you know that, unless-“

“I know how much of a slut you can be, sleeping around with Alphas in high school and other Betas. You probably got off on being raped,” He sneers, putting more force in his hand, making it uncomfortable as your cheek is smushed against the floor.

“Fuck you,”

“I’ll take that as a yes. As a punishment, you won’t be leaving that bedroom for some time,” he finally lets you free, a large breath of air inhaled as you realize he was putting his weight on your lungs. “Come here,”

Wrenched from the ground, you find yourself dragged, kicking and screaming, back into the bedroom where Keiji cuffs you to the headboard. He’s huffing, but he manages to get both wrists cuffed to the headboard. Back to square one, with you refusing to acknowledge him while he tries to talk. Well, he does talk, you’re forced to listen.

When dinner time comes around, you expect some plain chicken broth or maybe even water, but instead you’re given nothing. Keiji doesn’t come in the room at all. The water running let’s you know he’s washing dishes, but where’s your meal? When his humming enters the room, you know he’s coming down. When he opens the door, in his hand lays a plate with bread crust and crumbs, along with some pocky sticks. Just two, however. Barely considered a meal. “Dinner!”

“You’re kidding me,”

“Dear, you know I don’t joke around easily. You were naughty this afternoon, so you’re going to eat my leftovers. Bread crust and some stale pocky sticks is the only thing on your menu,”

“I’ll starve instead,” a glare sent his way does frazzle him one bit, instead almost makes him... chippier. As if you’re falling for his well hidden trap. A nod and he’s gone, your only source of food with him. He won’t enter to room again until nighttime, so you’re left to wallow in your own solitude, something you used to take for granted.

When Keiji does finally come into the room, you’re excited to see him before remembering you don’t like him. Instead of taking the key and releasing your restraints to sleep, he grabs his pillow, his blanket, and his phone charger. “Where are you going?”

“Well, since you obviously hate me, I thought it’d be best that I leave you alone. After all, that is what you wanted, yes?” A small smirk is on his face as your eyes widen, thoughts running through your head as he takes his leave. Without a bid goodnight, Keiji leaves you alone in the room. With no possible entertainment except your mind, you feel uneasy. Unsteady. The world is suddenly dropping you off in an empty room with nothing and you can’t think of anything to keep yourself entertained. The television set buzzes to life outside, while the popping of popcorn fills your ears along with the melted butter smell. An urge to move flits around, but you decide it is best to not.

The next day, it’s a similar situation. Within three days of Kōtarō’s leave, you’ve found yourself craving his company more than ever. Keiji is ruthless and merciless, entering the bedroom for clothes and then leaving for work. He doesn’t talk to you, he doesn’t look at you, he barely enters the room anymore. You feel your stomach grumble at the thought of food, your mouth dry from the lack of fluids in your system. A pathetic way to die, one would think. With the lack of nutrition, your body will eventually decay or fall into an unstable state. Keiji isn’t a dunce, he knows this — at least, he should. Why then, you wonder, is he allowing this? Not only are you completely attached to the bed, but you haven’t been able to get up at all, even for bathroom use. The urine has stained the sheets, turning the pristine white cotton into a grimy yellow color, the ammonia stench covering the entire bedroom. You felt like a helpless child, in dire need of your parents to come home.

In a way, that’s what it was. You were helpless and needed someone else’s help. You need Keiji’s help. You can only go so long before you end up breaking, and you’ve reached a limit. The disgusting liquid under you was the final thread, the squelching and squeezing every time your hips move to a different area to attempt to leave the spot resulting in a failed attempt. The white dress was soaked, first from the bathroom incident and now it was dyed yellow due to your own fluids. Kōtarō wouldn’t be happy with those results.

When Keiji finally comes home, you hear him. You hear the door close and a sigh. Waiting for him to enter the room is quickly disregarded as you call for him. With no hesitation, he arrives at the room, looking at you. “You called, darling?”

“Keiji, please. I’m sorry I was bad. I need you, please don’t leave me,” you cry out, pulling on the cuffs. Shushing you, he quickly attends to your wrists, red and raw from the tugging, pulling, and twisting you’ve done over the past day. Once one hand is free from the restraint, he’s happy to feel it grabbing his shoulder, a silent beg to not leave. “Kei-“

“I know, I know. I won’t hurt you,” his words calm you down, sobs turning into hiccups as he guides you off the bed. Your legs are weak, unstable from lack of use, so he bridal carries you into the bathroom, not caring about the urine. After setting you on the toilet, he strips you of your dress and starts the bath. Trusting you to not move, he leaves. Another test, to see if you’ve really shaped up after the last attempt.

Keiji stands in the bedroom, pulling the sheets off the bed and removing the pad. He puts them aside, but waits. No movement from the bathroom, not even the toilet seat squeaking or the shutting off of the water. Continuing to put the sheets and dress away, he picks out a set of panties — new and clean, a treat for being good — to go with the pastel pink sundress. It looks exactly like the other one, except the color. After getting a towel and a change of clothes himself, he leaves.

You’re still sitting on the toilet, looking at him as he enters. Perking up, you push into the hand the caresses your head, brushing the tangled hair. He stops the water, guiding you into the tub. Once you’re settled, he strips down and joins you.

“You’re not going to hurt me?” You ask, voice dull.

“Of course not. When have I ever done that?”

The next day is such an improvement, Keiji can’t help but let Kōtarō know how well you’ve adjusted. You’re compliant out of fear rather than love, but Kōtarō doesn’t know that. He’s so excited to see a picture of you cooking in the kitchen, he probably wouldn’t care. The picture doesn’t capture the longing look at the knives, the fleeting glances at the door, the rigidness of your body as Keiji wraps his arms around you. It’s small gestures, but you never move to accomplish the action. Your finger might twitch, a gulp as you see the unlocked door, but you continue on. You make the noodles, you bring the tray to Keiji, you sit in his lap and allow the arms to secure your place. The food is something you’re ever thankful for, the lack of food spurring your resilience into breaking. With a gentle blow, Keiji feeds you the ramen you dutifully prepared for the both of you all day.

You never looked at the door again. You never looked at the knives unless you were cutting something. Even with Keiji breathing down your neck, eyes focused on your hands, you didn’t twitch or move to hurt him. You went to the bathroom and didn’t complain when he joined you. Even when he had to do his little daily checkup, you didn’t complain. The first time, you mentioned it tickled and questioned what he was doing, sticking his nose between your legs as he pried them open. He just smiled and said he needed to know if you were healthy, to which your questions easily stopped. Although he occasionally swept his tongue over your still wet folds, you never told him to go away and leave you alone. Even when he went further and had put you on the bathroom’s countertop before diving between your legs once more, your fingers thread themselves through his hair as you moaned.

When the news of Kōtarō coming back reached your ears, you didn’t know how to feel. Keiji was the one to help you, give you comfort, so you didn’t feel too excited to see Kōtarō. Keiji knew this would cause problems, as Kōtarō was expecting you to be as loving to him as you were to Keiji. After an explanation of the situation, you promised to perform appropriately for Kōtarō. With a whispered threat of locking you up again, you easily complied with everything you were asked to do. When Kōtarō came through the door, he was easily able to catch you as you jumped on him. “Welcome back!”

“Aw, [Y/N]! I’m glad to be back!” He nuzzled into your neck, indulging in your scent. You could easily pretend to be in love with Kōtarō, but your scent would tell him if you were feeling off. With his superior senses, you had to be forced into a mindset where you did love Kōtarō. Threats and memories of the past had could nodding along, situating yourself into his life easily. “I missed you, a lot,”

“Well, we won’t have to be gone for so long again, right?” You ask, a pout forming. “Or are you going to leave me?”

“Oh, no! You’re gonna live with me,” he grins, a closed eye smile. Your eyes widen as the information is processing, Keiji coming from the kitchen.

“It was a surprise for you. We’ll be moving to Osaka to be close to Bokuto-san,” he’s drying a knife, one he recently finished washing, but it’s also a silent threat. Kōtarō didn’t see the horrified look on your face, but he sure did.

“O-Oh. Okay! I can’t wait, when are we.. when do we move?” Twiddling your fingers, Kōtarō wraps his arms around you once more, effectively picking you up. No hesitating, your legs wrap around his waist as he looks up at your face, love flooding his eyes.

“You’ll move in with me tomorrow. Once Akaashi’s boxed everything up, he’ll join us. Our room is all set up, and there’s lots of rooms for kids. Speaking of-!”

“Another time, Bokuto-san,” Keiji harshly whispered, Kōtarō’s eyes widening before smiling, nodding. You didn’t know what that was, but you then focused on Kōtarō moving to the couch.

“Let’s eat, I’m starving! Maybe I can have something special for dessert, if you know what I mean,” with an added eyebrow wiggle, you shyly smile and nod. It’s what Keiji told you would please Kōtarō. It’s what Keiji told you that you need to do.

The dinner itself is fine, but when you ask to use the restroom, Kōtarō points out the red splotches on your white dress. Panicking, you attempt to locate the spot as your face heats up in embarrassment. Keiji then points out the bit of blood on Kōtarō’s pants, making you think your cycle has started. At that mention, Kōtarō’s growling in anger as you seize up in fear, unsure of what to do. Keiji tells you to change while he deals with Kōtarō, you immediately obeying and going to the bedroom.

“I thought ovulating meant she would get pregnant. Why isn’t she pregnant? Were you wrong?” Kōtarō asks, still angry. He knows he scared you, your lingering scent of fear in the room and around him. He thought he could smell another scent on you, but he didn’t know what it could be.

“Bokuto-san, I know this is frustrating but it’s possible she didn’t get pregnant. However, spotting is a sign of pregnancy. It was only a few drops. If she has anymore blood leakage that gets heavy tonight, we’ll know,” Keiji is able to calm down Kōtarō, who rolls his shoulders back and lies against the back of the couch. “Do you want to change your jeans?”

“Nah, it’s barely noticeable. Plus,” a thumb runs over the denim, Kōtarō licking his lips as his eyes darken, “this is like she’s claiming me, right?”

Kōtarō does not force himself on you that evening. Instead, he just cuddles you that night. It’s a differing touch than Keiji’s, who ends up rolling to the other side of the bed in the night. Kōtarō holds you close and tightly all night, snuggling closer to you, as if it was possible, and nudging his nose in your neck. It’s sweet, you think, as he caresses you like you’re made of glass.

The next morning, Kōtarō has you properly dressed to leave with him. A set of panties, sweatpants, t-shirt, and a hoodie. It’s a casual set of clothes, but they are all you came to Keiji’s house in a week and a half ago. Kōtarō says he’ll get you better clothes once you’re settled in, but you feel uneasy as you bid goodbye to Keiji. He worries about your mental state once you’re alone with Kōtarō, but he just has to hope you’re able to seem stable enough for a day.

In Osaka, you feel like your life is beginning anew. It’s not much different from Tokyo, but as Kōtarō guides you through the streets, it becomes known that Osaka has a lot more greenery. It’s very beautiful, in your opinion. When he stops in front of an old house, you glance at him. “Our new home, sweetheart!” He cheers, kissing your cheek as he picks you up. Carrying you inside the house, you notice the security. The gate is only opened via pin entry, which the gate itself is roughly 2 meters tall. Even the door to the house requires thumbprint access, a very modern and technological touch in an older, traditional house.

He shows you to your room, which is also his room, but yours too. It has its modern touch, with the remaining aspect of futons to lay on. The cameras in the hallway also are in your view, the one in the bedroom and the hallway. Looking into each room, you notice they are containing cameras, but one room is different. “What’s this?”

“Oh? This is our nursery! So, when you have a baby, it’ll be in here,” he chirps, pointing out things in the room. Scanning the room, you notice the lack of camera secured.

“Where’s the camera?”

“What— what camera?” Rubbing the back of his neck, he fakes confusion. You see right through it.

“I noticed the other cameras. There’s not one here,”

“Oh, well, that’s because this room has baby monitors!” He gestures to the white device. A nod of understanding has the tour moving on. Showing you to the kitchen, you notice the pantry and fridge are stocked. “Would you make me dinner?”

“Of course. What do you want?”

“You, served hot and steaming in the bath,” he grins. Eyes widen as you realize what he wants, you sheepishly laughing as you acquiesce.

Kōtarō is much rougher than Keiji, you knew that, but the way he fucks you with fervor as he hasn’t seen you in almost five days is something akin to his rut. Sinking his teeth into your skin, remarking his territory as he spurs you into your first orgasm of the night. Your nails are digging into his broad shoulders, the only thing you can use to keep yourself grounded. The setting wasn’t in the bathroom, but rather the bedroom where he claimed he wanted to “seal the deal” of you coming home. Legs tighten around his waist, back arching as he continues to drive his cock into you and litter your neck with less painful marks, claiming already claimed territory. As he presses a wet, sloppy kiss against your lips, you scream as you tighten your walls, feeling his knot force its way inside you.

A warm hand rubs the side of your body as your walls convulse around him, squeezing as he pumps you full of his cum. It’s a memory to you, but it feels so warm and fulfilling, you immediately relax in his hold as he continues to pepper kisses along your body. It’s a comforting feeling, being praised and cared for, a drastic difference from the way Keiji treated you a few days ago. Well, how you think he treated you a few days ago. He said he never did it, but your body said differently. With Kōtarō’s eyes of love looking down on you, you didn’t think it mattered. That was in the past, this was the present. You felt comfortable here, that was what mattered.

When Keiji arrived with a bunch of boxes, you were told to make them lunch so they could eat when they were done. Kōtarō said he didn’t want you straining yourself after last night, so you agree to his demands. Deciding to make some udon for lunch, you get to work as they lug in the boxes. The boxes aren’t large nor heavy, but watching Kōtarō easily lift three of them with no effort, while Keiji brings in two at most with also no effort, you feel yourself get wet at the thought of them hot and sweaty afterwards. With a possible treat in mind, you work more diligently, mentally preparing yourself to ask them.

Keiji mentioned he’d be looking for another job while Kōtarō was at the gym. It would be the first time you would be alone and free to roam. You begged Keiji to not leave for too long, hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt as he pried your hands off. Kōtarō gave you a sweet kiss before he left, telling you he’d try to hurry back, but you knew Keiji would get back first. Sitting in the large house, you didn’t know what to do except cook and sleep. Your phone screen lit up with a message from Kōtarō, a picture of him blowing you a kiss with a message of ‘I miss you!’ under it. You smile at that, sending back a message that you miss him, too.

Before you lock your phone, you look at the many games you have on it. There’s one game you don’t remember being on it, it looks like a tracker app. Clicking on it, it welcomes you and it shows how far along you are in.. pregnancy? First reaction is to panic, how do you know if you’re pregnant? Going into the internet app, you search up symptoms of pregnancy. One that jumps out to you is the spotting, only a little bit of blood as the sperm fertilizes the egg. It is most likely what you did on Kōtarō’s lap, the day he came to Tokyo. Another surge of panic comes as you think of your lovers, your mates. With Keiji looking for a new job and Kōtarō being busy with being a professional athlete, they don’t have time to take care of you and a baby. You decide to not tell them.

Although you decide to not tell them, the next week is excuses of your recent symptoms. You find yourself more exhausted than usual, not even getting out of bed to bid goodbye to Kōtarō and Keiji. Not only that, you end up in the bathroom as you feel sick, but only half of the times does something come up. It’s when you have another episode of morning sickness does Keiji pop the question. “Should I get a pregnancy test?”

“N-No! I’m not pregnant, just some bad sushi!” When Keiji’s grip on your arm gets tighter, you whimper. “Keiji, stop hurting me,”

“I’m not hurting you, I just need you to tell me the tru-“ the door shutting cuts him off, his attention to the door of the bathroom where Kōtarō is, panting.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it? I could sense it,”

“I’m just a bit sick-“ “She’s pregnant-“ You both speak at the same time. Your eyes widen as Keiji looks at you.

“Pregnant? Now? Really?” Kōtarō is ecstatic, but you don’t take it that way.

“I’m not, I promise! I’m sorry!” You beg. Kōtarō’s mood turns sour, the anger directed towards you. Keiji stands back, but he doesn’t interfere.

“Why are you lying to me? If Keiji says you are, then you are! I know you’re lying!” He kneels on the ground and grabs your shoulders, digging his meaty fingers into the flesh. You yelp in pain, attempting to get him off. “Why are you doing this?! You were doing so well!”

“Stop, Kō-chan, stop! You’re hurting me!” A call out of his childhood nickname has his rage quelling, as you brush his hands off and rub the stinging skin. “I don’t want to be pregnant,”

“This isn’t about what you want. It’s about what we want, do you understand that?” Keiji speaks, voice low and threatening. You quickly nod your head, attempting to explain yourself.

“I- I thought that you wouldn’t want a baby because you’re both busy! I don’t- I don’t want to burden you more than I do,” with your words, the anger and rage suddenly evaporates as they understand.

“Burden us? Baby, we love you and do everything for you. You’re going to be carrying my pups and Keiji’s babies, we want this. This is all I ever hoped for,” Kōtarō coos, taking your hands and pressing a kiss to them. A fit of sobs escape as you wrap your arms around him, hiccuping into his chest. Keiji sits and smiles, knowing you have completely adjusted into the proper role.

With the news of your pregnancy, Kōtarō is able to get off a lot more to be there for you. You’re no omega, so it’s not as if he has to take off for 9 months, and Keiji is there to take care of you. Keiji takes care of any appointments you need to do, signing you into a private hospital nearby where Kōtarō’s teammate’s omega gave birth. A list of what was normal was given to you and Keiji and what would be a cause for concern, so you made sure to drill into your head about the possible problems. It was vital that you were able to give birth, being able to give Kōtarō and Keiji what they wanted all you needed to take care of yourself. Keiji prepared your meals, making sure you were eating properly even before the bump showed.

When the bump became prominent, you were glad that your wardrobe consisted of dresses. The dresses you had were all loose-fitting and easy to move around in. With the upcoming winter months, you had lots of blankets and an oversized jacket, bearing Kōtarō’s MSBY number and logo. Kōtarō couldn’t keep his hands off of you, always rubbing your bump and pinching the extra fat you were putting on. Worry over the added weight was a brief concept that quickly evaporated as Kōtarō voiced how much he loves the extra meat to fondle and love, tickling you as you giggle afterwards. Keiji couldn’t say he disagreed with Kōtarō, the added weight adding to your cuteness charm as you did the most basic and minuscule things. He could disagree with Kōtarō on the obsession with the pregnancy milk, however.

Lactation was painful, the way your boobs ached as they were full of creamy milk. Although they ache, Kōtarō encouraged you to let him drink from them. Hesitation was in the beginning, but once his lips had secured themselves on your nipple and started sucking, it was quite relaxing. The tender ache in your breasts were gone as Kōtarō drank from them, but he often had to drink from both of them due to Keiji’s aversion. He didn’t see the appeal, he rather enjoyed teasing your nipples when the sexual appetite of yours had risen, but he didn’t see the appeal in drinking the milk. Keiji did oblige Kōtarō, however, in looking into lactation cookies, which would increase milk production and could even make it taste better. It was worth a try, as it would help the children to develop as you breastfed them.

The lactation cookies Keiji made looked awful, but tasted amazing. You would have eaten all of them had it not been for Keiji stopping you. Kōtarō seemed excited, immediately begging for another go. He’d have to wait until nighttime, since he often took naps after you breastfed him during the day.

At night, you often slept completely naked, able to easily feed Kōtarō if he woke up in the middle of the night. Your sex drive had risen exponentially in your second trimester, to the point Kōtarō had to request off to take care of you. He made sure to keep his promise, stuffing you with his thick cock and plugging you up with his cum or lapping at your folds until your fluids splashed against his face. With the third trimester underway, your libido has decreased while your milk had increased, but that didn’t deter Kōtarō from getting frisky. Even as Keiji bathed away from you two, he couldn’t help but touch himself to your whines and mewls.

Kōtarō has been riding a cloud since your pregnancy came about. Even before the milk, he found it hard to resist fucking you, especially with the added sensitivity. Your breasts were larger now, bouncing with every thrusts as he tweaks the nipples, watching the cream dribble from them. He can’t help himself, really, as he goes to attach himself to one of your perky buds. When Keiji enters the room, he chuckles at the sight.

“Should we worry that there won’t be enough milk for you and the baby?” He muses, sitting on the futon next to you. Your hand grasps at his silk shirt, bringing him down to give you a kiss. Even as Kōtarō drills into you, you want more. A wet pop resounds around the room as Kōtarō laughs, groaning in your ear as he plugs you with his knot, pumping you full.

“The pup can have those bottles, and with help of those miracle cookies, we should be fine. You sure you don’t want to at least try a bit? It feels nice for her, doesn’t it, my little Beta?” He coos, pressing kisses to your cheeks as you come down from your high, walls fluttering around Kōtarō’s cock.

“It relieves some pain, I’ll admit that,” you smile at Keiji. “You can try,”

“Well, how can I say no to that?” He smiles back at you, brushing hair out of your face. Kōtarō massages your breast, holding it so Keiji can attach his lips to the nipple. His eyes focus on the creamy liquid dripping from the bud, only to become transparent as it follows gravity. When he does get a taste, he knows he’s in trouble. It’s as delicious as Kōtarō said, creamy and full that makes you want more. As he sucks with fervor, you giggle and Keiji is joined by his other lover, suckling any milk he left behind. It’s such a strange thing to happen, both grown men sucking on your chest as if they had been born only recently. With the swell of your stomach, you knew they’d have to share their milky mine.

As your due date drew near, you found yourself unable to do anything alone. Kōtarō was off completely until you delivered and Keiji was no longer looking for a job, as it was decided Kōtarō made enough for everyone to live comfortably. He knew he’d have to find another job soon, as more children were born and needed to be fed, but that was a well ways off, at least 9 more months.

What started as a normal day soon turned to chaos as preparations for delivery expedited when your water broke. The hospital had your room prepared already, but it was for your week stay as you were three days away from your date. Kōtarō was in a frenzy, unsure of what to do but desperate to do something. Keiji has to drive to the hospital, while you were doing breathing exercises with Kōtarō in the back seat. It was the birth of their first child, so even Keiji was panicking, but he was also excited.

Once settled into the room, the nurses had to check to see how far along you were dilated. Kōtarō was anxious, his scent permeating the room as he started to pace. The doctor had come in, spurring him into a fighting mentality because the doctor was another Alpha. Keiji and a nurse had to get him out of the room, with a promise he could see the children once they were born, but he would have to wait in the waiting room. Weakly calling out his name and telling him you were fine, he obliged as he left, punching the wall once as he felt his emotions boil over. Keiji was by your side, holding your hand as you squeeze it, pushing when the doctor told you to.

When the room was filled with screaming, the clock chiming as 12:15 had arrived, signaling the date of birth of your first born son. With his stubby arms and legs, you laughed as you held him, Keiji getting the honor of cutting the cord. The baby still needed to be cleaned and checked over, so the doctor and nurses took him while Keiji went to get Kōtarō. By the time Kōtarō and Keiji has come back, you were holding a small, but still big, baby boy swaddled in a thick blanket. Kōtarō immediately raced over to look over both of you, his scent out of control as his emotions mingled together. He didn’t know what to think.

“It looks like it’s yours, Kōtarō,” Keiji says, hand resting on Kōtarō’s shoulder. He smiles in response, looking at the baby’s golden eyes blinking open at him.

“Sure does, Keiji. I guess the next thing we should work on is proper marriage, right?” He watches as the baby grasps his finger, the small hand even smaller compared to his large one.

“A proper marriage, yes. The ring, the dress, the ceremony, you would like that, wouldn’t you dear?”

“Of course Keiji. Anything you want.” As you look up to him, he sees nothing but love in your eyes. He smiles, nodding in agreement.

“Well, as well as making sure the next one’s mine. We should start on that as soon as possible, don’t you think?”

[littlepadika]

hi angel 🥰 i’m just in the middle of rereading calling home !!!! i was just wondering, could you ever do a one shot of like sweet pea calming frankie during the middle of the night if he has like an anxiety attack or nightmare? i love the dynamic between those 2 and would love to see how sweet pea calms frankie 🥺

Hi bb sorry this took me a hot minute to get to. First off... i'm thrilled you are re reading my series! Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: PTSD, anxiety, comfort, fluff

AN: This is early in their relationship. Probably right after chapter 5. Therapy also referred to in this drabble

source: @uuuhshiny

You blinked up at the ceiling, sleep momentarily thinning. You heard low muttering beside you.

"Frankie?" You turned reaching over to his side of the bed. He was shaking and sweaty under your hand. "Frankie!" You sat up, this time going to the other side of the bed to flick on the bedside lamp. The dim yellow light revealed Frankie twitching and muttering incoherently. Sweat clung to his forehead. His mouth was pursed in between a frown and snarl. His jaw was clenched tight. His whole body was stiff as a board. He was deep in a nightmare. You heard him say something like "no no".

You had been over this scenario with Frankie. He advised you not to touch him when he was having nightmares in case he acted on instinct and accidentally hurt you. But now that it was real, you couldn't just watch him endure a nightmare like this.

"Hey... hey..." You stoked his arm with your fingers lightly. He jerked away from your touch with a grunt. When he turned his head you saw that there were tears in the corner of his eyes. "Oh, Frankie... Wake up please. Come on, baby. Please wake up." You just continued to slowly stroke his arm, his chest, eventually making your way up to his face. He seemed to be calming down.

Then he abruptly sat up, scooting away from you reflexively.

"Wha-What's..." He looked around the room and then trailed off when he saw you watching him, concern evident on your face. He wiped his wet eyes.

"Nightmare." You explained though you were sure he already knew.

"Did I hurt you?" He immediately asked, looking away in shame. His humiliation mixed toxically with his adrenaline and fear from the dream.

"No. You didn't hurt me." You answered quickly, pushing yourself up, but you resisted hugging him for fear he was still overstimulated. You offered your water bottle to him. "Do-do you want to talk about it?"

Frankie shook his head, looking down at his sweaty self. "It's the usual dream. The helicopter crash." He shuddered, trying to pull himself into the present and away from his distorted memory. He took a couple sips of water and then handed the bottle back to you. Mentally he did the exercises he had practiced. Name one thing you see: Sweet pea. Name one thing you hear: A passing car. Name one thing you feel: Soft sheets. Where are you? Home. Home. Home.

You waited patiently through all of this, giving Frankie space to speak when he was ready. He took a few deep ragged breaths, his fists clenched on the bed below you. Too scared to touch you yet. He worried that he may have scared you off. That now you would have seen that all of his demons were real.

"I'm sorry I woke you up, sweet pea." His gruff voice was dripping with guilt. You frowned, not in frustration at him but at the stigma that led him to feel so terrible about dreams he could not control.

"Frankie...you didn't bother me." You couldn't resist laying a hand over his bare stomach feeling him relax at your touch. "I'm glad I woke up. I want to comfort you."

He sniffed, new tears in his eyes. He was still looking away from you. You understood. It was such a vulnerable state for anyone, let alone someone who had endured as much rejection as Frankie had.

"Can I hold you? Is that okay?" You feel your own voice shake with emotion. Your power and your love was limited with him not in your arms. As much as you knew your voice could move mountains, you needed to console him with more than words.

"Yes. please." Frankie exhaled finally looking at you, his brown eyes misty and wanting. You wasted no time climbing over his legs and pulling his face into your neck. His arms linked around your back, holding you close.

His skin, that earlier vibrated like it was trying to break apart, settled under your touch. Solidifying enough so he could finally sense each part of his body. Hands, wrists, elbows, shoulders, and so on. He mentally listed each one as it related to you. Your hands on his head. Your chest on his chest. Your breath on his neck.

"I have you." You promised, knowing the words would help ground him. "I have you. I'm not going anywhere. Just be here with me."

"I'm so tired of this." He whispered into your warm embrace. "I just want to be better."

"I know." You sat back cupping his face in your hands, rubbing your thumb over that patch of grey in his beard.

"I was doing so well." He continued to beat himself up. He had been so pleased to have gone nearly a month without any nightmares or PTSD. He tried to think of something that could have triggered him but yesterday was a normal Thursday. He didn't drink. He didn't have a stressful customer at work. He had sex. He showered. Sometimes there was no trigger and that was the most unsettling type of episode.

Frankie ducked his head, resting his forehead in between your breasts. He wished he could crawl inside you and away from his thoughts. His PTSD made him nauseous and too hyper to sleep. He was both hyper-focused and dazed at the same time. Every nightmare always felt like an omen that things were going to get bad again. He was going to start craving and then eventually relapse.

You rubbed his back in slow circles trying to coax him into a more normal breathing rate. A minute passed, the only sounds were Frankie's rough breathing and your slower one.

"What else do you need?" You asked gently.

"Can you- can you light the candle please?" He requested in a muffled voice.

"Sure." You smiled, reaching over to his side of the bed and pulling out the lighter. Your candle, already well used, was soon flickering brightly. The floral scent you and Frankie loved, filled your brain making sleep slowly start to edge its way in. You could feel his breathing slow. "That better?"

"Mmhmm." He grumbled. Something about the scent grounded him to this chapter in his life; the one with you in it. He wasn't that lonely guy anymore. He wasn't in a war zone. He had everything he could ever dream of right in his arms... and yet... this still happened. "I'm sorry, sweet pea."

"What for?" You tousled his hair affectionally.

"For-for being messed up."

"Frankie..." You nudged his head up so you could kiss him deeply. You let him take the lead, pressing him tongue into your mouth and pulling you tighter against his chest. At your quiet moan he pulled back letting you finish your thought. You didn't care how many times you had to say it, touch it, kiss it into reality: Frankie was perfect the way he was.

"You aren't messed up." You murmured, holding his eyes with your earnest gaze. "You're strong. You're resilient and brave. I love you because of that. You're like... a phoenix. You rise from the ashes." Then you giggled. "Sorry I just thought of a hybrid between a catfish and a Phoenix."

"Ha." He laughed shakily, tightening his arms around you. "A fish on fire. Sounds about right."

"Or a bird with whiskers." You snorted.

He kissed you again, relishing your little giggles against his lips. You laced your hands with his.

"I'm here to remind you to be kind to yourself. Remember how far you've come. I'm so proud of you, Frankie."

Once again he reflected on how lucky he was to have you in the flesh. Your empathy amazed him. It had from day one but his awe grew monumentally tonight. You weren't scared. You saw all of his brokenness for what it was and you only loved him harder. He had to trust your vision of him when his own internal compass failed.

"You tired, little pea?" He chuckled when you yawned cutely, after trying to hold it in.

"No." You told a small lie, just to keep him from trying to put your needs first. You weren't going to sleep until you knew he felt safe. "How are you feeling? Be honest, please."

Frankie searched his body with another deep breath. "Better. I'm just really amped up from the adrenaline. But go back to sleep, little pea. I'll read or something.”

"Mmm read to me?" You asked holding back another yawn.

"Sure." He chuckled. You rolled off of him pulling the covers back over you both. Frankie grabbed his copy of The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue. You latched onto him like a koala bear and hung onto his deep voice. Frankie appreciated the weight of your arm on his stomach and head on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat below your ear slowing.

Frankie paused his quiet oration to peer down at your relaxed face and fluttering eye lids. "I love you, sweet pea."

"mmm love you too." You breathed in reply.

For the first time, Frankie was able to go back to sleep after his nightmare.

~~~~~~~~~~

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[no-droids]

Just the Translator

Part Ten of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.6K

Warnings:  There is rough sex in this.  THERE IS ROUGH SEX IN THIS.  Do NOT read if that offends you.  There is also more anal stuff—NO FUCKING (not yet).  Uh, canon-typical violence, grumpy Din Djarin, some fluffy moments, Baby Yoda being a little troublemaker, bit of a cliffhanger ending BUT NOT TO WORRY PALS I ALREADY GOT QUITE A BIT OF THE NEXT PART WRITTEN

A/N: ***Please take a second to visit this googledoc, in it are useful links regarding the BLM protests and what we can do to help. Here is a separate link to where I originally addressed this and shared more thoughts***

***

Whelp.  At least you’re in a good mood. 

In contrast, Din and the kid have been causing problems all morning, the both of them.  Like two… two annoying, middle-aged children competing to see which one is less mature.

The smaller of the two, and older (most likely) is bouncing with energy.  Acting a complete fool.  Ready and willing to launch out of his restricting little sphere at any second, a bright green bundle of energy that slept way too well last night and is just rubbing it in at this point.  He was fine earlier—checking out of the inn, picking up some food at a local market, riding in the Crest as it navigated towards the most isolated sector on this planet—but the hike to this field has been like pulling teeth.

In fact, Din is currently wearing a singular gauntlet on his left hand for that very reason—so this child’s hyper ass could be contained within the hovering, reflective prison.  He’s restless, though, continuing to act out.  At one point you suggest just letting him walk to let some energy out like yesterday, even if he slows the group down with his tiny little legs.  Once you let the little menace out on parole though, he just continues to veer off in his own direction and irritate his dad even further.

And, oh stars—his dad.

Din has barely said a word, only answering with short responses when directly prompted and spending most of his energy just silently stewing inside his own little grumpy teapot on his head.  The helmet is the only other piece of armor he’s donning besides the lone vambrace, and you’re surprised steam hasn’t started whistling through the top of it with how frustrated he is, how many times you’ve seen him curl his hands with impatience. At first it was amusing, though you know better than to tease him about it right now.  You keep your mouth shut and try your best to wrangle the kid, doing everything you can to be helpful while also steering clear of unintentionally exacerbating his silent irritation, knowing Din isn’t in the mood for jokes after being interrupted at a very crucial moment last night.  The sun shines directly on the front of his helmet and blinds you with every single annoyed step, so you follow just far enough behind him and try to use his enormous refrigerator of a body to shield your eyes.

At first it was amusing.  But then the baby catches sight of a gorgeously patterned butterfly floating through the field that he probably wants to snack on for breakfast, and he breaks off from your entourage once more with a quiet little coo that should strike pure terror into the hearts of small animals everywhere.

Immediately you’re turning to go get him—but then a large hand quickly snatches the front of your shirt before you can take a single step, pulling until you’re colliding with an unarmored chest with an oof.  

A bare hand catches your jaw and tightens until you’re staring deep into the thin blade of his visor, before Din whispers rough through the modulator, “As soon as he falls asleep.”

That’s all he says.  And then he’s releasing you and letting you stumble back towards his wayward son a whole lot less amused than you were before, and a whole lot more achy.  The baby shenanigans are far less amusing too.

“You’re killing me here, kiddo,” you breathe after quickly catching up with him, having to bend in half to lead him back towards his impatient dad. 

His hot, moody… incredibly well endowed dad, thick arms crossed tight over his chest as he waits for your return.

The monster’s hand lifts high above him as his three fingers cling to just one of yours, the baggy brown sack exposing his pudgy little green elbow as he follows next to you with a waddle.  It’s slow going, but at some point he decides to pull himself up onto your wrist and you catch him, cradling him in your arms before quickly hurrying back to Din.

Thankfully he begins to calm down a little after that.  As you three eventually find a spot in the endlessly breezy field to settle into, the kid clamors back into his shield while Din carelessly drops the dark bag of supplies he carried from the Crest into the tall grass.  You twist your back to let some of the stiffness out, rotating your arms to encourage more movement as he approaches.

“Same thing as yesterday,” he gruffs when he’s in reach, patting his chest again with a bare hand.  “Hard as you can.”

“My… My hands hurt,” you eventually admit, not wanting to frustrate him even more and hoping you would be able to work on blocking today instead, but Din just nods while you gently brush your thumb along your sore knuckles.

“That’ll happen until it doesn’t,” he tells you quietly, reaching out to touch your elbow in a quick, awkward gesture of comfort and then dropping his arm to his side.  Short, but not unkind.  “Push through.  You can do it.”

You nod, knowing that’s probably the very best motivation you’ll get from him.  His beliefs, condensed down to quick, stunted sentences, presented with such unwavering surety that they must be truths.  Weirdly, it works wonders for you.  Maybe it’s just the person it’s coming from.

You drop into stance and then slam your fist into his chest before he’s ready, and Din steps back on impact with a small grunt while you bite your lip to silence your own noise from the pain reverberating up your arm. 

“Good,” he huffs nonetheless, rubbing the spot on his chest he’s historically designated as target practice.  “Good.  You’re… hitting harder than yesterday.  That’s… fuck.  Good.”

“Good?”  You ask lowly, chancing a quick look over at the kid.  Who blinks directly back at you, wide-eyed and staring purposefully from his crib.  You deflate just a little bit at the sight of him still wide awake, and Din’s fists are clenched by his sides when you turn back to him.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the pent up tightness in his body as you spend the next couple hours throwing more hits at him, different types.  Left hooks, right hooks, crosses, jabs, elbow strikes, palm heels.  He was absolutely right though—the more you make contact with him, the less you begin to feel the pain, until it eventually feels like nothing at all to you.

But then, at one point, you pull your hardened fist back, aimed and focused directly on that same spot on his chest once more—when suddenly his hand flashes up and he flicks his finger against the lower part of your open ribcage. 

He barely puts any strength into it at all—it’s the pressure you’d use to tap someone on the shoulder if you were trying to get their attention, but for some reason the incredibly well-placed reminder throws you.  A little fucking touch like that shouldn’t hurt nearly as much as it does, but you nearly tip sideways and have to catch your footing with how dizzy it makes you.

“That’s what’s called a liver shot,” Din tells you calmly, watching you wrap your hand around your ribcage and wince at the lingering pain through gritted teeth.  “Keep your arm down like I told you.  That’ll happen every time you wanna get lazy with me, little chicken wing.”

You hiss and shake your head a little bit, trying to clear the fog, and then purposefully tuck both arms tight to your sides.  But then—

His hand flashes up again and taps the side of your face this time—not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you flinch on instinct and take a step back.  “That arm stays up.”

Your quick huff of air is suppressed.  Somewhat censored—it doesn’t duly portray the sharp flare of annoyance you experience.  You do exactly what he says, however, and keep your arms in position in front of you.

But then you jerk back and sputter angrily when the tips of his fingers lightly connect with your cheek once more.  “Stop that!  My hands are up!”

“Then why’d you let me do it?”  He asks, stepping up as you retreat to poke you square in your chest.  “Stop letting me do it.”

He goes to tap your face again, but this time your forearm comes up to swat his away before he can make contact, and he seems pleased for the moment.  Din steps back and hits his chest again.  “Come on.”

He lets you get in just a few more blows before coming at you again.  You smack his hand away and then go to throw another punch, but he’s quick.  He cheats—goes for you twice in a row when you’re not expecting it, and taps the vulnerable spot on your side for the second time today.  It hits you like a bullet and takes you a second to snap out of the abrupt shot of pain.

“Come on,” Din taunts once more, curling his mismatched fingers at you—one hand leathered and the other tan and bare.  He sounds like he’s grinning under the helmet, starting to enjoy this way too fucking much.  It makes your blood boil, makes you just stand there like an idiot for a few seconds and fume at his audacity.

Apparently you take too long getting pissed off at him.  He comes at you first, going for your side again, but you shove his arm out of the way with a growl.  Except his other arm flashes and you react instantly, ducking under the wide, careful swipe aimed for your cheek and then zeroing in on the same exact spot below his ribs he’s been torturing you with all day, the one left wide open while his arm misses its mark.

Except—yours isn’t a tap, or a flick.  It’s a hard uppercut.

Air rushes through the modulator as he groans and stumbles sideways, gasping and trying to steady himself.  Triumph surges through your veins as you watch him, shaking your hand out at your side to quickly encourage the numbness away, your knuckles not yet used to hitting bone.  He clutches his side and shakes the helmet violently in an effort to regain himself, breathing hard through the filter and—

The visor instantly jerks to you and you’re already taking a step back on instinct, adrenaline roaring.  He snaps upright as you continue to retreat—until you trip over yourself and plunge to the grass.

A reflection catches in your peripheral, and you whip your head to the side to see the kid completely passed out in his metallic cradle, eyes closed and mouth drooping a bit.  The sight shoots pure exhilaration through you, but it’s nothing compared to the thrill of only seeing him there for a split second before chrome shields instantly slide shut over his head.

You look back to Din just in time to see him dropping his gloved hand back down to his side and taking quick steps towards you—and you react without thinking.  You scramble over on your hands and knees and then launch forwards before you’re even halfway off the ground, finding your feet as you stumble into a run and hearing footsteps pick up behind you.

Maker, it’s been ages since you’ve run like this.  You don’t even know why you’re running—you just do, it just feels like you should.  Your body barrels through tall grass and your heart thunders faster than the sound of your pumping legs, louder than the wind whipping through your ears.  You don’t know if he purposefully allows you to get this far or if you’re genuinely quick—

—nope.  Nope, you’re not quick, because he suddenly bursts into a sprint behind you and gains way too much ground way too quickly.  You try to break left as soon as you realize what’s happening, but he’s too fast and hooks an arm around your stomach just before you’re out of reach.  Din yanks you back to his chest as he twists around and takes you both to the ground, his shoulder blades slamming down first and softening your landing with his whole body and a grunt, skidding you both to a halt in the endlessly wavy field.

The wind is knocked out of you regardless.  You try and struggle off of him but the positioning makes it almost impossible—your abdominal muscles are no match for the strength of his arms wrapped around your stomach, keeping your body pinned tight to his as you wrestle to lift against him in the grass.

“Fight harder,” Din growls raggedly in your ear, and your pussy seizes with need when you feel how rock hard he is against your ass.  It encourages you—you make a rough sound towards the sky and then lift against him with all your strength, and your elbow comes down hard into his ribcage.  Air whooshes out of him and his arms loosen just slightly.  You’re able to wiggle off him and start crawling away, but then he heaves over and snatches at your pant leg—

Which means you pull them down yourself as you keep clawing yourself forward by your arms, raw excitement coursing through your veins, the fabric pulling tight over your ass and then bunching around your thighs.  You squeal and flounder and kick at him—but Din just grabs at your ankle and then pins your leg to the ground, pushing up and using your calves to clamor on top of you with brute strength, catching your underwear and ripping them down too.  Your heart pounds and your pussy just about floods itself hearing him dig in his pants to pull his cock out, his breath coming heavy through the helmet.

Maker, you’re so fucking ready for it.  You keep struggling just because your body is telling you to, but nothing close to the word ‘stop’ ever leaves your mouth, never even comes to mind.  You feel wetness slicking your inner thighs as Din grunts and plants an arm next to your head, his bare hand shooting out to hover in front of your face.  You flinch—but he keeps it there, palm open in front of your lips in silent expectation.

“Wet or dry,” he snarls when you don’t immediately react.  “I don’t give a shit.”

Still, his hand stays right in front of your face long enough to let you make up your mind.

And… not lick it.

After a moment, Din makes a sound that drops another wave of white hot arousal down through your stomach—a furious, growly noise that resembles distorted static passing through the filter.  He angles his cock against your opening and when you hear him muttering angrily, you think he’s scolding you for it.  Calling you dirty under his breath, promising you you’ll regret saying that in a second.  But no—he’s—

“Perfect.  Perfect little girl, fucking perfect,” Din hisses darkly, pushing into your soaking entrance without anything but your slick to ease his way.  “H-How are you—s-so fuck—ing—”

Oh Maker, you turn your head into the grass and cry out through the delicious, blissful intrusion, pushing your hips back against his—and Din curses as he quickly bottoms out, making sure he lurches fully into you before his hands find out exactly where they want to be.  They land on your lower back and he mounts up, pinning your body hard to the ground with almost his full weight.  It means you can rip out as much grass with your useless arms as you want—he doesn’t even give you a single moment now that he’s successfully rooted you to the crushed greenery.  You bloom for him all the same, as soon as Din pulls out with a wet sound and then starts fucking you strong and steady.

It’s sharp.  Biting.  Even the pleasure has a hard edge to it, completely paralyzing you even if you could struggle in this position.  His hands are pushing down so hard that the ground digs into your tummy and makes his cock angle and slam right into your g-spot each and every time.  You want to moan out your ecstasy but he’s wringing the air from your lungs with every shattering swing of his hips back and forth, quickly speeding up as he goes and taking out a full night’s worth of deprivation on you.

“Ngh.  Take.  Cock.  So.  Fucking.  Good—” Din grits with every mean thrust, the staccato growls of praise getting lost in the echoing, rhythmic clap of his hips.  You can’t fucking breathe—the pleasure is too overwhelming, your face is pressed into the grass, he’s got almost all his weight on you.  You’re helpless to do anything besides close your eyes, furrow your brows, drop your jaw, and just let him own your body in the middle of this beautiful oasis.  The heavy, wild thrusts steal every sense away from you, any ability to think beyond the fractured piece of heaven he’s striking inside you over and over.  You don’t even feel him grabbing your asscheeks and spreading them—

Somebody makes a pitiful, breathless whine—it’s you, you realize.  You make that sound, because worn leather lands right on the entrance he was denied last night and shamelessly breaches it before anything else can interrupt him.

“Tight,” he hisses, slowly sinking his thumb all the way down to the knuckle while you clench your eyes shut and choke out his name, “—f-fucking tight—”

His cock pulses inside you and you bear down as hard as you can on it in return, trying to get accustomed to being penetrated in two places at once.  He doesn’t move his thumb after that—he just keeps it there, deep inside you while he continues wrecking you with the brutal hammering of his hips from behind. 

Still—the impropriety of it starts to burn you up, how… dirty it is.  Getting the life fucked out of you in broad daylight, in the middle of a wide open field, the thickest finger he has buried deep in your ass, helpless to do anything else besides lay here and let him—you feel yourself start to clamp down, steadily getting tighter and tighter around the intrusions while he grits out hard curses and keeps giving it to you through the rapid build.

His name—you start repeating it into the ground like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.  The word scrapes from your throat over and over, and you try to pull at the grass but your hands are clenched into fists and you can’t seem to remember which muscles to use to open them.

“You like this?”  You’re able to hear him grit from above you.  “Like when I—fuck—when I fuck you l-like this?  When I just.  H-Hold you down and take—” he chokes, “—take what I w-want—”

You can’t respond, but fuck yes, you do.  The kindling spark inside you suddenly flares up and starts to spread through your body like wildfire, tightening, tightening, tightening, but then—

He’s so pent up—Din cums.

Devastatingly early.

The savage thrusts suddenly stutter to a halt and the gasp he takes in sounds like it physically hurts him.  Like the orgasm is just ripped out of him.  His hold turns to steel on you, as if he thinks you can somehow get away right now, and Din cums deep inside your spasming cunt with a shuddering, desperate groan of your name. 

It’s like it drains everything from him—he slumps, just conscious enough to slowly ease his thumb out of your tight asshole, and then he collapses in the grass next to you.  You stay there for just a second and shake next to him, muscles feeling like they’re creaking even while just laying on the ground like this, completely motionless.

“Shit—was that—”  Din pants, turning and scooting over to you to brush your hair out of your face with his bare hand, “was that… okay?  Do you… do you need…?”

You’re still so submissive, still so high on the overwhelming rush of pleasure, your mouth opens and croaks out a response without your permission.  “It was good.”

“Yeah?”  He huffs, dropping back on the grass and trying to catch his breath.  “Good.”

And… it’s true.  It was good, it was absolutely fucking amazing.  So overpowering, such a hard fuck that you almost don’t think about the fact that you didn’t actually cum from it.  The thought doesn’t really even register with you fully, not yet.

Eventually you both push yourselves up, each of you equally lacking in energy, just in different ways.  Din looks like he’s drunk—unbalanced and dizzy while he removes his glove and stuffs it into one of his pockets, before carefully tucking his spent cock back in his trousers.  In contrast, you’re nothing more than another trembling blade of grass in an enormous landscape of them, flimsy and yielding to the powerful, rippling wind as you attempt to adjust your clothing.

It’s fine, you tell yourself on the slow, quiet walk back.  Sex doesn’t always need to end in a fiery orgasm.  Sometimes a rough pounding hits the spot, scratches that itch.  You feel like you’re a newborn blurg trying to balance your oddly proportioned weight on two noodle legs as Din’s hand patiently guides you from your lower back, and a bright flare of arousal arcs through you feeling how gentle his hold is compared to the way his cum is steadily leaking from your throbbing, aching cunt.

You don’t need to cum every single time he fucks you.  It’s fine.

***

Upon returning to the sight of the unbothered, napping kid, you both decide to walk a bit more, and you learn your lesson this time.  The sun glints bright against Din’s left side while traveling in this direction, so you stick purposefully to his right the entire time.

In the meantime, you share easy conversation and attempt to regain some semblance of control over your still slightly… restless body.  Slowly but surely, your feverish arousal for him dims and fades to the backburner, replaced instead by… softer, quieter feelings.  There’s not a solid word for it, not really.  If you were mixing on a palette, you’d start out with a base of gentle contentment and then add a big dollop of affection, diluted with silence until it’s a swirling, pastel… color you don’t have a name for, but cherish all the same.

The baby wakes up about halfway through the afternoon hike, and he’s better now too.  Eventually your ragtag party finds a place to settle for the night—a small clearing in the field at the edge of a thick forest.  There’s a sizable log and boulder situated relatively close together, with a wide open space to make a fire in the center.

Din disappears for a bit to go get some firewood from the looming forest while you entertain the kid; the log is tilted perfectly to allow you both to watch the sunset, and you easily converse with the riveting baby talk as if he’s an absolute genius.

“I’m not so sure about that, honestly,” you tell him diplomatically, receiving nothing but unintelligible babbles in response as he climbs all over you.  “Well, no actually, because there’s two major schools of thought concerning that, the first being—”

He pops up in front of your face to interrupt you heatedly and you scoff, rolling your eyes over the loud gibberish.  “Look, I’d appreciate it if we could tone down the passive-aggressiveness, okay?  If we can’t have a respectful discussi—”

Three green fingers settle over your lips and you gasp at the nerve of him, forced to let him continue to ramble on your lap about absolutely nothing at all, the size of his ego soon growing to match the size of his ears.

“Hear that, shiny?”  You turn your head and ask his father upon his eventual return, and Din grunts distractedly as he dumps the firewood down and rummages around in the bag for a lighter.  Tilting your head back towards the kid, you prompt him with a raised brow.  “Tell him what you just told me.”

The baby bursts into more nonsense, encouraged by your attention, and Din crouches down to set the wood into position in the dusky twilight glow while saying nothing at all, and it somehow manages to pass as listening intently.

It continues to go on like that far longer than you expected it would, the baby apparently having quite the bone to pick about something that’s been on his mind, and one point you have to rest your hand over his mouth so he finally stops babbling.  “Hey, that’s not very nice,” you scold him quietly.  “I’m sure his face is perfectly normal under there.”

The helmet turns just slightly towards you, unamused while you snort at your own joke for a little bit. 

“I didn’t say it,” you remind him after far too long of just celebrating your own hilarity, clearing your throat through the stifled chuckles.  “I’m just translating.”

“Oh yeah?”  He eventually murmurs, beginning to ignite some of the crumpled twigs at the center of the pile, and if you worked at it, you could probably convince yourself he’s sharing your gentle smile.  More muted than yours perhaps, but beautiful and easy on his face, fitting him simply and perfectly.  “What did… What did he say I look like?”

You would’ve shot something ridiculous back at him, something snarky and facetious, but you stop short.  You catch it—underneath his voice, it sounds… timid, almost.  Uncertain.  It makes you take just a second in responding.

“Brown eyes,” you tell him after a moment, and Din doesn’t visibly react, just continues to slowly add small branches to kindle the flame.  It’s so quiet out here, but it’s different from hyperspace quiet.  This quiet is… natural.  Warm, and.  Free.  Fleeting, allowed to roam.  In a way that hyperspace just feels compact, stifling.  “He said you have… brown eyes.  And a… a strong bone structure, striking features.  A sharp, chiseled jaw, dark facial hair.  And, uh.  He also said…”

Din keeps silently feeding the fire until it’s crackling and bright, and then he settles back on his butt next to it, both elbows resting on his knees, not moving the visor towards you but waiting for you to finish regardless. 

The stunning backdrop gives way to a stunning surge of bravery.

“He said you make a bunch of faces under there that nobody ever sees,” you say softly, blinking at Din in the fading twilight while the kid sits silently in your lap.  “That you’re an open book.  Behind a metal wall.  And you have a really nice smile, I bet—he bets… he bets you probably do it more often than anyone realizes.  And your… your hair starts to curl when you let it grow long, and.  And you’re almost guaranteed to be drop dead gorgeous under there, and it’s a real fucking shame that you’ve probably never had anyone tell you it.”

Din tilts his helmet at you, looks at you for a long time—long enough for blood to rush to your cheeks and for you to get fidgety.  But when he finally does respond, his voice is gentle through the modulator.  “He said that.”

You mhm at him quickly, nodding your head and turning away as casually as you can, heart beating incredibly fast for some reason.  “Just the translator.”

A lovely silence soon blankets the both of you, a warmth permeating through to your bones that has nothing to do with the steadily growing fire.

***

A little while later, the kid has retired to his reflective cradle and the dancing flames are the only source of light besides the bright moon hanging directly overhead.  Din sits with his back to the large boulder and digs through the bag, pulling out all sorts of food you picked up before leaving the village this morning and handing them to you.  Something red and unfocused flashes oddly against the curve of his helmet when he reaches his hand back in, but it’s only for a second—he’s already pushing more food at you and filling your arms with bags of dried meats, fresh fruit, and loaves of bread.

“Stars,” you whisper under your breath, examining the feast in the flickering firelight.  “Here, take—take some of this, it’s too much.”

“There’s more in here,” he counters lowly, zipping the bag and dropping it somewhere on the other side of his body.  “The kid hasn’t eaten all day.  Might crawl away and catch himself a Gungan later if you don’t feed him soon.”

“No, I mean—” you let all the food drop into your lap and start sorting the items, “—you need to eat.  What do you want?  There’s plenty.”

“I’m not hungry,” he answers, far too quickly to have actually taken a moment to check.  “Just give me whatever you two don’t eat when you’re finished, I’ll put it back in the bag.”

Okay, if he’s gonna play it like this, you’ll just have to choose for him.  You’ve already dedicated at least two bags of dried meat to the kid, which takes care of him.  So, you take an extended moment to methodically find the ripest fruit in the bunch, the one with the most squish to it, and then search for the softest loaf of bread, not caring that Din is silently watching you.  You gather both of them in your arms and then pluck three bags of meat from the pile, before depositing all of them back into his lap.

“Eat,” you urge quietly, grabbing another portion of food for yourself, heavy on the fruit.  “Don’t inhale it.  Please.”

With that, you grab the kid’s food and then scoop the little guy up from his shield with your free arm, standing and walking to the other side of the fire.  You carefully plop yourself down with your back purposefully to Din, the kid happily finding a place on your lap with his back to you and reaching six little fingers out for the food.

You start eating, and after a moment, you smile around the large bites of fruit at the sound of metal clinking against stone.  The baby, of course, refuses to even open the bag of dried meat you set in front of him, so you roll your eyes and do it yourself, hoping he’ll at least eat like an adult and give you some time to feed yourself.  But no—the fifty year old creep demands to be hand fed, and any other day, you wouldn’t have let him get away with it.

Today, you’re just really fucking.  Happy.

You’re unbelievably happy.  Having spent a few days on this gorgeous planet, your two favorite people in the galaxy with you.  It fills your heart with air.

You start out quiet, praying you aren’t bothering Din as he (hopefully) continues to relax and enjoy his food behind you.  You begin humming your favorite melody under the sound of the crackling flames, the source of heat burning pleasantly against the curve of your lower back, setting another piece of dried meat into the kid’s cute little mouth and only just slightly annoyed that he refuses to do this himself.  Admittedly though, you do love babying him, especially when he shows you his adorable little chompers.

One bite for him, two bites for you.  That’s the deal, even though you’re hungry and you deserve way more than double his food intake rate.  You try to be quiet enough that your gentle humming will get lost with the fire between you and Din, and he never says anything or tells you to cut it out, so you just continue to let your cheerful mood provide a quiet soundtrack to the moonlit evening.

Even better, you and the kid actually finish snacking before he does, and you’re more than willing to wait for him, thrilled that this is actually happening.  It’s so simple, such a throwaway thing, but.  Knowing he used to eat his meals as quick as he can and now he’s comfortable enough to just take a second and enjoy it… you don’t know, there’s something inherently meaningful about it, something that you specifically notice.  Something about this, about sitting around a fire and sharing a meal together for the first time—even with your back turned to him, it just feels… familial.  In a way.  More than it’s ever felt before.

You have a little moment.  It’s nice.  You drop your head back and gaze up at the night sky, in awe of how different the stars look from this side of the galaxy and remembering how far you’ve come.  The kid follows suit, leaning back against your tummy and blinking silently at the universe, the star-speckled sky reflecting in his gigantic dark eyes.

He starts to doze after awhile, listening to you hum softly to yourself, but the noise of a helmet finally lifting from the boulder and most likely fitting itself back in its rightful place snaps him awake just enough.  The kid pushes off you and waddles over to his dad, and you scoot yourself back over to your little log while he unceremoniously clamors up onto Din’s thighs.

Admittedly, it’s really fucking cute.  The visor moves just enough to watch him plop his little green butt down and find a comfy position on his lap, not helping but not preventing the movement either.  A heartwarming, silent kind of tolerance hardened men have for innocent little creatures that makes you bite your lip to hide your smile.  What a softie.

You sit there in companionable quiet, staring deep into the dancing firelight and losing track of time just a bit.  They’re hypnotic, the flames.  Crackling and popping, warming just the forward-facing parts of you and nearly burning your cheeks, but you love it.  Breathing in the woodsy campfire air, hearing the gentle breeze float through the field surrounding you, the quiet forest waving dark and deep in the distance.  The midnight sky stretches long above you and the stars seem… brighter than they were on Arvala-7.  They probably aren’t—that planet is practically abandoned and has almost no light pollution whatsoever compared to Naboo, but… maybe it’s because now they feel… in reach.  Something you can touch.  Interact with.  Something you can cover your eyes, blindly point at, and then say—that one.  That’s where we should go next.

After awhile—you have no idea how long—you blink your gaze over to Din and startle to find the helmet facing you directly, shamelessly, the kid completely passed out on his lap as the flames reflect in the visor.

Without intending to, you’re already thinking back to earlier today.  How quickly he bolted after you, how strong he was bringing you to the ground, pinning you under him and taking what was so rudely denied to him last night.

You didn’t actually finish, and you can still feel it simmering down low.  Din’s cum has been steadily leaking from you all day, and while you eventually became successful at blocking out the sensation, it suddenly slams to the forefront of your mind again.  The visor pierces deep into you while you start to squirm just a bit against the rough log pressed into your back.  You can still feel him when you flex your lower muscles, and you bite your lip and do it repeatedly while blinking at him, waiting, squeezing your thighs together and loving the reminder.

He still hasn’t said anything to you, and you start to get antsy under his stare.  Your body works itself up even more, fueled by the flames reflecting in his helmet.  After a few more moments of silent tension, you’ve finally had enough.

“Din,” you whisper, trying not to make it sound like a whine and his head quickly lifts when you didn’t even realize it was slightly tipped forward.  The helmet rolls back in a drowsy little circle, as if his neck is suddenly remembering the weight burdening it.  Embarrassment instantly floods you.  “Oh.  Shit.  I’m so stupid.  I’m sor—”

Only he’s already pushing himself up with his free arm, lethargic and drunk with exhaustion, not saying a single word as he sets the conked out kid in the cradle and closes the shield over his sleepy little head with the push of a button.

You bite your lip as he drags himself over to you, swinging a leg behind you and then dropping down without any ceremony, firmly inserting himself between the uncomfortable log and your back.  Your butt is shoved forward from the sudden displacement but he’s not done.  Din wraps both his arms around you and pulls, dragging you up onto his long torso while his legs close under you and you’re off the ground completely.

Oh Maker, he’s already thousands of times more comfortable than sleeping up against the log would be.  He makes the best bed in the galaxy, big and warm and firm under you, letting you stretch out long on him.  You lounge on his lap and drop your head to his shoulder, resting your arms on top of his as they drape heavy across your belly.

“Sorry,” he gruffs, voice low and rough through the modulator.  The filter rings sharp through your ear when it’s pressed up against his helmet like this.  “Just need a few hours.  Didn’t… didn't sleep great last night.”

You close your eyes and internally scold yourself, now taking responsibility for his lack of rest for the past two days.  Shit.  You don’t actively respond, feeling slightly put out, but your body is of another mind altogether.  It still continues trundling down the steep slope you shoved it towards earlier, when you stupidly thought he was giving you eyes under the helmet instead of him being passed out cold.  You wiggle against him just slightly under the guise of finding a comfortable position, but it has unintentional consequences.

You breathe out a soft sigh when your hips move over his cock, biting your lip at the sensation but trying so hard to stop it in its tracks.  He’s exhausted, and he already fucked the life out of you today, there’s no way he’ll want to go again this soon.  Except—then he shifts and mmms low in his throat.

“And you,” Din murmurs quietly, reaching a hand down to slowly push under your pants, “need to start being more honest with me.”

“What are you t—oh, stars,” you whisper, your body shuddering as one of his thick fingers slowly dips into your slit.

“Shit, you’re wet,” he groans, sinking his hand down lower to feel remnants of himself still easing its way out of you.  Your lashes flutter as your jaw drops, and his cock gets hard against your spine almost immediately.  “You’re fucking… soaked.  I—I asked if you came and you said yeah,” he whispers low to you, but you shake your head.  “Why’d you lie to me abo—”

“No, no—” you protest breathlessly, “—you asked if it was okay, and then I said—”

“You said it was good.  It’s not good if you didn’t cum,” he grunts quietly, and the tip of his finger now drawing tight circles over your clit makes it damn near impossible to argue.  “I didn’t fuck you right if you didn’t cum.  You should be fucked right.”

“Maker, you fuck me exactly how I need to be fucked,” you whimper, tilting your head until your lips are pressed against the curve of his helmet while his hand steadily works under your pants.  “And—oh, fuck, that’s… h-however you need to fuck me.”

“Fuck—obedient little thing…” he huffs, starting to rub harder over your clit.  “What I need is for you to cum.  From now on, you’ll tell me.  Say yes.”

“Yes,” you moan into the beskar, your eyes fluttering back at the slowly building pressure.

“Say, ‘yes, Din,’” he breathes.

“Yes, Din,” you dutifully repeat, lifting your hips up against his hand, and he groans softly through the modulator.

“Say, ‘Din, I need something to cum on’,” he whispers.

You’re delirious, you don’t even catch it before most of it is already out of your mouth.  “Din, I need something to c—” you cut off but he’s already reaching down between your bodies to ease his cock out, before yanking your pants down your ass just enough to position himself up against your entrance.

He rocks his hips up and he slides in easier than ever before, and you… don’t know what you’re expecting, but he surprises you nonetheless.  He doesn’t start thrusting into you at all.  Even though he’s rock hard inside you, thick and pulsing and breaking you open, he doesn’t move a single inch.  He just keeps himself there, continuing to rub circles around your clit and giving you exactly what he prompted you to ask for.

Something to cum on.

Your body tenses and squeezes him, and Din shushes you before you realize you were making noise.  His free hand comes up to settle tight over your mouth and guide you turn your head away from his helmet.  At first you think it’s because your heavy breathing was probably fogging the visor up, but no—his fingers leave your pussy for a split second and you hear him maneuver himself out of it.  The hollow noise it makes thunking to the ground is beginning to become your favorite sound in this universe.

But then of course, Din buries his face into your neck and starts talking again, whispering low praises behind your ear with that bassy, dark chocolate rasp, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing.  His fingers return to your cunt to slowly rub your clit and his cock throbs hotter than sin inside you, building your pleasure into a strong, slow crescendo.

You start to whimper unintentionally, but his hand is wrapped tight around your mouth, muting and confining the desperate sounds to your throat.  His finger presses down harder on your clit and his cock flexes inside you.

“That’s it, sw—sweet girl,” Din mutters, his voice interrupted by his own staccato breaths and tight gasps the longer he talks you through it, the longer he keeps himself perfectly still while engulfed in your drenched, fluttering cunt.  “That’s—that’s it, I can feel it c-coming.  Fuck—make it good for me, give me a good one—”

His words shove you right over a cliff you didn’t even realize was there until you were dangling over the steep drop for an extended moment like a cartoon.  Everything squeezes around him unbearably tight—your hands dig into his forearms, your back arches up against him, your pussy constricts his thick cock until you feel like you’re hurting the both of you with it, and Din’s breath catches next to your ear while you’re both suspended in thin air for a split second—

—before you’re convulsing in pure bliss, flooding his cock with cum while he rasps out, “good girl,” into the crook of your neck and rocks his hips up into yours.  The few heavenly inches of movement hits something jaw-dropping inside you and nearly makes you scream against his palm, launching your body even higher into mind-bending rapture.  Fucking Maker, you cum hard for him, on him, around him.  You downright drown his cock in your pleasure, suffocate it and work out the aching tightness in your pussy all over him until you feel like you can’t breathe anymore.

“Mmm…” Din murmurs quietly, continuing to circle your swollen clit hard through the shattering aftershocks.  His voice is deep and sinful and vibrates your whole back with its frequency, but something underneath it also sounds as if he’s considering, before he seems to land on an answer to a wordless question he just asked himself.  “…One more.”

And, like the fucking Maker himself commanded it, another blazing hot wave of fire suddenly rips you apart and sends you spasming rhythmically around the throbbing cock buried inside you once again.  This one wrings you completely dry, robbing you of every sense.  The ragged whine you make behind his hand must be too loud—his fingers quickly tighten around your jaw and lock down, keeping you as still as possible while you give him everything you have to give.

Eventually the sparks die out and you’re left a shell of what you once were, clamping down hard on him and shuddering your bliss at the night sky.  He lays there silently under you, holding you as you fall back down to reality.  Your breathing is a mess and so is everything below your waist, and your whole body jerks when Din carefully slides his hand from your pussy and rubs gently over your thighs, your tummy, your chest.

“That was…” you croak out, trying to remember how to speak, “ … g-good.”

“Go to sleep,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses against the side of your neck.  You can hear the gentle grin he’s hiding from you, knowing he completely incapacitated you.

“But what about—” you start to protest, when Din’s teeth sink into your flesh and your pussy seizes up tight around him, making him choke a hoarse little groan into your skin.

After a moment, he eases his throbbing cock out of you, and he resets your clothing while you whimper in distress.  “Go to sleep,” Din murmurs, before softly kissing your neck once more, and your eyes slowly droop against your will.  Fuck, his body beats a king size mattress any day of the week.  “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

He…

He isn’t.

[forever-rogue]

Honeyed Whiskey

A/N: This was not called for at all, but I was so inspired by THIS dress from yesterday. It’s just a little soft, gentle fluff. Enjoy! xx

Pairing: Jack Daniels x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: references to sex, but nothing graphic

Pedro Character Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

By the time he's lulled from sleep, far later than he normally would have preferred, the first thing he notices is the golden sunlight streaming in through sheer curtains and open windows. Instantaneously, a smile is tugging on his features and he shifts onto his back, stretching limbs made stiff by sleep. He's content and comfortable, already enjoying his days off, knowing they'd be spent with you. 

As soon as the thought of you crosses his mind, honeyed brown eyes slowly open again and he's blinking away the bleariness while reaching over to your side of the bed. But you're gone already, he notes with a light huff, finding nothing but cool emptiness where you normally laid.

Before he can get too lost in his own thoughts, he hears you. Its faint - soft and barely audible over the steady stream of the shower, but it's there. Crystal clear and beautiful, at least to his ears, he hears you singing softly under your breath along to whatever you had playing on the speakers. Rubbing away the remaining sleep from his eyes, he pulls back the soft, warm blankets and slides out from underneath. 

He's still naked from the evening before, but he doesn't even bother to dress or reach for even a stitch of clothing. He already knows you'll just strip off in seconds anyway. A beaming grin crosses his features at that; you certainly knew what you wanted and when you wanted it.

Almost as if you could sense him, you stopped singing for a moment and he hears the tell-tale rustle of the shower curtain, "Jack? Honey, is that you?"

"Hi Sugar," he poked his head and found you staring back with excited eyes and a head full of shampoo lather, "you're up early...need a hand?"

"Its the Farmers Market today," you reminded him with a crook of your finger as he stepped into the warm bathroom, "I don't want to miss it, besides you're taking me to brunch and everything!"

"And just who decided this?" his tone was teasing as he stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain closed. You grinned up at him, pressing a kiss to his plush lips and batting your lashes innocently. He huffed in jest before reaching up and tenderly cupping your face, "I suppose I did, huh?"

"I'm sure that's what you were saying last night," you couldn't help but beam at him, "when I was on top - somewhere in between telling me how good I was and how much you love me."

"Well now, I definitely can't say no to you, Sugar," his hands slowly went from the side of your face and into your scalp as delicately massaged it to help wash the shampoo out.

"Jack, you don't have to wash my hair," you insisted but you definitely wouldn't have minded if he did. Showering with Jack was always an experience; something so intimate and sacred, especially when you took the time to wash and explore each other's bodies. You took the opportunity to shower together whenever you could, especially on lazy weekend days.

"I know I don't have to, baby," he insisted softly as he started to tender wash the lather, "but I want to. Let me take care of you, Sugar. You always take such good care of me, its my turn to love you."

"Well, who am I to turn down an offer like that?" a contented sigh left your lips as you keened into his gentle touch, "I am no fool. I love you, Jack."

"And I love you, honey."

»»————-　♡　————-««

You spent a long time in the shower, and by the time the two of you got you were both pruned. Jack's towel was slung low on his hips as he went to his side of the closet to grab some clothes for the day.

A sly little smile found its way onto your face as you dashed down the stairs and to the laundry room. You'd gone shopping yesterday and found something you'd planned on wearing today. As soon as you had seen it, you knew you had to have it, and you were positive that Jack would love it too.

"What happened?" Jack called down the stairs as you quickly slipped on your undergarments and the item of clothing.

"Nothing!" you promised as you bounded back up stairs to surprise him. Jack was standing in front of the full length mirror, buttoning up his shirt. The simple sight was still enough to take your breath away as you watched him for a few moments. His dark mop of hair was still damp and unruly, and you couldn't wait to run your hands through it.

You leaned against the door frame and cleared your throat in order to garner his attention. Jack slowly turned around, and when he was fully facing you, his jaw almost dropped. He slowly walked over to you, that look of adoration and devotion in his eyes that you were so fond of.

"You look beautiful, Sugar," he drawled as you slowly twirled to give him a look good at the beautiful yellow sundress you were wearing. It was breathtaking, and you had known from the moment you spied it that it was the one. Stopping just at your knees it was a beautiful, golden yellow with flowers all over it, with simple thin straps. The bodice hugged you just right and the little flare was perfect. You had a feeling Jack would like it too, "what a gorgeous dress on the most gorgeous woman in the world."

"Now you're just flattering me," you laughed lightly and put a hand on his broad, pushing him back ever so lightly, "do you like though? Really? I-I saw it and fell in love and couldn't help myself."

"Its not flattery if it's true," he insisted as he grabbed your hand and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, "I love it - not nearly as much as you, of course, but it's beautiful. And you make it even more so."

"You really do know just what to say, don't you, my love?" you couldn't help but steal a quick kiss as you flounced past him to finish getting ready, "still up for brunch?"

"And then the farmer's market," he reminded you with a soft smile, "I couldn't think of a better way to spend my day."

»»————-　♡　————-««

Brunch was a slow, fun affair as the two of you ate and drank your way through probably too much food. You'd insisted that Jack could pick the place since you were technically forcing him to brunch. He'd agreed, but that quickly turned into him driving to your favorite spot regardless. A silly old fool you had lovingly deemed him.

By the time you'd reached the farmer's market, it was warm and everything was bathed in brilliant sunlight. Jack had quickly reached for your hand and laced your fingers together, as you walked around and looked at all the various little stalls. It was busy and bustling, and everyone seemed to be in a good mood today; funny what the first nice day in the spring could do.

Jack was the type of man that loved to show you off, but there was also a part of him that was fiercely protective, never possessive, over you. It comes from years as an agent; a tried and practiced thing. 

Whenever someone would stop the two of you, he'd always make sure you were front and center, getting all the attention you deserved. Today, in your new yellow sundress, that was no exception. There was something about today, how radiant and happy you looked, how kind and gentle you were, that set something off in him. Suddenly, as he watched you pick out some fresh oranges and apples from one of the stalls, he knew he had the answer to the question that had been on his mind. 

“Honey?” you turned back to him, finding him watching you with a dopey little grin on his face. You held out your hand to him, and Jack wasted no time in coming over and taking, effortlessly entwining your fingers, “what’s wrong, Jack?”

“Nothing’s wrong at all, Sugar,” he pressed a kiss to the side of your head before taking the large tote filled with fresh fruits from you, ever the gentleman. You used to try and fight him on little things like that, insisting that you were more than capable of doing things on your own, but it was always useless. Eventually you learned not to argue with your cowboy. 

“You’re just awfully quiet today is all,” you squeezed his hand in a sign of reassurance to let him know that everything was okay, “you can tell me anything, right?”

“Of course,” he stopped suddenly so he was facing you, a half smile on his handsome features. After studying your features in his aviators for a moment, you gently pushed them to the top of his head before leaving in to give him a gentle, saccharine kiss. When you pulled back, you found a light tinge of pink creeping into his cheeks, “whatever was that for?”

‘Just because,” you shrugged lightly before taking his hand again and tugging on it for him to follow, “I love you, Jack.”

“I love you too,” he shook his head at your playfulness but both knew the words were true. You’d both been jaded in different ways throughout your lives, but this was the one thing you were sure about. You really did love him more than anything - and he you.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You clutched onto your drink, or rather what was left of the smooth, honeyed whiskey, before turning to Jack and setting the glass down. You found Jack staring into the roaring fire across from you, his expression suggesting that a lot was going through his mind. 

You were across the small fire pit from him, the one he had lovingly built in the background for cool nights just like this and let out a small sigh. His drink wasn’t even touched and he’d hardly said more than a word or two the whole evening, leaving you to do most of the talking yourself.

“Alright, Jack, this is enough,” you stood up and flounced over to him, and sat down next to him, “what’s going on, Jack? Ever since this afternoon at the market, you’ve gone practically silent. It’s not like you, honey. I-is it something I did? Are you upset with me?”

“No, no, no it’s nothing like that at all, sugar,” he promised as he turned to you, a worried expression on his own face, “I am far from upset, or anything else for that matter. I’ve just had a lot on my mind today - lately.”

“What’s going on? I can help…” you watched with worried eyes as he stood up and moved in front of you, a thoughtful expression on his face as his hands dove into his pockets, “Jack?”

“We’ve been together for a long time now,” he started as you swallowed the lump in your throat, “honestly, it seems like there wasn’t any time in which I didn’t know you. It feels like we’ve always been together…”

“Oh my God,” you looked at him with pouted lips and a worried expression in your eyes, “you’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?”

“What on earth...how...no, Sugar, I am absolutely not breaking up with you or anything of the sort,” he quickly insisted and you relaxed at his reassurance. Then why was he so...off today?

“Then what’s…”

“I love you more than anything,” he reminded you, and your heart fluttered in your chest as you nodded slowly, “and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and only you. I don’t know a lot, but that is one thing I do know.”

“I want that too,” the corners of your mouth turned up into that brilliant smile that still made Jack weak in the knees. Radiant and golden as ever as nervous butterflies fluttered about his stomach; he was sure you would be able to hear the nervous beating of his heart, “you’re my one, Jack.”

“And you are mine, Sugar,” he slowly kneeled, almost eye level with you as he got down on one knee and reached back into his pocket. Suddenly you knew - all the quiet moments, the little secret he seemed to be hiding, all the extra declarations of love, it all made sense now. Your lip trembled with effort as you tried not to cry then and there. He reached for your left hand and gently held it in his, “I have never been more sure of anyone or anything, but I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I want to build and grow our family together, all of it - I want it with you.”

“Oh honey…” you looked into those soft brown eyes and found that they were glossy with tears as well, “I...love you so much. I want everything with you too. Only you.”

“Well then I just have one very important question to ask you,” he slipped his free hand into his pocket and pulled out a black velvet box. He made quick work of displaying the beautiful ring inside. You looked between the ring and him, hardly able to believe this was happening, “Sugar, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife and allowing me to be your husband?”

“Yes - yes,” you nodded as he slipped the ring onto your finger. He studied your face for a moment before delicately wiping away your tears, after which you put your hands on the sides of his face and pulled him in for a gentle kiss, “of course I’ll marry you, Jack. Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes.”

“And just like that, you continue to make me the happiest man in the world,” he scooped you up in his arms and spun you around as he held onto you tightly, “I love you so much, Sugar.”

“I love you too, Jack,” you whispered against his lips, “tell me what finally made you ask? Was it the dress? I always knew yellow was your favorite!”

“Of course not, darlin’,” he laughed lightly, “it was all you - the dress was just an added bonus. How lucky I must be to have the privilege of getting to gaze upon such beauty everyday.”

“And what about me?” you asked in response, “I must be pretty lucky as well. I get you all to myself, the best man, and soon I get to call you my husband.”

“I suppose that makes us a pair of lucky fools,” he mused as you beamed at him, “what do you say we do inside and grab some champagne to celebrate? Just the two of us for now, before we tell the world.”

“I love the sound of that,” you agreed, “this is perfect.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[tommyspeakycap]

Would you write for John McGinn? anything at all for him haha

you got me

a nasty breakup brings you to the door of the aston villa player, ready to welcome you once again with open arms full of love.

Whistling to himself as he walks from his bathroom to the kitchen of his home, John towel dries off his hair when his doorbell sounds through the house. His immediate reaction is one of question. He tilts his head, furrows his brows and wracks his brain for a memory of potentially making plans that he had then completely forgotten about. Instead, he begins to wonder if there was a chance he had leaked his address and would be met with paparazzi or fans standing on his doorstep. The villa player draws blank on both of those thought processes, and is snapped from them when the a harsh knocking accompanies the sound of said doorbell.

His feet hurry him towards the door, taking the opportunity to look at the doorbell footage he could access from the little alarm box on the wall just next to it. His eyes are met with you standing on his porch dripping from the rain, shivering in soaked clothes and very possibly crying.

He reaches for the door immediately, tugging the heavy thing open with eyes wide, "Bloody hell, you have a key!" He exclaims, ushering you in as he removed his hair towel from around his neck to drape over your shoulders while you close the door behind you. Your lips are a little blue from the winter chill that had blown the cold rain through your clothes. "Forgot it." You chitter, entire body shivering with the painful force to try and conserve some form of heat.

John grabs a bigger towel, one that's much softer and warmer. "Strip off," he orders hurriedly, turning his back to go back into the kitchen and see if he left any clothes in his dryer from the load he put in earlier. "Sh-shouldn't you take me t-t-to dinner first?"

Your half hearted, shivering attempt at a joke doesn't make him laugh like it usually would. He turns around to shoot you a disapproving scowl. "I'll get you some warm clothes, get dried."

You do as told, or attempt to. It's hard when you can't feel your fingers to get a grip on anything more than the zipper of the zip up hoodie you'd had on. You try to shake the material from your shoulders, but your whole body is stiff with the tight muscles that the freezing temperatures had inflicted upon you.

"You'll end up with hypothermia," John rushes, dropping the warm clothes down on the cabinet by the door where you still stand, surrounded by a puddle of rainwater. He works quickly, but carefully to shed you of the zipper, then looks to you for permission to lift your t-shirt over your head. He hands you the warm, dry towel to cover yourself with so he can unclip your soaked bra. Shoes off next, he discards them off behind him as water literally pools from them. You keep that towel around you, patting at your skin as he tries to get your leggings off as painlessly as possible, but every touch still hurts. Your pants, you insist on doing by yourself even if it is a struggle while John holds up the towel.

He didn't bother to even make an attempt at pulling the hair bobble out of your hair, John just snaps the thin black band wordlessly, easily between his fingers before he orders you to flip your hair so he can tied it in another warm towel.

"Why were you out in that?" He asks as he sits you down in his cosy living room with a new, drier towel. You're still chittering, which is worrying but John had learned a lot from coaches behaviours towards the teams when they come off after games played on nights like these. "It's negative 6 degrees."

Warming up was the most important thing, just not too quickly.

You avert your eyes from his, chewing slightly on your lip. "(y/n)," John presses, moving to occupy the space on the couch next to you. You sit forward on the couch so you both sit shoulder to shoulder, his head turns to you while yours faces the floor. "David kicked me out, I didn't have my keys and my phone wasn't charged so I couldn't call you. Busses were off for the weather and the snow covered the train lines yesterday, plus I don't have any money with me so I was scuppered there too. I did some grovelling at the door then I walked here when he wouldn't let me back it."

John's jaw all but hits the floor as anger infiltrates the worry coursing through his veins.

"Don't..." you sigh, trailing off as you stand up with a loose shake of your head. "Don't look at me like that John. I'm gonna go get changed."

The sound of your bare feet padding off through his house holding the warmed pile of his clothes he gave to you was one that he would certainly like to get used to, but you had both done this dance so many times he knew it wasn't something he could count on. Usually you'll call him though, or he'll go and pick you up after a mutual breakup. You've never come on no notice and it's never been because of something like this. John hadn't heard from you in a few weeks either, you had his mind reeling.

Even more so when you reappeared, dry hair tied back out of your face with his grey joggers and black t-shirt drowning you in its size. They were him homebody comfy clothes, so they were bought to be even a little big on him. He had to admit they looked a lot better on you, though.

In the time you were gone, John had made hot chocolate and brought through his biscuit tin to sit on the couch between you both. Words weren't deemed necessary to find a movie he knew you would like. That and he knew you didn't want to talk, so even if he tried it would have been like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall.

He keeps looking over at you, trying to do so discreetly by flicking his eyes over in your direction. Those little giggles at Hugh Grants exasperated facial expressions while James Can disposes of a body in a trunk in the 1999 rom com you loved so much. The movie is good, but your reactions to every time you watch it just like each time is the first time. John can't understand why a man would ever do anything that would wipe that little grin off your perfect lips. How anyone could ever put anyone out on their doorstep in a  storm like that, but least of all someone who was supposed to love you. If it were up to John, you would have been wrapped in a blanket the second the rain pour started, curled in his arms falling asleep to the sound of the thunder rumble and the rain pattering against the street. That was his dream, the one he couldn't keep a girlfriend because of. All he wanted was you and nobody else ever lived up to that.

He wishes he could scream at you, tell you that those very sorry excuses for men that you end up with and what you have with them isn't love. Or maybe you do love them, but they do not love you. They like the idea of you, someone free spirited and always ready to fall in love.

It truly seemed as though you could fall in love with anyone but the one man who wanted you the most.

Watching you fall asleep on his couch, head resting on the high armrest with knees curled up and his blanket still tucked around you with a tiny little bit of chocolate on the corner of your lip sends his heart racing a mile a minute. It feels so right to have you there. He feels guilty for enjoying it. Your heart was broken even if you wouldn't say a word about it and here he was enjoying it.

He uses his foot to push open the spare bedroom door just along the hall from his room. John lays you down carefully on top of the duvet, letting your head nuzzle into his plush pillows as your eyes remain shut in soft sleep. He grabs another blanket for you and makes sure the heating is right up in the room before he leaves you there with an ache in his chest.

He goes to check on you in the middle of the night, finding you not in the room but instead standing in his kitchen still shrouded in blankets with crazy sleep hair and tired eyes.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks, startling you ever so slightly. You shrug, moving to take a seat at his kitchen island. “Woke up and got all messed up thinking about how i have literally nothing.” You mumble in response, your voice thick with the desire to burst into tears. It breaks his heart to see you so defeated, your eyes never meeting his as they stare pointedly down at the marble surface. “I’m sorry.” John says, “Really. He’s an arsehole. I can go round and grab some stuff for you tomorrow if you want.” He offers, his apology as sincere as they come. But you shake your head with only a quick glance up at him. John isn’t hot tempered at all. He’s mellow, easygoing and funny. Never quick to anger and never the type to get into a fight but by god is he protective of you. You worry about the kind of blow that would come to his career if he gets an assault charge against your ex when he inevitably doesn’t let John into the house to get any of your stuff while probably barraging you with insults.

“It’s not worth it.” You admit. “It’s less physical. Just leaves me empty, i guess. ‘Cause i gave everything to that relationship and how i have nothing left to give.” The heartbreak and the weight of your words will weigh on John’s mind probably for years to come. How someone could do that to you he will never understand. There’s nothing he wants more in this world than for you to be his to love. He wants to shower you with praise, make you realise how strong you are and remind you every single day that he loves you. That’s what you deserve. You deserve kindness and encouragement and support. He wishes more than anything to be the guy who could give that to you instead of watching you enter into relationships with the worst men he’s ever known only to see you torn down at the other side of it.

“You’ve got me.” He offers. He knows that’s probably not what you want to hear and it might not give you the kind of relief he wishes he could give. But you smile softly and stand up, shuffling over to him under blankets and his warm clothes until you reach him. You don’t really hug him, just lean against him with your cheek on his chest. John wraps his arms around you tightly and feels you sigh contently. He’s your John. The burly Scottish lad who makes you laugh when you feel like crying, who looks after you and keeps you pushing forward when life feels like it’s stacked against you. “Yeah. I love you, John.” You hum softy. John can feel the small smile on your lips against the thin material of the shirt he wore to sleep in because his house was like a sauna with the heating to keep your warm. He can tell you’re about to fall asleep there because he supports most of your weight. He holds you to him, rubbing your back soothingly as you nod ever so slightly against him.

“Even when i’ve got nothing, i’ve got you.”

[actress4him]

The Barn 4 - The Pole

(Prompt #1 for Summer of Whump)

Yes, I’m coming in at the last minute with one more Summer of Whump prompt, and yes, it’s prompt #1. Also, if you read more than one of my series I’m sorry that this one is kinda like that one chapter of In Irons...? But I actually thought of this one first, and yes, it was inspired by Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Warnings: captivity, restraints, dehumanization, references to beating, mild blood, starvation, dehydration, nausea, emeto, fainting, heat exhaustion/stroke, probably medically inaccurate

.

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Stetson dropped Jacob’s foot, and another puff of red dust went up into the air, joining the cloud that his body had created as it was dragged. It would have been the perfect time for him to leap up and try to run again, but he couldn’t move. His everything ached.

A second later a leather-clad hand gripped his arm and yanked him upright. Jacob’s head swam with the swift change in elevation and his nose throbbed. While he was busy trying to get the world to stop spinning around him, Stetson roughly pulled his arms behind his back and started winding rope around his wrists.

Fantastic. He hadn’t even gotten to enjoy them being free.

Once they were thoroughly wrapped and the rope pulled tight, Stetson stood, taking the tail end with him and jerking Jacob’s arms backwards in the process. He cried out in surprise, and tried to get up. His legs only cooperated enough to scoot him back a few inches, but it was enough to let his arms rest against his back again.

Whatever Stetson was doing, he finished up and came back around to squat in front of his captive, arms propped across his knees and brown eyes studying him just as emotionlessly as ever.

“Maybe a few days of this’ll teach you some manners.”

“Doubt it,” Jacob immediately shot back without thinking. “My mom’s been trying to teach me manners for twenty-six years. I wouldn’t count on a few days making much of a difference.”

Stetson huffed very lightly, something that almost could have been taken for a laugh if Jacob wasn’t positive the guy didn’t know how. “We’ll see.”

Straightening with a quiet popping of joints, he turned and strolled away.

There was no way he was just leaving Jacob alone and able to run off. Craning his neck painfully around, he finally took a look at what was behind him. A post. A wooden post, probably coming up to around his shoulders. And the rope that was tying his wrists was looped through a metal hook in the top and knotted.

Okay, no problem. Jacob was good with his hands, he had nimble fingers from spending all day typing code. Struggling to his feet, he bent over forward so that he could reach and felt his way up the rope until he reached the knot, fingers fumbling around it, trying to get a sense of where it started.

Instead, he found a padlock.

Jacob let out a frustrated scream, the first time he’d actually had a chance to vent his feelings since this whole nightmare began. It felt good enough that he did it again. Then he ran forward, as hard as he could, as if he was somehow going to break the rope or pull the post out of the ground instead of nearly ripping his shoulders out of socket when he abruptly reached the end of his lead.

Tied to a stupid pole like...like a horse, or a dog. He was a human, dang it! Who did these people think they were, treating another person like this? The last…forty-eight? seventy-two? He didn’t even know how many hours anymore...had been completely flabbergasting, just seeing the sheer number of people who thought this was perfectly okay. And now he was stuck, in the middle of nowhere, with some psychopath who thought he was gonna what, train him? To do what, he didn’t even want to know.

Night was falling by then. Jacob was beyond exhausted, and resigned himself to sinking back down to the dirt, resting his back against the pole and getting as comfortable as possible.

The next day dawned with little sleep having been found. The sharp pains of yesterday had given way to stiffness and aches that made it hard to pry himself off the ground. His face was coated with dried blood and who knows what else, making him sticky and disgusted in addition to everything else.

He’d really never liked the outdoors that much. He was much more at home inside, in front of a computer. The outside had far too many things that could get you dirty, like, you know, dirt, for instance, like the kind of dirt he was currently sitting on and covered in. Most of his friends growing up had been your typical rough-and-tumble boys who lived for mud puddles and rolling down grassy hills, but Jacob had never been able to stand the feeling of being dirty.

Sweat was a thing encountered more often outdoors, too, and was just as bad as dirt. He could feel it, collecting underneath his shirt as the sun rose higher in the wide, blue sky. There was nothing in the way of shade in this field. Just dirt, dust, and more dirt, all surrounded by a wooden fence. A corral, probably. Meant for horses, not people.

The heat only grew more intense as the day wore on. There was no sign of Stetson, no indication that he would be bringing food or water or coming to untie him. Jacob hadn’t had anything to eat since this whole thing had begun, and no water since before the auction. His tongue was beginning to stick to the roof of his mouth.

He tried pacing around the pole, circling until the rope was tightly wound one way before turning and going the other way. His brain wasn’t used to boredom. There was always something to think about, always something to do. But now the only thing to think about was how absolutely screwed he was, and that wasn’t helping anything.

He tried pulling some more, too, not running this time, but turning until he could grip the rope in his hands and tugging backwards with all his might. Which, to be honest, wasn’t a lot. He was a computer geek, okay, working out wasn’t high on his list of priorities. The moral of the story was, pulling on the rope did nothing but make his back and arms ache even more.

The heat and the lack of stimulation made the day drag on and on forever. Jacob’s stomach moved from groaning to aching to roiling. If there had been anything in it, he was sure it would have been expelled. His head pounded something awful, and he wasn’t sure whether it was from heat or light or lack of water or having it repeatedly bashed in the day before.

By the time the sun finally started to sink beneath the horizon, his clothes were soaked with sweat, which was not only gross but also turned cold once night fell. He never thought that he’d actually miss the sun once it was gone. But now he was shivering, and the headache hadn’t gone away, and his stomach felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out, and he was pretty sure there was dirt in his mouth, and he was completely, totally, miserable.

Day two was somehow even worse than the first. Jacob tried standing up and stretching his legs, walking around the pole again, but he was so dizzy that he collapsed right back to the ground. Groaning, he dropped his forehead against the pole, grinding particles of dust further into his skin.

His...dry...skin. He didn’t know much about health and science, like, at all, but he was pretty sure not sweating in this heat was not a good thing. He almost felt cold still, like the chill of the night was clinging to his skin.

Hours dragged by. Every time he swallowed, it felt like nails going down his throat. Moving his head in any direction made the world swim around him, the blinding rays of the sun making spots dance across his vision. His stomach kept feeling worse and worse until he finally ended up folding over, retching uselessly again and again until every muscle in his torso was on fire and his head felt like it was exploding.

His only vague thought was, am I gonna die? before he fell face-first into the dirt and passed out.

A blast of cold woke him. He tried to gasp for air, but instead inhaled a mouthful of freezing water, sending him into a coughing fit that racked his sore stomach muscles. But the water just kept coming. It was harsh enough that he couldn’t even sit up against the onslaught, not that he was sure he had the energy to, anyway. The spray scoured every inch of his bare skin, leaving it stinging from both the pressure and the cold.

But it was water. Sweet, beautiful water. As soon as he stopped coughing he tried his best to gulp it in, letting the cold coat his scratchy throat.

He wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved when the spray finally stopped. Bringing up weary, unbound hands, he wiped the drips from his eyes, blinking blearily up at Stetson, who dropped the hose and stared him down.

“You didn’t last as long as I had planned.”

“M-maybe…” His voice came out as a croak, and he attempted to clear it. “Maybe you should try some...food ‘nd water. Haven’t...had any of that in a while.”

Stetson continued to stare with crossed arms for another moment before walking over and grabbing onto his ankle again. “You just had your water. Maybe you can have food tomorrow. We’ll see how well you behave.”

Ignoring Jacob’s weak protests and attempts to fight, he dragged him away from the doorway of the barn and into a nearby stall. Iron bars reached from the half wall up to the ceiling, giving it even more of a prison cell feel. The only good news was that he didn’t bother to tie him up this time, just threw him inside and left, shutting the door with a deafening creak and an ominous click.

[lokis-army-77]

If You Please

Chapter five

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3436

I'm bad at writing descriptions, so this is basically a reader insert into The First Avenger and then we'll see how it goes from there.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, mention of blood

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Masterlist

I hadn't seen Steve since the talk with Dr. Erskine yesterday afternoon. I knew that after the conversation we all had, he would know what he was meant to do. He would go into this with no questions whatsoever, just the knowledge that he would be able to help out with the war. I on the other hand was worried to death. That night I got less sleep than I ever had. I tossed and turned, but could never get comfortable. There's just something about knowing you and your brother are going to be test subjects for an experiment that hasn't had the best track record, that puts you on edge.

I did everything to try and go to sleep, but none of it helped in the slightest. When I laid there, in the dark, facing the ceiling, I thought of what life would have been like if this God-forsaken war hadn't started. Thoughts of a wedding crossed my mind. Steve walked me down the aisle towards the love of my life. If we hadn't been drugged into this war I could have been married by now, I could have started a family, I could be enjoying the rest of my life with Bucky by my side. But life never goes as planned and now Buck is thousands of miles away and I’m being experimented on.

Not just thoughts of a domestic life flew around in my head, I also thought of how this serum would affect Steve and me I. Helping to work on this experiment was one thing, being a part of it was another. All I had done for the last few years was help gather information for the doctors and scientists. I scouted recruits, I spied on copious amounts of HYDRA workers, I was a behind the scene worker, never in the spotlight of the actual experimental side. Now all that had changed and I would be participating in something I wasn’t really sure I wanted. There was no knowing what this would do to me, what the long-term and short-term effects might be, but I was willing to go through this as long as my brother was beside me. I couldn't just let him do it alone, even if this probably wasn't what I wanted for myself. From before I could remember Steve was always there with me, walking right alongside me through my battles, and I’d be damned if I didn't walk into this battle with him.

In the early morning hours, when the first birds started to chirp and the sun had barely shown itself to the world, I fell asleep, only to be awakened two hours later. The day had just begun and I already wanted to go back to sleep, I could feel the anxiety creeping back in. Without a good night's rest, I was useless. The procedure was scheduled for nine this morning and I had to be at the lab in an hour. I quickly got ready and headed out the door. When I walked down onto the street I noticed a car a few yards away from me. Peggy stepped out of the back and waved me over.

“Good morning, Agent Carter,” I called as I walked over to where she stood. I looked into the back seat and noticed Steve was sitting on the other side of the car. He looked at me and gave me a small wave. “You didn’t have to come pick me up, the lab is only two blocks away, I could have walked there.”

“Don't worry about it Rogers, It was your brother's idea to come get you. He said something about anxiety and operations. Said it would be best to come get you so he could help ease the nerves.” She said before she ushered me into the back seat and closed the door. She then walked around the car and got into the passenger seat.

“Morning shortly, don’t you look chipper this morning,” Steve stated as I slumped in the seat.

I slowly looked over at him and groaned out “I can’t believe you told her I get anxious about operations and needed your help to calm down.”

“Oh you know you need me, I can tell you only got a few hours of sleep. I bet you were up all night tossing and turning,” he stated matter of factly. He grabbed my right arm and pulled me over to him so he could give me a hug. I laid my head on his shoulder and watched as the car made its way down the block. “You’ve always needed someone to help you get over the anxiousness before any type of medical type thing. Now just sit here and calm down, I can hear how fast your heart is going.”

He wasn’t lying, any medical thing I have ever gone to has made me stressed out. Even just going into the doctor's office to get a prescription filled me with enough anxiety to explode. I could feel my heart beating a mile a minute the closer we got to the building the lab was in. Having Steve with me was easing it to a bearable amount but I still felt nauseous. When the car stopped outside of an old antique store we all got out and walked into the shop. I barely noticed Peggy reciting the code phrase to the woman at the front, then we were on our way to the back and going through a set of hidden doors. I grabbed Steve's hand and held onto it so tightly that I’m sure he could feel my pulse throbbing in my fingers. We made our way past several MPs to the observing deck of the lab and looked down at the several scientists in the room. They all spotted us quickly and came to a stop. I looked over at Steve and he looked at me, a quick glint of concern flashed over his face. I then looked to Peggy and she gave a stiff nod and started to descend the set of stairs to her right and Steve and I followed.

We three made our way to the platform in the middle of the room where Dr. Erskine met us. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully while he shook Steve’s hand and then mine. “Are you both ready?” I nodded my head nervously while eyeing the two large equipment pieces that were side by side. I winced as a sudden flash went off. A man, standing off to the side, had taken a picture of the encounter. Dr. Ersikne has shooed him off as soon as he had, telling him not to do that now. “Well, if you are both ready I will need you two to take your shoes, tie, and shirts off. Mr. Rogers, please take your cap off as well. Agent Rogers, I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable, we need to be able to access your biceps and the top of your chest.”

I slowly started to take my shoes off, then moved onto my tie and then my blazer and blouse. All I could think of at the moment was that this was all happening way too fast. The nervousness and anxiety I felt heavily outweigh the embarrassment I should have felt, being in a large room surrounded by men in only my bra and a pair of trousers. I was then told to then lay down on one of the machines in the center of the room.

“Agent Rogers, These are just some questions I have to ask before we get started,” said a nurse who had appeared next to me with a clipboard. “Is your date of birth August 3, 1921?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Have you had anything to eat or drink in the last 12 hours?”

“No, I have not”

“Okay then, we're good to go. I’ll just give you a shot of penicillin and then Dr. Erskine will come and start the procedure. As I laid there all I could hear was my heart beating in my ears. I watched as another nurse came to me and brought down two metal arms with rectangular pads attached to the end. They went right to the top of my chest and felt cold against my exposed skin. More nurses walked around me and starters putting vials of blue liquid into slots in the machine.

Dr. Erskine then appeared between Steve and me. Nodding at both of us he started the count down to the serum infusion. I saw another two rectangular pads come down towards my upper arms. I winced as I felt the needles on the pads insert into my arm. When the count down reached one I felt the serum being pushed into me through the rectangular pads. I gasped loudly, it was an unexplainable pain, Ilke fire was surging throughout my entire body. Then the machine started to rise and three panels with lots of lights came up and closed around me. I was taking deep breaths in order to not hyperventilate. Then came a tap on the glass that was right in front of my head. “Agent Rogers, are you ready?” Dr. Erskine called.

“As ready as I can be” I called back. He walked away from the glass and then the machine started to make a low rumbling sound. I closed my eyes and balled my hands uptight. The lights on the panels started to glow brighter and brighter through my eyelids. Soon the lights began to emit heat. I could feel it growing hotter and hotter until finally, I couldn't keep the feeling of the pain inside anymore. I felt my throat scratch as I let out a scream. The heat kept intensifying but I held on.

I could hear yelling from outside the machine. “Turn it off! Turn it off! Shut it down now!” someone was yelling.

I had come so far I couldn’t stop now. “No,” I yelled, “I can do it. Keep it on!” The light then became so bright it was like my eyes weren't even close like I was staring at the sun. The rumbling in my ears became overwhelming and I let out another scream. Suddenly everything went dark and the heat was gone. My breathing became labored and I let my body relax back onto the cushion behind me. The panels retracted and a gust of cold air surrounded me.

I could hear a ringing in my ears as I weakly stepped out of the machine. A few nurses and scientists caught me before my legs gave out. “Did we do it?” I stuttered out.

“I think we did. How are you feeling?” asked Dr. Erskine while handing me a shirt.

“Sweaty. Where’s Steve?” I looked around for him but the room started to fill with more people. Out of nowhere a loud bang when off and glass shot everywhere. I fell to the ground and heard gunshots ring out. Looking up I saw Dr. Erskine fall to the ground. I scrambled over to him and noticed another person bend down across from me on his opposite side. It was Steve, albeit he was a taller and more muscular Steve. I quickly refocused on the Doctor in my arms. He was struggling to breathe and as he took his last breath he pointed to Steve's heart and then went limp. I looked back up to Steve and watched as his face contorted in anger. He shot up from his squatted-down position and took off up the stairs and into the hallway. I followed suit yelling his name.

I reached the front door to the antique shop right as Steve tackled Peggy to the ground to save her from a cab almost running over her. “I had him,” she yelled at him.

“Sorry,” He called back. He started to run in the direction the cab had gone and I took off right behind him. Running down the street, I had noticed that I was running faster than I could before, I was catching up to Steve and the cab.

I saw the cab start to turn and I yelled out to Steve. “Steve, he's headed for the docks!” I kept running and took a sharp turn down the next alleyway. I hoped I would catch them before they go too far. After running straight to the docks I spotted the cab, with Steve hanging off the side of the door, hit a truck, and started rolling down the street sideways. I ran to where Steve had fallen when he let go of the door. I helped him to his feet while eyeing the man who emerged from the wrecked cab. He pulled a gun and shot at both of us before running onto pier 13. Steve grabbed the broken off door from the cab and averted to follow the gunman when he shot at us again. The man grabbed a nearby child and put the gun to his head.

“Get back” he yelled, “get back or I’ll shoot him.” He dragged the kid over to a small ally. I could hear the kid yelling to the man to let him go. Steve started to go after him, but before he could, I stopped him.

“Steve we have to think carefully about this. We can't go in blind, he might hurt the boy.”

“You're right. You go around the back and I’ll take him from the front. I’ll draw the fire and you get the kid.” I gave a quick nod and scurried off to the back entrance of the building. I snuck around the corners to keep from being seen and soon found myself behind the man and child. Steve rounded the corner and the man put the gun back to the boy's head. “Stop, don’t do it,” Steve called. The man then pointed the gun at Steve and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened, He was all out of bullets. In what was a last-ditch effort he tossed the boy over the side of the dock and into the water. I quickly dove in after him.

Coming up out of the water I spotted the boy treading water close to the wall. “Are you okay?” I asked him.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, spitting out water. Steve then ran over to look over into the water at us, the boy waved him on. “Go get him, I can swim,” he called up at him. I gave Steve a look and he sprinted off after the gunman.

“Come on kid, let's get you out of here.” I swam over towards him and led us to one of the recessed wall ladders. I helped him climb up the steep wall and when we both made it onto the solid ground I helped him ring out his clothes. “Go on and find your mother, I have to go help stop that man.” He quickly ran off and I turned to sprint down the pier to find Steve.

I couldn’t find either Steve or the gunman when I made it to the end of the dock. I knew they had gone into the water, there was no other way off. I watched the water waiting to see signs of either of them. Then unexpectedly the gunman was thrown out of the water and at my feet. I bent down quickly and grand at the lapels of his jacket, knocking the vile of serum from his pocket. Steve climbed out of the water and came to my side. “Who the hell are you?” he yelled at the man.

The gunman responded with “The first of many. Cut off one head and two more will take its place. Hail Hydra.” After he promptly bit down on a cyanide pill and died. I looked to Steve with a shocked expression.

“Shit. This isn’t good,” I mumbled.

After the whole chase, Steve and I were brought back to the lab. Blood work had to be done. Since all the serum, with the exception of the vile the gunman had stolen, had been used on the two of us, the only way to recreate the serum and possibly keep project rebirth going was in our blood. Peggy explained all of this to Steve as they finished drawing several vile of his blood.

“He deserved more than this,” commented Steve. Peggy looked to him with soft eyes.

“He’d be proud that you're the one it worked on, he’d be proud of both of you,” She affirmed.

“Thanks, Peg,” I said as I lifted myself up off the cot and headed to the door. She and Steve followed. We made our way to the bottom floor where Howard Stark was working on the small submarine the gunman used to try and escape. Colonel Phillips stood a few feet away from him with Senator Brandt. I overheard them talking of Hydra, but before I could explain to the senator who they were, Peggy beat me to it.

Colonel Phillips turned to us, “I have word that the SSR is being retasked. Pack your bags Agent Carter, Agent Rogers, You too Stark. We will be flying out to London tonight.”

“Sir?” Steve called out. “If you’re going after hydra, I want in.”

“You’re an experiment Rogers, you’re being sent to Alamogordo.” The Coronel asserted.

“But Coronel the serum worked, I can help.”

“Son, I asked for an army and all I got was you and your sister. You both aren't enough, at least Agent Rogers was on this team before the experiment happened.” the Colonel started to walk away again, but stopped when I called out to him.

“With all due respect Sir. I refuse to go anywhere without Steve. Either I go with him or he comes with me. I won't take no for an answer Sir.” The look he gave me could have killed but I couldn't care less.

“Agent Rogers, You better be on that plane by the time it takes off or you can kiss this job goodbye. Rogers can’t come with you either, I won't allow it.” He commanded and stormed out of the room.

The Senator spoke up then. “I think the Coronel here is missing the point. I've seen you in action, Steve. The country has seen it too. See here,” He hands Steve a newspaper, “The enlistment lines have been around the block since you came out in the paper. The people need a symbol, and you don't put a symbol in a lab.” He took Steve by the arm and led him off a few feet, but I could still hear him. “Would you like to serve your country on the most important battlefield of all?”

“Sir, that's all I have ever wanted to do,” Steve says.

“Well then son, you’ve just been promoted.” Said the Senator as he shook Steve's hand. I could already tell this wasn’t going to go the way Steve thought it would.

“Steve, Come here a second,” I called and walked over to a secluded corner of the room. I waited for him to come to me. “Steve, he's not going to give you the fight you want to be a part of. I wouldn’t take his offer,” I warned.

“It’s okay, I want to be a part of this fight in any way I can. You shouldn’t stay behind because of me. You have important work you need to do, go with the Coronel and Agent Carter.” Steve said, almost sounding like he was begging me to go with them.

“I said I wasn’t going without you. I don’t want you to do this alone, we’ve always had each other, why stop now?”

“Kid, I know you want to be here with me, to give me your support, but you have an important job. People are relying on you, you can't just do that job because of me. I’ll be fine, look at me, I’m not some sickly kid from Brooklyn anymore.”

“You know, I hate when you’re right.” I crossed my arms and huffed. “Fine, I’ll go with them, just know I will not enjoy a moment of this.”

“Thank you.” he pulled me into a strong hug.

“One more thing. How come you got taller and really buff? I just got more defined muscles, that's not fair.” I complained and he just laughed and shook his head.

“Go pack your bags kid, I'll see you soon.” He gave me a small push towards the door and just like that I was off to the war front.

Taglist: @underc0vercryptid-reads

[j-wont-stop]

The Scarred (Chapter Four)

Title - The Scarred (Chapter Four)

Word Count - 2002

Fandom -  Batman: The Dark Knight

Pairing - Ledger!Joker x OC

Summary - Penelope Bishop works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by therapy and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

Warning(s) - Light cussing, flashbacks/nightmares, smoking

Inspiration - Cold (Aqualung & Lucy Schwartz)

Masterlist

A/N - Sorry for the later post, I’ve been on 12 hour shifts lately and it’s messing up my schedule :/

“The hell is happening?” Penelope whispered to herself as she stared with a wide eye. She carded a hand through her hair, unsure of what to do, what to think. Whoever was behind this, they were intelligent. Patient and calculative. It frightened her. It frightened her and yet she hadn’t even met the person. That was the most unnerving part about it all.

Her hands moved to pick up the larger shards to throw away, then to grab the broom and sweep the rest. She scrambled to look through every hatch, every door, cabinet and closet for anything that might have been left behind. Yet there was nothing. Once more, the only sign that someone had been there was the face that had been cleared already. There was no lingering smell, not even a hair.

“Okay,” She muttered. “Okay-okay.” Her mouth rambled on as she carried out her night routine, heart pounding faster than she would have appreciated as she tried to relax under the warm stream of water. Her feet padded against the cold tile as she tended to her scars, pacing the small room before throwing on her pajamas. She raced to her jacket, fumbling through the pockets for her phone and shuffled through her contacts. The coldness of it rested against her ear as she chewed on her cheek, wiggling the fingers of her left hand absentmindedly.

“Penny?” The familiar voice made her perk up. “What’s up?”

“I just needed someone to talk to…” The woman practically whispered. She made her way to lay on her bed, listening attentively to the shuffling in the background over the phone.

“Oh, ’course, hun,” Emma had an underlying tone of understanding in her voice. “Did everything hold up okay at the shop?” Penelope thought back to the bald man.

“Yeah-everything went fine. Sold three vases.” She started fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“Three? That’s amazing!”

The voices echoed in the auditorium, the petite woman messing with the tassel that hung from her head. Everyone migrated to their families after having all walked the stage, visiting friends from time to time to say their goodbyes or reminisce in their memories. The woman searched for a familiar brunette bun, but her height made it all the more difficult.

“Penny!” She turned to face the voice, but was soon met with engorging flames. They towered over them all, everyone screaming and scattering in a panic. “Penny!” The voice screeched again, but no matter how many times she spun around and searched, she couldn’t find them. She started sweating profusely, both from the heat and stress of it all. Flames licked her skin, almost teasing it before it grew volatile.

Penelope’s eye snapped open, breathing heavily. Her hair stuck to her skin from the cold sweat she was left in. She laid there for a moment or two, collecting herself as best as she could. She listened to the wind humming through her window, the birds chirping as the sun’s first rays peaked through the clouds. She closed her eye again, imagining the bird. What kind of bird it was, what it was doing. Perhaps it was a swallow? It’s boring, brown feathers smooth as they glided and fluttered. The curious black eyes that fidgeted as it cocked and turned its head.

She took deep breaths, opening her eye once more to sit herself up on the edge of her twin bed. She stared at the soft carpet below her, loathing herself for waking up at such an ungodly hour. The faintest shade of blue colored the sky if she were to squint. Penelope then stood, stumbling over to her dresser to change out of her now drenched sleepwear. She thought about taking a quick heat dump to cool her off, but the amount of energy it took for her to get in the shower right now made her shudder, so she settled with splashing cold water on her face instead.

She trudged into the living room to her box TV, turning it on and having the low noise of the news play in the background as she migrated to the kitchen. She decided to simply pop an egg sandwich from the freezer into the microwave, pouring herself a glass of milk to go along with it. She bounced when she plopped onto the couch, pulling the lap blanket from the top of it to wrap herself up in. Her eye stared at the screen with a bored expression, heavy as she watched.

With how consistent the news was it was a wonder to her how it was never a rerun. The same news anchor, the same monotone voice with the same type of news. A new murder case, Bruce Wayne’s next trip to an extravagant venue, cloudy skies with an expected drizzle all week. None of it came as a surprise to her anymore.

Crime rates continued to slowly increase, the mob being thrown into a tizzy ever since The Joker showed up. Little changed since he was caught and put in Arkham. If anything, the people just grew into a rampage once they found out what had happened to their newfound idol. Penelope would be lying, however, if she said she wasn’t intrigued. From what she had seen on the news and heard from around the city, he was a very finicky person. He seemed so clumsy and careless, yet was always the one in control. No one could ever predict what he would do next, keeping everyone on their toes at all times.

She somewhat felt bad for the first responders who seemed to just be ragdolled from one end of the city to the other or thrown into ever frequent traps when he was out and about. She couldn’t deny that the thought of it made her snicker, wondering how they hadn’t learned their lesson the first few times. How they thought that The Joker being locked up would put their minds at ease. It was all a joke.

A vibration sounded from her phone and she looked to where it buzzed on the coffee table, the green icon showing that she had received a message. She reached over and picked it up, flipping it open in curiosity.

I’m stopping by Gotham Coffee. Want anything?

Emma. Penelope smiled at her phone, fingers moving to reply when another buzz went off. An unknown number, and all that was sent was the number twelve. That was all she needed to know who it was.

———————————————————————

The two women sat at the counter, sipping casually from their now cold coffee cups as they made small talk. Emma noticed how tense Penelope had seemed when she first entered the shop, what with her stiff posture and gaze cast down on the floor more so than usual, so it was a relief to see her smile a little more the longer they talked. They had just finished with one of their many giggle fits when the bell of the shop went off, cutting it short. Their heads snapped to the front and Penelope’s stomach dropped, mouth suddenly dry.

Once again, the light of the shop reflected off of the bald man’s head as his eyes focused on her own. With every step he took she felt as if she just shrunk smaller and smaller. It wasn’t until he stood directly in front of them that she shot up from her seat, scrambling into the back room to grab the vase she previously prepared. Her multitude of tiny footsteps echoed from the back as Emma and the man practically held a staring contest, the latter holding a sickly sweet smile. When Penelope emerged from the back room with the vase her arms shakily handed it to him, sucking on her bottom lip anxiously. With how rough he seemed, the gentleness with which he handled the vase amused her. But she wouldn’t dare show it. Emma looked over at Penelope as soon as he left.

“Was he one of the three vases?” She quipped, quirking an eyebrow. Penelope took a deep breath in, then casted her a sheepish smile.

“Four.” Emma stood to throw away their coffee cups. “He paid yesterday. Said he was picking it up at noon today.”

“How much?” Penelope’s mouth started to water, mouth faltering as she tried to form a response.

“Just twenty-five.” Emma, always having been good at reading people, knew she was being lied to, but for her friend’s sake decided not to push. She knew that if Penelope ever held something back, she did so for good reason. She just chuckled.

“How was it when he ordered it?” Her voice took on an amused tone. “‘Begonia and baby’s breath, please’.” She mocked the man, driving the two of them back into a giggling fit. They wasted the day away talking, trying to busy themselves one way or another until the end of the day. The last hour was the hardest. In silence they sat and watched the grandfather clock tucked away in a corner. Yet it only worsened their predicament.

Fridays had always been slower than any other day, and it was on Fridays that they truly realized that time was never on their side. When they had fun, it flew by. When they wanted something to just be over with, it dragged on. It was cruel. Time was cruel. Life was cruel. Penelope knew these things. So when the clock sounded at the hour they were out the front door, Emma locking up the shop and tossing Penelope a smile. They gave each other their ‘goodbye’s and ‘have a good weekend’s and made their way back to their respective homes. The city was in chaos, full of eager citizens who all wanted the same thing as Emma and Penelope. Some had already made their ways into their local bars, choosing to drown out their lives or celebrate simply because they made it through another week.

As for Penelope, she sat on the edge of her open windowsill and watched. A cigarette balanced between her lips as she struck a match and lit the end of it, shaking it out as she breathed in the all-needed nicotine. Her weekly treat. She rested her head on the wall beside her, the buzz starting to get to her after a significantly larger inhale. She stared out at the scenery in wonder, mind finding its first moment of peace since the last time she had a smoke.

Then a sudden knocking on her door jolted her from her spot, the stick nearly falling from her mouth. She quickly put it out in the ashtray next to her and climbed down to close her window, bare feet skittering across the floor. She stood on her tip-toes to look through the peep-hole, yet no one stood at the door. She unlatched it and opened it cautiously, peeking through until something caught her eye. She opened the door a bit wider to see a familiar vase sat on top of her welcome mat. Her vase. She noticed something dangling off to the side and delicately picked up the flowers to see what it was, and what she saw made her heart make its way to her throat. A playing card. A Joker card dangled from the vase.

[snelbz]

broken.

{rowaelin angst}

A/N: So this has been sitting in my drafts for uh. 8 months, and I legit forgot it existed sooo. Enjoy!

The little black box that sat on his dresser haunted him.

Rowan had been staring at it for what seemed like hours without any hope of falling asleep. He glanced at the alarm clock on his dresser. 2:16. His eyes drifted back to the box. He wondered if the diamond inside would gleam in the moonlight streaming through his thin curtained window.

He wondered if she would have liked the ring.

He supposed he would never know.

He didn’t understand how they had gotten here. How he had ended up in bed - in their bed - alone. He reached out ran his hand down the unoccupied pillow next to him.

Just yesterday, she woken up beside him. Just yesterday, she’d slipped out of bed before he was awake to make him a cup of coffee. It was still steaming on his bedside table when he’d woken up, though she was long gone, hoping to beat the morning traffic heading into Orynth.

He’d gone back through their texts from the day over a hundred times already, looking for some clue or sign of what was to come. There was none. They’d talked about nothing out of the ordinary, but that had been his goal. For her to suspect nothing and assume that it was any normal day.

At lunch, he’d called her. He’d suggested they go somewhere nice for dinner, rather than the regular take out one of them picked up on the way home, the one element crucial to his plan. If there was no fancy dinner, there was no proposal.

But he didn’t expect her to say no.

“I’m swamped with work,” she’d said. “I really just need to go to my apartment tonight and focus on these files.”

He’d offered, “I’ll come over then. Pick up dinner on the way.”

“Not tonight, Rowan.”

The tones of her voice made him hesitate before he pushed her.

Rowan’s eyes fluttered shut.

He missed her.

It had only been a day and the absence of her in their bed was agonizing.

Rowan picked up his phone and went to her contact page. He pressed the call button. It went straight to voicemail.

Hey, it’s Aelin. I’m busy. Call later or leave a message. Actually, text me. Why are you calling me in the first place?

The recorded lady told him to leave a message after the beep.

The beep came.

Rowan said nothing. What was there to say?

I miss you. I love you. Come back to me. Please.

Rowan hung up and let his phone fall into her pillow.

He had thought about going to her apartment, but he knew it was pointless. He’d never get inside. Instead he’d paced around his house today. He’d smashed things and broken them. He’d screamed until he was sure his neighbors had heard and was surprised when no police had shown up. He’d punched the wall so hard there was a fist-sized hole in the drywall. As he looked up at it, he clenched his stiff fingers.

Useless.

It was useless.

Pointless.

They had been together since high school. Seven years. Everyone said high school sweethearts don’t end up together. But they were wrong. She was his forever.

Seven years.

And now there was nothing.

Nothing but pain and emptiness and an agonizing hole in his chest that could not be filled.

He called her number again, knowing that it would go straight to her voicemail as it did before.

He did it again.

And again.

And again.

Until he finally got the nerve to leave a message after the beep.

“I love you,” he said, quietly, into the phone. “I miss you. I’m so sorry, Fireheart.”

He hung up and stared at the white ceiling.

He knew she wouldn’t be calling back, knew she wouldn’t answer the phone, no matter how many times he called.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Life wasn’t supposed to laugh at you like this.

You weren’t supposed to get a taste of happiness, to see everything you’ve ever wanted in front of you, and all you had to do was reach out and take it.

Only to have it ripped from your grasp at the last second.

He picked up his phone, to do what, he didn’t know. Probably to call again, but he paused. His eyes landed on the blue app in the upper corner of his screen and he tapped on it.

Before his feed could even load, he’d clicked on the small magnifying glass in the corner and began to type. Her name appeared after only typing “A”.

He selected her profile, and a photo of her, beaming at the person behind the camera, was displayed front and center. He’d taken the photo, on the ride home from her recent college graduation. The pride displayed on her face was obvious. As was the love in her turquoise and gold eyes.

He quickly closed the app, not allowing himself to scroll through her feed. To see if anything had been posted.

His phone rang in his hand, and even though he knew it wasn’t going to be her despite the late hour, he still hoped. But when he focused on the name on the display, he saw that it was Lorcan, and he declined the call.

He wasn’t in the mood for one of his oldest friend’s particular brand of bad mood tonight.

He had his own to contend with.

He didn’t want to talk to anyone.

No one but her.

Giving up on the idea of sleep, Rowan crawled out of bed as the clock hit three.

He went into the kitchen and turned on the light above the stove.

He turned around.

Her gray cardigan was tossed over the back of one of the chairs pushed up to his crappy, yard sale kitchen table.

They had picked out that table together, after Aelin had convinced him that a kitchen table was necessary and made an offer to the seller. The offer included the kitchen table and the hideous floral chair Rowan had sitting in the corner of his living room.

He hated that chair, had only put it in his apartment because Aelin found it charming.

Rowan poured himself a glass of whiskey and sat in that ugly chair. He grabbed her sweater as he passed and clutched it in his bruised and sore hand. He closed his eyes and raised it to his face. He breathed in deeply, breathing her in, breathing in the firey, crisp scent of her.

The sob the burst out of him on his exhale surprised even him. He didn’t expect the full body tremors that shook he as the tears finally spilled.

Gods, he missed her. He wanted her. He wanted to talk to her. He needed her to tell him everything was going to be okay.

So he tried to call her again.

“Aes, baby, I love you. I need you.” His voice was a gravelly rasp, barely intelligible into the phone’s microphone. “Please, baby. Please.”

He wasn’t above begging. Hell, he’d done it before. Practically had to do it to get her to go out with him in the first place, the beautiful, sophomore cheerleader, being approached by the boy, covered in tattoos at only seventeen, that everyone said was bad news.

And maybe he was bad news.

Maybe it was karma that had led him to lose her.

Maybe it was all his fault.

She was too good for him. Even the gods knew it. But she had loved him, he knew she did. A deep, all consuming love. That is what they shared.

But Rowan didn’t deserve such a love.

So it had to be taken from him.

Rowan screamed, his glass of whiskey falling from his grasp onto the rug beneath.

He didn’t care.

Let it soak in, let it stain. Let it be a reminder of what he had lost.

His phone chimed on the counter, a signal of an incoming text message, and again, he sprang for it. He unlocked it and read the message, his heart falling when he read the words.

I’m outside of your place, Whitethorn. I can see that the light is on. Just give me some sort of sign that you’re alive in there and I’ll leave you be. Elide is worried about you and it’s cutting into my sleep schedule.

Elide, gods bless her. The sweetest soul that he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. How Lorcan had charmed her, he’d never know.

Instead of replying, he slowly turned around, shuffled to the corner by the window, where the lamp stood, illuminating his small apartment. With a quick twist of his wrist, he turned the lamp off, plunging the room into darkness.

He just stood there, letting the darkness in his heart match that of his home, and after a minute, his phone chimed again, another text from Lorcan.

Thank you, that’s all I needed.

Rowan closed his eyes and listened to the sounds around him. He could hear the A/C unit, humming quietly. He could hear someone on the floor above’s washing machine as it spun. He could hear a tv on down the hall. But he couldn’t hear the quiet snore that left her when she was deeply and completely asleep. Because that snore was gone. His phone chimed one last time and his eyes snapped open and he looked at it.

And Rowan, I’m sorry about Aelin. I really am.

Rowan read the words over and over, letting them process, but never quite taking them in. His breathing quickened, his heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest.

With a yell of rage, he launched his phone at the wall across the room. It was like a small explosion when it made impact, tiny pieces of glass and plastic and metal ricocheting across the room.

He dropped to his knees and wept.

He couldn’t get over this.

There was no getting over this, getting over her.

It didn’t make sense.

None of it made sense.

Rowan sat on his knees until all of the tears left his body and he eventually fell into a steady numbness.

Was this how it would be?

Living, but wishing he weren’t?

Rowan laid down on the rug, next to the stain from his whiskey.

He had laid her down nights before on that rug and made love to her until late in the night that turned into early morning.

Everywhere he looked there was a memory.

She was everywhere.

So he closed his eyes and tried not to think.

The next thing Rowan knew, there was a banging on his front door and a pain in his neck and back.

The banging continued, but it was accompanied by a lilting voice. “Rowan Whitethorn, I swear to the gods, if you’re in there and don’t open this door right now, I will personally kick your ass.”

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t face the couple he knew was on the other side. Specifically, he couldn’t face him.

He couldn’t look at him and see her.

He couldn’t see the golden hair and the remarkable, identical eyes. Eyes no one but the two of them shared.

He couldn’t take the pity that would be in them.

“Go away,” he said. He wanted to yell it, but his voice came out broken and raspy.

The knock came once more.

“Please, Rowan,” she said.

If it was just Aedion, Rowan would’ve ignored it. But Lysandra’s plea broke him.

Rowan pushed himself off the floor and stumbled to the door. He knew he looked like shit, smelled like shit, but he didn’t care.

He cracked open the door and peeked through the slit. “What.”

He didn’t meet their gazes.

He knew they would be loaded with pity, and he couldn’t take it.

“May we come in?” Lysandra asked, gently.

That gentleness only made him more agitated.

“It’s not a good time.”

He knew he was being rude. He knew he was being an ass to the people who’d been his family for so many years.

“You think you’re the only one who’s hurting?”

“Aedion,” Lysandra said, a hand pressed to his chest. “We’re here to check on Rowan.”

It was then that Rowan glanced up at Aedion, at the eyes he’d loved so fiercely.

“You don’t need to check on me,” Rowan said, quietly. “I’m perfectly fine being alone right now.”

Aedion’s gaze did not falter from Rowan’s. Rowan wondered if Aedion knew the thoughts that were running through his mind. He wondered if Aedion knew that when Rowan looked at him, all he saw was Aelin.

Seeing Aedion did more hurt than good.

“If you need anything-.” Lysandra began, but was cut off.

“I’ll call,” Rowan interrupted, attempting to sound as if he meant it.

He shut the door without another word, leaning against it after it clicked shut. Rowan slid down the cold, wooden board as Aedion and Lysandra’s footsteps faded away into the distance.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, his back against the door, his feet planted on the floor. Long enough that his legs slid out from under him of their own accord. Long enough that somehow, he ended up laying on the cheap flooring meant to look like wood all day and then all night.

Around 6:30 the next morning, the sun reached the remnants of his phone, the shards of glass reflecting the light directly into his eyes.

He’d promised Lysandra he’d call if he needed something. His phone was in pieces and besides, there was only phone number he had memorized and he knew that one would go unanswered.

His stomach growled, but he never got up, even when the rumbles became empty aches. He just laid there, wondering if it was a good thing or a bad thing that he hadn’t needed to use the bathroom in days.

There was a knock on the door twice, but neither time did Rowan do more than blink at the startling noise.

He’d lost track of the days when footsteps approached his door, a key was fit into the door and the lock clicked as it was released. Rowan was up before the door could be swung open, his hopes high regardless of knowing there was no way she’d be on the other side of the door. Even though no one had a spare but her.

It wasn’t her.

Elide stepped through the door, and Rowan’s breathing quickened. It was as if every emotion he had ignored in the past twenty-four hours came flooding.

A quiet, broken sob fell out of him, and Elide was quickly moving toward him. She took Rowan, who was a foot taller than she, into her arms and held him tightly.

When Rowan’s breathing finally evened out, Elide whispered, “We hadn’t heard anything in a few days, so I got Aelin’s key. I just wanted to make sure that you… I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

Rowan said nothing. He didn’t move. He didn’t say a word. He just stood there, letting Elide hold onto him. Minutes passed before Rowan even realized that he was clutching her sweater so hard that his fingers were turning white at the tips.

“Rowan, you-.” Elide began, but paused to clear her throat. “You know you need to go see her.”

The room was silent. The only sound in the entire house was the rain pattering against the windows.

Rowan wasn’t sure when it had started to rain.

“She would-.”

“I know, Elide,” he whispered, sharply, but not unkindly. It had the desired effect though, and the dark haired girl stayed quiet. He rested his cheek on Elide’s head.

There was nothing remotely romantic in the gesture. Elide had become almost a little sister of sorts in the past few years. At first, she was just Aelin’s younger friend, and he’d loved her then. But now that she’d also become his best friend’s wife, that sense of protection he felt over was even stronger. There were many nights he’d stayed over at the Salvaterre/Lochan household, drinking and talking too late into the night, but not just with Lorcan. There were things he couldn’t talk to his Captain and best friend about, things that needed the delicate nature of a female.

“I just can’t yet, El,” he whispered. “I can’t just go over there and-.”

“And what?” She asked, pulling back and gripping his forearms. “After everything you’ve been through, after how long you loved her, you aren’t even going to say goodbye?”

Rowan stayed quiet, a million thoughts running through his mind. He shook his head. “I don’t want it to be goodbye. Not yet.”

Elide’s gaze softened, her palm resting against Rowan’s stubbled cheek. “Then don’t say goodbye. Just...go talk to her.”

Rowan said nothing for a long while. Then, at last, he nodded.

Elide gave him one more quick hug and began to back away. “Don’t go today. It’s rainy and gross and you know how she feels about rain. Go tomorrow, it’s going to be sunny and pretty and-.”

“A new day,” Rowan completed for her. The closest thing to a smile he’d felt in days tugged on the corner of his lip. “Thank you for coming to check on me.”

She paused by the door. “We love you, Ro. We miss you. Things aren’t the same without you. We know that things will probably never be the same but…” She blinked a few times and closed her eyes. “We’re all going to the Stag after work on Friday, like we used to. Should I save your usual seat?”

A real smile, though still sad, spread across his face. “I’ll do my best.”

She smiled and said, “That’s all we’re asking for,” and slipped out the door.

That night, Rowan went upstairs and slept in their bed, clutching her pillow to his chest. Her scent felt like coming home.

Gods, how many days had it been since he’d seen her? How many nights had he slept without her by his side? How many mornings had he gone without feeling her curl into his side, just before his alarm would go off?

How many days had she been gone?

After a night of fitful, but actual sleep, Rowan got up early, earlier than should have been acceptable, once he discovered it was a Saturday, and showered and shaved. He had to look his best for her. He had to impress.

He shrugged on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt before grabbing his jacket off the bedpost and shrugging it on. He looked in the mirror and decided it was good enough.

She had bought him that jacket. She loved that jacket.

He slipped on his boots and headed out the door. The sun was rising, and Rowan almost got lightheaded from the fresh air. It had been a while since he had gone outside.

Rowan headed east once he reached the sidewalk outside of his apartment building. He reached the corner store about five minutes later. They had just opened as he went inside, the bell ringing above the door as he made his entrance. After paying for a small bouquet of red roses, Rowan continued his walk through town.

Not many people were out, just those heading to work or on the walk of shame back to their own homesteads.

Rowan didn’t pay attention to any of them. His mind was on her. He was almost there.

And when he finally arrived, he panicked.

He wasn’t ready.

But he had to be.

The iron gates were open.

He walked through them, the autumn leaves rustling and crunching beneath his boots as he walked the winding path.

Elide had told him where she’d be.

The closer he got, though, the slower he moved, the heavier he breathed, the blurrier his vision became.

He found her.

And when he reached her, he fell to the ground, his knees landing in the damp grass.

It was real.

He didn’t want it to be real.

Real. It was real.

“Fireheart,” he whispered, voice trembling.

Rowan laid the roses down in front of the stone that read Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. Daughter and Friend, and wept.

[cozykozume]

Iwaizumi Hajime (27), The Athletic Trainer (NSFW)

!Iwaizumi x !reader NSFW

Hajime Iwaizumi (27) Athletic Trainer x Y/n (21ish) College student/College soccer player

As a college soccer player with constant knee issues, you had become very friendly with Iwaizumi. After your latest injury, you two became extra friendly. 

Warnings: Semi-public (storage closet), creampie, lots of teasing, bit of a slow burn, but also shameless smut.

Word count: 3015

I did try to edit some, but if its bad just let me know! 

You knew you shouldn’t be doing this...but there was something about being in situations like this that just got you going.

It was after soccer practice and as always, you went to the athletic room to grab some ice for your knee. ACL reconstruction a few years prior meant you spent a lot of time with the trainers, whether it be tending to your old injury or taking steps to prevent another one.

You limped into the athletics room, tee shirt slung over your shoulder as you had used it to wipe the sweat that was coating your body. Both legs wrapped up with pre-wrap under the constricting knee braces.

Iwaizumi was sitting at his desk in the back, glasses on while he reads (what you assume are) emails. You let the door slam behind you before limping over to an exam table, hopping up and scooting back until both legs are straight in front of you.

“Iwa...my knees hurrrrt todaaaay.” You whine, flopping back on the table. You ball your shirt up and put it behind your head, getting comfortable as you hear Iwaizumi huff from behind you.

“Well, maybe if you actually stretched like you were supposed to, and iced regularly after practice and games, they wouldn’t hurt so bad.” He says, dropping his glasses on his keyboard as he stands and makes his way over to you.

He takes one look at the dirt and grass stains marking your knee braces and shorts, shaking his head. “Or maybe if you could stay on your feet instead of insisting on playing on your knees..”he trails off, giving you a dirty look.

You smirk as you look up at him, “oh? I thought you would appreciate me so much more on my knees and than my knee Iwa. My bad...” you giggle, teasing him as the tips of his ears begin to glow a soft shade of pink.

“Well y/n, not sure what gave you that idea...” “Oh come on Iwa, it’s not like you’re a professor or anything. No need to be so stiff with me.” You tease again, wiggling your toes as he picks up one of your legs.

He shakes his head, trying to wipe the smirk off his face as he slowly tugs down the knee braces from each leg. You wince several times, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths.

“Y/n...these look pretty bad today. When was the last time you took a break?”

You shrug, keeping your eyes closed as you knew his face would be angry if you met his eyes.

“Y/n I’m being serious. Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage as it is? You’re already had surgery on your ACL and at this rate you’ll be getting 2 full knee replacements by the time you’re 30.” He rolls his eyes, knowing you are hearing what he is saying, but ignoring his warnings.

“Okay fine. Want to ignore me? You’re out of practice for the rest of this week. You report here during practice for some physical rehab and actual resting.”

Your eyes spring open as you sit straight up, “Iwaizumi! You can’t do that! We’re getting way too close to our qualifying games for me to be sitting out of practice for an entire week!” You say, trying to calm the panic in your chest and stomach.

“No y/n. This is the best time for it. Because I know the type of person you are, and you’re going to keep pushing yourself too hard. If you keep going like this, you’ll end up hurt during one of those games. You remind me of my best friend...you even get on my nerves just like him…” He says, a small smirk on his face as he turns away from you, grabbing an ice pack and ace bandage wrap.

You flop back down onto the table, going over your schedule in your head. “You know this is bullshit right?..” You say quietly, having no argument back to what he was saying. You lay the backs of your hands over your eyes, knowing the tears were going to start escaping, but also knowing that it was a stupid reason to cry.

You feel Iwaizumi’s warm hand pushing some stray hair behind your ear as he leans down closer to you.

“I know it seems bad now, but I really am just looking out for you...I don’t want you to get hurt so bad that you can’t keep playing..”

You take a deep breath, wiping away the few tears that did manage to escape before giving him a small smile.

“Yes I know that. I’m literally your favorite athlete here, and I’m pretty sure you’d quit if I wasn’t playing anymore.” You say, teasing him slightly as he wraps an ice pack around each knee.

“You keep things interesting around here for sure.” He says as he lightly slaps your thigh. “Now get up and get out. I’ll see you here at 2, and I’ll let your coach know you are out of practice for the rest of the week. I better not even see you near the field.”

You roll your eyes, biting your lip as you lower yourself onto the ground again. You feel, as well as hear your knees and ankles pop in protest. You slip on your sandals and grab your bag, refusing to make eye contact again, because you already knew what he was going to say.

“Yeah yeah yeah. You give orders and I obey them. Seems like a shitty deal for me, but whatever I guess.”

--------

You show up a little after 2pm wearing shorts and your Karasuno sweatshirt from high school. It was your favorite as it was oversized, overly worn out and absolutely perfect. Iwaizumi is working with a player from the men’s volleyball team as you sit down in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the room.

Your eyes dance over the mysterious volleyball player's body as you settle in. You notice how big his hands are and how some fingers seem to be taped together. It didn’t make sense to you but god did you want to suck on his fingers. They just looked so big and thick. As your eyes continue to travel, they somehow wind up on Iwaizumi.

His hands were actually pretty big too now that you really looked at them...And he was pretty muscular. Did he work out? I mean, he probably did right? He was an athletic trainer, so like, he also trains. Right? His legs...fuck. His thighs were looking so thick today. Had they always looked like that? Was he wearing shorts like that yesterday too?

Your eyes fall down to his eyes before slowly crawling back up and pausing. Mmm if he’s that big and thick everywhere else….I wonder if he’s also big and thick right there too..

You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue, completely lost in your thoughts as you stare at Iwaizumi's presumably large clothed cock. You smirk to yourself, laughing to yourself as your mind spirals out of control.  

“Y/n. You having fun over there?” He says just a bit too loudly, pulling you from your rated-R thoughts and causing you to gasp just as loud. You cover your face with your hands, trying to hide the reddish pink that is surely painting your cheeks by now.

“What the actual fuck Iwa. Did you have to fucking yell?” You say between your fingers, begging your heart rate to return to normal.

He chuckles as he walks over to you, crouching down in front of you and placing his large hands over your knees. You look down to see that they completely cover your knees and his fingers come up a considerable amount onto your thighs. You finally look up at him and meet his eyes. You can see the playfulness, and perhaps a hint of something else hidden in there.

“Well it seemed like you were a bit distracted by...something. And you also were staring pretty hard. So I just wanted to make sure you heard me. Duh.”

You grab his chin and pull him a little closer, tilting your head in the process.

“Oh? I was staring? And what exactly was I staring at...Iwa-chan?”

He looks down at your lips, slowly licking his before dragging his eyes up and catching yours. He moves a little closer, putting almost no space between the two of you, your noses brushing against each other.

His voice drops down, barely above a whisper, “You’re playing a dangerous game little girl...don’t bite off more than you can chew…”

You try to hide the nervousness you were feeling as you tilt your head, ghosting your lips over his, “Mmm it’s okay if you can’t keep up old ma-...” Before you finish your sentence, Iwaizumi closes the small distance between your lips. One hand leaves your knee, quickly grabbing onto the base of your neck before snaking up into your hair. His hand feels so much bigger as it spans the back of your head, finally moving to grab onto your ponytail.

His lips feel hot and fast against yours, quickly finding your tongues twisting and toying with each other. Your small hands cup the sides of his face, pulling him closer as he takes your bottom lip between his teeth. A breathless sound leaves you as his hand tightens around your hair and he softly pulls back on your lip.

He pulls your head back by your ponytail, standing up and towering over you. “I’m serious y/n. This is your last chance to leave. We can go back to how we were, flirty and fun…” He trails off as you softly shake your head. He pulls your head back further, looking down at you intensely, “Then say it. Tell me exactly what you want.” You feel as your cheeks burn as a tingle shoots down between your legs. You squeeze your legs together, looking up at him suddenly embarrassed.

“I want you to fuck me Hajime..” You say, your voice barely above a whisper.

His hands slide down and around your waist. “Wrap your arms and legs around me.” You cling to him as he easily hoists you up, his big hands moving to palm at your ass. Your fingers toy with the hair on the back of his neck as your lips start working their way up and down his neck.

As Iwaizumi pulls the door open to a storage closet, you sink your teeth into his soft flesh, giggling softly when you hear the deep groan from his chest. He steps inside and pulls the door shut behind him. The room is tiny, consisting of a small table along one wall and shelves lining the other. Iwaizumi sets you down on the table as he reaches around, looking for the string to the overhead light.

You took this opportunity to sneak your hands under his shirt, lightly dancing your fingers up. You smile when you feel his breath hitch as your fingertips graze his nipple. “Mmm is someone a little excited?” You say as the light cuts on, temporarily blinding you. You feel Iwaizumi immediately reach for your shorts, hooking his fingers over the edge and tugging them down with your panties following shortly after. “God someone needs to teach you a lesson...So sassy all the time..” He whispers against your ear as he slots himself between your legs. He uses the tips of his fingers to tease the insides of your thighs, inching closer and closer to the growing wetness. Your teeth find your bottom lip, biting into his thick fingers move from teasing, to slowly pushing into your soaking cunt.

The slight burn as the 2 digits move further into you causes you to moan softly, opening your legs wider at your fists ball into his shirt. He slowly pumps his fingers into you, stretching and scissoring you as soft moans begin falling from your lips. His other hand leaves your side, 2 fingers going directly into your mouth. Before Iwaizumi even has a chance to say anything, you begin sucking, your tongue twisting and flicking the tips of his fingers.

His eyes flutter shut before quickly springing back open, alternating between watching his fingers disappear into your mouth and watching his fingers get sucked into your greedly little hole.

You let go of his shirt, grabbing at the waistband of his shorts and boxers. You hook your fingers into them, pushing them down just fair enough for his cock to pop out. It stood straight out, precum already starting to collect at the tip again.

“Touch it…” You bite your lip, holding back a whimper as your hand wraps around him. He feels heavy as you start to slowly move your hand up and down his length, amazed at how hard it was for your fingers to full wrap around it. His head drops onto your shoulder, one hand speeding up his thumbs moves to toy with your clit. He uses his other hand to steady himself against the table, his quiet moans and breathy sighs tickling your ear.

You begin to work your hand quicker, spreading your legs wider as you feel yourself getting closer to cumming. A louder cry erupts from you as his thumb pushes harder against your throbbing clit. He grunts, slowly his hand inside you. “No no princess...You have to be quiet. You don’t want someone to hear, especially if they happen to stop by the training room.”

You whine, looking up at him annoyed that you were so close and he had the audacity to stop.

“Why didn’t you lock the door dumbass.” You huff, his lips finding your neck and fingers slowly starting to pump into you again.

“Mmm I can’t lock the training doors while there are practices going on…” He says, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you to the edge of the table. You wrap your legs around him lazily, using the sleeve of your sweatshirt to wipe your face before pulling it over your head. You drop it onto the table next to you, your eyes finally zeroing in on his sex. The way his big hand sluggishly strokes up and down while lining himself up to your dripping pussy.

You lean back on your elbows, propping yourself up to watch where you two will soon be connected. “Fuck! Can you please hurry up..” You whine, wiggling your hips down, causing his tips to rub into your slick.

Iwaizumi plants one hand by your elbow, the other moving to sprawl out over the lower middle of your back. In this position, you were able to reach up, lacing your fingers into his hair and attach your lips onto his neck.

A shiver ran through his body before you felt him pushing into you, filling you to the brim..plus some. You bit into his shoulder, trying to hold in the loud groan as your walls continued to flutter around him. His head falls into your neck as your head falls back, trying to catch your breath as he gives you time to adjust.

He slowly pulls his hips back until just the tip sits inside you, before pushing himself back in. Once again, when he bottoms out his head falls into your neck.

“Fuck Princess you are so fucking tight...And you’re taking me so well..”

Your entire body shivers just hearing those words, already beginning to crave more of him.

As if reading your thoughts, Iwaizumi starts a slow but deep thrust, your plushy walls begging him to move faster. You wrap your legs around his waist, gripping his hair tighter as you bring your lips to his ear.

“I need more...I need it harder..” You beg. He takes no time to answer as his hips move from leisurely movements to a punishing pace. Your head falls back as moans fall out of you, no longer caring about how loud they are. Iwaizumi lets his head fall against your chest, now using both hands to hold your waist as he fucks into you. Gruff grunts and groans spur you on even further, having never imagined that he could make sounds like that.

You felt your slick dripping onto the table and insides of your thighs. You tighten your legs around his waist as small explosions go off around your body. Loud cries rip from your lungs as your pussy flutters and calms down around him continuously. “Hajime!” You shriek as he picks his pace up, lifting your bottom half and moving you to meet his hips. His eyes are glued to where his fat cock drives into you over and over again. His grunts and groans turn into deep gruff moans before he bites his bottom lip, closing his eyes and tilting his head back.

You feel the first spurt of cum splash inside you before the second and third completely fill you. You watch his face, the way the corners of his lips turn up slightly as he drives his hips into you harder. He slowly sets your bottom back on the table, stepping closer and pushing his softening cock deeper inside you.

He licks his lips quickly, his hand softly grabbing your chin. “Hmm how about we stay like this for a minute...Go for a round 2...Treat your knee and then maybe go grab something to eat or something…?” He says quietly, his cheeks painting themselves a soft pink. You smile, tightening your legs around him as you lean up, giving him a soft peck on the lips.

“Oh wow. Is the famous Iwaizumi asking lil ol’me on a date?” You say, slowly moving your hips back and forth against him. “I mean, this pussy IS to die for, right?” You tease, giggling as he rolls his eyes, his hands taking hold of your hips and starting a slow shallow thrust inside you.

[something-fanfiction-ie]

Rough Drafts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Explicit descriptions of a murder scene, argument, angst, and cursing.

A/N: Okay, so I know I said I was gonna publish this yesterday but I got Cassandra Clare’s newest book and I couldn’t put it down. I seriously love that lady. Omg. Anyways, it’s here now! And it’s angsty! And there’s gonna be a fourth part soon I promise! For real. Don’t forget to reblog, comment, send me an ask or a message and overall just adore me so that I may continue to feel good about myself. As always thank you for supporting me and I hope you enjoy!!!

[ Part One | Part Two ]

___

An incredulous laugh bursts from your lips, your nails cutting crescent moons into the palms of your hands as you try and convince yourself that this isn’t actually happening.

“Do you have alibis for your whereabouts on Monday, June eighth, Saturday, June thirteenth, and Thursday, June eighteenth?” Spencer can see your leg bouncing rapidly under the table, your eyes flying over the pictures and the expression of Emily Prentiss. You seem genuine, but he can’t trust himself to get an accurate read of you anymore.

“I, uhm, I- I wouldn’t know off the top of my head. I keep a planner, I’ll forget things otherwise.” The burst of iron in your mouth is not something you’re unused to, having chewed your cheek so badly that the skin there has broken under your teeth.

“We’ll need to see that.” Emily isn’t sure whether or not she believes that you’re guilty, watching the way you seem to unravel before her. When you look at the crime scene photos, it isn't with any pleasure, but with disgust. Your nose wrinkles a little at the bridge and you keep looking away as the blood from your face starts to drain. 

Either you’re a really good actress or you aren’t the unsub.

Emily says as much as she flips through the small teal planner that you’d willingly given them. Due dates for chapters, publishing events, book signings and days for book tours fill most of the pages in your most neat handwriting. Dates you plan to go visit your mother, grocery shop, doctor’s appointments, even plans to go somewhere and write.

Everything is explicitly stated, that way you’re never unsure of what you meant to tell yourself. That is, until around three weeks ago when a handful of days are notated with an ‘S,’ followed by a random doodle. Sometimes it’s a tiny heart drawn absentmindedly while you discuss the plans over the phone, other times it’s a cartoon bunny or a top hat.

Garcia is the first to take notice of it, her fingers faltering in their constant thrum against the keyboard in front of her. She glances out of the side of her glasses, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“Looks like lonely girl found herself a boo.” 

“That makes sense,” JJ says from the chair she’s pulled into Penelope’s office from the bullpen. A pen is stretched between her hands, her posture relaxed into the curve of the stiff, government-issued rolly chair.

All the girls have gathered into the tech analyst’s room while the men take turns interrogating you. Well, all except Spencer. He just stands behind that window watching your every move with eyes like a hawk. “What doesn’t make sense is why she keeps it secret even in her personal planner.”

“Maybe she has a stalker? That could be who is doing all this?” 

“Then she wouldn’t keep careful notation of everything else going on in her life. A stalker would follow her every move, not just her romantic interests. Even if he is in love with her.”

“A partner, maybe? Like the days they planned the murders or days they were acted out?”

“None of the days line up with the crimes, save for this one,” Emily leans the book toward the two women with her finger just underneath June fifth, the day Alison Crane was abducted from outside her campus dorm room. It’s the third ‘S’ scribbled into the corner of a day in the entire book.

“And there is nothing else written in relation to this ‘S’ character?” JJ shakes her head, looking for any clues that could be nestled among the loops and curls of your writing. Reid would be better at this, he was the graphology expert among them. So why wasn’t he back here helping?

“Then I guess we better try and get her to talk about it. Meanwhile Garcia, we’ll get Rossi and Reid to head over to her apartment and you can hack into her computer?” Penelope spins the chair, a flash of bright colors and blond hair. She clicks her tongue in response, throwing up a fingers gun and winking.

“Whatever you need me to do, I’m on it like sexy on Derek Morgan stepping out of the shower in a towel.”

After some arguing, and maybe just a little bit of pleading, they manage to convince Reid to join Rossi on a trip to your apartment. He can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable, standing in your living room. Not because he’d been here before, but because he’d never been here before.

The empty mugs that litter every surface, smelling of old coffee and your favorite coffee creamer (he only knows it’s your favorite because you explicitly ask for that creamer at every coffee shop the two of you have ever gone to), is unfamiliar to him. He’s invited you to his apartment at least three times. How come he had never been to yours?

Small pages and notebooks of scribbled ideas and dialogues cover just as many areas as the coffee cups do, your handwriting messy and cramped in every note. It’s almost like you couldn’t get the idea out of your head fast enough.

The bed in your room is meticulously made without a wrinkle in sight, but that could be because of the obvious bed you’ve made yourself along the salmon pink couch that stretches out in front of your TV. A multicolored crochet blanket is thrown haphazardly over the back, a pillow still slightly squished against the arm.

On the coffee table is a half opened laptop, a notebook with red and black ink scribbled in the lines, and a still full cup of coffee. Rossi makes quick work of calling Garcia and helping her get patched into your computer. It’s strange, watching her move the mouse on your screen from miles away.

Reid never stops moving, walking the length of your studio apartment with his eyes peeled for any kind of information he could find. It’s obvious that you spend most of your time in the main room, which houses the kitchen, a small dining area, and the living room. A door leading into your room branches off to a small bathroom which is just as disorganized as everything else in your house.

Hair products, skin washes, and all kinds of makeup are scattered across the sink and back of your toilet. It’s funny because every time he’s ever met up with you, you’re bare faced and your hair is still drying from the shower you took before leaving your house. The tube of lipstick he picks up makes him think he doesn’t really know you at all.

On the nightstand in your room is a bottle of water with the label ripped off and the two Rossi books you’d bought that fateful day in the bookstore. The label from the water bottle is stuck between the middle pages of one of the books. The passages in question don’t lend anything to connecting you as a homicidal maniac, let alone a serial killer.

Back in the living room, Garcia is snooping through every aspect of your computer.

“I don’t know whether or not the be freaked out by her web history. There’s a lot of murder-y questions here. ‘Signs of a post mortem amputation,’ ‘How much blood can you lose and still live?,’ ‘Most brutal ways to be killed.’ It’s creepy.” Rossi is flicking through the notebook from the table, his eyes squinted as he tried to make sense of the abbreviations and scribblings of another writer.

“She writes crime novels so it isn’t entirely strange for her to be looking at those types of things.” Thankfully, the defense of your web search history comes from the older man who looks up as Garcia delves deeper and deeper. Spencer had thought it first, but hadn’t said anything to avoid suspicion. He’s smart enough to know that the truth has to come out eventually, but he wants to be sure of your innocence (or guilt, he reminds himself a bit glumly) before he reveals your link to him.

“I’m not seeing anything she could be using to contact a partner unless her partner is one of the publishing people she’s constantly messaging via email.” At this Spencer stops, leaning against the back of the couch with his weight resting on the heels of his hands. The stance appears relaxed. He is anything but.

“Why do we assume she has a partner?” Reid asks, impatiently pushing a stray curl away from his face. Rossi glances at him curiously, otherwise undistracted from the shake the movement gives the couch.

“Oh, Prentiss, JJ, and I were looking through her little teal book earlier and the only thing not explicitly stated was just the letter ‘S.’ It’s why they came back to interrogate and they sent you guys to her house. I thought they told you.”

Spencer wants to beat his head against the wall.

“That isn’t a lead, Garcia. You have to tell them that ‘S’ isn’t her partner.” The mouse on the computer screen falters, several saved documents for different rough drafts of books or drabbles are pulled up the way you might have papers scattered about in front of you.

“What is it? Do you know who ‘S’ is?” Rossi is turned sideways on the couch, looking over the back and up at the distressed man in front of him. It doesn’t take him long to connect the dots when they make eye contact. Penelope impatiently whines over the phone.

“I’m ‘S,’ I’ve been seeing her for the last three weeks. I’m sure if you tell me the dates then every single one of them will be days that we’ve had plans together.”

“I’m sorry, what?!” Before anyone has the chance to say anything else, the door to Garcia’s office opens and a second voice filters through Rossi’s phone speaker. It’s JJ.

“Let Reid and Rossi know there’s just been another murder.”

This time it’s a fifteen year old girl. Her hair is black and wet, her lips are as blue as the sky, and she’s naked. Water droplets from her skin have soaked into the sheet of paper that was layed over her chest. The bathtub she’s in is completely empty, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that she was drowned there. The bruises on her shoulders from the force the unsub used to pin her down are dark against the contrast of her already pale skin.

...The man leaned over the tub, his eyes squinted in thought and his lips skewed a little to the side. Ryder stayed focused on the crime scene, for the most part. But even detectives of her caliber, and higher, could easily get lost in the eyes that look up at her from beneath long golden-brown lashes.

“Detective?” She blinks the distraction away, looking back at the girl, her black hair wet and spiraling like the snakes on Medusa’s head against the ivory siding of the drained tub. Ryder can’t help but wish the girl had been lucky enough to turn her killer to stone. Maybe it would have saved her.

“Agent.” She crosses her arms, looking anywhere but at the man across from her, pretending to look for any useful clues. Ryder had gotten to the crime scene fourty-five minutes before the pair of FBI Agents had walked in. The man, who had introduced himself as Supervisory Special Agent Matthew Gray, had decided to join her in the second floor bathroom. His partner, a woman named Katherine Swift, had taken to looking for clues through the rest of the house.

Agent Gray is beautiful. It’s the only adjective that seems to stick to him with certainty, every other aspect of his personality just as elusive as the exact color of those eyes. Even as short as his hair is, the golden brown tendrils are unkempt and curl every which way. Ryder has to force her hand to stay at her side and not reach up to smooth an alfalfa that does nothing for the serious expression on his face.

She keeps imagining what it would feel like if he reached out to kiss her, curling his fingers into her hair and bringing her unworthy lips up to meet his. He’s tall so she would probably have to stretch a little, but she wouldn’t mind. Not when his hands are tangled in her hair and he’s giving her the kiss she’s been silently begging for since the moment he flashed that crooked grin at her.

The imagination is so vivid that she jumps when her own partner, Detective Russo, comes around the corner of the hallway and straight into the bathroom...

The paper crinkles in the evidence bag as Morgan places it on the table, trying to ignore the daggers being glared into him on the other side of the mirror.

Nobody on the team had been very happy with Spencer when they heard the news about your relationship, Hotch had nearly snatched him by the scruff of his neck when he made to go into the interrogation room. But after several minutes of thoroughly explaining himself, Hotch had sent Morgan in. To say Spencer was infuriated was an understatement.

“Do you know what this is, (Y/N)?” You look down at it, twisting the evidence bag so that you could read the Times New Roman font you always wrote in when writing in Microsoft Word. The words cover the front and back of the copy paper, but you don’t have to read it through all the way before you know what it is.

“It’s a page from my newest book.” The bag scratches against the tabletop as you push it away from you, crossing your arms over your chest. Your face is stoplight red with embarrassment at the thought of Spencer reading this page, mostly because you had pulled so heavily from your own thoughts when first meeting Spencer to write Ryder and Gray’s first meeting. You created Matthew Gray to write about Spencer Reid in a way that felt less ‘high school diary entry.’

“More specifically, it’s from the book you just started working on about a month ago. The one that only you and your agent have access to.” Finally, Morgan sits. Before, he’d just been pacing around you the way a lioness might stalk around her prey before she launches an attack. It made you uneasy, but that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

“Do you know where we found it, (Y/N)?” His muscles bulge against his shirtsleeves when he leans them up on the table. Derek Morgan is a very attractive man, you’ll give him that, but if making you uneasy and putting you in the room with a attractive man to fluster you was their strategy then they should have sent in Spencer.

“My computer.”

“We found it on the body of a dead girl.” Another picture joins the ones already shuffled around the table. You can barely look at it, nausea and tears building in your throat at the sight of another person dying the same way you’d written in a story. When you don’t respond, Morgan continues.

“‘She was found at the bottom of an empty bathtub, a pale leg hooked over the edge of the porcelain siding, and her arms pinned to her sides in death. Bruises discolored the skin at her shoulders, and Ryder knew at first glance that her cause of death would be asphyxiation by drowning.’” He drops the paper back to the table, having picked it up to read the passage from the end of the page.

“That’s wrong,” You say, leaning back over the table to look at the paper again. Derek looks down, like the words might have changed in the moment he looked away, but the text stays exactly the same as before.

“That’s exactly what is written here.” You shake your head, pulling the bag back to you and wrinkling your forehead in thought.

“I don’t doubt that is what you read, Agent Morgan,” Your eyes fly over the page, reading the end of the excerpt with overwhelming relief. The bag sticks a little to the pad of your index finger as you tap over the paragraph in question. “But I rewrote this scene only two nights ago. It’s on my computer, I’m sure your tech analyst can confirm my claim. This girl, Bella, she doesn’t die from drowning anymore. Her hands are tied above her head to the faucet and she’s strangled. I couldn’t decide if I wanted it to be by her sister or her girlfriend.”

JJ rushes back to Penelope’s office, on a mission to confirm your statement just as you had suggested. Meanwhile, Morgan’s mind is rushing to figure out the mess he is currently sat in. You lean back in your chair now, unsure if the dizziness you feel is from lack of food or the sudden realization that they couldn’t pin this to you anymore.

“I’m not your bad guy. If I was doing this to prove to my mother that my writing is good, that I chose the right career, as your profile says, I wouldn’t change the scene in my book and not change the murder.” In Morgan’s earpiece, Hotch tells him that you were telling the truth about editing the scene two nights ago.

“Unless you planned it to throw us off track. We know about your relationship with Spencer, you’ve probably found out all kinds of things to do to keep us from catching you.”

You clench your teeth, straightening into your chair and pinning Derek down with a look you’d learned from your mother. It makes him think of his mom, your eyes narrowed and your gaze so cold that it could cause frostbite. He watches curiosily as you tilt your chin up a little, trying to hide the pricks behind your eyes and the wobble of your lip. Derek notices them, the entire team notices. They’re trained to notice.

“I want a lawyer.” You say simply, you voice is sharp and quiet but it does the job of slicing through the tension already building in the room.

“Come on, you don’t need a lawyer.”

“That’s where you’re wrong again, Agent Morgan. I do need a lawyer. Because even though I have full-heartedly trusted the justice system since I was in diapers, and even though I came to these offices willing to help your team in any way that I could, you are still trying to use me as a scapegoat instead of actually doing your fucking job and finding the bastard who is killing people in my name.

“A study from criminal law bulletin says that 10,000 people are wrongfully convicted of serious crimes every year. One in every twenty-five people sentenced to death are innocent, Agent Morgan. Just since 1973, more than 160 people were exonerated from the death penalty. That’s not even counting the people who were killed. But you sure as hell aren’t about to make me apart of that statistic because you want to waste your time trying to piece an investigation around me. That’s not how you’re supposed to do your job. So until you can remember how to do it correctly, I do need a lawyer. Thank you.”

By the time you finish you’ve leaned over the table, your index finger jammed into the wood to make your point. It feels like your chest is on fire as you slam back into your seat and cross your arms, determined to keep your silence for the rest of the time you were forced to sit here.

Everyone on the opposite side of the mirror is stunned into silence, their eyes focused on you even as Derek gathers all the things from the desk and walks out looking a little flustered himself. If Spencer was totally honest, your outburst was actually kind of hot. He has to remind himself that you may have killed eight people in cold blood.

Your lawyer makes it to the BAU in record time, his red hair expertly gelled back from his face. His icy blue eyes only cracking when he sees you sitting by yourself in the interrogation room. Spencer can tell by the way that he lowers himself on the balls of his feet to talk to you, reaching out to touch the hand that sits on your thigh, that he knows you personally. He likes you, actually. Spencer tried to tell himself that it doesn’t make him glad when you pull your hand out of his and awkwardly pat his arm.

He’s been lying to himself a lot today.

Hotch is the one to go back in the room, he was the best at dealing with lawyers. Unfortunately his best wasn’t enough to keep you in custody and soon your lawyer, who Spencer learned was named Jeremy, was walking you out of the room for the first time in six hours.

Your back cracks when you stand, your shoulders rolling back to try and ease some of the stress you’d been holding there since this morning. The sound of the door swinging open for you is almost heavenly, the feel of the air outside of the room is damn near enough to make you cry.

When you look to the side, ready to leave out the second door that leads into the hallway and away from this mess, you meet eyes with the only profiler of the BAU that you hadn’t seen that day. Spencer looks back at you with an expression that you find hard to put into words.

He almost looks sorry, the regret evident in the slight widening of his eyes, but at the same time his chin is tilted up like he is facing an enemy he has vowed to take down no matter the cost. His shoulders are squared, but his arms are uncrossed and his palms are open.

And even though you knew you wouldn’t be there without him knowing, the reassurance that Spencer knew and even suspected you is like a blow to the chest and stomach. It robs you of air, causing you to stumble.

Jeremy reaches to steady you. You shake him off, pulling your eyes from the young doctor and focusing all of your attention on the door knob.

“I’m fine, Jeremy.” Your tone of voice is more harsh than you intended but you’re still struggling to collect oxygen, even when you slide into your car by yourself, it feels like you can’t get enough air. The walk from the BAU offices to the parking lot had passed in a blur. Jeremy’s talk about staying at home and keeping your head low had gone by even faster, and now that you have time to truly be by yourself, everything hits like a ton of bricks thrown at you from a speeding train.

In the midst of your panic attack, gasping for air into the palms of your shaking hands, questioning everything about yourself and your career, you don’t register the shuffle of movement in your backseat. You’re so deep in your mind that you almost don’t notice the cool press of a gun barrel against the back of your neck until a familiar voice lifts your head from your hands.

“Drive.”

[thatesqcrush]

The Trip, Pt. 2

Bryan Kneef x reader. First part here. 

CW: Smut. 

AN: Water sex is actually not ideal, as water washes away natural lubricant and can be super irritating - use a silicone based lube if you must. But for the sake of the story, we’re going to pretend none of this matters. Fic dedicated to the discord heathens - you know who you are.

AN2: Snowstorm square for holiday bingo.

WC: 2.5K

**

The entire week came and went in a flash. You were both flying out to Chicago that morning and you decided to see if Bryan was interested in grabbing breakfast and sharing a cab. You got dressed and walked down the hallway to his room, which was on the opposite end of yours.

You were approaching the door when it swung open, a petite blonde with big tits and haphazard clothes came out – you recognized her as defense counsel from a rival law firm. She smiled awkwardly at you, before saying goodbye to Bryan who was in nothing but a towel.

Bryan looked at you, completely – and not at all shockingly – unfazed. “Here for more?”

You crinkled your nose at him and scoffed.

“Are you jealous that I didn’t invite you over? I didn’t peg you as the threesome type.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. Get over yourself.”

“I seem to recall you enjoyed being over me.” Bryan winked, before walking back into the room.

“Come in.” The Florida sun had been extremely kind to him – his skin was golden brown, making his green eyes even brighter.

You shut the door behind you. “I was just coming to see if you wanted to have breakfast and share a cab.”

“You could have texted me for just that.” Bryan remarked as he dropped his towel. It was no surprise Bryan was not ashamed of his body. His cock, even flaccid, was impressive and you felt desire kick in your cunt. Bryan gave you a wicked smile.

You rolled your eyes and turned around, heading back to the door. “Well I didn’t exactly think I’d run into Jackie Debovsky…” You looked at your watch. “at this hour in what I recall as yesterday’s clothes. I’ll be downstairs if you want to join or not.”

Bryan commented he’d be down in fifteen. As you rode the elevator, you looked down at yourself, thinking again of Jackie Debovsky and how obvious she and Bryan fucked, and felt blah. You hated how insecure it made you feel. You were a grown woman – a partner at one of the premier law firms in the country. Instead, you let jealousy rear its ugly head.

Back in his room, Bryan finishes getting ready. He replays your conversation in his mind – something about it feels off. He can’t help the fact that he enjoys fucking and making his partners come – it’s something he is very good at doing. But he has never been so fixated on one – even when he was with Jackie Debovsky earlier – his mind was on you, how you responded so eagerly to his touches – to his cock. Sex with Jackie was fun, but unsatisfying.

And he didn’t mean to get caught.

**

Bryan found you at a table, sipping on coffee and reading the paper. A bowl of fruit and toast were in front of you, untouched. He reached over and grabbed a slice of toast. “Did you know there is a snowstorm in Chicago?”

You lowered your paper. “What?” Bryan looked casual in a light blue polo and brown top-siders, which matched his belt.

Bryan sat down, continuing to eat your toast. “There is a snowstorm – our flight has already been cancelled. It’s going to be a few days out. I took the liberty of extending our reservations already.”

“Oh! Um, thanks – that was kind of you.” You murmured as you pierced a piece of melon with your fork.

“Not a problem.” Bryan replied, a flash of white appeared as he smiled. You stood suddenly, the chair scraping against the floor as you did so. You signaled the waiter and requested your meal be charged to your room. “I guess I am going to hit the one of the hotel shops now that I have been given the gift of time.”

**

You perused the gift shop, a stuffed flamingo with a Santa hat in your hand. You eyed the rack of bathing suits and debated purchasing another since it looked like you’d be at the hotel for a little while longer.

“You should get the two piece – you have some great breasts.” A familiar voice replied from behind.

You whirled around, coming near chest to chest with Bryan. You cocked your head. “Wow, stalker much?”

“Relax – you had a good idea coming here. I figured I would pick up something for my niece and nephew – twins, four.”

“Uncle Bryan.” You mused. “Who would have pegged you as a family man.”

Bryan’s eyes narrowed at you. “First you call me the devil – now this. You wound me.”

You held up the two piece and your eyes bugged at the price. “It’s cute but I am not paying this price.”

“You have the money.”

You turned back to him and cocked your brow. “And how would you know?”

“I know things.” Bryan waved his hand which garnered another eye roll from you.

“Christ, Bryan.” You murmured, pushing past him. You got a whiff of his cologne and it made your skin prickle. You approached the cashier and paid for the stuffed flamingo.

**

You were channel surfing in your room, when you there was a knock on your door. You opened the door and found the swimsuit hanging off your doorknob. There was a note attached and you recognized Bryan’s scrawl.

My treat. You would look gorgeous in this. Plus, you really do have some amazing breasts. Meet me at the rooftop in 20?

Again your brain screamed no, but your pussy said yes. You changed into the two piece and hemmed and hummed, staring at yourself in the mirror. You had to admit Bryan was not wrong – your breasts looked fabulous. Your eyes landed on your stomach and you frowned as the suit dug a little into your belly, causing a strip of belly to spill over. You trace your fingertips over it and close your eyes, your mind flashing to the night with Bryan and his words – ‘I’m a grown man... come ride daddy’s cock’ – and how he slapped his thigh as he beckoned you on top. You threw on your coverup and headed out and up.

**

When you arrived at the rooftop, you found Bryan lounging in the hotel’s hot tub. Steam surrounded him. He smiled sinfully at you. “You came.”

“I did.” You replied. “I got your… gift.”

Bryan smiled and moved from the opposite end to the side closer to you. Pointing a finger at you, he motioned for you to take it off. You let out a breath, trying to blow out any insecurity that remained. You reached down for the hem of your coverup and tugged it off. You tossed it to the side, it landing on a nearby lounge chair. Any insecurities you might have felt were washed away as you were met with a heated look in response.

You made way to the hot tub and stepped in, the warm water and jets soothing your muscles. Bryan pulled you to him and kissed you hard, your teeth clashing. You pressed against his body, wrapping your arms around his neck. The warm water sloshed around you as the kiss deepened, your tongues rolling in unison. His hands were immediately on your tits, pushing them together and feeling your already hard nipples. Bryan’s head dipped below, mouthing your flesh through your bathing suit top. You let out a groan feeling his warm mouth on you. You raked your hands through his dark hair, wetting him in the process. Bryan’s mouth returned to yours and his hand glided up your back. With an expert twist of his fingers, your top comes undone, the triangles falling to your waist.

You pulled away breathless and frantically look around. “Bryan! What if someone sees us?”

Bryan outlines your face with a finger, pride written all over his face. “I already paid security off. We have the whole rooftop to ourselves.”

Your cunt kicks and you respond by climbing him, legs wrapped around his waist. You can already feel how stiff his cock feels. It’s so close and you need it closer. Bryan lifted you a bit, so you were sitting on the edge of the hot tub. He lowered his swim trunks and moved to you. A breeze blew through, pulling you out of the clouds and back into reality.

“Bryan – we can’t do this. You just fucked defense counsel – I know I’m clean but –”

“I wore a condom with her. I’ve only been raw with you.” Bryan replied. Your eyes narrowed and focus on his hand which is stroking his length.

‘Only raw with you.’

“Jesus Christ Bryan.” You groaned, covering your face with your hands. Bryan made way to you, and gently removed your hands from your face.

“Look, we can stop if you want. I just figured we could have some more fun.”

You looked at him and decide in that moment he is being truthful. “God help me.” You murmured before hooking your legs around his waist.

“You already decided that I am the devil.” Bryan chuckled darkly, which garnered a look from you. You let out a squeal as Bryan pulled you back into the water, your legs still hooked around him. You reach between him and slide your bottoms to the side. The tip of his cock parted your pussy, teasing just enough to drive you mad.

“Just fuck me.” You groaned into his ear. Bryan nuzzled his beard into your skin, marking your skin red.  He thrusted up and into you in a long, deep stroke. You hooked your legs around his waist. Bryan raised his head and rested against your forehead and your eyes lock. The only sounds are of your desperate mewls and his grunts against the sloshing water and jets. His lips and your lips are just barely touching, as you breathe each other's air.

“Oh God Bryan, just like that! Fuck, oh fuck, yes!” You moaned loudly.

“Yes, say my name. Tell daddy who owns this pussy.” Bryan grunted. His cock nudged your spot repeatedly as he fucked you hard, pumping into you.

“Yours!” You manage to choke out.

Bryan pulled you more into the water until you are floating on your back, his hands on your waist. You snaked a hand to your clit, rubbing yourself. Your orgasm rippled through your body and you shudder, crying his name once more.

“It feels so good when you come while I’m inside you.” Bryan grunted, pulling you up against him. “Hang tight.” You wrapped your arms around his neck as he pulls into a full standing position, bouncing you on his cock. You threw your head back, feeling another orgasm ripple through. Bryan shuddered, and then stiffened as blew his load inside of you. You panted against one another, with soft kisses being exchanged.

You would never tell him – his head was big enough as it was – but the orgasms he pulled out of you, were the best you ever had.

Eventually you both leave the hot tub. Bryan wrapped an oversized towel around you and him and then he kisses you once more. You sucked the bottom of his lip into your mouth, causing him to rumble deeply in his chest. “Lets take this somewhere more private.” You murmur.

Back in your room, you and Bryan fuck two more times. First in the shower after an “attempt” to “get clean” from the chlorine of the hot tub. In the shower, Bryan takes you from behind. Your hands clawed at the cool tile as you come for the third time while he thumbs your puckered rosebud.

The water eventually turned cold and you both make your way back to the bed. You are pleased to discover that you aren’t the only one with sensitive nipples as you run your tongue over his. Bryan makes a desperate sound which turns into a deep growl, his whole chest vibrating as you drag your teeth over his flesh, nipping him.

You bounce on his cock, riding him for all that he is worth and when Bryan announces he is about to come, you tell him you want to feel him come on your tits.

Bryan withdraws and crawls over you, straddling your chest. He cupped your breasts, tugging and twisting your nipples before sliding his cock in between. You used your hands to hold your breasts and Bryan began to fuck your tits. You would stick your tongue to lap at the head of his cock on every stroke. Bryan groaned and pulled back, stroking over your chest and open mouth.

Bryan lets out a rumble as he finished over you. Ropes of hot, creamy white cum paint your face and breasts. You licked as much as you could and when you opened your eyes, you see Bryan scoop some of his release. You let out an inarticulate noise as he proceeded to then finger fuck you, fucking his come into you.

You come for the fourth time, your body shaking and trembling. “That’s right, come for me like a good girl.” Bryan encouraged quietly into your ear.

Once finished, you are both reduced to heavy pants. It dawns on you that you’ll have to shower again and you’re grateful that you are in your room and not his. But for now, you roll and curl into him, listening to his heartbeat.

‘This is bad.’ You think to yourself, realizing that something more than attraction and awesome sex is beginning to brew. You hope like hell that Bryan cannot read thoughts. Your lids fluttered close and soon you’re asleep.

Bryan moved carefully, as to not wake you. He re-dressed and before he left, he looked at your sleeping form once more. As the door shut behind him with a quiet click, Bryan realized that he has it bad for you.  And as much as he wanted to ignore it, part of him hoped that you felt the same. 

FIN

**

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