#you can already imagine comments more than half slide with the murderer

[harminuya]

A 28-year-old transgerder woman was killed in her apartment in Armenia. May she rest in peace 🕯

[wallflowerimagines]

Hi! I looove your posts! Thank you so much for sharing your writing!

I was wondering… could you maybe write about the Four Lords with a shy S/O that gets bold and defensive when someone insults the lords? or calls them names? And the Lord’s reaction to the S/O acting different? Dk if im explaining myself >.<

Again! Love your work! Have a great day!

We stan protective partners on this blog!!

Warnings: uh...insults? They're pretty over the top😅 Also swearing.

Alcina Dimitrescu

Honestly, Alcina is more than able to defend herself.

She's got a tongue like a viper, and the thickest skin imaginable. If you really want to hurt her feelings, you have to be someone whom she already respects to a certain degree, or she won't even be phased.

Still, when she leaves a room, there's always some idiot that thinks it's a smart idea to talk shit.

Maybe it's a maid, maybe it's a guest in the Castle, but either way you're not having it.

"God, you're annoying." There was a pause before they opened their mouth again, and you rolled your eyes. "No please, by all means, continue to share your lack of taste with the rest of us."

You disassemble this dumbass, starting small with comments about their personality (trying to keep it classy), but escalating the more they choose to double down on the comments.

Alcina comes back into the room to find you practically screaming at this asshole.

"Look, all you have accomplished here today is revealing that you are a fundamental disappointment on every possible level. My life is worse now that I've heard you open your mouth, you disrespectful, shit licking worm fucker."

Alcina is stunned. You do not give off "aggressive guard dog" vibes at all, yet here you are defending her tooth and nail. While she had seen brief moments of your inner strength and protective streak (mostly towards her daughters) she just...never thought you would do the same for her.

It's not because she doesn't trust you or love you! But nobody has ever done something like this for her before? Ever? She's never had anyone try to protect her--not physically, and not even verbally. She's been so independent for so long that it's... Strange to see you support her so openly.

She doesn't need you to do this for her, she doesn't even expect it, but you do it anyway for no other reason than the fact that you love her. You want people to give her the respect she deserves.

I'm going to be real here: Alcina has never been closer to swooning before in her life. You're overcoming your shyness because you believe in her so much-- it's not a gesture meant to be romantic, but Alcina can't help but see this as a massive statement of your commitment to her.

Seriously. This is such a massive thing for her that if proposals weren't already on her mind, she is mentally picking out a ring for you the minute this happens.

Then, of course, she glides into the room, kisses you until you're breathless and babbling, and smirks at the unfortunate peon who thought they could get away with insulting House Dimitrescu.

She's in such a good mood that she's considering going easy on the idiot. Maybe removing their tongue would be enough of a warning?

Donna Dimitrescu

You don't really know how it's possible but apparently some people don't like Donna Beneviento? Some people think she's scary and unpleasant????

Wild. Can't imagine what that's like.

The two of you are honestly the sweetest, most toothrottingly adorable couple-- blushing when you hold each other's hands, sneaking glances at each other across rooms, giving each other kisses and forgetting whatever was on your mind...

Honestly, anybody who's critical of your relationship with your girlfriend is just a hater. Fuckers can pound sand😤

Still, you are pretty shy, so it takes a lot for you to defend yourself if someone comments about you. It can take a lot of courage to stand up against rude remarks, and sometimes it's easier to walk away.

Defending Donna, on the other hand?

The minute someone even thinks about dismissing her, you are ready to throw hands.

"My lovely girlfriend already said no, meaning you're either deaf or too stupid to pick up on simple social cues," you purse your lips and give the rude and pushy Villager a patronizing once over. "You and your opinion are equally useless. Get the fuck away from us."

Donna blinks.

She... Was not expecting this??? At all?? You're so nice! You always tell her about your attempts to avoid confrontation! What's going on??? How did you get the guts to say what she's always wanted to say?

Meanwhile, Angie is LIVING.

The little doll chimes in to assist you with the verbal homicide, working as a tag team to absolutely murder this moron. She's half partner, half hype man, and is so excited to do this with you. Normally, she has to protect Donna all by herself, but she's relieved and reassured that you stepped in first.

'USELESS IS TOO NICE, THOUGH! THAT IMPLIES THEY AREN'T A POINTLESS, RANCID, LONELY FREAK. THEY LOOK LIKE THEY CRY WHEN THEY MASTURBATE.'

You high five Angie, still glaring daggers at the unfortunate villager.

The two of you continue to ream into the villager, while Donna hovers nearby.

As surprised as she is, she's also grateful. She's only really ever had Angie to help shield her from insults and disrespect (and occasionally inducing horrifying hallucinations that make people claw off their own skin), but having you in her corner makes her feel safe.

Not to get totally sappy, but you're like her knight in shining armor in a lot of ways. And the fact you two are so similar is really motivating-- She wants to one day be confident enough to return the favor. Until then, she's happy to watch her two favorite people have fun insulting some stranger ❤️

Salvatore Moreau

With you being so shy, Salvatore is surprised how often he takes the lead in your relationship.

He's not normally all that outgoing, but you seem to bring out a side of him that's very protective. Whenever you have a bad day he wants to bundle you up and keep you safe from the world.

If he so much as holds your hand you start stuttering and avert your gaze. It creates a feedback loop where you both get flustered, but Moreau has never felt steadier. Despite your shyness, you make sure he knows how much you love him.

You're sweet as pie and twice as kind--Salvatore is the luckiest man in the world, nobody can convince him otherwise 💕💕

So it comes as a total shock that when a passing fisherman spits in your path and calls him a freak, your entire demeanor does a 180.

Your posture straightens and you look the villager dead in the eye, "I don't believe anyone asked your opinion."

Salvatore: 😳

This is not the time, and he totally knows it, but, uh, something about your tone??? Really does it for him???

While he's attempting to process why exactly he's starting to short circuit, you proceed to verbally shred this person to bits with clinical efficiency-- nothing is off limits.

They might try to defend themselves, but it's useless. You do not let up.

"Ugly? Monster? Bitch your teeth are throwing gang signs, don't throw stones from your shining glass house."

You insult their appearance, what they're holding, their smell-- you get so fucking mean that you might even make them cry.

Moreau is just lost right now, trying hard to figure out how exactly you were able to gain all of this confidence so quickly.

He's not upset! In fact he's very flattered! But, he also doesn't want you to get into a fight with some unimportant stranger. (After all, if they so much as throw a punch, they're straight up dead. Moreau is a patient man, but he's not that patient. You do not hurt his partner and live to tell the tale.)

He may a healer but...

Eventually he steps between you and the fisherman in an attempt to deescalate the situation, but you just kiss him on the cheek and step around him, determined to make your point.

Blushing hard, Moreau lets you do what you want. What can he say? Fish man likes himself a protective partner 💞

Karl Heisenberg

Magnet Man is not the most social guy to begin with, so any opportunities you have to stick up for him are already pretty slim.

He mostly knows you as the shy, sweet, easily flustered partner that lets out a cute squeak every time he sneaks up to hug you from behind.

Karl's honestly happy just to spend time with you all alone in the Factory. It's not the best or healthiest mindset, but he'd be perfectly content to only ever see you for the rest of his life. Spending time with anybody else feels like a boring waste in comparison.

But occasionally, you do head out into town with him. Heisenberg wants you to be safe so he doesn't do it often, but running errands with you is a weakness of his. It's domestic in a way that he's never experienced before.

He likes it ❤️

What he does not like is the shopkeeper starting to give their opinions on the quality of your relationship with him.

Most insults Karl will let slide because he doesn't particularly care. However if anyone makes a comment on how scared (shy) you look around him, how you must be being threatened into being with him, how poorly Lord Heisenberg is treating you...he won't stand for it.

But before his fingers can even twitch towards his hammer, you snap.

"You're clearly the blindest cocksucker I've ever met--so wipe the cum out of eyes and mind your own fucking business."

Karl does a double take.

He's heard you curse before, but quietly. The words coming out of your mouth are WILD right now, he has NEVER seen you so angry. You're defending him with the aggression of a wild animal, and it's simultaneously HILARIOUS, but for some reason he's also getting a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest?

He doesn't need you to protect him like this, but seeing you blatantly argue how much you love and cherish him in public reassures him in a way he didn't know he needed.

Still, hearing you call the shopkeeper "shit for brains" is the funniest thing that's happened in years.

Heisenberg starts laughing, and the more you shout at the idiot, the harder he laughs. Is it weird how hard he wants to kiss you right now?

Eventually, he just has to drag you away, cackling as you continue to shout insults at the unfortunate shopkeep. There's got to be an alley around here for some good old fashioned privacy 💕

[sandbees]

Okay I was thinking about how the other charathers that Arent the great Seven would react to the NRC students in the house of mouse AU. Like i can Imagine Azul asking Ariel if She wants ti make a deal with him and Ariel Is like "lol no", or the First year see Cruella de vil at One of the tables and they are like "She look so much like Crewel that She's giving us PTSD" or kalim and Aladdin becoming buddies :D.

Well, let me put in some headcannons then:

Word goes around that some of the Great Disney villains come to visit Yuu and everyone gets jealous.

So now whenever Yuu goes to work they always get asked to have them visit their world.

So, Yuu just says, “Meh ok, you guys can visit me whenever just ask one of the Great Seven or go through the mirror in my dressing room-“

And suddenly Yuu gets someone they met from the House of Mouse ever other day. It’s literal chaos and Yuu doesn’t know if they should feel exasperated or flattered.

Anyways, here’s some interactions between the dorms and some Disney Characters:

Heartslybul: Obviously when Alice comes to visit, she comments on how Heartslybul reminds her of the Queen of Hearts’ garden. When Yuu mentions that they paint the roses red, Alice sarcastically asks, “Does the dorm leader behead people who don’t paint the roses?” “...Well, he’s more lenient now but...” “...You’re serious?”

Ace and Alice get along swimmingly, basically quick quips and a lot of teasing. Yuu regrets introducing them to each other because they know the two are going to get into some sort of trouble. Deuce also gets along with Alice, though he can get lost in Alice’s rambles in imagination.

I think Alice would get along with Trey and Cater. I mean, they both give big brother vibes (Trey more than Cater). Trey would give Alice some tarts and Alice is like, “....He’s cool.”

Cater is going to take a bunch of pictures, and Alice is very curious about the device he’s holding (I don’t think phones or the internet existed during Alice’s time so...). Cater ends up teaching Alice about the internet and phones.

Riddle...ohhh noo. Once Alice broke one of the 810 rules and Riddle lightly scolded her for it. Alice thinks most of the rules are ridiculous and while Riddle has toned down on being strict, he’ll quickly get annoyed with Alice questioning the rules. There’s rules for a reason! The dorm was founded on these rules!!

Savannaclaw: It’s Simba, obviously. He’s curious to see the dorm after his...nefarious uncle. It’s much more nicer than he expected, though he’s a little off put by the dorm’s...rowdiness.

But he’s impressed with the Magishift practices they have when Yuu showed them.

He likes Jack, right off the bat. Jack has this sense of justice that he can relate to. I think they would get along pretty well. Oh, and probably how strong and buff Jack is.

Simba is wary of Ruggie, due to him being a hyena beastmen. He has...bad memories of hyenas. His wariness is correct, since Ruggie has tried to swindle Simba and Yuu to do some of his work. Does the relationship get better? Only if Yuu makes them hang out with each other haha.

Leona reminds Simba of Scar...to a certain degree. Lazy, cunning, and has this look where it seems like he could be planning something nefarious...

Ok, maybe not that bad, but Simba is weary of Leona. He kind of expected a character similar to Scar since this is the dorm based on him but...still. It’s really odd. It’s kind of rocky, but if Cheka comes over to visit, well...it could get better.

I mean, Leona does find Cheka annoying and calls him a brat but...Simba can tell there’s no malicious desire towards Cheka, which raises Leona’s “evil people don’t interact” list. That doesn’t mean Leona’s in the clear, but he’s ok.

Octavinelle: Surprise, surprise, it’s Ariel! She comes over, human legs and all. (Don’t worry! She got them from the nicer sorcerers). She wanted to visit Yuu and see how great NRC was! They had fun, and then they went to Mostro Lounge.

Ariel is terrified of the Tweels. They give her this...off putting feeling and they’re very intimidating. She does not trust them at all. She does like how they get up close and how they speak as if she’s some poor soul waiting to be taken advantage over.

That’s also why she does not trust Azul at all. He reminds Ariel of Ursula - especially when he tries making a contract with her. Uh-uh, no way. Never again.

This leads to Ariel dubbing NRC a dangerous place for Yuu to stay at. Why doesn’t Yuu come live with her and her family back at her world? Surely it’s much more safer than here! Why, Melody already sees Yuu as a big sibling so why not just stay at the castle permanently?

Ursula fumes at the thought of her enemy trying to take Yuu away and become their parent. That’s her role, dammit!

Scarabia: Kalim invites Aladdin, actually. It’s the most funniest scenario. Yuu mentioned to Kalim about the street rat that wooed the princess and Kalim says, “:00 WE SHOULD INVITE HIM!!” Jamil sighs and facepalms.

It’s actually going great! Aladdin is kind of shocked at the big party that Kalim threw, but it was a great welcome. He’s shook that Kalim apparently trusted Aladdin enough to show him the treasury room. “It’s open for all of the dorm to use! I don’t need much of it!”

Wasn’t NRC rumored to be a villain’s school??? What is this ball of sunshine doing here???

Actually, the Scarabia duo are good in his eyes. Sure, a little rough around the edges with Kalim being a bit too naive and Jamil being more of a watching snake, but they’re better than what he expected. Aladdin gets along with them pretty well!

And then they go on a carpet ride when Kalim introduces Aladdin to his magic flying carpet.

Yuu and Jamil scream at the two of them to get down as they fly across the night sky.

Pomfiore: oh no. Oh no no no. Snow White visiting Pomfiore is like...Neige visiting.

Vil is cold to Snow White, and she knows why. She’s seen the images that Yuu had of this “Neige Leblanc”. He certainly reminds her of her younger days. Which is why she completely understands why Vil is so standoffish of her.

What she doesn’t expect is Rook singing her praises and also kind of...watching her. It’s low key creepy but Yuu says it’s normal and since he doesn’t mean any harm Snow White lets it slide. They do have a good conversation though. Snow White learns to understand Rook’s...eccentric hobbies.

Epel and Snow White go together like apples and oranges. They go pretty well together, but they have contrasting differences. They could be passed of as siblings with their cute looks, as much as Epel hates to admit it. Though I’d like to think they have this “Soft big sister with a gremlin of a little brother” dynamic. Or “Big sister that is harmless but has a badass little bother” dynamic. Just...a cool sibling dynamic, basically.

Ignihyde: Hercules comes by when he hears that a dorm was based off of Hades. He had to see what it was like. He expected the doom and gloom, but he didn’t expect all the technology.

He and Ortho go along swimmingly. I mean, he’s pretty chill around the more upbeat and cheery dorm member, at least. (Seriously, the others were such buzzkills). He also gets a good impression on Idia when Ortho affectionately talks about his big brother! Wow, so the kids here do have a heart! Unlike Hades-

Ok, so as much as Ortho talks so highly of Idia, Hercules does not see how Ortho does. I mean, Idia is a complete shut in and gloomy recluse! Why do you stick around him?! It isn’t until he speaks his mind about that comment does Ortho turn into a crazy murder machine. (“How DARE you speak of that about my brother!!”) Yuu has to save Hercules and the entire dorm before Ortho blows up the school.

So now Hercules sees how inseparable the two are and how much they care for each other, which yeah, that’s pretty cool. (Is also low key jealous, how come his half brothers weren’t like that?)

Diasomnia: Aurora visits with Maleficent. Both do not share ill will after their stories are completed. They actually do make amends. So Maleficent invited Aurora to see her grandson, and Aurora politely accepts.

They have tea with Malleus, and it is a very pleasant conversation. Aurora gets along well with Malleus, even suggesting maybe she should invite him and Maleficent to her kingdom one day. (Maybe when she gives birth to a beautiful baby. Maleficent liked that)

Lilia is also a fun one to be around! Aurora was so surprised by his scare that she had laughed. Ah, what a funny fae! Why, she hadn’t laughed this hard since...well, never. She likes Lilia and will come by if she needs a good laugh.

Poor Sebek though....he acts all uptight around Aurora because she’s a Queen and also aquatinted with Maleficent...he must be respectful to her at all costs! It takes a long time for Sebek to at least act a little casual around her. Maleficent says it’ll take some time, though Aurora isn’t sure if that time will come on her lifetime...but for the meantime, she is still happy to be around Sebek’s presence and have pleasant conversations with him.

Aurora and Silver...ok, let me say this: they got along during a sleepover. The Diasomnia gang + Maleficent and Aurora had a sleepover in the dorms to “better know each other”. I also think Aurora would feel sympathy for Silver if the conversation of him tending to fall asleep came up. Heavens knows she still has her sleepy spells even after her curse was broken.

Also- wofhenod I just imagine Aurora and Silver walking in the forest together and a bunch of animals surround them. (Yuu finds them and cries when they actually attracted a bunch of adorable puppies (or whatever animal you find cute). Cute, adorable animals that are so gentle with them that they start to cry due to stress from being at NRC (Silver and Aurora look at Yuu with concern and gently start comforting them)

Winfendien Suddenly I want a twin dynamic with Silver and Aurora. Even a sibling dynamic would be cool. Just two sleepy siblings that won’t hesitate to kick your ass.

[simplyclockwork]

I love what you did with Sherlock stuck in the window frame. Sherlock trying to be arch and aloof still but a bit defeated and John caring and meeting Sherlock’s needs. I’d love to have a fic that is John shaving Sherlock (out of some sort of medical necessity) but it leads to intimacy or the promise of intimacy in the future. I know John shaving Sherlock has been done before, but I’m sure your take on it would add hugely to the greater good!

Hey anon! Thanks so much for your patience. I've finally filled this prompt. You can read it below the page break or on Ao3 here!

Please feel free to send future prompts anytime as long as you don't mind waiting a while for the fill.

Thank you :)

---

“Stop fidgeting,” John snapped as Sherlock wriggled for the umpteenth time under his ministrations.

Sherlock stopped with a huff. “I need to check on my experiment,” he protested, though he remained perfectly still. “You’re taking too long, John. You shave like a man who has never handled a blade before.”

“I may have handled a gun far more than a blade, but that doesn’t mean I won’t accidentally lop off your ear if you don’t sit bloody well still!” John gripped Sherlock’s shoulder and pressed him more firmly into the kitchen chair. “Lord above, are there snakes in your pants?”

“Hurry up, John!” Sherlock snarled, squirming once more.

John, trying valiantly to keep Sherlock from slitting his own throat on the razor pressed against the vulnerable expanse of his skin, jerked the blade back. “Christ, Sherlock, stop moving! The sooner you shut up and sit still, the sooner this will be over with.” He shot a baleful glare at the cluttered surface of their kitchen table. “What kind of experiment are you doing with one working hand — non-dominant, might I add — anyway?”

“One surely beyond your simple mind,” Sherlock replied peevishly, making John roll his eyes.

“You and your miserable mood can both sod off,” John grumbled, biting back harsher words and making a concerted effort to soften his reprimand.

Sherlock had been absolutely horrid ever since he’d broken nearly every bone in his dominant hand in a brawl with a murder suspect. The man had slammed his foot down on Sherlock’s hand when Sherlock slipped on the rain-wet street during their tussle. Recovery had been a slow and painful process as the splinted hand turned alarming shades of black and blue while the bones and tendons healed. John couldn’t honestly blame Sherlock for his mood, but that didn’t make him easier to deal with. He struggled with even the most basic tasks, leaving John to support him in mundane functions. It had begun to wear on them both — Sherlock far more than John as he took repeated blows to his independence — bringing out Sherlock’s nastier side.

Which brought them to that morning, to John’s day off from the surgery. He'd been woken just shy of six am by a petulant Sherlock, who had insisted that his stubble had grown far too coarse to abide any longer. He’d stood — loomed, more like — over John as John blinked the sleep from his eyes and watched Sherlock scratch agitatedly at his stubbly jaw, chin and cheeks. Now, here they were, with John making a valiant effort to shave Sherlock’s face while Sherlock squirmed with the force of five hundred angry snakes.

“Do I really have to do this with a straight razor?” John asked for the fifth time, already knowing Sherlock’s answer before it was bit out through bared teeth.

“Disposable razors are a farce,” Sherlock said, muscles flexing under his damp skin as his jaw clenched. “I require a closer shave, which is only possible with a straight razor.”

“Yeah, yeah,” John sighed, just as he had the four times before. “I know. Well, if you want me to do this, then you need to bloody well sit fucking still so I don’t cut your throat. Not even you would enjoy that murder.”

Sherlock muttered something that John missed.

“What?”

“I said, it would be manslaughter, not murder,” Sherlock snapped. “It’s only murder when it is premeditated.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger, struggling not to lose the tenuous hold he still retained on his temper. “Who says it wouldn’t be premeditated?” John prayed for patience and opened his eyes again. “Stop clenching your teeth,” he ordered, smoothing his fingertips over Sherlock’s tense jaw. Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath and tensed more, making John sigh. “You’re impossible.”

“Just shave my face, John,” Sherlock muttered, some of the aggression mysteriously gone from his voice as he closed his eyes.

John shrugged and smoothed more shaving cream where his first application had dried. Sliding his fingers into Sherlock’s curls, John gently tilted his head back over the table and bent to set the razor against Sherlock’s skin. As he did, the sharp edge brushing Sherlock’s neck, Sherlock swallowed, making his throat bob beneath the blade. John paused warily, eyes fixed on the subtle motion. It seemed deeply vulnerable to him, inspiring an unexpected surge of protectiveness that caught him off guard.

He was still reeling with it when Sherlock cracked open one eye and squinted at him. “Something wrong?”

Did John imagine it, or did Sherlock’s voice sound strained? He studied the familiar face, searching for clues. But Sherlock had closed both eyes again, his expression perfectly blank.

“I haven’t got all day, John,” he reminded him sharply, though his voice lacked its earlier bite.

“Right,” John said, clearing his throat. He shook his head, banishing the strange feelings. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to keep you from your incredibly important tinkering.”

“Experiment, John,” Sherlock corrected him, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite his admonishment.

“Mhm.” John refocused, his feelings of confusion somewhat settled by the familiar cant of their banter. He hesitated over Sherlock’s throat and decided to start somewhere else. Setting the blade at the top of Sherlock’s cheek, John carefully drew the razor’s edge through the shaving cream. It was much fancier than his own brand, which came in a can and looked more like whipping cream than shaving material. Predictably, Sherlock’s came from a bar, complete with a rounded brush to spread the lather. It smelled like pine and explained some of what John had come to think of as Sherlock’s natural scent.

Reigning in his wandering thoughts, his brow furrowed, John wiped the blade clean and set it back to Sherlock’s skin. He cleared a strip next to the first, pausing only when his left hand gave a slight twitch. John cursed his intermittent tremour silently, retracing the same area to erase the few spots he’d missed. A stubborn fleck of dried lather remained in his path, and John reached out to smooth it away with his thumb. Sherlock’s cheek twitched at the touch. John paused, thumb resting on Sherlock’s skin, when he saw that Sherlock’s eyes were open. Half-open, to be exact, with dark silver peeking out beneath his long, lowered lashes.

Something about that gaze froze John in place, the moment stretching out until he broke free with a quiet, awkward cough. Ducking his head to clean the blade again, John bought himself time, fussing with the flannel until he looked up again and saw that Sherlock’s eyes were closed once more. A relieved sigh escaped him before he could bite it back, and John was glad to see Sherlock didn’t react or comment on the sound.

He returned to his task with far more care, gritting his teeth at even the idea of his hand twitching. The rest of the foam disappeared gradually beneath John’s determined hand, revealing more and more of Sherlock’s damp, freshly-shaven face. Sherlock sat mostly still throughout, finally settled, his expression oddly peaceful. If not for the occasional shifting of his legs — crossing and uncrossing at the thigh whenever John paused to wipe the blade clean — he might have been a statue.

“Aright,” John finally said once Sherlock’s face was clear. “Just your throat left. Make sure not to move.”

“I’m not a toddler,” Sherlock grumbled, frowning at John’s incredulous laugh. He didn’t bother to reply, and John hoped that meant he would do as bid.

Taking a deep, calming breath, John braced a hand on the chair back, trying to find the right angle. It was awkward, and he reconsidered. After a moment of hesitation, he shook off his anxiety and cupped Sherlock’s jaw at the hinge. Sherlock’s eyes flew open at the contact, clearly startled, his lips parting around a small gasp. To John’s immense relief, he held still otherwise.

John chose to ignore the odd reaction, gently tilting Sherlock’s head back and to the side as he maneuvered the blade up the side of Sherlock’s throat. John did so with great care, tongue caught between his teeth, scared of slipping. All the while, he could feel Sherlock’s gaze on him, a burning point of scrutiny that John struggled not to squirm beneath. Instead, he wiped the blade and tilted Sherlock’s head again, repeating the movement.

Sherlock was silent as the grave throughout. The only sounds in the kitchen were his loud breathing and the slick, rasping scrape of the blade as it scored stubble from skin. The moment held a strange intimacy, like the two of them existed in a bubble, removed from the world with only each other for contact.

John was starting to think he might be going mad before he slid his hand to the nape of Sherlock’s neck and cupped the base of his skull to tilt his head back. As he did so, Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut, and his throat jumped with an audible swallow. Startled, John’s grip tightened momentarily in the damp curls caught beneath his fingers, and Sherlock jolted with a quiet groan. The reaction was so visceral that John froze, staring down at Sherlock’s upturned face. His eyes were tightly shut, face screwed up in a grimace that looked strangely close to horrified.

“Sherlock?” John asked quietly, confused. Sherlock didn’t answer, just remained stiff and still. Under his hand, John thought he could feel a slight, constant tremour rippling through Sherlock. Brow furrowed, he studied Sherlock’s tightly wound body, gaze pausing on Sherlock’s legs, crossed together in a vice grip at the thigh. Was Sherlock…? No, that couldn’t be it. Surely John was misreading the situation. “Are you alright?” he prompted, and Sherlock sucked in a loud, shaky breath.

“I’m excellent, John,” he said in a strained voice, still with his eyes closed. “Are you nearly finished?”

“Just about,” John replied, trying and failing to shake off his growing suspicion. Clearly, Sherlock didn’t want to draw attention to whatever was happening to him. John could respect that. He’d had massages before. Some touches felt unexpectedly nice, and things happened with one’s body that one couldn’t always control. It was perfectly natural — though John had never thought of Sherlock as someone who felt ‘natural’ urges.

“Relax,” he said, waiting for Sherlock to stop clenching his jaw and facial muscles. It took a moment before everything slowly eased. However, Sherlock’s lower body remained steel-tense, and John could still feel those minute tremours beneath his hand. But Sherlock didn’t speak, keeping his eyes shut, so John didn’t comment on it.

Instead, he returned to the task at hand. Gently tugging at Sherlock’s curls to tilt his head back, John exposed the underside of Sherlock’s throat and jaw as he angled the blade at the edge of the lather. With the heel of his hand pressed against Sherlock’s skin to steady his grip, John felt the subtle twitch of muscle underneath as Sherlock swallowed again, his breath catching. Rather than let that strange, slight stutter catch him off guard again, John swiped the blade up, taking the last of the lather with it in one smooth, rasping stroke.

Then, following some instinct John couldn’t name, he set aside the blade and laid his hand over the freshly-shaved skin. Sherlock gasped at the contact, blood rushing into his face and darkening his pale cheeks. The touch was light, John’s fingers barely brushing the blade-reddened skin, but Sherlock’s response was like a man run through with an electric current, his body jolting from head to toe.

John held perfectly still, waiting to see what Sherlock might do, expecting him to pull away and rush off back to his experiment. But he did neither, sitting perfectly still — save for the tiny shivers twitching through his body — under John’s touch.

Emboldened by that silent faith, John swept his fingertips down the strip of skin he’d just shaved, feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of his caress. Sherlock’s shiver increased, the colour infusing his face darkening to a deeper, tantalizing flush. John watched, enchanted, as Sherlock’s eyebrows drew together, then upward and back down as a myriad of complex expressions flitted across his face. He turned his hand, cupping the side of Sherlock’s neck, tracing the rough line of Sherlock’s bobbing throat with the pad of his thumb, just to see what would happen.

Sherlock’s lips parted around a sigh that sounded both startled and strained, the tension in his face first intensifying, then easing slowly, as John repeated the motion. He stroked Sherlock’s throat in slow, smooth passes, his work-roughened skin catching briefly on the damp terrain. Under his fingertips, pressed below Sherlock’s jaw, John felt the soft vibration of Sherlock’s whimper, voiced from deep within his throat.

“Never realized you were so sensitive,” John murmured, awed and hardly noticing the blurred lines of their friendship passing them both by. Sherlock seemed even less cognizant of the change, head tilted back as he pressed into John’s touch, offering and baring his throat in a shocking display of trust.

It was that which nearly undid John entirely. But what erased the last of his hesitation was Sherlock’s eyelids fluttering open to reveal his darkened gaze. His pupils were blown wide, almost erasing the silvery shade of his irises.

“John,” he croaked in a voice as jagged as broken glass. His head was tilted back far enough that it nearly rested on the table behind him, the science equipment scattered over the surface seemingly forgotten for the moment.

The sound of his name, spoken with such desperation, cleared the last of John’s confusion. He let go of the last remnants of his denial, of his enforced blindness of how Sherlock was reacting to him. Because he was reacting to John, that much was clear, and there was no mistaking the meaning of that reaction.

Without speaking or wasting time on words, John cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands and bent down to brush their lips together. It was a bare ghost of contact, a tentative drifting of mouths, but Sherlock’s response was definite. He groaned and surged upward, his uninjured hand tangling in John’s hair and pulling him closer. Their noses bumped clumsily, Sherlock’s teeth scraping John’s bottom lip before their mouths slotted together in a fierce kiss. It was sloppy, turning even more so when Sherlock’s lips parted, and his tongue darted out.

John responded in kind, tasting Sherlock’s eager gasp as their tongues met. Sherlock panted against his mouth, the sound desperate and rushing in John’s ears. They kissed until their need for air grew too great, some uncounted seconds that broke as John turned his face to suck in a loud inhale, his lungs burning. Sherlock gasped in sympathy against his cheek before turning John’s face back to his to reclaim his mouth in another kiss. There was the sharp drag of teeth again, the sleek, hot press of tongue and lips, and Sherlock’s hand sliding out of John’s hair, down his nape to his broad shoulders. His splinted hand hovered, ineffective, just in front of John’s chest.

“Sherlock,” John murmured, forcing himself to think through the fog of arousal quickly obscuring his thoughts. “Sherlock, wait.”

They broke apart at once, Sherlock jerking his head back. His eyes were wide, pupils huge, his face twisting into an expression of watchful uncertainty. John — who realized he had, at some point, settled onto Sherlock’s spread thighs — blinked at that expression. Something very close to fear flickered in Sherlock’s blackened gaze, prompting a soft tsk from John.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, reaching out to smooth a tangled curl back from Sherlock’s forehead. “Everything is fine.”

Some of the tension in Sherlock’s rigid body — though not all — eased. “Is it?” he asked, his typically cultured voice turned rough. Less smooth velvet, more gravel. John thought he could get used to that change.

“Absolutely,” John murmured, offering a crooked smile. “Absolutely fine. But maybe we should, ah, slow down?”

Sherlock blinked up at him, hands settled on John’s waist, his forehead creased with a puzzled frown. “Why?”

John tilted his head and chuckled. “Well… I mean, we’ve only just had our first kiss. Are you sure you want to rush into things?”

A quiet scoff escaped Sherlock’s full lips. “We’ve lived together for several years, John. You’ve seen me naked a multitude of times—”

“Helping you shower and go to the loo when you’re injured isn’t really the same as an intimate relationship,” John interrupted, amused.

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. “Semantics. Unimportant.” He sobered, his eyes darkening as his pupils widened again. “The facts are simple: I’ve wanted you for a very long time, John Watson. Now that you’ve realized it, I see no need to place restrictions on our feelings.” His eyes narrowed, eyebrows dropping into another frown. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

“Not what I said,” John said with an indulgent smile. Trust Sherlock to approach something like feelings with utter rationality, even as the apparent sign of his arousal pressed against the backs of John’s thighs. “I just never knew until now that you felt this way. It’s… well, it’s a bit of a surprise.”

Another scoff from Sherlock. “It’s not my fault that you’re a rather oblivious person, John. Now,” he said, voice clipped and to the point, “are you going to kiss me again? Or must we continue to talk all this out when I’d much rather show you how I feel?”

John stared at him, taken aback by the bluntness, before he tilted his head back and let out a loud, shocked laugh. “Oh, you’re going to be a handful, aren’t you?”

A gleam entered Sherlock’s pale eyes, lighting his face with mischievous promise. “I most certainly do plan for there to be handfuls of something, John. Rest assured.” He squeezed John’s backside with his un-splinted hand in a demonstration, prompting a startled but pleased wiggle from John.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” John said with a grin, then bent his head to meet Sherlock’s upturned mouth.

[hopelesshawks]

Love and Admiration Part 15- Adrenaline

18+ Bakugo x fem!pro hero reader

Summary: (Y/n) has known Bakugo since middle school, admired him since high school, and had a crush on him since the first time they met. Even now, a top pro hero in her own right, she can’t shake her school girl crush. Too bad Bakugo literally has no idea she exists. Well that’s not entirely true… He does know pro hero Mercury exists, but (y/l/n) (y/n)? Never heard of her.

Warnings for unprotected sex, semi-public sex, lots of dirty talk, mention of reader having a vagina, fingering, dom/sub dynamics, creampie/minor cumplay, size kink, and like one (1) line that’s sort of degradation

Masterlist Help Lulu <3

Bakugo looks surprised when you show up to Ground Zero in a cropped hoodie and jeans instead of your hero costume. “What the fuck are you wearing?” he asks although by now you know him well enough to know he doesn’t mean it as negatively as it sounds. “Hero costumes would be a little bit conspicuous don’t you think Mr. Explosion Murder God,” you reply with a raised eyebrow before making a pointed glance at the large gauntlets of his own costume. The overall design of Bakugo’s costume has gotten a lot more streamlined since the two of you were in high school, with some of the flashier pieces being done away with, but a lot of the core elements have stayed the same. You can tell the moment he realizes you have a good point because he gets a vaguely disgruntled and yet begrudgingly accepting look on his face as he declares he’s going in to change. It shouldn’t be nearly as endearing as it is. Kirishima walks out shortly afterwards to start his patrol so the two of you get to take some time to catch up and he keeps you occupied until Bakugo returns. The man looks absolutely sinful in a gray Henley, the sleeves once again pushed up to his elbows, and jeans. Kiri has to nudge you hard in the side to snap your attention back to him, much to your chagrin. It doesn’t seem to bother him though as he just waggles his eyebrows at you before declaring he’s heading out with a wave. “What were you talking to shitty hair about?” Bakugo asks, his eyes narrowing at his friend. “Ah nothing much, just catching up. We should do a big hang soon, it’s been awhile since I saw Denki and Midoriya too,” you note. “Whatever,” Bakugo grumbles as you start leading him to the warehouse. “I know you hate this kind of thing but could you coordinate with the guys? I’ll handle the girls and maybe I can swing Shinso too. I just think it’d be nice since I kind of ruined their reunion yknow?” you shrug. Bakugo gives you a look then, almost calculating, as he tries to figure out what to say. “You didn’t ruin anything dumbass. I’ll talk to the idiots about it,” he finally tells you. “Yea?” “Yea. Now hurry up and take me to this fucking warehouse.”

You hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be to stay unrecognized even in your civilian clothes. Multiple times you and Bakugo have to duck your heads close together or squeeze into some alleyway to avoid someone recognizing who the two of you are. Thankfully as you get deeper into the warehouse district where it’s far less populated it gets much easier to maintain your anonymity. It doesn’t take long to find the warehouse in question and sure enough you can already see the high grade equipment in what is supposed to be an abandoned building. The two of you crept inside and made your way through the building, first identifying the two men you’d been tracking and then checking to make sure they were alone. Once you’d confirmed they were the only two around you and Bakugo attacked.

Bakugo could watch you fight for hours on end and be no less amazed by it. Your quirk isn’t in and of itself anything special but the way you use it is so effortless and it’s obvious you’ve taken a great deal of time to learn precisely how best to utilize it. Your fighting style is almost graceful in its execution and it’s what had initially drawn Bakugo to you and made him so sure you’d be taking a spot in the top ten this past season. It makes him want to show off more, as if in hope that maybe just maybe you admire his fighting skills as much as he admires yours. It doesn’t take long for the two of you to subdue the villains but then you get this look in your eye and immediately Bakugo is suspicious. “Take them outside and call the cops to round them up, I wanna check something out,” you tell Bakugo, already starting to drift deeper into the warehouse. “What the fuck are you up to idiot?” Bakugo huffs even as worry starts to creep in. “Just trust me! I’ll be right out,” you promise before rushing off before he can stop you.

Bakugo growls out his displeasure but there’s not much he can do other than listen to you. He grabs both the unconscious villains, hefting one over his shoulder as he drags the other outside. Bakugo does trust you so he stays put until the cops can show up and start cuffing the villains. When you still haven’t re-emerged by the time the cops are carting the villains away he decides to go back in after you. He’s inside maybe a couple minute before he finds you sprinting full speed towards him chanting a frantic litany of “shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” “What the hell-“ “We gotta move!” is the only explanation you provide before you grab hold of his hand and tug him hard after you. It doesn’t take long for Bakugo to match your pace but before he can interrogate you further he hears a loud booming noise erupting from deeper into the warehouse. He’s set off enough of his own explosions to know what one sounds like. The booming noises are only getting closer and closer and there’s no way the two of you are going to make it to the main entrance so Bakugo course corrects you both towards the nearest window. Just as the largest one yet starts to set the room the two of you are in aflame he grabs hold of you and pulls you into his body, shielding you from the blast as he sends you both flying out the window and into the back alley behind the warehouse.

The two of you manage to land relatively unscathed so you heave out a sigh of relief as you stand and brush yourself off before checking for injuries. “You good Dynamight?” you ask but before you can look to him for an answer you’re suddenly being shoved against one of the brick walls of the alley. “What the fuck were you thinking?” Bakugo demands, carmine eyes burning with his signature temper as he pins you to the wall with one arm across your chest, just below your collarbone, and his other hand planted on the wall next to you to stop you from escaping. “I was thinking that that bust would be for nothing if we didn’t destroy the supply chain as well,” you huff, not backing down even though being this close to Bakugo is admittedly distracting. “So the explosions were fucking intentional?” “Well I didn’t know they’d be that big!” “You could’ve gotten hurt!” “But did we die though?” Something in Bakugo visibly snaps at your flippant comment and you’re half expecting him to literally blast you through the wall you’re still pressed against.

Imagine your surprise when you feel his mouth on yours instead.

You’re quick to get with the program, kissing him back before he can do something stupid like pull away and it only makes him even more aggressive. The arm pressed to your chest drops so his hand can grasp onto your bare waist instead. He kisses you like a man possessed, every ounce of adrenaline and pent up lust fueling him as he slots his thigh between your legs and grinds in the most delicious way. His erection presses insistently into your hip and god it’s so fucking big. Your mind practically spins as fantasy becomes reality in front of you. It’s almost embarrassing how turned on you are already just from his kiss but then the hand at your waist sneaks up beneath your shirt to grasp at one of your breasts, squeezing and massaging with just the right pressure as his thigh once again grinds into that sensitive spot between your legs and you can’t help but let out a gasp. Bakugo takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, desperate to finally taste you the way he never could in his fantasies. The two of you shouldn’t be doing any of this in an alley of all places where someone may walk by, but that doesn’t seem to bother Bakugo at all as he uses the hand not currently fondling your breast to unbutton and unzip your jeans. He wastes no time slipping his hand past the waistband of your pants and panties to finally touch your bare sex and a possessive growl rips out of his chest as he feels for himself how much of an effect he has on you. “You’re so fucking wet for me already. You this much of a slut for everybody or just for me?” he growls in your ear as his fingers skate along your pussy, collecting your juices and so tantalizingly close to where you really want them. “Just for you,” you pant and it must be the correct answer because you’re rewarded with two of his dexterous fingers sliding inside of your cunt. Your hands fly to his shoulder and reel him in closer, fisting the material of his shirt as you keen and whimper. Your eyes squeeze shut, head bowing as the sensation of his fingers stroking along your inner walls continues to drive you insane. As amazing as his fingers feel though, your mind keeps wandering back to the bulge you’d felt against your hip only a moment prior and you know it isn’t enough. “P-please. I need-“ you beg but you can barely get the words out as he starts to rub circles into your sensitive clit. “Look at me,” Bakugo commands, the hand not currently shoved in your pants slipping back down to your waist. It takes a moment but finally you force yourself to look into his crimson eyes. “What do you need princess?” he asks and the pet name sends shivers down your spine. “Need you,” you whimper, as he continues to relentlessly plunge his fingers in and out of your desperate pussy, “all of you. Want you inside me.” “Say my name.” “Ba-“ “No. My first name dumbass. Then ask real sweet.” “Katsuki please, I need your dick inside me.”

You take it as a win that Bakugo, no Katsuki, curses under his breath as he pulls away just enough to use his free hand to undo his own jeans. You whine at the loss when he extracts his fingers from your aching core but use your resolve to finally, finally have his dick inside you as motivation to focus enough to shove your pants and panties down to your ankles. As Katsuki does the same your eyes widen as you take in the sight of his cock. You subconsciously feel yourself clench at the sight alone. He notices you staring as he steps between the v of your legs and over your jeans to get closer to you. “Like what you see?” “God yes, Jesus Katsuki you’re massive.” “You sure you can take it all?” “Abso-fucking-lutely.” Bakugo grasps hold of your thighs and hoists you up until your legs can wrap comfortably around his hips. The brick wall behind you helps distribute your weight as he lines himself up with your entrance. “Ready princess?” “Please,” you whine and the smirk you get in response makes your heart race even faster than it already has been. He pushes into you agonizingly slowly but even still it burns slightly as your body tries to accommodate his girth. “Too much?” Katsuki asks and there’s a gentleness there you’ve never heard before. You hurriedly shake your head no. “Just give me a second,” you tell him as you focus on relaxing to allow him in. It’s a shockingly intimate moment, the sounds of the city are a soundtrack you’re both oblivious to; all you two can hear is the sound of your breathing.

You finally lean forward and press your forehead to Katsuki’s. “I’m ready. You can move,” you tell him and he’s all too eager to oblige. He starts out slowly pulling himself out until only the tip remains inside your entrance before he snaps his hips forward, shoving himself back inside and making you see stars. “Still good?” “Fuck yes, do that again,” you moan and that’s all Katsuki needs to bring the smirk back to his face as he starts to really pound into you, his pace relentless now that he’s confirmed you can handle it. “I’m gonna fucking ruin that pussy of yours. Make sure nothing and no one can please you the way I can,” he growls possessively before capturing your mouth into a kiss again, swallowing every whine, whimper, and moan that comes out of your mouth. Your grasp onto his shoulders for dear life, probably leaving long scratches along his back from where your hands have scrambled for purchase but neither of you care. Nothing matters to you outside of the pleasant pull of Katsuki’s thick cock slipping in and out of your clenching pussy. “God you’re so fucking tight for me. I can feel you clenching princess, you gonna cum for me?” he asks. “I am. God I am, ‘m so close,” you whine. Katsuki shifts the angle just so and immediately you know it’s over as your vision whites out with a final cry of Katsuki’s name as your orgasm hits you like a freight train, your entire body clenching around Bakugo as he desperately chases his own climax now that you’ve gotten yours. His rhythm stutters and gets sloppy as he gets closer and closer. He’s so focused on fucking into the tight, wet heat of your pussy still fluttering around him that it takes him by surprise when you whisper in his ear “Please Katsuki. Fill me up, make me yours.” “Fuck (y/n),” he groans and it’s the most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced. The reality of finally having you this way far surpasses every fantasy he’s had about this moment and by the time his orgasm finally passes it’s almost overwhelming.

Bakugo lets you back down onto the ground almost gently, before slowly pulling out. He watches with rapt attention as his cum dribbles down from between your legs and he just barely stops himself from reaching over to push the bit that’s leaked out back in. Instead he forces his eyes to meet yours. He’s not entirely sure what he sees in the (y/e/c) depths of your gaze but it makes him panic, his cheeks flushing as he looks away. He wants to offer up round 2. He wants to invite you back to his place. He wants to make you moan his name and beg for his cock to fill you up but he can’t make himself say the words he wants to. The fact of the matter is that with the adrenaline now drained from his body and the lustful haze lifted, the great Bakugo Katsuki has lost his nerve. So even though he wants to ask “what are you doing the rest of the night?” he instead says “we should head back.” “Oh... right yea, of course,” you reply dazedly as Bakugo backs out of your space and quickly moves to pull back up his pants and underwear as you do the same. The two of you walk back to Ground Zero in silence, both still processing what’s just happened. “See ya around,” Bakugo tells you before striding towards the door to his agency. “Yea, see you,” you reply, equally as spaced out. You watch his retreating back until he actually enters the building and the door shuts behind him. As the door clicks closed you both have the same thought:

“What the fuck just happened?”

A/N: Kirishima definitely texted Mina the minute he realized the police had submitted the paperwork for y/n and Bakugo’s bust but the two of them hadn’t returned from the mission yet. They love gossiping about their two favorite horny idiots

Taglist: @pixelwisp @oliviasslut @larkspyrr @heroacadema @kozukatsuki @captaincyberqueen @undead-nyx @ineedtofocusfr @i-heart-fictional-boys

[sevlgi]

opposites

requested: yes

group: blackpink

pairing: rosé x fem!reader

genre: fluff, angst

contents: college!au, good girl!rosé, bad girl!reader

warnings: none

synopsis: They say opposites attract, and when the campus’s resident sweetheart falls for a bad girl, Rosé discovers just how true that statement is.

a/n: I’M SO SORRY FOR HOW LONG THIS TOOK ME OMGGGG  hope you enjoy, and I’m glad you like my blog ❤

word count: 3.6k

Chaeyoung has never quite believed that opposites attract.

To be fair, she doesn’t have much experience to go off of. Despite being attracted to basically every person she meets, she hasn’t actually dated much. (As her friend Jennie jokes, she’s not bisexual, she’s by herself.)

And obviously, she’s not only attracted to people soft and sweet like herself. Especially in college, it’s more likely to find people in sweats and ratty T-shirts than people in pink sweaters and cute dresses.

It’s no secret that Chaeyoung is a hopeless romantic, convinced that she’ll find someone who she just works with. It’s also no secret that she’s determined to find someone similar enough to her that a relationship would actually work out.

Imagine her surprise when her next crush is the complete opposite of her.

You’re utterly fascinating to Chaeyoung; every little detail about you absolutely contradicts her, and she thinks her parents would faint if they saw you. Unlike Chaeyoung’s usually well-styled hair, you look like you’ve just rolled out of bed to go to class. Your leather jackets and heavy denim look stiff to the touch, and your dark circles, tattoos, and piercings are enough to ward all your classmates away.

But somehow, all of it just draws Chaeyoung in more. She’d never dream of dying her hair as much as you do, or getting as many tattoos as you have, but for some reason, you intrigue her.

She still doesn’t believe opposites attract. You might be gorgeous, but Chaeyoung is sure that your personalities would clash, and a relationship, however imaginary it may be, would never work out.

Of course, she’s also not willing to admit that she’s wrong to her friends, all of whom insist that opposites do attract. She just knows Lisa would gloat, and Chaeyoung is never giving her friends that satisfaction. 

“Who’re you staring at today?”

Chaeyoung pouts at Yeri, who slides into the seat beside her with a knowing smile. Joy, on the other side, is already following where Chaeyoung’s eyes were earlier. “Hey. I’m not always staring at people.”

“Yes, you are,” the two other girls chorus. “Come on, you’re always searching for ‘your other half’ or whatever,” Yeri rolls her eyes. “You barely focus in class because of it.”

Studiously ignoring where you sit in the lecture hall (3 rows ahead and 2 seats to the left), Chaeyoung scowls and twirls her pen. “Rude.”

“You know I am,” Yeri smiles, beginning to scan the room as well. “So, come on. Who’s your pick of the day?”

Joy narrows her eyes; Chaeyoung’s a bit panicked to see that her friend is already zeroing in on you. “Wait… it can’t be her, right?”

“Who?” Joy whispers in Yeri’s ear, and the youngest girl’s eyes widen. “Chaeng, it’s not her, right?”

The blonde attempts to play it cool, asking nonchalantly, “Who are you even talking about?”

Both girls point at your back, the dark leather of your jacket and the two empty seats on either side of you making it unmistakable that you’re the one they’re pointing at. “Y/N Y/L/N. It’s not her, right?”

Y/N Y/L/N. Chaeyoung tests it out on her tongue silently before realizing her friends are still waiting for an answer. “It… maybe, what’s it to you?”

Yeri groans, and Joy shakes her head in what seems to be disappointment. “You have the worst taste, Chaeyoung. I mean, she’s cute, but…”

To be honest, the most surprising part of the entire conversation is that her friends aren’t even teasing about the whole ‘opposites’ thing. “What’s wrong with Y/N?” Chaeyoung can’t help but feel a bit defensive; after all, it’s her taste in girls that was being attacked.

Joy leans in conspiratorially now, despite the professor clearing his throat at the front of the classroom. “Okay, so, she’s kind of the designated bad girl? I don’t really know, but I heard she’s killed someone.”

“What? No, she set a building on fire,” Yeri argues, rolling her eyes when Joy opens her mouth to disagree. “Whatever, whatever. Anyway, she’s bad news. She’s a serial dater, too, and she doesn’t like cats. Who doesn’t like cats?”

Chaeyoung’s eyebrows scrunch together as her friends argue. It’s probably not likely that you’ve killed anyone or set a building on fire, but still… a serial dater? None of it sounds good.

“Anyway, she’s the polar opposite of you,” Joy sighs, patting Chaeyoung sympathetically on the arm. “You know, you’re sweet and soft, and she’s… her.”

Suddenly, the professor clears his throat again and raises his eyebrow at where the three girls sit. “Ms. Park, Ms. Kim, the other Ms. Park? Anything important?”

“No, sorry, sir,” Chaeyoung blurts out, cheeks red. She’s not even blushing because she’s been put on the spot, though; it’s because you’ve finally turned around to look at her.

Maybe it’s the eyeliner, but something about your gaze feels like it sees right through her. With the tiniest quirk of the corner of your lips, you turn back around and leave Chaeyoung fully flustered.

Yeah, definitely a player.

Every day, Chaeyoung attempts to work up the courage to sit a little closer to you. She’s not making much progress; to be fair, you can’t blame her, when you’re usually given a 3 foot radius of empty space by everyone.

However, she discovers something new about you every day. She discovers that you drink black iced coffee (she drinks tea), and that you use mint flavored chapstick (she uses strawberry). You prefer cinnamon gum (which Chaeyoung thinks is a bit gross), and you only ever wear black socks (she wears white).

Joy really wasn’t kidding when she said you were Chaeyoung’s opposite.

Of course, it’s just the blonde’s luck when the professor announces a group project, and your name is the only one out of 40 that Chaeyoung knows.

It takes a lot of energy for Chaeyoung to approach you after class. “Hey,” she smiles; you don’t return it. “So, I was wondering if you have a partner for the project? If you don’t, I was thinking we could be partners…”

You look startled at first, though it settles behind a mask of calm indifference immediately. “You don’t have friends?” At the blonde’s wince, you roll your eyes, lips quirking into a smile. “Kidding. Sure. Let’s work together.”

“Great!” Chaeyoung beams, looping her arm through yours. You look even more surprised now, but it’s cute. Everything you do would probably look cute. “I’m Roseanne, but you should call me Chaeyoung or Chaeng.”

“I’m Y/N,” you offer. Your voice is quieter than Chaeyoung had imagined, but that’s probably her fault for thinking your voice was demon-like or something. “You’re a sophomore, right?”

“Right.” Chaeyoung has no idea how you know how old she is, but she can roll with it. “You?”

You nod, looking anywhere other than Chaeyoung face. “Yeah. Same. So, do you have any ideas for the project yet?”

“No, sorry.” She can’t help the smile on your face, still shocked that you’re holding a conversation with her and not murdering her already. “Let’s get coffee? We can talk about the project. If you’re free, of course.”

“I am.”

And that’s all it takes for Chaeyoung to grin again, grab your arm, and lead you to the nearest coffee shop.

Chaeyoung likes the way you’re honest about what you want. When she offers to order, despite knowing what you want, you quietly ask for the iced black coffee and hand her 10 dollars even when she tries to protest.

You don’t ask about what she ordered, and you make sure she tipped the extra before opening your laptop and asking for ideas.

As the afternoon goes on, you seem to grow more comfortable, and Chaeyoung can let go of some of her slightly forced enthusiasm. She actually finds herself enjoying your dry sense of humor and sarcastic comments, though she can’t really make any of her own.

By the time she has to go to her next class, Chaeyoung’s actually making jokes of her own, and she has your number stored in her phone.

All in all, a successful day.

“Hi.”

You look surprised (or as surprised as you deign to look) to see Chaeyoung sitting next to you in the lecture hall the day after the project was turned in. “Uh, hey.”

“How do you think we did on the project?” the blonde asks, taking out her laptop. She ignores the way you stare at her, hoping that you didn’t want to just forget her existence after the project or something. 

“Pretty good. You’re smart, I just helped a little bit.”

Chaeyoung laughs softly, swatting at your arm. “No way, come on. You’re smarter than your leather jackets let on, too.”

“And you’re smarter than your overly sweetened tea lets on,” you tease, a smile twinkling in your eyes.

She scowls and swats at you again, but you dodge this time. “I thought we agreed never to mention that again!”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Chaeyoung misses the way you smile at her after she turns to the board.

It becomes sort of a routine to sit next to you during lectures and copy off your surprisingly comprehensive notes. Chaeyoung can’t help but fall deeper and deeper at your ever-tentative smile, at each offhand, yet sweet comment.

All the little details about you, the tiniest things you notice, only make Chaeyoung fall harder. You buy non-cinnamon gum especially for her and keep 2 packs in your bag in case she wants some. Sometimes, you show up with a cup of so-called ‘overly sweetened tea’ next to your own coffee.

You see everything about her, and you both make the most subtle changes so that the two of you complement each other absolutely perfectly. Chaeyoung starts carrying blue pens because you prefer them, while you carry black ones in case either of you forget. You even carry a strawberry chapstick just for her.

Even Chaeyoung starts unconsciously enjoying the smell of your sweet mint chapstick; she wears it sometimes, not because she likes it more, but because she’s curious how it’d taste on your lips.

It doesn’t need to be said that Chaeyoung doesn’t just want to be friends anymore.

At first, she just wanted to understand you a bit better, to relieve her own fascination with you, but the more she learns, the more Chaeyoung is pulled in. It’s more than just a crush now, more than simple butterflies in her stomach.

Now, it’s an unconscious smile always tugging at her lips when you’re not with her, laughing at a joke that wasn’t necessarily actually that funny. It’s adapting to fit with you, and it’s accepting that maybe opposites do attract after all.

The only thing left is to introduce you to her friends.

“Are you ready?”

You frown, tugging at the sleeves of your leather jacket. Chaeyoung’s heart warmed when you offered to tone down your look for her, but she didn’t want you to change anything about yourself, so you just went with your jacket. “Sure, I guess.”

“Great!” the blonde beams, waving at Yeri and Joy, who she sees a few yards away from the huge table the two of you occupy. Behind them, Jisoo, Jennie, and Lisa lag, though they’re too far away to clearly see you.

Yeri’s expression isn’t exactly favorable; she stops right in her tracks to talk furiously to the others, and Chaeyoung frowns at the unreadable expression on your face. “Um… don’t worry, Y/N-ah. They’re probably just… talking about what to eat?”

“Sure,” you mutter, looking down. As the other girl has discovered, despite all your bravado and sass, you’re quite self-conscious. “It’s not like pizza is the only food this place offers.”

There’s no time for the blonde to reply; Jisoo, ever the tactful one, sits first and offers a tight smile. “Chaeng, good to see you. And you are?” 

“Y/N Y/L/N.” If Chaeyoung didn’t know you well enough, she wouldn’t be able to see past the mask of bored confidence you put on. “Jisoo, right? I’ve heard of you.”

The oldest girl flushes and nods. “Um, these are Jennie, Lisa, Yeri, and Joy.” They raise their hands or nod when their names are called, though their expressions are hostile.

Just as Chaeyoung opens her mouth to try and break the awkward silence, Lisa leans forward with her eyes narrowed. “So. What do you want with Chaeyoung?”

“Lisa!” The younger girl is usually sweet and puppy-like, but she’s also notoriously protective of her friends. Chaeyoung doesn’t miss the way your eye twitches just the slightest bit, and she resists the urge to put her hand on your arm. “Stop it.”

“What? You can’t deny this feels an awful like you’re introducing your girlfriend to us, and she’s the worst girlfriend you could have,” Lisa scowls, crossing her arms.

You sigh, shaking your head and standing up. Joy actually lurches back in her chair, as if expecting you to beat her up, but you just toss a quick smile to Chaeyoung, picking up the leather jacket slung over the back of your chair. “I think we’re done here. For your information, I’m not dating Chaeyoung, even though it wouldn’t be any of your business if I was.”

All the other girls stare at you, including Chaeyoung, as you continue, “You don’t know anything about me, so don’t assume. I appreciate that you care for Chaeng, but this is not the way to show it.”

With that, you’re gone, a light brush of your fingers on Chaeyoung’s shoulder the only way for her to tell that you aren’t angry at her.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, though, she scowls at her friends, hissing, “What the hell, Lisa? It was not your place to say any of that.”

The younger girl looks sheepish now, rubbing at the back of her neck. “I… I’m sorry.”

Jennie, though, rolls her eyes. “Come on, Chaeyoung. It’s what’s best, you don’t want to be dating her. She’s only going to break your heart.”

“I’m not that fragile, are you serious?” It’s honestly pretty uncharacteristic for Chaeyoung to actually be mad, but she can’t seem to control her words when her relationship with you might’ve been ruined. “It’s not your business anyway.”

Jisoo bites her lip, reaching for Chaeyoung’s hand across the table. “Chaeng, please. We just want what’s best for you, and Y/N isn’t that. You understand, right?”

No, I don’t. I don’t understand any of it. “Sure. I understand,” Chaeyoung exhales, sitting back. Despite everything she wants to say to her friends, she knows that they have good intentions, however misguided.

She’ll talk to you tomorrow. 

You don’t show up to class the next day, and Chaeyoung sits alone in her usual seat, feeling empty when you’re not quietly making snarky remarks beside her.

It’s odd, and it really shows how much you’ve ingrained yourself into her life.

After a day of thinking, Chaeyoung has come to realize that, despite all her friends’ warnings, she does have feelings for you. She wants to be with you, to enjoy the little things and the small moments together, and she thinks you might feel the same way.

Obviously, she’s still too cowardly to actually go to you and tell you.

After you don’t show up for the next 2 classes, Chaeyoung dials your phone. You don’t pick up there, either, and she’s left to frown at her phone in the middle of the road.

She’s not a passive person, so she fully intends to do anything she can to make you talk to her.

On Monday, she decides she’ll text your roommate Miyeon, but she gets caught up in classes. On Tuesday, Chaeyoung thinks she’ll bring you some notes, but she forgets to write an extra copy. On Wednesday, she catches a cold and Lisa refuses to let her go anywhere.

A week passes exactly like that.

Finally, 9 days after the disastrous lunch, she manages to get your dorm room number from the office lady she bribes with homemade cupcakes. You’re always home for lunch, probably because you don’t eat with anyone but Chaeyoung.

Her heart thuds in her chest as she rounds the corner to head into your hallway, the buzz of other students around her drowned out by the ringing in her ears. She knocks three times- one, two, three- on your door and she waits.

You look terrible when you open the door.

The permanent dark circles under your eyes are ten times darker than usual, and your lips are dry and chapped. You wear a rumpled Disney shirt that Chaeyoung would tease you about if she wasn’t so concerned. “Um… cupcakes?”

“Thanks for coming by.”

“No problem.” The blonde watches you pour out some cheap, college-student coffee at the tiny desk in the corner of the dorm. “I was just concerned. You haven’t been to class in a while, you know?”

You sigh and hand her a cup of piping hot tea, already sweetened just like Chaeyoung likes it. “Yeah. I know.”

“Hey.” Leaning over, Chaeyoung places her hand on yours, ignoring the way her heart skips a beat at the skin-to-skin contact. Judging by the blush on your face, you feel the same. “You can tell me anything, okay? We’re friends.”

You almost seem to wince, though Chaeyoung doesn’t know what for. “Yeah. I’m fine though.”

“Was it my friends?” the blonde persists, her eyes searching yours for an explanation. “I know that they were really rude, but I promise I don’t care about anything they say, okay?”

Scoffing, you stand up, seemingly to get more coffee, even though your mug is full. “I’m not that shallow, okay?”

“Then what is it?” Despite knowing she sounds desperate, Chaeyoung’s mind is racing for an explanation, anything that could tell her why you’re avoiding her. “Please talk to me.”

The beat of silence that passes only makes Chaeyoung feel more anxious, like her brain is spinning in circles inside her head, and she almost jumps when you speak again. “Do you… do you like me?”

“I… of course I do! You’re my friend, I like you very much.” The blonde is well aware that that isn’t what you meant, but she can’t help but avoid what she really wants to say as she babbles on, “Why? Do you want me to show my platonic love for you more often?”

“Chaeyoung.” You place your hand on hers and lean forward with a serious expression on your face that honestly scares Chaeyoung. “I know that you won’t tell me honestly any time soon, so I’m just going to say it first. I like you. A lot, and not as a friend.”

As the other girl’s jaw drops, you continue on, the overly quick speed of your speech letting Chaeyoung know just how nervous you are to say all of this. “I know that I have a reputation, and I know that I’m too closed down or boring, but you’re nothing like that. You’re so sweet and gorgeous, and I just… really like you. And I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Why are you sorry?” Chaeyoung reaches for you again, eyes searching yours for any sign of insincerity. She doesn’t find any. “You’re not boring, Y/N, not in the slightest. And I like you too, every little thing about you.”

“I don’t think you know enough about me to say that,” you try to deflect, but the blonde shakes her head.

“You’re so sweet to me, Y/N, and it’s not your fault that no one else can see it, but I do. I see all the little things you do for me, and I fall for you more every day. Maybe I don’t know enough about you, but I want to learn. If you’ll let me.”

A short pause occurs before you exhale quickly, swiping away tears Chaeyoung didn’t notice were about to fall. “Okay. I’d love that.”

“Great.” Chaeyoung sits back again, but just as you’re about to get up, presumably to busy yourself with a drink or something, she blurts out, “Can I kiss you?”

The surprised look on your face is so endearing that she’s already grinning when you smile softly. “Of course you can.”

The moment that you bend down and press your lips to hers, so soft and gentle, is the best of Chaeyoung’s life. She can finally taste the sweet mint of your chapstick, mixed with the unique taste of you, and feel the way your lips are slightly chapped against her own. When you pull away, Chaeyoung loves the flush to your cheeks that mirrors hers, and she can only grin when you move away to get your coffee.

Maybe opposites do attract after all.

“Hey, can I ask you something again?”

“You already did,” you joke, then laugh when the other girl pouts. “Sure, Chaeng. What?”

“Do you hate cats?”

An offended gasp escapes from you, matching your expression. “No, who hates cats? I think that’s the worst rumor about me yet.”

The blonde protests, “What about the one about you murdering someone?”

Sniffing and sitting with your coffee, you say, “I stand by my case.”

Cupping your face with her hands, the cuffs of her sweaters brushing up against your cheeks, Chaeyoung presses another kiss to your lips. The taste of mint and coffee, strawberry and tea, is the most perfect combination she could ever imagine.

[raleighcarrera]

hushed

the royal masquerade | hunter fierro x mc (juliet rosario)

hunter & juliet return to the library. for @trmaw 🖤

~2k words | E (18+)

“so...” hunter murmurs, the seriousness implied in the low tone of his voice betrayed by the way one corner of his mouth is lifted in an improper smirk, “this is the library.”

despite herself, she’s as charmed as ever by his absurdity. juliet huffs out a laugh under her breath, slowly shaking her head. “i can’t believe you’ve never stepped inside.”

“i was rather busy with a few other things.” his smirk widens. “plus, you know me. i’m not exactly one for being quiet.”

she hums, the sound bordering on the edge of disapproving. she knows exactly what hunter of house fierro has been doing instead of reading in the library. the reason they never crossed paths in her past is because before her, hunter spent most of his free time bedding the women who’d followed him around town, ignoring the signs that his sister was capable of murder and plotting behind his back.

the expression on his face remains perfectly innocent even as her eyebrows arch at him disapprovingly. “right,” juliet laughs finally, “of course. how could i forget?”

“you have a lot on your mind,” hunter answers graciously, his eyes sparkling. “of course i forgive you.”

“quite kind of you.” her hands remain folded in front of her as she inclines her head down one row of tomes. “this is where i spent most of my time. transcribing for the archives.”

“indeed,” hunter hums, stepping up beside her to squeeze her hand before continuing down the row of the archives, looking every bit the king regent he no longer is. despite the fact that the title has eluded him, there’s something about hunter that will always look regal, the tilt of his shoulders and the cut of his clothes simply screaming status.

she follows behind him, eyes scanning the titles they pass. it’s been a long time since she’s been in the library, but the smell of the dusty old manuscripts she spent so many hours meticulously logging stirs up a host of unpleasant memories that threaten to take her over. she can still feel the phantom rap of a ruler against her knuckles when she’d dozed off, the ache of hunger in her stomach when it’d been an entire day of writing with no breaks for food.

“juliet?” the sound of her name startles her from her stupor, and she shakes her head, moving to meet up with hunter where he’s stopped halfway down the aisle. “are you alright?”

“just lost in a memory,” she murmurs, lips lifting up into a smile. just the sight of him brightens her spirits, the affection in hunter’s eyes a welcome reminder that her reality is different, now. 

they’ve come so far.

as if reading her mind, hunter lifts her knuckles to his mouth to brush a tender kiss against her fingers, shooting her a look of love from under lush lashes. her smile widens into something more genuine.

“perhaps we should work to give you a more positive memory of this room,” he suggests, glancing over his own shoulder.

juliet blinks at him. “what do you mean?”

the expression on hunter’s face transforms, from sweet to wicked in a matter of moments. his hand slides around her waist to pull her closer, until they’re nearly nose-to-nose in the archive stacks. 

it’s then that she understands what he must mean, and she feels heat rush to her face in embarrassment, as though someone’s already caught them acting untoward. 

but there’s no one around as far as she can see; the library is empty. it’s a beautiful afternoon, and she knows mostly everyone is outside taking advantage of the weather. they’re the only two people hidden away in the library, though the sudden sound of her racing pulse feels so loud she wonders how it hasn’t attracted anyone else yet.

“you can’t be serious,” juliet hears herself say, distantly. it feels like the appropriate thing to say. they can’t possibly...

“oh, i’m very serious,” hunter assures her, his hand warm at the small of her back where he’s rubbing soothing circles into her skin above her dress. “it’s only logical.”

her hands come to rest on his shoulders as hunter beckons her closer. “how do you figure?”

“the library was cruel to you. i’ll be generous to make up for it.” she can feel the fabric of her skirt shift as hunter’s free hand ever-so-slowly pulls at the fabric. “what do you say?”

in response, juliet turns her head and kisses him before she can think too much about it, brushing her lips against his gently, at first, and then more eagerly when hunter kisses her back.

there’s at least a thousand reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this -- not here and not now -- but she finds she can’t be bothered as she considers hunter’s logic and decides he’s ultimately right.

the library took so much from her. many of her most hopeless moments occurred in this very room. it’s hard to find a dark corner of the library she hadn’t stowed away in to cry at one point or another, so if she’s able to kiss her betrothed in the middle of the stacks, with sunlight streaming in through the grand, stained-glass windows, why shouldn’t she?

hunter’s movements are slow as his hand lifts her skirt up, higher and higher until it’s officially indecent for the library, laying her bare against the books. their kiss breaks so they can both draw breath, and she pushes up onto her tip-toes to lock eyes with him, back arching to press her body alongside hunter’s.

“you’re quite radiant, you know,” he comments absently as his fingers encircle her thigh, creeping around her leg to dance upwards. his tone is so conversational anyone browsing the records on the other side of the library would never imagine what they were doing, if they happened to overhear. “beautiful, really.”

“you think so?” juliet asks, her eyelashes fluttering. she can hear her breath growing embarrassingly quicker as hunter’s touch climbs higher and higher.

“of course,” hunter murmurs, eyes fixed firmly on her face. from anyone else, the staring might be unnerving, but when he’s the one looking at her, it’s hard to feel anything other than delight. 

hunter is not shy about letting her know he is in her thoughts. he is the most forthcoming man she’s ever spoken to (not that he has much competition) and revels in showcasing his affections openly and honestly. he is romantic, in a way she’d never expected -- she often finds herself the recipient of flowers and surprise moonlight strolls and now, it seems, amorous breaks in the library.

yet he still catches her by surprise with his sweetness every time. 

“i daresay a majority of the kingdom feels the same,” he continues. before she can challenge him, his fingers pause, parting her so the pad of his thumb can press in with an easy slide where she’s already wet. “you have many admirers.”

her laugh is breathless, the grip she has on his shoulders tightening. “quite a comment, coming from you.”

hunter’s answering chuckle makes her toes curl in her shoes. juliet forces her eyes open and her breath catches at the expression on his face, serious and wanting with intensity and gentleness both displayed in his eyes in equal measure. 

his thumb circles her, catching just right where she’s most sensitive, the practiced movement of his fingers comforting, for their familiarity. hunter knows her. for someone like juliet, who went much of her life without that very basic comfort, their intimacy is everything. knowing she can rely on hunter to understand her, to take care of her, to treat her like he does...

it’s all she’s ever wanted and more.

“don’t be smart,” hunter chides, though the curve of his mouth seems to suggest he’s amused. his hand continues to move, which is all that matters, anyway, the brush of his thumb pressing into something more purposeful while his wrist angles just so. 

“i can’t help it,” juliet murmurs, aiming for cheeky and landing somewhere very far off, her voice almost shy as she resists the urge to bury her flushed face in hunter’s shoulder. “hunter.”

“yes, darling?” hunter’s free hand, bunched in her skirt, jerks to urge her closer. as she moves, his fingers slip deeper, sending a shiver down her spine. “everything alright?”

his voice is teasing, and yet she can’t find the words to bicker back with him. she can’t find any words at all, actually, exhaling a sound that’s half-moan, half-sigh as hunter touches her so expertly. her eyelids flutter shut again.

hunter gives another soft laugh under his breath. “there you go,” he encourages, and she shudders again.

despite the fact that they’re so clearly the only ones in the library, she can’t quite bring herself to get loud, hushed out of habit and by the implication of where they are and what they’re doing. her teeth bite down on her bottom lip, yet they don’t stop another groan from escaping, louder this time against her best efforts.

the skilled stroking of hunter’s fingers is quick to make her head swim, so she’s grateful for the firm kiss he bestows against her lips when his head angles in. juliet relies on him to keep her upright, holding tightly to hunter’s broad shoulders while his touch never falters, relentless between her legs.

she rocks up onto her tip-toes, scrambling for purchase against him. often, they’re in bed together when they do this, and it’s rare that her legs are left trembling while she’s still vertical, save one or two memorable occasions in the bathhouse. this is sure to be an experience she’ll never forget, and she’s certain she won’t ever be able to look in the direction of the library again without recalling the expression on hunter’s face.

though there’s worse things, she supposes, as she watches him watch her so intently. hunter’s eyes never fail to make her feel desired, and especially now, only heighten her emotions as she climbs faster and faster to an edge.

“so beautiful, juliet,” hunter murmurs softly, gaze adoring where it’s set on hers. “stunning.”

his gentle encouragement is all she needs to tumble to pieces. with one last gasping inhale, she shakes apart against him, biting down hard on the inside of her cheek to try and keep herself quiet. pleasure courses through her in a rush, and she’s grateful for hunter’s solid presence at the shelves to help her through it, his touch coaxing a few more sighs from her lips before she eventually calms and goes still.

her chest rises and falls rapidly as she works to catch her breath, and when she’s finally able to open her eyes, juliet finds hunter smiling indulgently at her, the expression on his face suggesting he’s just observed some grand entertainment.

“you seem awfully pleased with yourself,” she mutters, lifting a hand from his shoulder to push her own hair back out of her face.

“wouldn’t you be?” hunter asks smugly, finally pulling his hand out from under her skirt. the fabric drops down to the floor, swishing back across her knees, and juliet presses her legs together, twisting to shift her undergarments back into place. 

“i suppose,” she allows with a laugh, her own mouth curving into a grin as hunter moves to adjust his pants. he seems to know what she does, which is that they’ve already pressed their luck to its limits, being in here as long as they have. extending their time in the library any further seems to be asking for consequences.

still, hunter’s hands move to grasp her chin lightly between his fingers, and he draws her into a soft, slow kiss, lips meandering as though they have all the time in the world. 

she relaxes against him, kissing back just as sweetly. it hardly matters if someone catches her now, after all. there’ll be no ruler whacked against her knuckles, this time. there’s no tomes to transcribe, no archives to maintain.

the sun continues to stream into the room through the stained glass, casting water colors in shadow across their bodies where they’re intertwined. hunter pulls back to smile at her and she mirrors his expression easily, her heart pounding with love --

with joy --

-- and with peace.

[tadpole-san]

in the aftermath ; dabi/t. todoroki   pairing: dabi x reader, touya todoroki x reader, established relationship  warning: spoilers for bnha chapter 301 (mild canon divergence from that one scene of dabi in chpt 301), inferences to an unhealthy relationship  a/n: horikoshi chose violence and heartbreak by releasing dabi’s backstory on valentine’s day weekend and i have a lot of feelings about it 

The couch is falling apart. 

It’s the first thing you notice when you finally step into the room, and then you take in the peeling wallpaper, almost rotting vanity, and finally, the man laid out on said couch. The fabric of it is peeling away in some places, revealing the plain white beneath - the sight of it makes you think of patches, and scars, and marred, magenta skin held together by madness and medical staples. Dabi’s eyes are closed, you realize, and you could almost fool yourself into believing that he’d finally decided to grant himself some peace, albeit in the form of a turbulent slumber. And then they slide open again, stark turquoise burning bright against the dullness of his stare. 

“Really roasted myself there.” His voice is hoarse, even jarring and harsh to your ears. There’s a crease between your brows as you take a few steps closer, reaching into your pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes. Silently, you hold one out to Dabi. His gaze slides over it, and then over you. Somehow, it unsettles you - like somehow, he’s not registering that you’re there, or that he can even see you at all. 

You’re not sure which of those options terrifies you more. 

“Yeah,” you say, moving to pull it back. There’s a lighter, heavy in your other pocket, and if the absence of a blue flame at the end of your cigarette means that you won’t have to risk the experience of seeing the body and couch in front of you go up in a garden of blue flames, you’ll gladly use it. “You look like the fucking couch,” you add. There’s two ways his response to that could go; Dabi could find the humor in that and maybe laugh at your comment, or he could dismiss it (and maybe you) in a display towards not giving a shit about anything. Most days it’s like walking a tightrope between his mania and his complete and utter apathy. Most days it’s like choosing between two poisons, and you know you wouldn't be able to make a choice that doesn’t kill you. Because there isn’t one. 

This time, he doesn’t laugh. But a smile does tug at the corner of his lips - and god, it looks painful, because the miniscule action is enough for the staples to pull at his skin, nearly tearing into it even more as it flirts with the possibility of drawing blood. “C’mere,” he rasps, motioning to the stick in your hand. You pass it over. He takes it in his fingers, rolling it in between the digits. “Can’t feel anything.” 

“Does it hurt?” The question slips out, but you wouldn’t be able to hold it back anyways. Dabi hums, long and contemplative, and when he offers you the cigarette, the end of it is glowing a dull shade of blue. You accept it, and take in a long drag, tilting your head back to watch the smoke rise to the ceiling. 

You’d seen him smoke, a couple of times. Mostly on slow nights, when all the two of you would do was hide out in whatever shitty abandoned building served as camouflage from pro-heroes and cops. Or, later on, when he had joined up with the League and dragged you in with them, it would be nights where he could steal minutes to himself outside of the bar, and you’d pretend you didn’t notice because you were too busy nursing a drink at the bar. The part that always fascinated you the most would be when the smoke spilled out between the seams of his staples, and you could forget about the way his blood trickled out in the same way, and stained your hands when you had to help him force everything back into one piece. 

“That’s not what it fucking means to not feel anything,” he bites out, and you can see his jaw tense. So it’s a yes, and he won’t say it. “Don’t be stupid.” Your lips press in a thin line, and you sink to the floor next to the couch, leaning against its side to let your arm hang over your propped up knee. He’s not the only one to walk out, more than the worse for wear; you can’t move without a brief stab of white-hot pain, even if you know that it diminishes in comparison to the man still laying on the couch. It’s enough that you want to spare yourself the experience of biting back at him with equal venom. 

“And that doesn’t answer the question, either.” When he doesn’t say anything, again, you keep talking. “Those injuries.” Another exhale. “They could kill Endeavor.” A moment passes, and there’s a hand at your shoulder, squeezing it in a way that threatens to literally burn through your layers. 

“I wouldn’t allow it.” 

“I could’ve killed him.” There’s a calm behind your admission, the same calm of a deadly ocean masked by tranquility. Once - and sometimes, when you try, you can remember her - there was a version of yourself that wouldn’t have been able to say the words without falter, wouldn’t have been able to hold onto the idea of a murder quite like that. The grip on your shoulder goes slack. 

“I know,” Something in Dabi’s voice makes you tilt your head to look up at him, and you lock eyes with a man already staring at you. This close, you can make out the still-healing wounds on what remains of his unmarred skin, and there’s a patchiness to his hair where the black dye hadn’t fully washed off. Seeing it bothers you, just a bit, and you want to do something about it. 

“Get up.” The eyebrow he raises is equal parts disinterested and curious. Maybe even wary, but you’re not here to explore the nuances of what a single eyebrow can mean. 

“Doll, I can’t move.” 

“I’m being serious.” 

“So am I.” 

“Sometimes, I can’t really tell with you.” Half-lidded eyes open slightly as he comes close to grinning again, a thumb brushing over your cheek for the fraction of a second. It’s enough that you sigh, and you squash the cigarette against a white tile to extinguish it, leaving behind a spot of darkened ash. He watches you push yourself to your feet, offering a hand to him that’s pushed aside so that he can force his body to get up from the couch himself. The display is one that is already painful to an outsider - each movement is a Herculean effort, skin pulled taut and threatening to split open until he’s looming over you once more, overshadowing your presence in the room. 

Until wordlessly, you take an arm in yours and pull it over your shoulder.  His weight comes crashing into you like a wave, and if you weren’t so used to it - to needing to pull this body out of death - and if you were anyone lesser, you probably would’ve collapsed, too. 

For a second, you wish that you weren’t able to handle him like this. Because it would mean that you’d never been forced to carry him through moments like these. 

“Where you takin’ me, princess?” he drawls, the words sliding off his tongue as he sags against you. The light elbow to his ribs makes him tut in disapproval, but there aren’t any words said against the action. 

“Bathroom,” you mutter, because being used to him against you like this doesn’t make it any easier, and if you waste breath or lose focus, the both of you could end up on the floor together. And Dabi would really, truly reduce you to ash for the humiliation he’d suffer from it. 

“Bathroom,” he repeats, and you can hear the suggestion in the smirk he’s likely to be wearing proudly. So you choose not to humor him with an answer towards or against the insinuation behind his intonation. 

Using a foot to nudge at the bathroom door is - fortunately - enough to prompt it to swing open, and you maneuver him into the too-small space. Dabi hisses as you end up jostling him against the counter, and a few more muted swears escape his clenched teeth before you’re able to get him to sit against the tub. 

“Fucking shit.” You step into the tub as he lets the words out, kneeling in it and reaching for the shower head. 

“It’s your hair,” And as you explain, you take the risk of having him tilt his head back slightly. “You - I don’t know what shit you used to get most of the dye out in five seconds-” and that was really one of the only parts of his plans that you didn’t understand, but it was a detail small enough that you wouldn’t push. 

“Somethin’ wrong with my hair or some shit?” The tone’s abrasive, but he’s still sitting still, and he doesn’t move to lash out in a way that’ll end the conversation in its entirety. Tonight is - despite everything - shaping out to be a calm one for him, a rare in-between of the polarity and calm he lives his life with. Or maybe it’s because of everything that happened, because his scheming and plans that once felt like little more than paper towers finally burned to cripple the Japan’s now-former Number One. 

Dabi isn’t smiling. Instead, he allows his head to be further tilted back as he stares up at the ceiling, a pensive expression making it feel as though the body you’re sitting with isn’t really here with you at all. And it shouldn’t reassure you, but it does. 

Because that smile - that effortless, unfazed, half-thought out gesture on him - is synonymous to his lies. 

You still haven’t answered his question. You reach out, like someone blinded, to card your fingers through the mostly snowy white locks. You let yourself imagine that he leans into the touch because the gesture is a sweet one. If you were to pull yourself back to your reality, you knew it would be likely that he simply lay there and let you do as you wish. 

You turn the shower on, and lukewarm water replaces your fingers in his hair. His lips move and he murmurs something you can’t quite grasp, but it’s gone before you can think to ask. The moment suddenly feels just as fragile, as though a misspoken word, one wrong move, or anything that could be regarded as a mistake coming from you could shatter it. 

The tips of your fingers are becoming laden with black as the remains of dye works itself out from his hair, and its stark contrast against the porcelain of the tub makes the white look ghastly. It’s as you begin to press your thumb to the darkness to try and swipe it off that Dabi speaks again, and if your head weren’t angled down towards him, you wouldn’t have heard it. 

“This is what being evil is.” 

It should’ve been simple enough to take a hold of the meaning behind his words, and pull them in to understand it. But your movements falter, causing your already damp jeans to receive a wayward spray of water. 

This could be lying here, with him, carrying out mortal attempts to wash away traces of atrocities committed. 

This could mean living with the badge of honor labelling this society’s villains. You wonder if there would ever be a world where he didn’t wear it so proudly, flaunt it in the faces of any and all who cross paths with him. 

“I don’t think we’re evil,” is what you settle on finally saying, shutting the water off and placing the shower head back in its slot. You end up resting your head in your arms, turned to him as you balance precariously on the edge of the tub. When you close your eyes, you can see him at the forefront of your mind - spinning, deranged, falling into hell in a tango of death. 

“Yeah?” His breath ghosts the shell of your ear in the single syllable, and you realize he shifted closer under the blanket cover of your shut eyes. “Then what the hell are we?” His forehead presses against yours, skin and piercings ice cold. As if it was the touch of death. 

“I think,” you start, letting out a breath before you open your eyes again, “I think we’re just people.” Sitting like this, with him, is an intimacy rarely granted. This close, and you can make out water dripping from strands of white hair, white lashes, the bridge of his nose. It’s all drowning in a sea of turquoise. He hums, and a hand presses against the back of your neck, keeping a grip there. Blunt nails dig into your skin, and they probably leave crescent indents. “Heroes are the ones like gods, and we’re just the ones trying to challenge them.” 

Dabi stares at you. You feel it under your skin, like fire ants biting at you and injecting enough poison to kill you. 

And then he laughs. The laughter belongs to a maniac, to someone so deranged there might not be a way of going back, and it grates on the years you’ve spent with him. With his madness. A madness that could be infectious, but you’re too afraid to peel back the layers of yourself to see if the infection has found roots in you. The sound of his laughter suffocates the pocket of space you occupy together, and you’re no longer lost in a sea of blue fire, but you think that maybe you’re drowning in something worse. 

Eventually, he stops. There’s an ache in your neck by then, but you still can’t move it. Dabi has to take a few more rasping breaths before he can think to speak again, and there’s rivulets of thick blood running down his face from his eyes and mouth. 

He cries tears of blood. 

You hate the sight of blood. 

“Heroes are gods,” he repeats, the traces of a chuckle leaving his lips. “You really fucking got me whit that shit, you know that?” An incredulous wheeze escapes his throats. “So then this is blasphemy? So then we’re sinners? Sounds pretty evil to me.”

“Only if sinning is evil.” His lips turn in a sneer, and you’re released. It’s like a breath of fresh air from the smoke and fire clogging your lungs, so you move to stand back up. “But sinning is just doing the things gods don’t like, isn’t it?” 

You smile, then, and you step back onto tile. Your hands go to your pockets, and fingers find the now-damp cigarette pack. 

“Hold it.” A lazy finger beckons towards you. It might be all he can do at the moment. You shouldn’t. 

You crouch down next to him anyways. 

When Dabi finally kisses you, it’s hard, and painful, teeth clashing and more blood drawn. You pull back with a line of it running down your mouth, and he brusquely wipes it away with his thumb. 

This will be the closest you come to a thank you from him. Somehow, you know that the day he finally says the sentiment to you out loud, it would very well be the last time he says anything to you at all. 

The final day feels as though it’s come too close to you. 

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

Omg! I just noticed your requests are open :D could i possibly request either a poly lost boys imagine or seperate imagine for how the boys react to their girlfriend or mate on their period? I don't know why but I can imagine them taking a while to figure it out and then are like Ohh

Lmaoooooo of course!! I'm gonna do a poly lost boys for this and I'm warning you now that theres a NSFW section at the end

Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!S/O on her period

It takes them a solid second to figure it out. They smell blood as soon as they see you on the boardwalk, and at first they are VERY worried. Like expect all four of them to be checking you over for any possible wounds or scrapes, and already hype to beat the shit out of whoever hurt you

Dwayne is the first one to get it. Once they've inspected you and they see nothing out of the ordinary and you keep insisting to David that "no, I'm not hurt", he finally just has a kind of "ah ha" moment.

He doesn't say anything to the others though, and just slides you some chocolate. Cause girls like chocolate on their monthly, right? He treats you like normal, and just pretends it isn't a thing. He mostly just keeps an eye on you to make sure your cramps aren't too bad and will carry painkillers and extra tampons/pads in his jacket for you. Honestly, it's appreciated in comparison to how some of the other boys react

David is the second one to get it, and it takes him about half an hour. He's still confused as to why you smell more like blood than usual and why you seem a little crankier. He's practically about to lose his mind when you grimace in pain and then mutter something about cramps. Then, he immediately figures it out. He just kind of goes, "oh".

Surprisingly, he's the most chill and the most educated about menstruation. It doesn't really bother him 'cause he murders people on the regular and he just asks if you need anything. He'll either get you whatever you ask for himself, or get one of the other boys to do it. He doesn't carry extra supplies on him, but he will carry painkillers for you. He'll also make sure to mention that vampires don't get periods as a subtle way to convince you to turn

Marko doesn't figure it out until David tells him to go out to buy some pads/tampons to keep at the cave. Then, he just kind of looks at you and it's instant fear. He's like a deer caught in headlights and you have to go with him because he's completely clueless. If you have him go alone, he will ask you what size your vagina is

He wants to help, but he's a teenage boy at the end of the day. He just kind of circles around you and doesn't really know how to act. He's in the same boat as Dwayne and gives you chocolate, 'cause that helps, right? He doesn't want to make you mad, and he's a little thrown by the mood swings.

Paul has to be told. Either by you or one of the boys, and he will not figure it out no matter how many times it's happened before.

He takes it in stride and just teases you about it. He calls it your "shark week" and says that you're more dangerous than they are. He makes a LOT of sexual comments and not-so-subtly hints about how sexy times can help with cramps.

When back at the cave, the boys load up with icecream, popcorn, and all types of treats so they can spend the rest of the week inside pampering you. Cuddle piles, movies, and basically whatever the boys can do to keep your mind off of it ensue. Marko will definitely lay on top of you to act as a weighted blanket, and Dwayne with give you a scalp massage. Paul will get you zooted if you like to smoke to deal with the pain. David will remind you to eat and will assure you that "no, you're not bloated. Stop picking at your face."

*NSFW*

The boys do not care if you're on your period or not when it comes to sex.

David gets a little touchier than usual when you're on your period because you smell so much like blood. He'll go into a little bit of a frenzy every time he sees you, and he practically drags you to any quiet corner he can find. Prefers to fuck, but definitely eats you out. It's like a free snack, so why not?

Paul will definitely fuck and eat you out if you let him. He's ecstatic if you say yes, and, unlike the rest of them, he lives for eating you out. He comes up with blood all over his face and tries to kiss you, and you have to push him away because "Paul. Ew. Gross." He'll roll his eyes and go back down for more, and chances are he will completely forget that you're up there and how he may be overstimulating you. He jokes about how it's like a free buffet.

Marko will make out with you and do some heavy petting, but he'll be hesitant to travel below your waistband at first. He's mostly worried that he'll go into a frenzy and won't be able to control himself, so he keeps everything above the clothes the first few months you're with them.

Like all the others, Dwayne doesn't care, but he won't necessarily push to eat you out. It's not that he thinks it's gross, it's just more of a respect thing. He doesn't want you to think that just because you're on your period your purpose is suddenly becoming a snack to all of them *cough* Paul *cough*. He just sets down some towels and keeps it business as usual.

I hope you enjoyed!!!

[shadowturtlesstuff]

No secrets...

here is my how you get the girl cressworth. its kinda sad, i wanted to do happy but i cant apparently. the end is happy and i really want to do a part 2 in cresswells pov

The cold buries itself inside me, finding its way past my bones and gathering through me till all my thoughts are of the cold. Distracting me from what I am about to do, and I cannot figure out whether that is a good thing or not. I haven't spoken to the insufferable Mr. Thomas Cresswell for over six months, yet I am walking a familiar route to his door. I still haven't pieced together why I feel the need to see him tonight, instead of the morning but even if he shuts the door on me and leaves me to fend for myself against the rain it might calm my racing mind. He would be right to do so, after I walked away first. We were close, getting closer every day. Thomas had told  me his feelings plenty of times and I had brushed them off till I started to feel them too. I panicked and then made a mess of everything. We are both poor at expressing our feelings yet I had run from the thought of even trying, and now that I have been away I realized how important he is to me, not only as someone I love but as a friend. I miss his quick wit, his charm and dry humour that uncle doesn't think is appropriate half the time. I miss knowing I will see him and see his own smile at me. Knowing I could melt the cold heart of his with just a small comment is something I was proud of, yet began to fear slightly as it was too easy to see that smile. I had learnt that nothing in life is that easy.

I was wrong. Desperately wrong.

Now I haven't seen that smile in so long and I miss it. I miss the person who shares my humour and lets me face any challenge. I just hope he has missed me half as much as I missed him.  

My heels click against the cobblestone, my pace speeding up to match my racing heart. Thomas’s house comes into view as I round a corner and I suck in a sharp breath. Can I really face Thomas again? Tell him that I miss him?      

This is a worthless idea, a ridiculous notion that Thomas would want to talk to me now. I should leave now and get out of the rain before I become seriously ill and bed ridden by my father. The rain has drowned my skirts, my hair clings to my face. This was a fool's errand. I turn trying to swallow my embarrassment and resentment towards myself when I hear a door open. Shit. I refuse to turn and see if it’s Thomas’s and hope that it-

“Audrey Rose?”

Shit. of course luck would abandon me to this. I don't know what I expected to find when I turned back but it was not this. Thomas, my devilishly handsome friend, stands in his doorway eyes completely transfixed on me. We stand staring, the only sound surrounding us is the pouring rain and my own heartbeat which has amplified its sound so all of London can hear my fear. My anticipation, love and heartbreak and guilt. Words flood my mind but none surfice what I need to tell him and I open and close my mouth like a gaping fish. I’m sure the rain is helping reinforce me looking like such a fool. My mind repeats what an idiot I am and I begin to turn to save myself from further embarrassment.

“Come inside?” Thomas's voice fills the whole street, it sounds slightly panicked, as though he doesn't know what to say. I don't blame him. I showed up uninvited at his flat and haven't managed to look like a functioning human yet I debate leaving, even if I want to stay, but just as I make a step to leave I hear a broken please.

Once again we stare at each other, there are so many words between us that I consider that there isn't a right one to start with. Perhaps his ‘please’ is an effective start. It certainly captured my attention. The rawness of the plea makes me nod and walk towards him. I want to believe Thomas has missed me, that I meant something, but if that is the case, he should be more mad at me. So why invite me in? Why bother?    

“I saw you out the window and,” Thomas begins as I stop in front of him and wait in case he changes his mind, “I thought I was crazy at first but when I realized it truly was you I thought I'd save you, just like old times.”  

His tone is bittersweet, I wince because I am the reason it has a bitter-ish undertone laced with a hint of grief.

“Save me?” I look around slightly confused, there is no assailant chasing me, no murderer on my tail as far as I knew so what is he saving me from? My own mind, because in a way he has, or at least might.

“The rain. I know you hate the cold and no one wants to stand in the rain so,” he moves from the door and gestures inside. I look down at my dress, completely full of water and wince again.

“As you might guess, the rain has now used my dress as a sponge so if I enter your flat I will ruin it.” I take a step back, it is coward-ish but I can't ruin anything else for him, even if it is only water damage. It won't be the worst thing I've done to him.

“Wadsworth, just get inside.”

His flat is warm and makes me notice how cold I truly was. Immediately I begin shivering as Thomas gets towels, blankets and anything to warm me up.

We sit across from each other, I'm wrapped in blankets and holding onto a mug of coco for dear life as Thomas sits with one hand on his and the other tapping on his armchair. The silence is not as bad as I expected but it was never awkward silence that Thomas and I shared. Which reminds me of Thomas's previous words.

Just like old times.

Except not like old times at all. I have to say something soon and again there is no right way to start this. Sorry will not suffice or fix it, but it is still necessary. Hopefully it will mean something at least.

“I know this is unexpected and probably unwanted and it has been awhile since we spoke but,” I chance a glance at him and he is staring at his mug with an unreadable expression, I've no idea where I'm going with this speech but if I can get him to at least look at me it will be worth it, “but I've missed you and I've had time to reflect on my mistakes.”

“Wadsworth, I've missed you more than I want to admit. I spent everyday waiting to see if you would come back but now you’re here…”

He trails off, leaving me to guess what he is thinking, which is always difficult, but add my paranoia I can only expect he wants me gone. However, I wait in dreaded silence for him to collect himself and speak his mind.

“You’re here and I've no idea what I want.”

We both consider his words, it seems we are still both atrocious at understanding our feelings.

“I've figured out that I want you in my life in some way, any way, and that I was tired of running, of pretending and hiding. I was afraid, before, of what we were and even if we can never go back to that I- I guess I am not going to conform to my fear anymore.”

“I lost my mind when you were gone. I thought I had somehow pushed too far or interpreted things wrong, perhaps I had, but coming here and saying you missed me doesn't fix everything.”

“I understand the fear, Wadsworth but we were partners, no secrets, remember?”

He finally looks at me and I wish he hadn’t. His dark brown eyes pierce my already fragile heart. “I know.” I whisper, looking at my cup.

Once again I whisper I know. I knew this would only be the start of fixing things and I was grateful he was even letting me try.

“I know, no secrets,” I look at him and brace myself to confess my thoughts, “I am a fool for running, I know that now, but at the time I felt trapped, not because of you but what you represent, in a fashion, change does not come easy, but you made it feel so easy I hadn't realized the change and I had convinced myself long before you nothing was easy or fair. I was the difficult, unfair one, and I will forever be sorry, Cresswell, I would like to make it up to you but I understand if-” I let out a breath and attempt to say, if you don't want me to but I can't. It is selfish but I desperately want to make things right.

“No secrets,” Thomas says, almost to himself as he quickly stands then takes the seat right next to me, taking the coco and setting both mugs down. “You are a little insane Wadsworth,” he says with a hint of a smirk and I let the comment slide just because of that smirk, “We cannot change what has happened or fix it as quickly as we would both like but I've missed you too much to be mad. In the future we should be better at this, both of us. I never told you how petrified I felt either. My adoration of you caught me off guard. I thought I had some disease, much to Dacina’s amusement, and I considered running too but you were, are, intoxicating.” Thomas smiles at me, full of promise that I smile back. He is offering a truce of sorts through his own truth and I can't help but imagine Thomas trying to explain his feelings to his sister.

“No secrets, no running.” I offer back and he nods, taking my hand in his and absentmindedly making shapes as we sit in silence. Just like old times.

Except I ruin it with my shivers. I was so focused on Thomas I forgot I was still damp and cold.

“You know, skin to skin contact is the most efficient way of warming up, I wouldn't want you catching hypothermia when there is a simple solution.” he says, smirking fully and I roll my eyes despite my huge smile. There is the Cresswell I fell in love with.

“Scoundrel.” I remove my hand from his and place it under the blankets and nestle further back.

“I am indeed, but also a gentleman. You’re staying here till it's stopped raining. You can have my bed if you want, or the sofa. I can find some fresh clothes and dry your dress as much as possible.”

Thomas leaves the room too fast for me to formulate a sentence so I sit and mull over what has happened. It will not be like before, we have those elements but mixed with something new. I expected to fear that, but found myself excited instead. Thomas returns with a pile of clothes and sets them by me but i make no move to get them. I have only just gained some warmth and even though sitting in wet-ish clothes will be worse, I can't make myself move.

“Can you sit with me please? For a bit, then you can use your bed. I've imposed too much so the sofa is fine, thank you.” I watched him sit back in his chair and smile slightly. I missed all his little mannerisms, how he immediately sets his arm out ready to tap if he needs to. How his hair flicks down. I decide I much prefer his messy hair than neat. There is a softness to his features now that wasn't there when I first saw him tonight. He also looks tired and I consider that I should have picked a better time. Thomas is too kind to comment on that fact.

“You are not imposing Wadsworth. I will happily sit with you all night if you wish and thank you for coming. Albeit the timing is bad, you could have waited for better weather to prevent any illness but- I'm glad you came. I wanted to see you but I thought I was a coward and didn't want to face you if you didn't want to see me.”

His words hit me like a knife in the gut. We were both afraid, both controlled by our own insecurities that we both nearly never got to this stage. It is laughable at how ironic it was. Thomas and I were both convinced the other would not want to see us.

“You are right, we do need to be better,” I say and he looks over at me, “tomorrow, weather permitted, would you like to go to breakfast with me?”

“I'll make breakfast and if weather permits I'd be delighted to go to lunch with you.” Thomas tries to stifle a yawn and I ignore the tug of uneasiness that is screaming. This is too easy. Instead I lean my head back and revel in it, commit Thomas's adorable yawn to memory and agree to tomorrow's plans.

“You should go to bed Cresswell, we seem to have a long day planned tomorrow and i need to get out of my wet clothes.”

“Do I need to reiterate my method of warmth?” He asks.

“Need I reiterate what a scoundrel you are?”

“Yes, I enjoy your slight blush when you say it.”

“Goodnight Thomas.”

He stands and I watch him stretch slightly, walk so that he is facing me. Then he reaches and presses a kiss to my temple. “Goodnight Audrey Rose.”

The kiss lingers, a phantom touch that stays with me all night. Warms me enough to hold onto the hope that Thomas and I will be okay. Our spark will reignite just as, if not more, intensely than before.

@fangirling-again @kittycat2187 @goatahoan @city-of-fae @the-hoofflepooff @ink-insomnia @purplecreatorhorsewagon @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing-wars @lovecakeandmore @yikesitsmaddie @loveyatopluto @bookscressworth @androgynousdeputylawyershoe @fandomtakeover @throneoftsc

[undergrounddweller89]

It's another late at night one between them because reasons, I don't need to explain myself *flips a tiny table*

Killian stood there infront of the fridge, looking over it's contents, he was hungry, he wanted to snack on something...but all Beckett had in his fridge was...health food...he could really murder someone for a piece of cake, chocolate, chips...sleep couldn't find him and he couldn't find it.

He reached in deciding on some fruit flavoured yogurt, he would have preferred ice cream but such is life apparently.

A claw tapping on the fridge door it was a low one the top half a freezer and yes he had looked in there.

The clock ticked loudly for some reason when it was night time, glancing over at the kitchen door, thinking that each tick would be the one to wake Beckett....now if he was on the table for something he could eat, he'd devour him.

Heh there was definitely something between his thighs he'd like to snack on but why would Beckett so much as look at him.

He had been permitted to move in with Walter, of course the scientist had seemed eager, to let him live there, he'd been his first Misson...heh...First villain, did that mean he took his spyginity...fuck he was glad no one could hear that dumbass comment, he even groaned at himself and here he was still standing with the yogurt in hand, wearing nothing, usually he would put on a pair of boxers as a courtesy to Walter but there was little chance that he'd wake up....

"Tristan?"

When he'd heard Becketts voice he tapped the side of his neck, didn't want to give the young man nightmares with his deformed face.

"You know you don't need to do that Tristan."

Walter smiled, sleepily rubbing at one eye.

Killian only made a sound but he did look at him, looks like he'd borrowed one of his shirts...again, but he never complained, they practically swallowed him, they were so baggy on his lithe form it was...was it possible for something to be sexy cute because if so Walter was the damn epitome.

"Was you looking for something to eat, not much in here, should go out tomorrow."

Killian replied matter of factly.

"Oh, sorry, I'm still getting used to making sure there's actually food in the house...I'll go tomorrow...you can come with if you want."

The young man shifted from foot to foot, tugging the shirt down, did Killian have to look so pretty, even with resting bitch face.

"Sounds like a plan...I have not exactly ventured out much

Killian looked Walter up and down, oh yes the perfect snack right there, but out of reach...right?

His robotic eye glowing a brighter blue as he thought of swiping everything off the table and planting Walter on it...did it make him a terrible man that from the moment he'd stepped on him in Venice, when he'd made the comment about having fun he'd absolutely would have done his damnedest to seduce him if he had not been a man on a mission, not blinded by hate for Sterling, he was still baffled by the fact Walter even let him live in the same space as him considering he'd tried to kill him...

twice...

Yes it made him terrible in his opinion.

Perhaps he'd even fantasised about Walter turning at the last minute, instead of deactivating his arm, he could have carried him off somewhere and made him his...

apprentice.

"Hey, Killian, Earth to Mcford, you're gonna ruin the contents of what we do have in the fridge if you leave it open like that, mind closing it."

Walter chuckled reaching up and tapping Killian's nose.

"I can't do that Beckett."

Tristan answered sheepishly, god what was it about Beckett that made him like this...smart, sweet, unique, he really was a light in the world he'd missed, never knew he needed until he knew he needed him.

Walter stepped forward and Killian shifted a little and sucked in his lips, well that was not what he expected the younger man to do, there was a long moment of silence as Walter looked down at him, problem was he liked Beckett looking, liked that he was staring at all of him and it was becoming obvious.

"You know Killian, I wouldn't mind a late night snack myself...I mean if the feeling's mutual."

Killian nearly dropped the yogurt, hands flailing to catch the plastic container, surprisingly being the Villain was easy, being hit on by a five ft nine scientist who looked like the wind could blow him over apparently had him...well like this.

He watched as Walter moved back a little, tucking his hair behind his ear, feeling somewhat embarrassed, oh perhaps he was wrong, that there hadn't been moments or lingering touches, maybe he'd imagined he'd found Killian staring at him

"Sorry, weirdos probably don't do it for you, probably like either some big guy like yourself or a lady with-"

Killian tossed the yogurt back in the fridge and closed the door, oh yes he'd found the exact snack he wanted.

Walter squeaked at the sudden action but when Tristan pulled him forward, claws pulling the front of the shirt to do so he didn't fight, he sank into that kiss, apparently both of them were starving, he reciprocated eagerly, hands sliding along his back, finger tips over scars, Walter could feel him pressed against his thigh, slowly moving.

Tristans hands felt so big on his waist, the man could engulf him entirely and do with him as he pleased, he wanted to surrender to him but the moment he felt his fingers on his bare skin he giggled making Tristan stop.

"Beckett, what is it?"

He looked at him dead serious and was trying not to be offended, had he done something Walter found funny.

"Your hands are cold, you're cold after standing in front of the fridge."

Walter smiled, it was so warm and kind that Tristan couldn't help but smile just a little to.

The machine lights from Becketts home made devices were lined with glowing lights, a soft blue highlighting them both, each of them just marveling at the others beauty, silence passing, just the rising and falling of their chests showing that either of them were alive, still, lost in that moment.

Walter took Killian's hands holding them, leaning up to kiss him sweetly, he kissed his lips, his jaw and then his neck where the sensors were, triggering the masking tech, revealing his true face once more.

Killian instinctively went activate it again, he didn't want Walter to see him like that when they were like this...scarred and ugly...

Walter stopped him, capturing his hand in a gentle clasp stopping him from turning it on again

"You don't need to hide yourself from me...I know it doesn't mean much but to me-"

Killian looked at the hand that held his, watching as it moved, letting go of him to caress his face, to trace the marred flesh between metal plating, over his scalp, leaning into his touch, pressing himself closer a thigh pressed between Walter's thighs a playful smile couldn't help creep up on him, so the scientist was going commando.

His eyes closed as Walter caressed what he hated...some how his touch, so affectionate, so tender, Killian knew he'd do anything for Beckett...he felt fingers teasing the line between scarred flesh and where his hair began, making him shiver that felt lovely, so very wonderful his spine tingling, moaning softly.

"Tristan..."

"Hmm?"

Killian returned still leaning into his touch.

"Don't ever let anyone ever tell you, you're not beautiful..."

Killian's eye fluttered open as the robotic one flickered on when he heard that, something in his chest ached...it was a beautiful kind of pain and he'd known it only once before...oh when had that happened...when had he fallen in love with Walter Beckett?

Cupping Walters face kissing him again, slow and passionate, adjusting himself again so their hips lined, claws on his hip.

"You gonna strip me down to Tristan, body heat is best shared when both people are-"

Killian ripped the shirt open from the neck down, looking like a predator who wanted to consume him entirely

"I thought you liked that shirt!?"

Was the response Killian got but he only grinned

"Oooh Beckett, I think it should be obvious by now, I love what's underneath more."

"Promise you'll call in the morning?"

Walter teased.

Killian paused he noticed the tinge of vulnerability, lifting his chin

"Whoever it was that didn't call you, I'll kill them, you just have to say the word."

Walter shouldn't feel so secure in his hands, so safe, this man had more than once tried to kill him, he did though, he felt as if nothing could hurt him here in this moment.

"They even called me weirdo."

"Tell me a name Beckett, I'll make sure it hurts when I end them."

He growled, there was something though in Walter's look a strange sort of expression and smile on his face.

"I already did, now...are you going to take me to bed or are we both destined to freeze in our kitchen."

Killian's heart was racing at that answer, wonder boy wasn't so perfect after all, oh, oh he was going to absolutely ravish him

"Tristan."

"Yes Beckett?"

Killian answered, face buried against his neck, biting softly at his pale flesh, Walter's hands on him, hips pressed together, feeling him, his warmth, everything.

"Make sure I still feel it In the morning...I want to ache and know it's because of you."

Ohhh Killian was more than happy to comply with his wishes he picked him up, they barely made it upstairs to Tristans room, anyone outside might fear a murder was happening, neither of them holding back, finally giving in to what had always been there, primal and urgent, aching, sating a desire that had been festering between them until the dam broke and the idea of being separated was painful, they shared themselves to the fullest, subdued and weakened by want of one another...no matter what the future held after this, after everything no matter what.

Tristan Killian Mcford belonged to Walter Beckett and Walter Beckett belonged to Tristan Killian Mcford, they were one, they could not define beginning and end between them, one breath only to be exhaled by the other.

Yes to put it simply.

They loved each other.

(Also got tipsy half way through writing this xD)

[erin-bo-berin]

Dirty Little Secret

MASTERLIST

New fic time! This was heavily inspired by the interrogation scene from Date Night and Cat in general, except in this world Cat Adams and the network of hit men from the show doesn’t exist. The reader is just like a Cat Adams though and obviously she’s a bit more of a downplayed villain than Cat, but it’s the same kind of idea. You guys will understand when you start reading. Enjoy all the Spencer feels you will probably get from this because I sure got enough just from writing this.

Special thank you to @multifandommandy​ as well for inspiration and ideas that I used in this :)

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: M (Smut)

Word Count: 3,341

Your hands were behind your back, handcuffed together. A strong hand gripped the top of your arm as the elevator ascended the floors of the FBI headquarters in Quantico.

A normal person would’ve been scared out of their mind at this point.

You?

Well, you were different than most people.

The elevator dinged, coming to an abrupt stop, announcing the arrival of your designated floor.

The crystal clear metal doors slid open, revealing a small group of people standing in the hallway. Clearly, they were expecting your arrival. You didn’t expect anything less.

The agent who’d brought you in stepped forward out of the elevator with you, the grip on his hand not easing any.

“Take it easy, Grandpa, I bruise easily.”

You shot the gray haired agent a withering glare before returning your gaze to the group of people. The majority of them looked at you with contempt, but you noticed something peculiar in the look of the agent who’d initially arrested you.

Interesting, you thought.

His lips were pursed as his gaze flickered down your frame before flitting up to your face again. He pressed his lips together before pulling them inward, his eyes quickly darting away.

Well that could definitely come in handy.

•

You sighed impatiently as you were seated in the interrogation room, your handcuffs being unfastened. It was a small victory as the chains clasped around your waist and ankles were cuffed to a metal bar of the table.

“Is this really necessary?” you scoffed, “It’s not like I’m here to do bodily harm to any of you.”

“You killed four men, Y/N,” Agent Grandpa said, “You really think we’re going to let you parade around here like we invited you here to have brunch?”

“Brunch sounds good,” you tilted your head, “I could go for some bacon.”

He ignored your comment and kept staring at you. You rolled your eyes in response.

“I only killed them ‘cause it was part of my contract. No big deal.”

You had been a new addition to a group of assassins that operated through the dark web. It was a small organization, but it was still a hidden one. Law enforcement wasn’t even aware of the group’s existence until just recently.

There were several different assassins in the group, most of which you’d met. Each had their own specialty and their own clientele. There was one who had a knack for poison, another who was more hands on with their kills—strangulation seemed to be their kink, another that was nicknamed “The Framer”. He could make any of his hits look like someone else did it, usually a close friend or family member. He was one who really believed in his research.

Your speciality was infidelity and abuse, mainly abuse. You were surprised how many women turned to a hit man to kill their abusive husband instead of law enforcement. One of your kills had been a jaded wife of a politician who was tired of dealing with her husband’s plethora of affairs.

So basically, your speciality was assholes who deserved to die.

“You’re aware that murder is still a crime, right?”

You tapped your fingers on the table.

“I thought we were here to interview me for more information on the group? Not to talk about me.”

“Okay, so talk.”

“Nuh-uh. I’d like to talk to Dr. Reid,” you smirked.

He raised one of his thick eyebrows at you, but didn’t say anything in response. He stood for a moment before turning and leaving the room, the door closing behind him.

Now the fun could really begin.

•

You were examining your nails when the door opened again and with it came Dr. Spencer Reid.

“I heard you’d only talk to me. Why?”

He slid his hands into the pockets of his navy suit pants. He stood in front of the table, looking down at you.

“Why don’t you sit down? Make yourself comfortable. It might be a while,” you grinned slyly, tapping your temple with your finger, “You know. Lots of information up here in the noggin to share.”

He pulled out the chair, sitting down in it.

“I’ve got a secret for you,” you said.

“Oh? I have a secret for you too. You’re going away for possibly 25 years to life unless you help us with this case.”

“Isn’t that why I’m here?” 

You shrugged nonchalantly.

“I’m here to help, but I’d like to do it on my terms.”

You rested your chin in your hand, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah? What are your terms?”

“One, for every few questions you ask I get to ask a question of my own.”

“Why would you-”

You held up a hand, stopping him.

“Ah, I’m not done. Two, you take these chains off me. I’m not gonna hurt you or any of the federal agents I’m sure that are watching. Besides, I’m getting a cramp.”

He watched you intently, waiting for you to continue.

“Three. If I give you everything you need, you’ll have my sentence reduced to ten years, not fifteen.”

“Give me a minute.”

He stood, heading to the door.

“Yes, go confer with the other six little ducklings. I’ll just be waiting here,” you called.

It could’ve been half an hour later, you had no idea, but he finally returned. A thick file was in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. It wasn’t until he came towards your side that you noticed he had the key to your prison chains in his hand.

He bent down at your side, unlocking your restraints. You bit your lip gently, watching him. When he looked up, his face wasn’t far from yours.

“Thank you.” Your voice was a breathy whisper and he quickly cleared his throat, standing back up.

“Whew, I thought I was never going to get blood flowing back into my leg,” you said, stretching it out and wiggling it.

He returned to his seat in front of you, opening the file. You turned in your seat to face him.

“Then again I bet you know all about blood flowing to certain areas.”

It was no surprise when he disregarded your comment and started asking questions.

“I’ll go easy on you to start with, how many assassins were in the group?”

“What a shame,” you tutted, “I’d rather you be rough with me.”

“If you’re just here to waste my time, then we can call this whole thing off,” Spencer threatened.

You studied him for a moment.

“Eight,” you finally answered, “That I know of.”

“And you met them all?”

“Those eight, yes.”

“What did they specialize in?”

You yawned, already bored with this tedious process.

You chewed on your lip, pretending to be in deep thought before counting off a few on your fingers.

“Number six did her own thing, but she dealt mainly with drugs. Seven liked to choke and we aren’t talking about some good BDSM play either.”

You smirked as a flush spread across the good doctor’s cheeks. He was so easy to read.

“Eight liked poison. I don’t know their clientele.”

“So what-”

You cut him off yet again.

“I believe it’s my turn to ask a question now.”

He sat back in the chair, crossing his arms, clearly amused.

“Go ahead.”

“How long has it been since you’ve had sex?” you asked casually.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to this.”

“Hmm,” you let it slide without an answer, “I’m sure it will before this interview is over.”

“So when did you join the group, Y/N?”

“A few months ago, around the end of January.”

“You killed a politician and three average husbands. We found out that Johnny Perez and Thomas Mitchell were abusive to their wives. Benjamin Wood abused both his wife and his daughter. Senator Nathan Pearson had many mistresses and affairs. Is that why you killed them?”

“Wouldn’t you?” you shot back.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine,” you retorted, smirking.

He decided to switch tactics.

“Did any of the others ever work together?”

“Not that I know of.”

You crossed your legs, leaning closer to him across the table.

“You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?” you questioned.

He looked up from the note he was writing, looking baffled.

“No, why?”

You hummed, “Explains a lot.”

“Is there a spot where they meet often? Somewhere we can catch the rest of them?” Spencer asked.

“It’s not exactly like we met at McDonalds for chicken nuggets and board meetings.”

You twirled a lock of your hair around your finger, watching him closely. He glared at you, his patience growing thin.

“Was there or not? I’m not here to play games.”

“Oh honey, you already are,” you mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I said if there was, it was probably far,” you lied, “You know far away. They could get paranoid.”

“You knew what you were getting into when you were recruited, didn’t you?”

You sat back in your chair, licking your lips and smiled devilishly at him.

“Yes, Doctor,” you purred.

You could see him tense, his jaw tightening as if he was clenching his teeth.

“Are you always this tense?”

He circled back to you, focusing his questions on you.

“Why did you kill those men, Y/N?”

“Assholes like that don’t deserve to live.”

You weren’t going to deny that you did it because you had and you would again, but you weren’t going to hand them any ammunition to use against you. Being mysterious was the name of your game.

“So you were a vigilante assassin? Hired to make things right?” Spencer questioned, eyes following you as you stood from your chair.

You strolled around the table, fingers trailing along the tabletop.

“People like that deserve the bad things that happen to them, like those men. Imagine if you could right the world, one step at a time.”

“I already do that. I catch serial killers everyday. Killers like you,” he responded.

“See, I’m not like most people,” your hand rested on his shoulder, sliding ever so slightly across it.

“I don’t enjoy killing. I don’t get pleasure from it.”

“Don’t you?” 

He’d gone rigid under your touch. Your fingertips grazed across his back as you leaned down and over his shoulder from behind him. Your hand slid down the front of his dress shirt, across his chest.

“I get pleasure from other things, Spencer,” you whispered lowly in his ear.

You pulled back, returning to your seat, but you didn’t miss the small shiver he’d tried to repress.

“I’m not answering any more questions until you answer some of mine.” 

You crossed your arms on the table, leaning forward on them.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because of that secret I mentioned earlier. Remember that? I know you better than you think I do, Doctor.”

Your voice dripped with seduction and you knew it was getting to him. You could see just how much you were getting under his skin and frankly, it pleased you greatly.

“Is that so?”

He cocked his head, challenging you, trying to call your bluff.

But you weren’t bluffing.

“I’m good at reading men and their signals. I mean,” you shrugged with one shoulder, “A girl has to be in this line of work.”

“Uh huh,” he goaded you.

“I know your dirty little secret,” you faux whispered, leaning closer towards him.

His face hardened in an attempt to not give any of his true emotions away.

“And what would that be?”

“I know you fantasize about me, Dr. Reid.”

Your words hit a nerve. Even though his face showed no change in expression, the slight widening of his eyes gave him away. If you weren’t so good at analyzing, you probably would’ve missed the small movement all together.

“You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but I didn’t think you were delusional.”

“Oh, I’m not,” you chuckled dryly, “I’m not answering any more questions until you admit you’ve had dirty thoughts about me.”

“Then we’ll be here for a long time.”

“Spencer, please. I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’m good at telling when a man is attracted towards a woman. Tell me,” you smirked, scraping your teeth across your bottom lip, “Do you touch yourself while having those thoughts of me?”

He stood, gathering the file haphazardly.

“If you’re just going to waste the FBI’s time, then this interview is over.”

“What, is your ego bruised because I don’t get off to you? Believe me, I’ve had my fair share of fantasies myself. They’re pretty sexy, if I do say so myself, but nothing beats the real thing,” your eyes moved up his body, “If you know what I mean.”

He was out the door mere seconds after your last word was spoken. 

You had him just where you wanted him.

•

“What is she on about?”

Thankfully the observing audience had dwindled down to just Rossi, but Spencer brushed past him, shaking his head.

“Ignore her. She’s full of it.”

He dropped the file on the first desk he saw, walking out the door into the hallway. 

He knew he had to get out of there quickly because the room was suddenly way too warm. He was angry. Angry and unfortunately aroused.

He practically ran into the first available empty room, closing the door behind him. He only needed a few minutes to clear his head before he finished this interview. He leaned against the closed door, stomach rolling in his desire. He swore, the tightening in his pants that much more visible. He knew the moment he felt the tingling in the pit of his stomach that he had to make a quick escape.

Y/N’s words rang in his ears as he closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down.

I’ve had my fair share of fantasies myself.

They’re pretty sexy if I do say so myself.

The thought of her getting off to him did nothing to help his erection and he groaned. His hand seemed to have a mind of its own and was palming the bulge, making him whimper slightly.

“Fuck it.”

•

The door swung open to the interrogation room with a bang causing you to jump.

“I got rid of the other agents, so it’s just you and me now, no one watching.”

You raised your eyebrow, intrigued.

“How did you know?” Spencer practically growled.

“Know what?” 

He yanked you up roughly by your arm, making you stand to face him.

“How did you know that all I want to do is slam you against this wall and fuck you as hard as I can?” 

Your mouth went dry, all bravado you’d had before suddenly missing. Heat pooled in your stomach. If you could tear off your clothes right now and let him have his way with you, you would.

He didn’t let you answer because he did just as he said he wanted to.

Your back hit the wall roughly, his lips meeting yours haphazardly. His kisses were wild and filled with all the frustration he held against you, emotionally and sexually.

His hands were that much larger against your hips, pulling them closer to him so you could feel his arousal against you. You moaned into the kiss in response.

His fingers threaded in your hair, gripping it, his tongue swirling with yours. He pulled back just the slightest bit, his teeth scraping your bottom lip.

“Fuck, I hate admitting just how wild you’ve driven me,” he groaned, undoing his pants.

You wiggled your hips slightly, trying to push your pants down along with your underwear as he sucked roughly on your neck, his hands massaging your boobs through your shirt. You were pretty sure he could make you cum before he was even inside you.

Barely registering your struggles, one hand yanked down the bottom half of your clothes, kicking them aside with his feet while his mouth still explored yours.

Hooking his hands under the back of your thighs, he hoisted you up, holding you against the wall. Your legs immediately wrapped around his waist as he thrust into you, not giving you any warning.

You moaned loudly. The feeling was better than anything you’d ever fantasized. Your hips thrust outward from the wall to meet with him causing him to growl. You could probably spontaneously combust at this point. You never could have imagined Dr. Spencer Reid had such a sexy, dominant side. If he wanted to fuck you against this wall until you were raw, you’d let him and probably still beg for more.

“Ohhh my god, yes,” you moaned, your head knocking against the wall as he did magical things to you.

His body moved roughly against yours, each thrust harder and deeper than the last, his grunts and groans giving you tingles. You would’ve tried to be witty right about now, but you discovered your brain was nothing but static. Words couldn’t and wouldn’t come.

“You moan this loud for me when you touch yourself?” he grunted, his rhythm purposely slowing down to a snail’s pace.

You were quite amazed that he managed to have enough self control to tease you.

“No,” you whimpered, trying to pull his hips back towards you.

His hands pushed your hips back against the wall firmly, further separating the two of you.

“What’s that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“No, I didn’t. Spencer, please.”

It was almost torture being so close to falling apart and having him stop almost completely. His hand touched your cheek, his thumb moving over your lips, tugging your bottom lip down just a bit before his lips covered yours again. His hips thrust forward against yours once more, hitting such deep spots that your legs were shaking.

He gritted his teeth as he pulled away, clenching them.

“Oh god, it’s so much better than I even imagined,” he gritted out, pulling out of you slowly, to thrust back in harder.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it,” you encouraged, your back arching, pressing your chest against his.

Your hand tangled in his curls, your moans coming closer together.

“Make me cum, Dr. Reid,” you requested breathlessly.

His fingers expertly reached down to add to your pleasure, fully intending to rock your world. 

Your breaths came in more erratic spurts, mixed with your moans as you came apart, tensing around him.

He came hard too, his groans of pleasure ripped from his throat as his head fell back roughly against the door.

It took a moment for Spencer’s surroundings to come back in focus when he opened his eyes, peering down at the mess he’d made all over his hand. He felt his whole face flush when he realized what had just happened. 

He grabbed a tissue off the table, cleaning up his mess and getting resituated, zipping up his pants properly, buttoning them once again.

He cursed himself for the fact he’d just gotten off to her. Even worse, an extremely erotic fantasy of her. But he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed it. 

“Dammit,” he mumbled.

So, it wasn’t his finest moment. But at least he felt less tense and more relaxed now.

He picked up the file on his way back in to finish his interview. There she was waiting, fingernails tapping against the table.

•

You saw right through him because the moment he walked through the door again a grin slowly spread across your face. His cheeks were still flushed and a slight sheen of sweat coated his forehead. 

Unless he’d just sprinted to and from the nearest coffee shop, you had a good idea what he’d just been up to.

You didn’t say anything while he sat back down in front of you again, opening the file and looking up at you. You motioned him closer with a crook of your finger so he could hear your next words. He obeyed and leaned in close.

“Your dirty little secret is safe with me.”

Tag List: @dreatine​ @reid-187​ @groovyreid​ @reidslibra​ @suvikamahes98blr​ @fuckthealarm​ @whatspunispun​ @iamburdened​ @cindywayne​ @thomasfoockinshelby​ @tinyminy88​ @theitcaramelchick​ @missprettyboy​ @hushlilbabydoll​ @sammy-jo1977​ @theonlyone-meeeee​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @lemonypink​ @multifandommandy​

[izaswritings]

Title: hello to my old heart

Fandom: Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure | Tangled the Series | Varian and the Seven Kingdoms AU

Synopsis: “Why do you trust me so much?” 

Or: the beginning of the end for the betrayer. In which Hugo asks a long-overdue question, and gets the answer he never wanted to hear.  

AO3 Link is Here!

.

It is midnight after the trial, after retrieving yet another totem, after everything, and Hugo thinks he might be sick.

Too close, he thinks. Too close. Everything that’s happened, everything he’s been doing… and Donella was there. She saw him, she met his eyes—pretended she hadn’t known him, kept his cover, and yet the unease is still there, itching beneath his skin, restless in his hands. Donella. There. The group had clashed with her. She’d warned them about the Library. Varian had said—

I won’t let you stop me!

—and she’d smiled. Smiled. Like she knew something Varian didn’t.

Nothing happened, Hugo reminds himself. It’s dark now—gone straight through evening right on to night—and their small group has settled down by the city limits, half-way in the trees. Yong has the campfire already lit and burning under Nuru’s supervision; Nuru has the maps spread out on her knees, plotting the best route towards the next kingdom. It’s domestic and normal and natural—and it makes Hugo want to scream, almost. When did he get used to this? It makes him feel jittery and thin and small, because for the first time in a long time—in months! Goddamn!—he’s been reminded, forcibly and irrevocably, of just how little he belongs here.

Nuru had noticed, earlier. Of course Nuru had noticed—she’s the most focused of the four of them, the most eagle-eyed, as one should be when making maps out of stars. Did you know her? she’d asked him then, after Donella had vanished, her voice low as they’d run and left the kingdom behind them. That woman? And when Hugo’s throat had sealed up, sudden and sharp and awful, Nuru had looked him full in the face and said, Oh. Never mind.

So stupid, Hugo thinks, leaning against a tree to hide the weakness in his knees, watching Nuru fuss over the maps. So, so stupid of her. Where has all her suspicion gone? She was always the most critical of him—he knows that, he remembers that, how can he not—even though she was never there for the beginning. And now— now.

Oh. Never mind.

His fingers curl in his sleeve. He chances a glance back, through the trees. Varian is off to the side, away from the fire, deeper in the shadows, his own private set up for a new experiment of his. He’s been there for a while, now, ever since they settled down to camp. Had said, laughingly, that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to mess with this compound around the fire, start dinner without me—and Hugo can only just barely see the shape of him through the shadows of the trees. That dark head of hair is bowed low over the makeshift workbench; he can’t see Varian’s face, but Hugo can imagine the focus of it, the intent. Trust. If Hugo is really going to start berating this group about faith, shouldn’t he start with the worst offender?

He’s only here at all, Hugo knows, with a sudden twist to his gut, because months ago Varian decided to have faith in him. For some reason. For…

Hugo doesn’t even know why. He’s never asked. It’s… never mattered before.

But Donella’s smile plays out in his head, and Nuru’s voice says, soft and careful—Never mind— and Hugo is walking over to Varian before he even knows, truly, what he’s doing.

It’s quiet here, away from the main camp. There is something strangely secret about it all, about the distance and the darkness and the way Nuru and Yong’s voices have faded to whispers behind him. The lamplight of Varian’s staff casts a quiet green glow across everything; it should be sinister, in a way, and yet it just feels warm. In the light Varian himself is focused entirely on the project before him—he likely hasn’t even noticed Hugo is there, Hugo thinks faintly, and for some reason, despite everything, this almost makes him laugh.

He leans against a nearby tree, arms crossed, and says, “Pretty sure that element explodes under heat, you know. I do hope you know that. Why are you trying to set it on fire?” He grins. “Oh! Oh, don’t tell me, did you mistake it for lithium? That’s adorable. Beginner’s mistake. So cute.”

Varian’s shoulders tick up, and his hand spasms, the vial almost dropped. “Gah!” His eyes flash sideways, narrow beneath his goggles. “Stop doing that! Why do you always sneak up on—never mind, doesn’t matter, shut up, I know what I’m doing.”

Hugo hums, as skeptical as he can, if only to make Varian scowl. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“Ha, ha,” Varian says, sarcastic, but the old bite is worn now, almost fond, though he sounds a little annoyed regardless. “You don’t even know what I’m making, shove off.”

“…True.” Hugo leans against the tree, sliding down until he’s sitting, one leg drawn up. He rests his elbow on his knee and watches Varian work. Whatever he’s making, it’s lovely—all silver and bronze and glowing solution like a liquid gold. For all his doubts on its application, Hugo can at least appreciate the aesthetics of it. It’s probably important. Probably for the machine, the gateway to the Library. Probably…

Probably something Donella would want him to steal, eventually.

The tightness returns, winding vicious in his gut. Hugo looks away, and lets the conversation drop, unsure of how to continue it, if he even wants to. Varian goes back to work without comment, obvious dismissal, and Hugo stays sitting there, awkward, feeling out-of-place and unsure of why.

But Varian hasn’t asked him to leave, yet—not that Hugo would even if he had, but whatever—so he stays, lingering on the fringes, watching Varian work. For all of Hugo’s teasing, Varian really is clever. The focus in those blue eyes, the intent line of his mouth—this is Varian thinking, Varian with the world spinning out in blueprints behind his eyes, and Hugo has always admired that feeling, always loved it, always appreciated the fact Varian knew and understood it the same way he did.

He leans his head back against the tree, and sighs.

“So,” Hugo says, finally, absent and casual and not-that-I-care-but, eyes deliberately turned away, “what’s your deal with me, anyway?”

Varian hums, not listening. Then the words actually compute, because he snorts suddenly, and pushes his goggles away from his face. “What?”

He’s smiling. Something about that sits wrong with Hugo; it flutters in his chest like a wound. Hugo tries not to scowl. Casual, damn it. “What do you mean, what?” He rolls his eyes. “This weird… I don’t even know. Faith, or whatever. I mean, seriously.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, even from the beginning…” All of Yong’s protests, Nuru’s suspicions—and Varian, who listened and nodded and then waved them away. We’ll see, he’d said, to their fears. And to Hugo: I’m trying to trust you. Don’t prove me wrong, okay?

Hugo hadn’t cared, then, about the why. He hadn’t… it had been an in, an easy entrance, and so he’d never thought to question it. So what if Varian was naive, too trusting for his own good—all the better for Hugo, wasn’t it? And so Hugo had never asked. He’d barely even wondered.

“Why,” Hugo says, months too late but wondering all the same, “do you trust me so much?”

“Hmm.” Varian has raised a vial to his face, peering into the contents. He waves a dismissive hand, absent-minded. He’s not even listening, Hugo realizes, and it’s like a hot knife to his gut. “Why not?”

“I—” And oh, fucking hell, that had almost come out strangled. Hugo snaps his mouth shut, feeling slapped and not entirely sure why. For the love of… this is what he gets for being open, Hugo supposes. This is what he gets for asking too late. Gods. Screw this, anyway.

He climbs to his feet, face flushed, hands curled. “Whatever.”

He’s making back for the campfire when Varian’s voice stops him cold. “Wait.” Despite himself, Hugo looks back. Varian has lowered the vial. He’s looking at Hugo now—actually, truly looking, with a sudden intent that makes Hugo straighten on instinct. In the pale green glow of the staff, Varian’s eyes are sharp as glass.

Varian searches his face, and whatever he finds there makes his expression twist. “Oh.”

Hugo bristles. “What?”

Varian is quiet. His lips press. The sudden focus of his gaze is gone—now he seems drained, almost tired. He pushes his hand back through his hair, and his gaze wanders to the ground, and then, absently, he says, “When I was fourteen, I almost killed my dad.”

Hugo opens his mouth. Hugo closes his mouth.

“I mean, I—didn’t. Obviously. But I… I mean, he should be dead, actually, laws of reason dictate, and I’m pretty now it was only magic that… but I didn’t know that at the time, so really my belief was more denial than sense, in hindsight? And I’m still not sure how to feel about that... anyway.” Varian presses his lips together, the ramble cutting short. His hand is tight on his sleeve—so tight his hands must be white-knuckled under the gloves, and all the color seems to have drained from his face. He looks—older, in this light, with this expression. He looks exhausted.

“I was angry,” Varian says, simply, when Hugo doesn’t respond. “Um. Very… very angry. And I hurt… a lot of people. Some of them I knew. Most I didn’t. And some…” His hands curl. “Never mind. It’s not important. I— told you I’ve been in prison before. Right? I mean, I’m pretty sure I mentioned it, like, once— anyway. Um. Three counts of attempted murder, high treason, kidnapping, attempted regicide, drugging a whole castle with truth serum without their consent, I could go on, but. You probably get the idea.”

Yeah, Hugo does get the idea. The idea is straight-up freaking unbelievable. What? He… he can’t even fathom that. He’s seen Varian angry, he knows Varian can be dangerous, but…

“I don’t understand,” he says, before he can stop himself, and Varian curls in on himself with a laugh that sounds very hollow.

“Yeah, I—I get that. I don’t know myself, really. Why I reacted that way. I’ve thought about it over and over, and I don’t… maybe it was one thing? Or maybe it was everything. My dad was gone. I was alone, I guess. And—and in the end, it just felt… like a betrayal. Like my friends, like my town, like everyone had turned their backs on me, on my dad. And I just… I couldn’t stand that.” He shakes his head, voice going small, murmuring. “Betrayal. Dark word, isn’t it? Never done well with being… well.” Varian laughs. It sounds forced. “Um. This is all speculation, anyway.”

Hugo says nothing. The ground feels very shaky, suddenly; he feels fever-hot and sick. “Oh,” he says. He realizes suddenly his hands are shaking, and tucks them in his pockets. The ground has fallen out beneath his feet; the pieces have clicked into place. He understands. He does. It’s the answer to a question he’d never been able to ask, and even though it's exactly what he expected, it still guts him whole. “…Oh.”

And he thinks: When this is over, you’ll never forgive me.

Varian laughs again. “Yeah,” he says, muted agreement. He draws his legs up close, criss-cross, and rests gloved hands on his ankles. “But… I guess, to answer your question... Even after all that, despite everything—  someone still believed in me. Someone was willing to give me a chance. She—even though she had the most reason out of anyone to hate me… she still offered me her hand.”  

Varian tilts his head. He meets Hugo’s eyes. He smiles. “That’s why,” he says. “I trusted you because someone once trusted me. And I was right, wasn’t I?” He shrugs. “I trust you now because you’ve earned it.”

Hugo’s mouth is dry. His throat aches. He wants, bizarrely, to scream. “…Right.” How stupid. So, so fucking stupid of him. He’d gotten his second chance months ago, without ever realizing, and he’d thrown it back in Varian’s face before he’d even really known him. So fucking stupid. His head spins. “Right.”

Varian nods. His eyes drift away again. “Sorry,” he says, absent-minded. “For dismissing the question before. I thought you were joking, at first.”

Hugo shakes his head, thrown. “I… it doesn’t matter, it—” He exhales, sharp. “Why… why did you tell me this?”

“It seemed important to you.” Varian looks at the ground, gaze distant, like those words aren’t yet another gut-punch. Important to you. Like easing Hugo’s fears are worth spilling secrets for, worth—whatever this is. Goddamn. Goddamn. And Varian smiles then, a halfway-smile, a wry crook of his mouth that creases at his eyes, and something in Hugo’s chest misses a beat. “And faith always matters.”

“And what if Nuru was right?” Hugo doesn’t know why he says it, and wants suddenly to slap himself. The fuck? But still: once again, he can’t stop himself from asking, from digging in the knife. “When she said I couldn’t be trusted. What if you’re wrong?”

“Nuru doesn’t say that anymore. What’s with you today?” Varian rolls his eyes, briefly, then turns and fixes Hugo with a smile, bright and blinding. “Besides. Am I wrong?”

And the worst part is—the absolute worst part—is that he says it dryly, says it sure, says it—like Varian knows, implicitly, that the answer is no.

Yes, Hugo thinks. “No,” he forces out, and smiles, and hates it.

“There you go.” Varian shrugs and turns back to his experiment, conversation over. Hugo stares at  the back of his head. He feels sick. He feels dizzy. He feels like all the world has dropped at his feet, everything he’d never even known he wanted placed right in his hands—and the loss is sudden and sickening, because Hugo has already given this all away, handed it off long before he’d ever known what this treasure was worth.

Still. “Thanks,” Hugo says, through his teeth, and just barely manages to keep it from shaking.

And it’s terrible, all of it—the way Varian ducks his head, the way his shoulders curl, the way the other hides his smile against his arm like Hugo can’t see the gleam of his teeth in the dark, the gentle joy.

“Of course.”

Awful.

Hugo walks back to the fire. Yong is laughing at a joke. Nuru, once so suspicious, smiles up at him—then sees his face, and the smile falters. She frowns, suddenly, her brow furrowing. She says, “Hey, Hugo, are you okay?”

Never mind, she’d said earlier, all of Hugo’s secrets there before her to unravel. I want to trust you, Varian had said, months and months ago, offering his hand to a boy who’d already made the choice to betray them. Faith always matters.

Donella, smiling.

“Fine,” Hugo says, with a smile he doesn’t feel, but the truth beats behind his skull like a heartbeat, and behind his back his hands are shaking. He’s played himself into a corner—caring about these people, about Varian especially. Hugo, the greatest fucking fool of them all, wanting to live up to their expectations only now, when its already too damn late.

“Just fine,” Hugo says, and settles by the fire, Yong’s chatter and Nuru’s worried eyes and Varian’s distant humming—and closes his eyes to it all, holding his breath, as though if he stays still and quiet and careful he can stretch this moment out, keep this moment here, and make it so he doesn’t have to lose them at all.  

[teenage-mutant-ninja-freak]

wolf in sheep’s clothing

Mob! turtles au Turtles x fem! reader

Leo x reader

Summery: The turtles are 4 brothers who run the mob in New York and their territory is under threat since a serial killer (you) has taken up residence in the area. Bodies keep dropping and it’s being blamed on the turtles which is bad for business so they decide to do something about it.

Warnings: violence, mention of drugs and weapons, NSFW

((A/N I’m not a writer, I’m a dumbass with a dream to write some dark fiction so please save any nasty comments. Hope you enjoy))

__________________________

November in New York was always beautiful, the leaves become this vibrant burnt orange and scatter throughout the parks and roads, you can see your breath in the air and occasionally there’s fresh snow on the ground. Nothing quite tops that. You sit in your regular bar, Paddy’s, and take another swig of the beer sat in front of you. You’re sat close to the door so it gets a little chilly with the patrons walking in and out creating a cold breeze but you simply shrug your jacket on closer and ignore it.

The city is at a pivotal point with gang activity, the mob known as “the turtle boys” runs most of up town New York- selling guns and narcotics to lesser gangs. It’s a dangerous time you think to yourself as you shake off the four sets of eyes you can feel watching you from the corner. You finish your beer and stand to leave.  Outside it’s dark and freezing, typical whether, you light up a cigarette, adjust your scarf and continue towards the ally that leads home leaving a swirling trail of smoke behind you; the end of the cigarette gleaming orange in the dim light.

You can hear the footsteps following you but you don’t quicken your pace. They’re free to do as they so please and have no idea who they’re messing with. Along with gang activity, New York has one other big problem at the moment: a serial killer. Their calling card? Strangulation. 7 bodies have washed up along the Hudson in the last 4 months all with the same abrasions around their necks from what the police suspect is barbed wire as well as stab wounds. You know it’s barbed wire, though. You’re the one who put them there.

The footsteps are gaining on you now and you stop in your tracks, take a deep inhale of your cigarette and turn to face them. You didn’t quite know what you were expecting to see but, the turtles boys wasn’t it. All adorned in beautiful, presumably expensive, suits they stare back at you with blank expressions but a slight look of worry in their eyes.

“Y/n L/n” the one in a blue suit calls to you. “you’re a hard girl to track down”

“laying low is my speciality. What can I do for you boys on this fine night?”

“cut the shit” the biggest one out of all of them cuts in. He’s wearing a black suit with a red handkerchief poking out of the pocket. Raphael you make a note to yourself. He’s going to be the hardest to take down. You smile sweetly.

“we can do this the easy way or the hard way” he finishes.

“do I look like an easy girl to you?” you turn on your heels and begin to run, if you can get them into the next ally way there’s a chance you can take at least one of the down before the others get to you, you think. 

Out of breath and cursing never sticking to your resolution to do more cardio you make it to the next ally but the one you know as Michelangelo has gained on you and slams you into the brick wall on your right side. 

“that’s no way to treat a lady” you say looking up at him, he grins, spits and decks you in the face. Everything goes black.

There’s a thumping in your head, you feel as though you have a concussion and your jaw aches like a motherfucker. Damn it you think to yourself, they’re more to handle than I thought.  There’s some kind of sack over your head that has a sheer texture to it so you can sort of make out where you are. There are cupboards and you can hear the steady drip of water so a tap must be near by, you assume you’re in a kitchen. You try and move your hands but they’re bound behind your back, the same with your ankles. Motherfuckers. You reach into the back of your jeans, you knife is gone. They must have searched you, they’re more thorough than you gave them credit for. you shouldn’t have underestimated them, you’re the one who likes to be underestimated. Just a sweet little girl, wouldn’t hurt a fly; you’re a vegetarian for fucks sake, who would think of you as the ruthless killer that you are? you try and slide your arms under your butt to have them in front of you, maybe then you can get this bag off your head and see where you are. Suddenly, you hear movement

“She’s awake” one of them calls to the others. More footsteps and you know they’re all in the room with you. You feel the bag being removed from your head, some of your hair being pulled with it but you ignore the slight sting that it causes. You’re face to face with Leonardo who’s crouching in front of you

“Now” he begins “I think it’s time we get better acquainted, don’t you, y/n?” 

“I thought mobsters were supposed to be sweet on women. They Cray twins, Al Capone, all real nice when it came to ladies. What gives?” you say to him.

“you’re no regular lady” he retorts. “We have sources that put you at the scene of 4 of the murders that have been going on recently and we just need to have a little chat about what you were doing there. We’d hate to have the wrong person”

you scoff.  “Me? A killer?” you feign an innocent look. “Whatever are you talking about”

Leo stands up and you can really see his true height now. He’s an impressive man, about 6′4 and all muscle. That suit was really doing him some favours as well, you would water at the mouth but you had other priorities at this moment in time; staying alive being just one of them.

“what were you doing by the Hudson on September 6th when James Masters was killed” he asks

“Look, you’ve got the wrong girl. I wouldn’t kill anyone” you flash him your big doe eyes hoping that’ll score you some points with the big bad mobster. They wouldn’t really hurt a girl, would they? “I’m an art major at Columbia, I’ve got 2 brothers who need me” you try and summon tears but you just can’t do it so you settle for the odd sniffle instead “My mum calls me at 12 everyday and if I don’t pick up she’s gonna get worried”

A sharp smack flies across your face and you’re taken aback by the impact. You can feel liquid at the corner of your mouth and know that he hit you hard enough to draw blood

“Cut the act, what were you doing?” he repeated himself.

You take a moment to finally look around the room. There’s a table to your right with stacks of cash and guns on it as well as lots of tightly wrapped bags full of white power; cocaine you assume. The 4 turtles stand in front of you, Leo being closest, all with their arms folded doing their best to look intimidating. You laugh.

“I get the feeling begging isn’t going to work, huh?” you say

“Not today, sweetheart” the one who knocked you out, Michelangelo, replies.

“Well, would it please you to know that I was there to get rid of a body? That I’m the one who’s been ‘terrorising’ New York as the papers put it? or did I give that away too easily?”

“That’s not quite what we’re here about” the one in purple pipes up

“Oh no?”

“you see, James was an informant of ours and he had some…Information that could be very harmful to our organisation if it got out. And since he was tortured before he died, we want to know what he told you”

“let me see” you you paused for dramatic effect “I believe his last words were ‘no please stop, oh god no’. Does that have any significance to you?” you smile

Another slap. This one hurt worse and was making your already aching jaw hurt even more, you would definitely have a bruise if you made it out of this.

“looks like we’re gonna have to use the old school method” Leo states

“the old school method it is” Donatello agrees

He leaves the room for a moment and comes back in with a black bag which he opens on the counter. He takes out a white plastic sheet and some things that you can’t quite make out from the floor but they make a metallic twang on the counter when he puts them down. They’re going to torture me. Your heart sinks to your stomach. You aren’t a coward and you’re no stranger to pain, half of your victims put up a good fight and rough sex was prominent in your life, but you truly didn’t know any inside information about what the turtles operation held and there was no way they were going to believe you.

Donatello approached you, laying down the white sheet and shimmying it under your form so that it lay underneath you.

“look, guys…” you began “We don’t have to do it like this”

“A bit too late for that, don’t you think” Donatello replied as he pulled a scalpel from his pocket and pushes it down into your hand. You howl in pain and try and pull your arm away but his hand is already on your wrist keeping you in place. 

“Just tell us what he told you” He states in an eerily calm voice

“He didn’t say an thing about you guys!” you bellow “I caught him tryna sneak date rape drugs into a girl’s drink and that’s why I killed him! It had nothing to do with you!”

They all look at each other and Donatello draws back.

“Even so” Leo began “He wasn’t the best at keeping secrets. I imagine he tried to make some kind of deal with you for his life” 

“Yeah, that he would leave the city and never come back” They stare at you, unsure as to weather or not you’re lying. Mikey uses his arms to propel himself backwards to sit on the counter behind him; his legs swinging casually as he sits.

“So nothing about us?” he inquires.

Leo moves towards you, crouching down again so that he’s eye level with you; his suit hugging his muscles in all the right places. You decided to take a gamble.

“well…He did tell me one thing” you croon

“Go on” Leo almost whispers

Your hand was bleeding pretty badly at this point and a bead of bright scarlet blood dripped down between your fingers and on to the plastic sheet beneath you. If you wanted to live, you had to make them like you in some way. You lean in closer, almost nose to nose with the turtle’s leader.

“you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours” you say in your most seductive voice. He smiles at you, not quite sure what to make of your comment.

“I’m not following, little girl”

“Oh come on. Haven’t you heard that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar? Give me what I want, and I’ll tell you whatever you need to know” 

He stays crouched in front of you, still staring into your eyes trying to gage weather or not you’re serious. “Leave the room”  he commands without even looking back at his brothers. They do as they’re told, Mikey sighing slightly as he hops down from the counter and Donatello picking up his black bag of torture gear on the way out. 

“what do you have in mind?” his eyes are locked on yours and you’re so close you can feel his body heat from where you’re sitting. He truly was an amazing creature, all muscle and strength. It made you wet just thinking about what he could do to you. You place one of your still tied up hands on his knee and run it down his thigh until you’re close to his crotch and look back into his deep blue eyes

“Oh, you know. A little bit of hair pulling here, some biting there. Just fuck me raw basically” your forwardness gets you a raise of his eyebrows and his mouth forms into a bigger smile. He looks down and then back up at you and begins to untie the restraints around your ankles but leaves your hands bound. This is going to be good.

He runs his hands down your thighs and begins to undo the button of your jeans to slide them down your legs, you kick off your shoes to help him get them over your feet. His hands go straight for your underwear. This guy doesn’t fuck around you think to yourself. Underwear off, he trails kisses down your inner thigh until he reaches your sex and parts your lips

“you’re wet already? Naughty girl” he jokes and you can’t help but blush.

He moves closer and takes one long lick between your folds exciting a moan from the back of your throat. He’s good at it, too, swirling his tongue in devilish ways over your small bead and occasionally sucking at it too. He places one thick finger inside your wet entrance and begins to curl it in pace with his tongue. you’re barely hanging on at this point as your orgasm is coming fast. He looks up from between your legs while still using his hand to draw circular motions over your clit

“It’s ok, babygirl. You can cum for me” 

With one final stroke of his tongue and his permission your orgasm rips through you bringing tears to your eyes but he isn’t done yet. Moving up your body he lifts your top and undoes your bra taking his time to suck and kiss at your nipples. It’s as though he can’t decide which one he likes best but you don’t mind his indecision. You can feel his teeth pull the soft tissue of your left breast into his mouth as he sucks creating a small purple bruise and you humm in pleasure. He kisses your lips hungrily, inserting his tongue into your mouth just enough to taste the cigarette he must have been smoking before you woke up and you love the taste. It’s so manly. You take your still tied up hands to cup his chin as he does so and then move them down to feel his torso, His reptilian skin so rough yet smooth at the same time and you can feel his muscles twitch beneath the surface in anticipation.

He trails kisses and bites down your tummy before grabbing your hips and flipping you over, your face hits the floor but you don’t mind; you were guaranteed to be man handled and he did not disappoint. With your exposed ass in the air you can hear him behind you undoing his flies and you want to badly to look back and see him but the not knowing almost makes it hotter-that is until you feel him at your entrance. He’s thick. Almost too thick for you, he’s gonna stretch you open for sure and you can’t wait. Just as you think this you hear him spit and his fingers are at your entrance again making sure your wet enough for him. In one long slow motion he inserts himself inside you, filling you completely to the point where you don’t know if you can take any more. He bottoms out and you sigh in pleasure. He pulls out a little and then thrusts back into you hard over and over again at a punishing pace. His hands are on your hips but he removes one to smack your ass as he’s fucking you.

“harder” you almost beg

“that’s it baby, take all of me” he moans to you

the feel of the cold tile floor beneath your face is a nice contrast to the burning heat in your core and you know you can’t hold on much longer. He reaches around your body to play with your clit while he’s still pushing in and out of you at an astonishing rate while he takes his other hand and pulls at your hair forcing you to look up.

“Leo, I’m going to-I’m gonna” you practically scream before your second orgasm sends shock waves through your body. A few more thrusts and you hear him moan as he reaches his own ecstasy and cums deep inside of you. You almost collapse but his hands go back to your hips, steadying you. He pulls out and you can feel his seed and your own wetness leaking out of you and running down your inner thigh.

“wow, I haven’t been fucked like that in a while” you laugh

“I’m not done yet, baby” he taunts

flipping you back over onto your back you can see that he’s already hard again. Gods bless those mutant genes that turned him into whatever creature was kneeling before you. You don’t think you can take him a third time but before you have the chance to interject he’s inside you again and pumping in and out at an overwhelming pace. He runs his hand up over your breast to your neck and squeezes the sides of your throat, cutting off the blood supply to your head and you can feel your whole face redden with the pressure. He looks deep into your eyes, lost in his own pleasure. You’re mind is tingling with lack of oxygen and the force of his cock inside you and you’re close again. You slip your hands between your thighs and begin to play with yourself as he fucks you mercilessly, hand still at your throat. Suddenly your hands are pushed out of the way

“beg me to let you cum” he commands

you do as you’re told

“Please” you pleaded with him “I need this, I need it so bad please just let me cum”

He grunts as he thrusts harder, allowing your hands back at your pussy and you both cum at the same time. Bodies twitching in the afterglow of what had just happened.

He rolls to the floor beside you and lies on his back, both panting with exhaustion. He cups your sex with his hand.

“so, what did James tell you” he says as he catches his breath.

shit. you hadn’t thought this far ahead.

Fin.

[gallavictorious]

Would you be able to write a lil fic from Kev's POV of Yev's christening party? I just know Kev would find Mickey's "guess what we've been doing, daddy" monologue hilarious. And maybe Kev notices Ian and Mickey being super soft after and realizes they're actually really good for each other?

An incensed roar; a table tossed aside; the sound of glass smashing, and of fists against flesh. Kevin Ball takes a deep breath and closes his eyes and reaches for nirvana. Or for enlightment. Or whatever. He isn't really clear on that whole bit. But he's calm, he's cool, breathing slowly, this is all good, shit was the noise of someone's neck snapping, no, no, he didn't hear that, it's peace, love, all that crap, he's so relaxed –

Shit, this is hard.

Fortunately, someone must have called the police and the police must have been nearby because it's just minutes before the cops storm in to haul off both Terry and Mick. The amount of damage done to the bar is still pretty impressive, Kev sees when he finally opens his eyes with a sigh of relief, but that's okay; the Milkoviches are usually surprisingly good about actually paying for that stuff. It's one of the reasons Kev doesn't mind them hosting their parties here, in spite of said parties ending in brawls as often as they don't.

The other reason is that they'd probably burn the bar down if he tried to refuse them.

Kev looks up from the sad remaints of a chair to catch sight of Ian slipping out the door, after the cops and their captives. There's this look on his bloodied face, something fierce and determined and grimly triumphant, and Kev can't help but frown, suddenly a little uneasy.

Thing is, maybe he should have seen it earlier. He knows he's not the brightest tool in the shed; he's okay with that. He's got V to do the sharp thinking, and besides, Kevin Ball ain't stupid about people. He notices things, and looking back, there's been all these little hints, shit Mickey's said and done in the past few months, and there's that thing he heard from a grumpy Lip about Mickey staying over at the Gallagher house ever since Ian came home. And okay, maybe he'd found that a bit weird, but Kev's been little busy lately by small things like becoming a father, so maybe he hasn't had too much time to worry about where his business partner might be putting his head down, okay. A man can only have so many things on his mind at once. Three maybe. He thinks he's read that somewhere. Or V told him.

But yeah, maybe he should have seen it earlier, but he hadn't. Doesn't get it until he sees them having a clearly heated but quiet conversation over by the side of the bar just before Terry shows up; then something finally clicks. Not quite into a certainty, but into enough of one that he's compelled to slide Ian a shot when Mickey runs off to greet his dad, and isn't exactly shocked when Mickey turns the music off to make his declaration.

Good for you, Mickey, Kev has just enough time to think before Terry charges at his son like a deranged bull and all hell breaks loose. Not that Kev paid any attention to that, because he's a conscienctious objector now; he doesn't only not do violence, he doesn't even see violence.

Now that calm's been restored to the bar, everyone but the most persistent drunks has gone outside to watch the arrest unfold, so Kev follows suit. It's freezing cold, the way only Chicago in winter can be, but he doubts either Terry or Mickey can feel the chill; they're still straining to get at each other, struggling against the police holding them down, and screaming blue murder.

”Get out of my house, you pole-smoking queer!” Terry bellows, but whatever hold he once had over his son must have broken because Mickey doesn't even hesitate, and there's a wild sort of glee in his voice as he calls: ”Fuck you, don't worry about it! I've been staying at Ian's since you've been in the can, bitch! Guess what we've been doin', daddy! We've been fuckin'! And I take it! He gives it to me good and hard and I fuckin' like it.”

That's more than Kev ever wanted to know about Mickey's sex life, really, but he still can't help but grin as Mickey humps the car, giving emphasis to his words. ”Fuck you, I suck his dick and I fuckin' love it.”

Mickey's always been an expressive bastard, unafraid to speak his mind. Kev finds it both hilarious and worthy of respect, though upon reflection maybe there's a few things Mickey has actually been afraid to speak of, after all. Until now, at least.

Good for you, Mickey, he thinks, again.

The cops take Terry away; the guests filter back inside. The place is a mess and the object of the celebration has long since been whisked away by his mother but that's no reason to break up a party on the South Side, so Kev alternates wiping up blood with serving beer after beer after shot of cheap liquor. Everyone seems to be in high spirits; nothing like a good old-fashioned brawl to get the blood pumping on a cold winter's night, and the story of Mickey Milkovich coming out to the whole bar at his own son's baptism party is a good enough story to last a few retellings.

Ian and Mickey are nowhere to be seen, Kev notes, and again there's that sense of unexpected unease, of worry.  He remembers Ian's face covered in blood, the hard look there transforming him from the earnest kid Kev's known since he was in elementary school and into someone he's not sure he knows at all. Ian's scrappy, like all the Gallaghers; bit of a punk at times, and way into that Army crap of course, but at heart he's always been gentle. Hardworking, and caring, and soft in the way none of his siblings were; a good kid, for all that he's gotten himself in a bit of trouble lately, though Kev's not entirely caught up on that.

And now Ian's gone and gotten himself involved with Mickey Milkovich, who is about as far from a good kid as it's possible to get.

That's not to say that Kev doesn't like Mickey. The guy's funny, he has some good ideas and great initiative; he makes things happen, like that whole rub-and-tug business (okay, so maybe there's been a few misunderstandings about how they're to split the money and whatever, but apart from that, Kev's got no complaints about having Mickey for a partner). He also pays for his beer and isn't a bad drunk, both things a bartender knows how to appreciate. So yeah, Kev likes Mickey just fine... but he's not sure he likes him just fine as Ian's boyfriend.

Truth is, while Kev's not scared of Mickey – c'mon – he's not not scared of him either. Sure Mickey's about half his size, but he's ruthless and kind of crazy and has access to fuck know how many guns (that he actually knows how to use, unlike Kev), not to mention a whole bunch of brothers and cousins and whatever he can call upon. He's a criminal, the real kind, and it's probably only a matter of time before he follows his father and his brothers into big boy jail. Kev doesn't judge – you do what you need to get by, and it's bad practise for a barkeep to look down at his patrons anyway – but he can't help but wonder what it'll mean for a kid like Ian to get caught up in all that hardcore Milkovich madness.

For one, he's not sure gentleness can survive it very long, and he'd hate to see Ian lose that kind heart of his; hate to see him freeze and harden. He'd hate to see him give up on his dreams too, though maybe it's too late for that already, 'cause of what happened with the Army and that helicopter...

It occurs to Kev that Ian ran away just after Mickey married Svetlana.

Oh, shit. This must have been going on for years. Gallaghers have always been attracted to trouble, Kev supposes. He tries to stay out of it, for the most part. Live and let live – and let V be the one to make the off-hand judgemental comments or give it to someone straight if need be. Sure, Kev's been there to throw some advice Lip's way when Lip's been particularly stubborn about something or someone, but there's no way he's getting involved in this. Word got back to Mickey that Kev had tried to meddle in his love life, no talk of peace and love and overflowing plates of cabbage would save him from a bullet to the head, and his kids are not gonna grow up without a father.

It'll probably be fine anyway. Not like he begrudges Mickey a bit of happiness, and Ian's a tough kid. He can take care of himself.

It'll be fine.

Kev keeps telling himself that as he starts shooing the last remaining guests out.

---

He catches sight of them just a little later, when he's finally done getting the priest – half a bottle of vodka and two hookers in on his road to heaven on Earth – out the door, and is taking out the trash.

They're laughing. Through the blood and broken teeth, they're laughing. Ian winces with it, clearly in pain, and Kev considers heading over to ask if they're okay, if they need, well he's not sure, an ice pack or someone to walk them home or something.

He imagines Mickey reacting to that latter suggestion and reminds himself of his decision not to leave his daughters fatherless.

Ian and Mickey has stopped laughing, stopped talking, now (and if Kev had been an introspective kind of guy he might have paused to wonder at how easy it is to think of them like that, as one unit, as a couple, Ian and Mickey). Mickey's head is sagging slightly; Ian's looking at him with an intensity Kev can pretty much feel, even from twenty feet away and with Ian's back turned toward him. He knows he should go inside and leave them to whatever it is they've got going here, but he can't quite look away, his concern mingling with curiosity.

As he watches, Ian rises. He walks over to Mickey and slings an arm around his shoulder in half a hug, before softly running his fingers through the other boy's hair and bending down to press a brief kiss to the top of his head. There's nothing sexual about it; it's affection and comfort, offered easily.

Offered gently.

Mickey doesn't shy away from the touch. He leans into the hug; there's a faint smile on his lips as Ian pulls away, and it comes to Kev then that maybe it won't be Mickey's ruthlessness that tempers Ian's gentleness, but the other way around. Maybe Ian saw something underneath all that sneer and swagger that no one else could see, but was always there.

Maybe it really will be fine. Kev thinks maybe he believes it now.

---

A/N: Thank you for the prompt, nonnie! <3

I'm very happy you clearly specified 'lil' because yes, this I can do! Tiny little things I can mostly make happen! Might take me a while, but still. :) It was very interesting and rather more challenging that I had expected to try to get into Kev's head during these moments (though it gave me an excuse to rewatch all of Kev and Mickey's scenes in season 4, which was a delight!). I hope it's somewhere in the vincinity of what you envisioned, even if it didn't really get into why Ian and Mickey would be really good for each other; I think that's a realization that comes to Kev bit by bit over the years. Would love to see some scenes with him and Mickey in season 11.

This ficlet incidentally got me thinking about how the people of the South Side would distinguish between 'regular' people who don't mind breaking the law when given the opportunity and 'real' criminals who makes a living by actively doing so. Seems like it'd be a fine line at times...

Oh, and I do know that tools in the shed tend to be sharp rather than bright, but think that Kev is the sort to mix up expressions (and I feel the need to point this out since I'm not confident enough in my English to trust that this kind of thing will come across as intentional :p).

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Holy Milkshake (Walter Marshall x you) (with visuals)

MASTERLIST BLOG

Characters: Walter Marshall x You

Summary: For you, ‘taking the sinner to church’ would be possible. But, not for Walter. He knew everything about you, even with the way you think that he’d taken methods of setting up a tracking device to follow you; getting him infuriated to see you having a ‘little date’ with the stalker who has murdered his exes. 

Warnings: Blasphemy. A twisted stalker. Reader being sly, also naughty and not asking Marshall for help. Date rape drugs mentioned. Suggestive content in the end. Ahem. The use of the word brat. OC named Vergil. You can imagine whoever you want for Vergil. 

Words: 1,5k +

A/N: OOF! PAPA BEAR MARSHALL! This is my first oneshot/drabble for him! I’m sorry if this look rushed! I’ve written this for only an hour and a half. This was supposed to be a drabble, but..Surprise! Ahe! I was inspired by the GIF collection of Demivampirew, which resulted for a oneshot. Mwohahahaha.I don’t even know how it ended up with Marshall sounding like a zaddy in this one. Oof!

Taglist: @fangirl-inthe-us​ @rahdaleigh​ 

REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE IT A LIKE, IF YOU’VE LIKED THIS SHORT ONESHOT! THANK YOU! 

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. Credits to Demivampirew for the GIF collection. 

MY WORKS ARE NOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

Banana fudge milkshake.

It surprisingly tasted too sugary with every sip as your friend chattered for about an hour already since the moment you agreed on the so-called date you despise of.

The drink piped through the pillows of your lips. Your mouth wrapped on the red and white striped straw that didn't help the slight quiver of your mouth; used as a pacifier to soothe those agitated nerves you had as you were sitting before the 'friend' you thought who had no malicious intentions.

Maybe, it was a bad idea to never inform your boyfriend who could maintain the rounds of psychotic men with handcuffs and rails as a way of dealing the whole rendezvous you've planned to make.

Everything was going smooth. Probably, only an ounce of squeezed up faith as you could see the light and where this was going. If only you could start and try to slide in the conversation he somehow didn't want you to interrupt on; talking about how he was so happy to have a date with you, all those bullshit of beating around the bushes then the real discussion will surely go north.

Until, you've seen that familiar sweater who slid on to the chair beside the criminal named Vergil; the whole 'take the sinner to church' was definitely traveling down south to jail because of his sudden appearance.

You've choked on your own milkshake and coughed out some that went straight to your throat at the image of your tired, roughly bearded, curly haired police officer; sitting his sinewy, wide back on the chair with a tight, disappointed frown.

Well, someone looks mad.

"You're one word away from being tackled to the ground," the man beside him jumped from his interruption, making the chair shriek from being shocked at seeing Marshall sat beside him, all brooding and serious.

It was an ear-piercing sound that caught some of the diner's attention. You've given them a tight lipped smile before they went on to their daily activities and conversations inside the restaurant as you looked rather safe especially that Marshall was already with you.

Your boyfriend continued to give you a glare, his perspective solely on what he was seeing in front of him. His precious little lady sitting in the same table with her perverted stalker. He definitely couldn't believe that you've taken it too far, trying to help this person to change when it needed stones and brutal punishments or long life realizations for a rotten man like Vergil.

Walter was undoubtedly disappointed and furious.

His bright Cerulean eyes were sharp, brutal and piercing as he continued to focus on you, "Your car has multiple bags of heroin and drugs that can tranquilize people if taken in enough dosage---fucking date rape drugs," though, the message was sent to Vergil who was beginning to shit bricks as soon as he'd seen the gun tucked in Marshall's pants.

Walter grabbed onto his hand cuffs, abruptly throwing them on the table as he continued to spit fire. Shoulders tense and his expressions livid, "It's either you put these on," he hissed after throwing the cuffs towards Vergil, his eyes fixated on you as it was silently telling you how displeased he was for your acts, "---or I'll do it myself. But, you'll regret it."

You've let out a sigh. Deep inside, you were relieved because he would save you from Vergil's annoying chatters but somehow irked to know he had you tracked or have given you a tracking device to soothe his protective and utmost crazy antics for trying to keep you safe; out of harms way.

"You were following me, Lovey. Where's the tracking device?"

Your boyfriend gave you a scornful, tight lipped smile. A sudden change of his features that got your heart racing on how attractive he still was for getting his pants in a twist from your shenanigans.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

A grin was sent to him, "My milkshake brings all the boys to my yard?" and you couldn't help but motion for both men who sat before you with Vergil obviously trying hard to think of an escape plan.

He'd faintly shook his head in sheer disappointment.

"Funny." Walter gave a sluggish, nonchalant response as he rolled off his shoulders, leaning his crossed arms on the table as his anger was boiling in a temperature that tells; you were in a much more danger than having lunch with your stalker, "This guy over here---" he gave a curt nod to his side, "---This perverted asshole has retrieved belongings from you---some definitely personal items and you think he'll read a bible or repent over the women he killed if you calmly tell him all about it?"

You fidgeted and chewed the straw in your mouth, watching Walter seethe and heavily sigh from your response, "People change."

"Not dumbfucks like him, sweetheart." he spat, jaw clenching to the extent of seeing the muscles in his neck strain.

Marshall briefly gave him a glimpse as he called out the elephant in the room, quickly regretting because of how he wanted him to rot in the jail for years or forever, "---Don't you, Vergil?"

Vergil began to shake his leg as he sat, nervous and utterly anxious for what was about to come. His face turned red in rage, breathing staggered as he gave you glare; feeling betrayed when he should've been scared for his life because you knew his secretive, twisted habits. Stalking his target, knowing their houses and where they lived, grabbing onto personal things that his target loved using or wearing; panties, bras and those sorts before finding ways to befriend you till he could manipulate and end up loving you up until the point that he could kill for you.

The toxic type of love that seemed to be out of hand in which he has murdered his exes due to jealousy and other unreasonable explanations.

"I knew it! I fucking knew you were plotting this whole fucking thing with your fucking bodyguard over here---"

Marshall gave him a grumpy retort, "Boyfriend is a much more better term,"

Vergil's forehead was popping out veins as he exclaimed, thoroughly in fury for what you've brought him in, "Your boyfriend's part of the police force!"

You languidly blinked back, sipping on the last bits of your milkshake. Did he really not know that he was part of the police force? you puckered your lips at the silent thought; droning as you went on in admiring how you've raised Walter's hackles.

"---He cares and just loves me too much. He followed me. Didn't text him, tho. But, I assure you. He's no twisted stalker like you, Vergil. You certainly need to rot in hell,"

Walter knew you were liking this whole safeguard thing. It was all an act from you because he could see the tiny flicker of mockery in those beautiful eyes; knowing that you've gotten under his skin from the sudden tea party you've worked on.

Though, a pity party for you.

Walter gave him a glance, nodding towards the door where two police officers stood and waited for the catch, "Now, you'll meet two men out on the threshold. In less than one minute, if you're still here planning on kowtowing to lessen the punishments then you're a dunce."

Your boyfriend eyed him sternly, motioning for the handcuffs that rested on the table; saying its hello to its new capture, "What will---what---"

Vergil stammered and shakily took the handcuffs in front of him, scoffing when he heard Marshall grumble with a knowing tone of his that poured a little bit of his accent.

"You're under arrest for fuck's sake. Not quite complicated to understand, isn't it?"

Once the stalker was out of sight, being harshly taken by your boyfriend's co-workers; you couldn't help but emit a shaky breath, palms sweating a lot more than it ever did when Vergil was around because this time you were enthusiastic of what was about to happen in between an enraged police officer and his deceitful little woman.

"Oh, Lovey."

You've heard another set of metal chiming against each other. Yet, this time; the handcuffs were thrown towards you. His face etching in complete seriousness and disappointment. Though, inside those ocean eyes, you knew there was a hint of mischief and passion.

"Put these on." he rasped in full authority, his beard looking so inviting for wanting a short visit in between your throbbing heat since the moment he came to interfere.

"---Because you've been bad, sweetheart," pause. "---and I have zero patience for brats like you,"

You squirmed against your seat, hastily grabbing onto the handcuffs thrown on the table with a grin on your face, subtly looking outside to see your boyfriend's truck parked at the far distance before plucking the manacles off the table and sliding off the seat; with your lieutenant paying for the lunch he loathed, feeling his eyes heavy and thoroughly deprived of seeing your face after nose diving in murder cases he had been working on for weeks.

Marshall hated to see you leave. Those peepers trained on how you've dramatically swayed your hips while you waved the cuffs in the air.

But, he loved watching you go with that naughty derriere snapping from side to side.

THANK YOU FOR READING! STAY SAFE WHERE EVER YOU ARE, BB’S! Watch out for people who have wicked intentions for you! Don’t trust easily!