#you know hes been brewing on saying this for days and is nervous to fumble it

[paintpaintpaintman]

@ricknonsence brother truly doesn't understand! He's confused so easy,,,,

Narinder...its midnight

[fyodior]

short oda blurb cuz i've been hurting recently </3 btw i mention putting rocks on graves, that's a jewish tradition for showing respect and that someone has visited ♡♡ divider by @/benkeibear

Ding, ding, ding! Wake up sleepyhead!

The goofy custom ringtone he recorded for you that usually made you smile had you swallowing thickly this morning, hands shaking as you fumbled to turn it off as quickly as possible. 

Underwear on, one leg in pants, then the other. Slide both arms through your shirt sleeves, then pull it over your head. Brush your teeth, pull back your hair, swipe on what little amount of makeup you can manage as your coffee brews. Routine and redundancy makes things easier, especially when everything feels out of control.

You have a rule of keeping at least one picture of him in every room of your house, and in the bathroom you keep an old Polaroid of him offering a lopsided smile to the shaky camera as he offers it an ice cream cone. If only pictures could capture sounds, this one would’ve played a loop of you cackling behind the camera as the man tried his best to pose for your picture - he was somehow the least photogenic and most photogenic person you ever knew. Every picture of him was more strikingly handsome than the last, but he couldn’t pose worth a shit.

Today you picked up the yellowing Polaroid from where it was tucked into the corner of the mirror and gave it a watery smile, making a mental list of every last thing you’d give up just to hear his laugh one more time. To hear even one second of it. To see just a flash of that smile, to hear his voice say your name. Just once. You’d give up the world. You’d go broke, blind, lose your job, and lose your house. For one more second of him. If it meant subsequently giving up your life, too, you’d do it - because maybe then, you’d get to be with him again. 

It’s a hot day as you walk down the street, your fingers swelling just a bit, but nothing and no one could pry that silver ring off your finger even if they threatened your life for it. You could stand some discomfort for the day. There was no engagement behind the ring, but it had no less meaning. Not when Dazai revealed to you that he had skipped lunch with him and the boys for weeks in order to save up for it. Not when it had two tiny stones sat next to each other, both of your birthstones embedded deep into the silver.

The tinkle of the bell as you open the door to the florist startles you - sudden and loud noises tend to do that these days. You pretend to peruse the different bouquets, all displaying different arrangements of beautiful flowers, so as not to seem strange for jumping right on the one you already knew you wanted. He would’ve just laughed at you, telling you you were too nervous about what people thought of you. The shitty part was that that part of you, that anxiety had begun to fade when you were with him. What people thought of you never mattered when he was by your side, and you always knew what he thought about you. He never failed to make you remember that, in his eyes, you hung the moon, the stars, mercury, venus, and everything in between and beyond. But now that he was gone, all of that fear came back. 

When you finally decided it seemed like an appropriate amount of time examining flowers, you finally picked up the bouquet of your shared favorite flowers.

“Are these for your boyfriend?” the well-meaning florist says from behind the counter as she rings you up.

“Yes, they are,” you nod, smiling sweetly. “I’m actually on my way to see him right now.”

“Well, make sure to let him know he has a wonderful partner for caring enough to bring him flowers. I hope you two have a wonderful day together.”

“We will,” you chuckle.

The gentle breeze tousles your hair as you follow the cobblestone path to your destination, bouquet of flowers in one arm, and your latest read in the other. You liked to keep up somewhat of a book club with him, reading a few chapters aloud for him every time you visited. 

Normally you had a bit of a routine every time you visited, brushing the accumulated dirt and grime off his name and replacing the rocks that had fallen off the top of the stone, but you didn’t quite have the energy for that today. Instead, you just laid the flowers in front of him, before sitting down on the ground.

“Today officially marks it, Saku. I’ve now… had to remember you for longer than I’ve known you.” Tears spring into your eyes once you finally admit it out loud, not quite realizing the gravity of it until the words took shape. “And to be honest, babe? I’m kinda fuckin’ tired of it,” you laugh, wiping your eyes. “I don’t want to have to remember you anymore. Remembering hurts like a bitch. I want you back more than I want to take my next breath. Doesn’t that suck?”  

[silverwings22]

Caught in the Crosshairs: Chapter 50: I Can Still Feel You- Collin Raye

Series warnings: Smut, mind control, canon typical violence, childhood trauma, language, chronic illness

Chapter warnings: fight between family, teenage angst, PTSD, chronic pain/phantom pains, mentions of torture

Translations: Cyare: beloved darasuum: eternity/forever cyar'ika: sweetheart

Previous chapter:

Next chapter

Cyare,

You've been at the Temple a long time. I can't keep track of the days I've spent going between the mid-levels and this damn hotel room. I keep hoping you'll be there when I come back, but you're not. 

You overdid it on Skako. Of course you did, there was someone in trouble. This Echo guy. 

This isn't about him, though. This is about you. On that mission, you called me the best man in the galaxy. I can't explain what that feels like, to hear from your pretty mouth. But I can show you, because I've always been better at action than words. 

I've been hunting for the perfect ring to put on your hand. I finally found this silversmith, she's pretty damn talented. She's finishing up the details today, and I'm going to pick it up. When you get out of the Temple, I'm going to finally ask you to marry me. 

Fuck, I'm nervous. I shouldn't be, you suggested it first. I know what you're going to say. I know you want this as much as I do. But still… I keep thinking about those holo movies you like. The big proposal, the one every sappy romantic dreams about going off without a hitch. You're the kind of girl that dreams about that kind of thing. 

How do I go about it? I don't have a last name to give you. I don't have much of shit except a Firepuncher and a smart mouth. You deserve the galaxy. I have a toothpick. 

Miria Halcyon, will you marry me? That feels too simple. 

Will you make me the happiest man in the galaxy? That sounds like you don't already. 

Will you be mine? Fuck, that sounds selfish and I promised you I'd do better. I'd be better. 

I'll try to think of what to say, now that the moment's almost here. But if I fumble it, I hope you'll understand. I want to do this right for you. 

Darasuum, 

Crosshair 

It was the kind of planet one almost expected a tumbleweed to roll across. Arid, covered in steep plateaus, and with a constantly brewing storm on the horizon, Miria felt a little prickle of discontent in her chest as she gathered up her things for the mission. 

Perhaps it was just the air aboard the Havoc Marauder. Things had been different since Echo left them, and it stung. The guys were shorter tempered with each other, and even Omega was starting to lash out in small ways. Miria wanted to comfort her, but what could she really say? She'd encouraged Echo to leave, and she wasn't sure Omega would forgive her that sin readily. So she held her tongue and busied herself with her bag, packing her saber and weapons before touching the sheaf of letters in her footlocker. 

It was silly to carry them all, wasn't it? She usually only took one, her favorite that she'd read to Aram and Irene on their trip to Thule. But loneliness and loss had a way of burrowing up her spine, and it took her a long time to talk herself out of wrapping them in duraplast to protect them. Instead, she tucked them back in her footlocker, next to Crosshair’s beside her bunk. If she just looked this direction and didn’t turn to where Echo’s hammock was missing, she could fool herself into believing they were both still on the ship somewhere. If she closed her eyes, maybe she’d hear Echo scolding someone for a broken regulation, and Crosshair’s sarcastic snicker that he was missing the point of Clone Force 99. 

She missed Crosshair, somehow even more now that Echo was gone. The loss of a second brother amplified the first. 

Her hands twitched, a sharp ache passing through them under the thick scarring. Argais had said it was the nerves reconnecting, a privilege and payment in one to feel again. It would eventually pass, the twinges getting fewer and further between as the Force did its work. For the time being, every change in atmospheric pressure or humidity was accompanied by a flash of agony as quick as the lightsaber that caused it. 

Idly, as she rubbed the offending hands against the fabric covering her thighs, she thought of Roland Durand touching his severed horn on Ord Mantell so many months ago. A small price to pay. 

"We're touching down." Omega said quietly from the bunkroom door. 

Miria nodded and stood, settling the rifle on her back. "Are you ready, little love?"

"I guess so." Omega let her pass and followed her out as the ramp opened, the three brothers ahead of them into the dry air. "What are we even doing?"

"Mining." Miria slowed her steps to let Omega catch up, sensing the heavy weight in the girl's Force signature. "I assume Cid purchased this mine with the plan to diversify her income, should the Empire come too close to Ord Mantell. And ipsuim is quite valuable when refined."

"And extremely volatile when raw." Tech interjected. "We must be cautious, or be caught in an explosion. It is much like a primed thermal detonator."

They made it to a mining tunnel door, and Miria examined the mechanism thoughtfully, while Hunter looked out at the storm in the distance and crouched to the ground briefly. “Is is moving towards us?”

“No. It’s moving away.” Hunter looked at Wrecker. "You and Omega keep lookout. We'll do the mining."

"We will need Wrecker in the mines." Tech adjusted his helmet. “Without Echo, we are a man down.”

"I can keep lookout." Omega offered.

"Not alone. Cid warned us about poachers in the area." Hunter shook his head. "And we need Miri's Force abilities in case of a cave-in."

Miria patted Omega's shoulder gently. "We'll be quick."

Omega sighed and nodded. "Okay…"

Miria followed Tech and Hunter into the tunnel. Once they were a good distance down and out of earshot of the door, the sergeant looked at her. "Has she said anything to you?"

"She doesn't need to, Hunter. I know what she's feeling." Miria shook her head. "She misses Echo. A part of her family is missing… a part of her heart. That is a wound that never truly heals." She would know, after all.

"Soldiers must adapt to change." Tech said stiffly. Hunter’s helmet jerked to him in what was probably a withering look. 

"She isn't a soldier, Tech. Try to show her some compassion." Miria sighed. "Are you picking anything up on the scanner?"

She loved Tech dearly, but sometimes she wanted to shake him by the shoulders. He missed Echo too, she knew he did. They'd been close since Skako. Tech was just very good at compartmentalizing and logically talking himself into shoving his emotional reaction into a box. Much like Crosshair, if she was honest. He'd hate the comparison. 

"I am not picking up a large deposit of ipsuim. It would seem Cid was deceived into purchasing an already depleted mine."

"We'll get what we can." Hunter grumbled, hoisting a canister. They had to transport the volatile mineral carefully, so Tech had designed it to be secure and mostly shock resistant. 

"There is a small reading coming from this direction." Tech led the way with his scanner beeping. "Up there."

Hunter looked up at the faintly glowing outcrop in the cavern wall, way above their heads. "Tech and I are too big to get up there and drill without falling. Miri?"

She reached for the drill, but winced the minute her fingers wrapped around the handle. They couldn't see her face, but the faint hiss of breath through her modulator caught Hunter’s attention. "What's wrong?"

Miria tucked the drill under her arm and rubbed her hands together. "I'm sorry. They… ache. In the climate." She muttered unhappily. "It's damp in here. Give me a moment, it'll pass. I can-"

"It is too risky to have you handle the ipsuim if your hands are compromised." Tech shook his head. "I did not know you were still experiencing side effects of your…" He paused, trying to think of a somewhat appropriate way to phrase this thought. 

"Torture?" Miria smiled faintly. "It's alright, Tech. I should be grateful to feel anything at all."

Hunter sighed. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"There were more important things to demand your attention. Like Omega."

Tech's index finger went into the air as he had an idea. "She would be ideal to reach the mineral deposit."

Hunter didn't like it, but he had little choice and hit his comm. "Omega, can you come down here? We need you."

Omega joined them only a few minutes later, a faintly sullen look in her eyes that Miria couldn’t help but wince at. The unfair situation and the onset of puberty were a combination more volatile than the ipsium… “Would you mind getting up there and drilling into the ipsium deposit?” Mira asked quietly. “Hunter or I can boost you up, but I’m afraid my hands just aren’t steady enough for the task.”

Omega nodded. “I can climb it. Just pass me the drill when I get up there.” 

Miria nodded and Hunter offered Omega a boost to get to the glowing mineral. Tech was scanning the area around it. “You must be extremely cautious when drilling into the fossilized quartz around the ipsium. The slightest friction could cause the mineral to become unstable.” He cautioned. 

“I know.” Omega grumbled, reaching down as she got into position. Miria passed the precision drill to Hunter, who handed it up to Omega. 

“Be careful.” The sergeant said softly. Miria hoped Omega recognized his words were out of concern for her safety and not him harping on her like she was incapable. Whatever she thought, Omega didn’t voice. Instead she just got carefully through the quartz like Tech had told her, and extracted a vial of the yellow ipsium into a rod. She disconnected it from the drill and handed it down to Hunter, who passed it to Miria with both hands. She carefully walked it to Tech, who put it in the canister with steady hands and passed her another empty vial. She dutifully handed it up the chain, watching Omega. 

The poor girl looked so silently angry as she worked. Nose scrunched in unspoken disgust, golden-brown eyes narrowed, lips pursed. 

That’s the same face Crosshair makes when he’s angry.

How curious, that her sunshine and sugar little Omega could remind her of the stubborn sniper. Then again,she knew no one in the galaxy as well as she’d once known Crosshair… and Omega was his little sister. The resemblance had to show itself eventually.

Once Omega had drained the deposit of its ipsium and Tech had packed it safely away, Miria held out her arms to give the girl a hand down. “Good work, sweetheart.” She said mildly. 

Usually, praise from her General made Omega beam. Today she just nodded silently. 

They headed back out of the mine, meeting up with Wrecker as he stood guard. “Good thing you finished up when you did. That storm looks like it’s changing direction.” The big clone nodded towards the roiling clouds and distant lightning.

Tech nodded. “The weather on this planet is highly irregular.”

Miria shook her head. “The last thing we need is to have that lightning hit the ipsium. Let’s-” She started to turn towards the Marauder when Hunter stiffened beside her. 

“The engine just came online.” He jumped ahead, running for where they’d parked the ship. 

Miria paled and raced after him, rounding the corner just as the Havoc Marauder took to the air just out of reach and rocketed into the distance. “No…” 

Hunter rounded on Wrecker. “You were supposed to be lookout! You let our ship get stolen!” 

“There wasn’t anybody there, I swear!” Wrecker yelped. 

“Clearly, there was.” Tech huffed, arms crossed. 

“You’re the one who parked the ship out of sight of the mine!” Wrecker was on the defensive, automatically worrying about catching hell for a mistake as if the GAR’s command still had the power to come down on him.

“There was no other suitable landing zone, Wrecker.”

“Enough.” Miria said sharply. “Bickering amongst ourselves doesn’t recover the Havoc Marauder.” 

“There’s got to be a way to get it back.” Omega swallowed hard, edging a little closer to Miria. 

The woman looked up as the wind started to pick up around them. “We need shelter from the storm first… then we can consider trying to find it.”

“There’s got to be a town or settlement nearby.” Hunter nodded. “Tech? Anything on the scanner?” 

Tech fiddled with his device for a moment. “I am picking up a spaceport. It is approximately forty klicks from the entrance of the mine.”

Hunter sighed. “Then we’d better start walking.” He nodded for tech to lead the way, following just behind. Wrecker trudged after him with the ipsium case, shoulders slumped as it became progressively more evident that they were all stuck in the situation because of him. 

When Hunter glanced back at the two girls, he was somewhat surprised to see Miria with her head down and one arm wrapped around herself as she walked next to Omega. His blonde little sister still looked frustrated and unhappy, but he didn’t know what was going on in his General’s head. That wasn’t happy body language, though. 

It felt like they’d been walking for hours when they got a respite from the sun and dry heat in the form of shade from the walls of the canyon they were passing through. “How much further?” Wrecker grumbled. 

“You will not like the answer.” Tech just said without looking back at him. 

“Havoc 4, this is Havoc 5. Do you copy?” Omega was working at her comm next to Miria, trying her damndest to call Echo. It wasn’t a terrible idea, if they’d had long-range comms available without the ship’s transmitter. 

Hunter sighed. “Omega… he’s too far away to pick up the signal.” 

Tech shrugged. “Even if he was not, he has disabled his communication device for the time being.”

Omega looked crushed. “Why would he disable his comm?”

“It is likely that whatever mission he is currently on is of a sensitive nature, and therefore he needed absolute radio silence.” 

Omega looked at Miria, who just shook her head. “I’m sorry, Omega. I don’t…” She paused, turning her head the direction they’d come. There was a powerful wave of emotion in the Force barrelling towards them. Primal fear and panic. “... Run. All of you, run!”

Hunter felt it too, a stampede of blue herbivorous creatures not unlike antelope barrelling right towards them. They were faster than the little group of humans, and the pushing and shoving creatures nearly knocked them under the thunderous hooves more than once. Miria had completely forgotten about the ipsium in her blind concern for her team, especially when Omega let out a squeak of pain as a hoof clipped her shoulder. Then she was airborn, Miria having scooped her up and taken a Force-jump up into a tangle of overhanging roots. Omega clung to her middle, eyes wide. “Hunter! The grappling hooks!” 

A split second later, a hook hit the root next to Miria’s arm. Hunter quickly hauled himself up the line, Tech right behind him. “You two okay?” Hunter looked over at Omega. 

“Where’s Wrecker?” Miria didn’t look away from the dust cloud and running animals, but breathing a sigh of relief when another hook landed next to her. She pulled herself up with Omega, sitting on the root now instead of dangling. “Oh thank goodness, you-” She started just as Wrecker reached them. 

Tech cut her off. “Where is the ipsium? You must protect the case!”

“What about protecting the me?!” Wrecker groaned. 

“We will all be killed if that explodes!” Tech insisted, and before Miria could stop him Wrecker groaned and threw himself back into the stampede and over the case. 

“Tech!” Miria hissed sharply. “Have you lost your mind?!” 

Tech just looked at her curiously as the herd below them passed, and he and Hunter descended the ropes. Miria jumped down and landed lightly, setting Omega on her feet. “Try not to drop it next time.” Tech was telling Wrecker. 

“Why don’t you carry it, if you’re such an expert?” Wrecker huffed. 

“Very well.” Tech shrugged and picked the canister up.

Miria walked over and checked over Wrecker quietly. “Are you hurt, dear?”

“Nah. I’m okay, Miri.” He patted her head gently. 

“The storm is getting closer.” Hunter looked up as the sun dimmed, clouds and dust whipped up by the heavy winds. 

“That would explain the stampede.” Tech said dryly. 

“We cannot be caught in a lightning storm with that ipsium.” Miria pulled Omega closer, trying to shield the girl’s face. “Is there anything on the scanners?”

Tech squinted in the darkness. “There should be a mining tunnel ahead somewhere."

"I see it!" Omega pointed. Hunter pulled her towards the door, and he and Wrecker got it open. Miria climbed up after them, helping Omega and reaching back for Tech when the genius tripped and the canister came off his back. All five of them watched in open horror as the wind caught it and dragged it into the roiling mass of dust and lightning.

It's going to explode. 

There was no saving it, but she could save Tech. The poor clone was lifted bodily off the ground and thrown into the tunnel with his siblings, Miria darting in behind them as the storm smashed the canister into the mountainside and the ipsium blew. The tunnel mouth caved in, trapping them inside. 

Miria was thrown flat on her face, everyone else groaning. "S-sound off…" She managed to grit out, sitting up on her elbows.

"We're all okay, Miri." Hunter assured her after a quick head count.

"Except that we are now trapped, and have lost the ipsium." Tech huffed, pulling off his helmet. 

"I guess that's my fault too?" Wrecker leaned over on a rock, reaching out to help Miria to her feet. 

"If you had been alert, our ship would not have been stolen and we would be on our way back to Ord Mantell with the mineral." Tech sniped back. 

"Knock it off, you two. The only way we're getting out of here is to dig." Hunter, ever pragmatic, got between them. 

Miria sighed and set her helmet on the ground, wiping her forehead with her sleeve. "Right. It'll take hours, even with the Force. Let's get started."

Hunter didn't like the downcast look in her eyes, but he wasn't sure what had her so upset. Usually she was pretty calm as long as they were all unharmed… 

She didn't say anything else, moving to start shifting rocks with him and the guys. Omega was working on something with her datapad, and they left her to it.

Hunter clocked the little crack in her breathing first and turned around. Omega was distraught looking. "The Marauder's transponder is offline…"

"It was likely disabled by the thief." Tech shrugged, looking around when everyone else stopped working.

"But how will we find it?!"

"First we need to get out of here. Then we'll worry about it." Hunter coaxed. He was hoping Tech would pick up his tone and drop it, but Tech was… well, Tech. Analytical, intelligent, and somewhat oblivious to emotionally fragile little girls who needed reassurance from her big brothers. 

"It is highly unlikely that the Marauder will be recovered, Omega."

"We can't just give up on it!" Omega squawked. "Miri, tell him!"

"We can acquire another ship. It is merely a mode of transportation." Tech adjusted his goggles. 

Omega's eyes watered up and she stomped her little foot in a near tantrum. "No! The Marauder is our home! It's bad enough we lost Echo, we can't lose our home too!"

Hunter held up his hands, trying to do damage control. "We didn't lose Echo. He's just… on another mission."

"He's not here! He's not with us, and we're supposed to be a squad!" Omega's voice echoed in the cavern.

Tech sighed. "This squad existed before Echo, and it will exist after. What is your issue?"

Omega hurled her datapad at him and picked up her gear bag. Miria reached out for her, eyes wide. "Sweetheart…"

"I want to be alone." Omega said quietly and slunk down the tunnel. 

Miria's hand fell back to her side and she sat down on a rock, head in her hands. Hunter gave Tech a dirty look. 

"What? I merely stated the truth."

"She knows the truth. That's why she's upset." The sergeant growled. 

Wrecker sat down by Miria. "... Miri? You okay?"

"... she's right, Wrecker." The woman whispered painfully. "It's our home… how is Crosshair supposed to ever come home if we haven't got one anymore?"

Hunter stiffened. "Miri…"

"Crosshair is even less likely to be recovered than the Marauder." Tech frowned. "Surely you're aware of that-"

"Just stop!" Miria looked up at him, tears in her eyes. The genius froze in his tracks. "I know what he said. I know what he did, Tech! I can't calculate the odds mathematically, but I know. Just let me have a little hope… please." She swallowed hard and forced her clenched fists open. "... I think I need to be alone as well."

She got up and beat a hasty retreat down the tunnel before she lost her temper with her friend. 

Hunter sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck."

Omega had found herself a small alcove in the tunnel and laid down, turning off her lantern to sit with her thoughts in the dark. She was just starting to think of mediating, like Gungi and Miria had shown her, when she heard something land heavily nearby in the shadows. Before she could turn on the light, she heard a soft sob.

"Miri?" She blinked, fumbling the lantern on. 

Miria was huddled across the tunnel from her, head on her knees and crying quietly. The striped head popped up at her voice, red rimmed eyes wincing in the sudden light. "Oh… Omega. I'm s-sorry, dear. You wanted to be alone… I'll go farther down…"

"Why are you crying?" Omega crawled over to her, eyes wide. She'd seen Miria cry before, of course. Especially right after Kaller, when the poor woman had been little more than a Force-sensitive wet noodle haunting the ship between bouts of coughing up blood. But that had seemed a long time ago, and Miria had tried to be so strong lately…

Miria looked away. "... I shouted at Tech. I shouldn't have… he doesn't think the way I do. It wasn't fair to him…" She whispered. "To him, it's just a ship. He doesn't attach the same value to the irreplaceable things I do…"

"Irreplaceable things?" Omega slid up beside her.

"The memorial, Crosshair’s footlocker…" Miria wiped her eyes. "His dress uniform was still in it… he hated wearing the bloody thing, but he looked so handsome. I wish you could have seen it. He was wearing it the first time he ever kissed me… he'd probably have worn it on our wedding day too, you know. And… his letters. They were still on the ship. I thought about bringing them along today, but I told myself it was s-silly, and they'd get damaged…" She couldn't stop her eyes from overflowing again. "I know it's just sheets of flimsi and ink. But it was… the last pieces I had. The proof that those three years he was mine weren't all a dream. That he really did love me…"

Omega cuddled up close. "That's important, Miri. Tech's just… ugh. He acts like he doesn't even care!"

Miria put an arm around her, closing her eyes. "He cares, Omega. I know he does. He just… doesn't speak the same love language, I suppose…"

"Love language?" Omega peeped up. 

Miria nodded with a sad smile. "The way love reaches you best, and how you show it."

"I don't get it." Omega scrunched her nose, and Miria couldn't help but see Crosshair in her face again. And Mayrin, too.

"Well… for example, Hunter always makes sure you get a little extra Mantell mix. And he keeps every drawing you've ever made him in his footlocker." Miria finally calmed herself. "His language is gifts. And… Wrecker’s is touch. That's why he loves hugs. Echo’s is words of affirmation, when he cares about someone he always has something kind to say. And when you tell him what you think of him, it means a lot to him."

"Does Tech even have a love language? He doesn't like hugs, he makes whatever he needs before anyone can get him things, and he doesn't seem impressed when I talk…" Omega wilted. 

Miria put a hand on her head. "Have you ever noticed that he likes to spend time with you? Teaching you, or just letting you hang out while he's working? His is quality time. Tech just… he feels it. It's just a difference of expression… I usually try to understand those differences, but today was a little more than I could take, between how upset you are and my own feelings. I owe him an apology, once I'm equipped to give it…"

Omega sighed. "I guess…" She looked up at Miria again. "... did Crosshair have one?"

The woman nodded. "Crosshair and I spoke the same language… acts of service. He was terrible at saying what he felt… but he could show me. And maybe it was how the Temple raised me, but that was what I did too. It's why I always get up first to make caf, even though I don't drink it. To show my love. It's not just romantic love these languages are for."

Omega frowned quietly, leaning her head on Miria's shoulder. "You think that's why he saved us and AZI on Kamino?"

"I do." Miria smiled faintly. 

Omega nodded and sat up, looking across the tunnel. "Something is glowing…"

Miria followed her over, and they found a crack in the rock face. Omega retrieved the drill and started breaking it open, finally making a big enough hole to get through. Omega wiggled through first. "What do you see, Omega?" Miria called from outside. 

"There's a bunch of the mineral deposits in here!"

Miria stuck her head in the hole curiously. "Oh my… we could use some of this to blast out of the cave in… could you reach it to extract any?"

"I think so. Can you come hold me up?"

Miria nodded and clambered through, sitting on a ledge and letting Omega climb on her shoulders to start drilling. "This is oddly familiar." She smiled. 

"Yeah?"

"During the war, we were under bombardment over Ansion. We had a hull breach, and we couldn't land as long as the turrets below were firing. I was on the bridge and I heard Crosshair say "Wrecker, hold my legs. I feel the urge to shoot someone." Then when I looked over, Wrecker was dangling him upside down out of the hole in the hull to shoot the droids manning the turrets."

Omega smiled. "Scare you?"

"At first. But he did clear out the turrets for us to land to repair the ship." Miria held still as Omega started drilling. It was a fond memory despite the danger they'd been in. Crosshair had laughed at the look on her face when Wrecker pulled him back in. 

"Keep standing there with your mouth open, cyar'ika, and you'll end up with something in it." The sniper’s smirk was audible even under his helmet, putting his rifle back on his back.

"Cross, you could have fallen!"

"Nah. Wrecker wouldn't drop me." His arm looped around her waist as they came down for a bumpy landing, keeping her secure. "I'm fine."

"You're so reckless sometimes."

"And that's why you like me. Isn't it?" 

"I quite a bit more than like you, darling."

His voice dropped low, barely audible through the blaster fire and sounds of his brothers moving to start repairs as quickly as possible. "Then when we're back in hyperspace, you won't mind taking me up on the offer to fill that pretty little mouth."

She glanced up at movement above her and Omega, spotting Tech leaning in. "Are you two aware that you are surrounded by a significant vein of ipsium? The slightest miscalculation could end both of your lives."

"Then you'd better not distract us." Omega grumbled, still not quite forgiving him for earlier. Miria held tightly to the girl's ankles on her own shoulders and nodded minutely. 

Tech frowned, tapping at his datapad. "This vein appears to be significantly more pure than what we discovered in Cid's mine. It would be practical to extract as much as possible."

"Do you trust me to do it?" Omega paused to look at him. 

"I know you are perfectly capable of the task." Tech cocked his head to the side, as if he didn't understand why she thought he'd doubt her. Then again, he might not have. 

"Then get the vials from my sachel." Omega nodded, carefully filling the one currently in the drill. "We'll have enough to get out of here and still take some to Cid."

"Clever girl." Miria smiled. 

Tech nodded and collected the vials, passing them one by one to Omega as she worked and trying to secure the full ones in the bag without jostling them. 

"This is the last vial, Omega." He finally reported. 

The girl nodded, adjusting her weight on Miria to lean out for a slightly out of the way outcropping. Miria braced as best she could, shoulders straining. Her hands were aching again from holding Omega so tightly. "A little further, dear?"

"A little to the right. My right. Almost got it-" Omega mumbled. 

"Careful, your foot is on my paldron." Miria cautioned. The metal was under her cowl, a misstep would make her slip. 

Before she could correct herself, the fabric slipped on the metal. Omega lurched backwards, dragging Miria over the edge of the ledge she was sitting on. 

"Omega!" Tech scrambled onto the narrow ledge, trying to grab his sister's hand as she clung to the rock face with Miria now hanging from her foot. 

Omega tried to reach him, but her arms couldn't hold both her and Miria, and they went plummeting into the dark with twin screams. 

"Omega! Miria!"

Miria pulled Omega down to get chest and curled around her, both of them cannonballing into the frigid water of an aqueduct. A half second later, Tech plunged in beside them and all three were swept up in the current. 

I doubt this was the kind of quality time Tech would have in mind. Miria's mind was whirling as they were battered left and right, locking limbs to stay together. 

Beside her, Tech spotted bubbles being dragged under. "Hold your breath!"

They all sucked in a desperate gasp before the rapids dragged them down, through progressively narrow passageways that nearly brained them on the rocks at either side. Then they were airborne, spat out by a waterfall and falling again into a deep pool. Miria glanced down at the glowing mineral deposit below before Omega tugged her arm and they surfaced, wheezing. 

"Th-there's a shore…" Miria coughed. "Swim that way…."

She, Omega, and Tech dragged themselves to a pebbled beach and collapsed in the shallows on their backs. "... are either of you hurt…?" Miria finally sputtered. 

"No…" Omega groaned. 

"N-negative…" Tech looked about as unhappy as his sister. 

Miria rolled her head to look at Omega. "... for the record, near drowning is not my language. Despite how often it seems to happen to you and I."

Omega sat up, rubbing her head. Tech followed suit, his comm hissing until he cleared the water from the mic. "Fffffsst- ech? Tech, do you copy?" Hunter sounded about ready to rip the mine apart with his bare hands. 

Tech coughed another mouthful of water. "Affirmative. I am with Omega and Miri. We took… an underwater detour."

"Where are you?"

"That is a good question. Stand by."

Miria got to her feet and wrang her hair out, wandering towards the cave wall. Omega and Tech followed, spreading out to look for a route out of an otherwise damp tomb.

"There's light over here." Omega called.

Miria and Tech joined her, leaning down to examine the credit-sized hole she'd discovered. "Well spotted, Omega." Miria patted her back. 

"I will instruct Hunter and Wrecker to retrieve our gear and meet us down here." Tech offered, backing up to speak into his comm. 

Omega shot a grumpy look at his back. Miria patted her hair. "I know you're frustrated with him, dear. But try to find a common language." She whispered. 

"You could just order him to not be a jerk…"

"That's not how family works, sweetheart. And we are a family before we're anything else." 

Tech rejoined them and they sat at the water's edge to wait for the others. "Once they join us, we will have a way out of the mine." He said firmly.

"We still have no ship, no way off the planet, and we can't even call Echo for help…" Omega pulled her knees up. 

"We do not need help. We will think of a solution, as we always do." 

Omega scrunched up a little tighter, glancing at Miria. The general only gave her an encouraging nod. Omega needed to say what she was feeling if she and Tech were ever going to reach common ground. 

"... everything is changing. First Echo, now the ship." Omega finally whispered. "I hate it."

"Soldiers often deal with change. It is a fundamental part of life… I do not understand your aversion to it." Tech frowned. 

"She's not a soldier, Tech." Miria murmured. 

"And we're a family, aren't we?" Omega piped up, looking at him. 

"... of course we are." Tech blinked, looking a little flustered.

"Then why don't you act like it?!" The girl's demanding question filled the cavern. Miria sat with the weight of the words. She heard the desperation in them, one she'd felt so many times since Kaller. 

Can't you show me that you love me in a way I can understand? 

Tech seemed to reflect for a long moment before choosing his words carefully. "Echo… chose another path. As did Crosshair. I have to respect those decisions, even if they can be difficult to understand… I admit I may process thoughts differently than you do… but it does not mean I feel any less than you."

Omega frowned, thinking over his words for a while. "So you do miss Echo?"

"Yes. I miss them both." Tech glanced at Miria. "If I could have made the choices for them, they would both be here now… and if they chose to return, I would be happy to have them back. I am sorry that was… not apparent. I thought it was obvious."

Miria smiled sadly. "What did you tell me? We can't help with what you don't say."

He nodded. "You are correct. It was never my intention to upset either of you."

"I'm sorry that I snapped at you." Miria said kindly. "It was… a lot to process, as you said." 

Omega scooted over in between her and Tech, reaching out her arms. Both adults leaned in, Tech a little more hesitant than Miria, but eventually accepted a loose hug from Omega. He wasn't much of a cuddler, per se, but this wasn't so bad. They had almost died, after all. 

Miria giggled quietly. Oh, Tech had his moments where the resemblance to Crosshair was obvious to everyone but him. 

They sat in silence until the waterfall spat out a displeased Hunter and Wrecker. "Have a nice swim, boys?"

"Your helmets are full of water." Hunter huffed.

"So are my socks." Omega grinned. 

They clambered out of the water and passed the three original aqueduct explorers their gear. Tech carefully set an ipsium vial on a rock near the hole Omega had found. "Get clear."

Everyone crouched behind a rock and Wrecker made an unhappy noise. "How come Tech gets to blow it up?!"

"If the shot is not precise, it could cause another cave in." Tech huffed. 

Omega giggled a little and tucked herself between Hunter and Miria. 

Tech took the shot with care, and it paid off in a blown out cave wall and no exploded Bad Batchers. Once the aftershocks stopped, they stepped out into the sun. 

"The spaceport is just down the cliffside." Tech looked through his binocs.

"Hopefully there'll be some food." Wrecker grinned. 

"There's only one way to find out." Miria shrugged. 

They started towards the settlement, Hunter walking even to Miria near the back of the pack. "Those two make up?"

"They've come to an understanding, I think." She nodded. "I'm sorry about that outburst earlier."

"You had a lot on your mind."

"I shouldn't have taken it out on Tech… it's not his fault. It's no one's fault, really. There's just… things aboard the Marauder I can't replace."

Hunter nodded. "The letters."

"And the memories… Omega's right. It is our home." She shook her head quietly. "When I decided I'd leave the Jedi… it didn't feel like leaving home. It felt like coming back, because I was going to stay with you all. And when the Temple fell… I still had that ship, and the people in it."

He patted her arm. "I know. We'll figure something out."

She nodded. "We always do."

The spaceport was abandoned, and as Hunter examined the equipment left behind it seemed like it had been that way for a while. 

"So we came all this way for nothing?" Wrecker groaned.

"I can craft a long range transmitter with this." Tech gestured to the communications array that had been left behind. 

Miria nodded. "Let's get to work then. We'll see if anything here is worth scavenging while Tech does that… after I dump the water from my boots."

Omega sat beside her on the ground and they both wrang out their socks. "The swim wasn't so bad."

"It certainly woke me up." Miria smiled. "I'm glad to see your optimistic attitude has returned."

"Well, it was pretty cool to learn five new languages." Omega grinned. 

Miria chuckled. "Which do you think is your own?"

"I dunno. They all make pretty good sense to me… maybe it just matters depending on who I'm talking to." She took Miria's helmet and started squeezing water from the padding helpfully. An act of service for her favorite big sister. 

"I have gotten the communication array functional." Tech called.

"Let's hope Cid has the inclination to be helpful today." Miria shook her head. 

The trandoshan, it seemed, did not when they got her on the holo. "I've got a lot going on over here. You guys are going to have to figure it out on your own."

"Wait a minute, Cid. You sent us here." Hunter grumbled. 

"And you had a ship when I did."

"Cid! You have to help us." Omega protested, tiny hands on her hips. 

"We did assist you getting your parlor back from Roland Durand, and with Mellegi-" Tech started. 

Miria just narrowed her eyes, and crossed tightly over her chest. "Reconsider, dear." Her voice wasn't exactly threatening, but it sounded a lot more like a Mandalorian than a Jedi at the moment. Even with the Coruscanti accent.

"Alright, alright. I'll see what I can do. Gimme a few days."

Hunter practically growled. "We don't have the supplies for-"

Cid hung up. 

Wrecker groaned. "Now what do we do?"

"We figure it out, like we always do." Omega looked at Tech, and he couldn't help but smile a little.

[somnambulants]

hi!! i was just wondering if i could request more yelena where yelena introduces her gf to natasha and her family and she’s uncharacteristically nervous so nat finds it amusing? thank you :)

a bit of minor surgery

summary: Yelena tries to keep you to herself but her family has other ideas word count: 1.7K notes: so this is a little different to what you asked for but i hope you still like it! for the sake of this, nat, yelena, alexei and melina are just one happy family 

“But if we –"

Natasha holds up a hand and Yelena stops talking. “Do you hear that?”

It’s faint but there’s the sound of someone moving around on her apartment floor. Being the only person who lives on this floor and one of the few in this building is enough for this to raise the hairs on the back of her neck.

Survival for them has always meant constant vigilance.

Both of their heads swivel towards the front door as the footsteps become louder, very clearly approaching her apartment.

Yelena doesn’t have to look to know Natasha is mirroring her, pulling out her gun and scanning every entry-way for possible intruders.

On edge, Yelena presses herself against the door, readying herself until she listens properly and realises the approaching footsteps sound familiar. 

Somehow, she feels herself relax and become even more tense at the same time.

“Stop,” she says as Natasha moves towards the door as well, holding an arm out to stop her. “It’s okay. I know who it is.”

At her words Natasha relaxes, putting her gun away but she watches her face carefully as she does so.

The panic Yelena can feel building inside her must not be as well hidden as she thought because a slow grin spreads across her face as the sound of a gentle knock echoes through Yelena’s apartment.

“Is it..?”

“Yes,” Yelena replies curtly. “And no. You can’t meet them.”

Natasha gives her a wicked look, clicking her teeth together teasingly. “What? Scared I’ll…eat them?”

She snickers as Yelena reaches out and shoves her hard enough to knock the air out of her while also giving her a firm and clear: im going to kill you if you don't listen to me look as she goes to open the door.

Not that it's ever stopped Natasha before.

“Just stay there,” Yelena hisses and then wrenches the door open, finding you behind it with your hand still mid-air, prepared to knock a second time.

“Y/N!”

“Hi,” you say, looking a little startled but smiling at her none the less as you drop your hand.

Beside her and thankfully, just out of your view, Natasha, to her credit, is silent but Yelena can feel her gaze glued to her face and can especially feel the amusement radiating off her in waves.

She grits her teeth, forcing a smile. Your own fades a little as you take her in. “Is this a bad time?”

“No,” Yelena says quickly. Still out of sight, Natasha lets out a huff of laughter just quiet enough that she hopes she’s the only one that hears her.

“Not at all,” she adds, and since the door covers most of her body, it’s safe for her to reach out and pinch Natasha on the arm. Which is what she does. Hard. “Just --give me a second?”

Clearly still puzzled, you nod and Yelena closes the door, giving you a smile that she has a feeling looks more like a grimace.

Next she grabs Natasha by the arm and starts walking her forcibly towards the window. “Out.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow as she pulls them to an abrupt stop, looking at her then looking out the window. “You seriously want me to scale ten stories because you’re an idiot?”

As an answer, Yelena unlocks the latch and lets the window sweep open, giving her a pointed look that says: Yes. Obviously. 

Natasha rolls her eyes but to Yelena’s relief, she slides out the window.

“неудачник,” is all she says in parting before she disappears, dropping down the stairwell and vanishing from sight completely.

The word lingers in the air after her: Loser.

Yelena scowls after her for a second before she rushes back to the door and opens it, letting out a sigh of relief when she sees you’re still there, standing in the same spot.

“Sorry,” she apologises, swinging the door open. “There was just a uh, complication....a spider. I caught it and put it outside. I know you hate them.”

As she speaks, you slowly raise one eyebrow at her. The other quickly follows and it's then that she notices the narrowed look in your eyes.

When you start speaking, your voice is low and scarily calm. “So it has nothing to do with the woman I just made eye contact with as she was climbing down your fire escape?”

Something Yelena is proud to say is that in her life there have been very few times she’s been at a loss for words. 

This however is one of them.

She stares at you, blankly, knowing her panic must be showing on her face by the way your expression progressively becomes darker and darker as seconds pass and she fumbles frantically for something to say.

“I, uh, she is, she, uh –”

“—Natasha Romanoff. Nice to meet you.”

To her credit, Natasha has always been the stealthier of the two of them. Ignoring that fact, Yelena chooses to believe that her being distracted by you is why she doesn’t hear her coming back up the stairwell.

She also chooses to believe that she didn’t visibly jump at the sound of her voice and that the cough Natasha lets out is genuine and not covering up a laugh that says she’s going to mock her mercilessly for this entire thing later.

Of course, Yelena can’t fool herself but she tries anyway.

You look even more unimpressed as Natasha comes to a stop beside her and it clicks in Yelena’s head that you think her and Natasha – her and Natasha. She can’t even finish the thought.

As funny as it is, she doesn’t let herself laugh, knowing instinctively that it’s not a good idea. The flinty look in your eyes just confirms how much of a not good idea that is.

Just because you weren’t raised like her doesn’t mean that you couldn’t pack a punch; something she learned early on in your relationship when she’d accidentally snuck up on you once. She’d had a black eye for weeks after that.

“Natasha is my --” she isn’t sure how to say: ‘this is the woman I was trained to kill people with while we grew up being tortured and experimented on, remember I told you?’ In a way that won’t make you go running for the hills.

As she trails off, Natasha, sensing her panic, jumps in. Yelena knows that internally, she must be laughing hysterically though to her merit, she keeps it to herself. “I’m her… sister. Of sorts.”

You know about her past – all of what she was willing to repeat of it anyway – so comprehension quickly dawns on your face.

“Then why…?”

She watches as Natasha’s mouth twitches, sounding amused as she directly addresses you: “Well... my sister is an idiot. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

Yelena tenses as you give her a once over, raking your eyes over her consideringly, before you turn back to Natasha.  “I may have noticed that. Yes.”

"Hey," Yelena protests, weakly. "That's not fair."

You give her a pointed look and she falls silent. Resigned to her fate, she lets out a sigh.

She can tell from the matching scheming looks brewing in both your own and Natasha’s eyes that this is only going to be the start of her own personal torment.

--

The one thing she really, really hates about her family is that they have this habit of showing up unannounced – you’d think that the whole being assassins and consequently, a little trigger happy as a result would make someone call ahead but no.

Never.

For this reason, it comes as no surprise when there’s the familiar three tap repetitive secret knock knock knock they had all come up with years ago on her front door early the following morning.

Silently, Yelena prays you don’t hear it and stay asleep as she drags herself out of bed and prepares herself for what she’s about to deal with.

Truthfully, she’s a little surprised that they’d had enough tact to wait until morning. She’d half expected them to be knocking her door down the second Natasha relayed last nights events to them. 

Yanking the door open, she comes face-to-face with Alexei and Melina. Taking them both in and cataloguing mentally that they look alive and uninjured, she lets herself glare at both of them.

“Is something wrong?”

They both frown. “No?”

“Okay I’m closing the door then.”

She starts to swing it shut but it’s quickly caught as Alexei shoves a foot in between it and the doorframe, giving her a reproachful look.

“Is your –”

“Yes,” Yelena interrupts, scowling harder than before, if that was even possible. “Now, leave.”

The look on Alexei’s face shifts, now suddenly a little too much on the wrong side of sneaky. “Can we—”

“No.”

“But–"

“I don’t care. You can’t meet them,” she barks, probably too loudly, as she shoves him back out into the hallway. If she has to throw them bodily out of here, she will. It just would likely attract your attention, which is the opposite of what she wants. “They’re asleep.”

“We can wake them,” he suggests, unhelpfully.

Yelena glares at him harder. “No.”

It’s faint but all of a sudden, she can hear the sound of a door squeaking as it opens. Her bedroom door to be more exact. Your voice calling out to her quickly follows.

“Okay,” she says. “I’m closing the door now.”

“Hey, no wait –” Alexei starts to protest. Yelena closes the door firmly in their faces and is working on dead-bolting it just as you appear in her line of sight.

You blink at her blearily, wearing just one of her T-shirts and nothing else. Thank god she hadn’t let them in. “Who was that?”

“Neighbours,” Yelena lies. “Looking for their …cat.”

Still half asleep, you don’t think to question her and she sags against the door in relief as you venture into the kitchen in search of coffee.

To her relief, there are no subsequent persistent knocks or calls through the door and after a second, she can hear the quiet sound of footsteps and Alexei’s grumbling as they retreat.

Natasha is one thing – their parents or pseudo-parents or whatever they are – are another thing entirely. She’d save that one for another day.

Or never, preferably.

[obscureoperations]

Virgin MC having her first time with Martin and losing her virginity with him.

What would happen👀?

A lot anon... a whole lot.. lmao.

I just feel that Martin would be a very attentive lover, intune with his partner's every desire. Ensuring that they were comfortable and that their pleasure came first. For the given scenario I'm gonna say that Martin himself is not a virgin. He had Abby, the only woman he’s ever slept with. An actual wake person.

I feel that he might have been a bundle of nerves the first time, the intimacy simply wasn’t there. It was all her instructing him on just what to do. He wished he could be doing it with someone he actually loved. But time moved quickly, and he just needed to know. She pretty much taught him everything about pleasing a woman. Even then, the experience still felt somehow lacking. 

He wanted to take his time with you, not wanting to push too far. You were always willing to please him, in numerous ways. At times it left him grasping at the sheets. You claimed You just “wanted to make him feel good.." but he often wondered about you. He only wanted to please you...or possibly return the favour--but you always managed to come up with an excuse.

You had a headache, or you were on the rag. Most times, you just had a really long day. At one point Martin feared that he was taking too much from you without giving anything in return. He was starting to wonder why you actually liked him.

It all made sense when the two of you stood out on the porch, leisurely chatting about your day. Your hand slips progressively closer to his, and Martin draws you into a heated kiss.

You were on fire, heartbeat hammering against your ribs as you attempt to deepen the kiss. Feather soft kisses across your cheeks and eyelids.

"Y/n... I just wish you would let me.."

"Let you what...Martin?"

You can feel him sigh, as he moves to draw you close.

"Take care of you.." He whispers. His right hand flitters beneath the hem of your shirt.

You begin to tremble, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering against each other in a frenzy.. You had no idea why you didn't want to tell him. After all, it wasn't that big of a deal. You had evaded the topic for long enough, the words finally manage to spill out.

"Martin, I'm a virgin.."

~

Your eyes flutter open after another small release. You were finally able to focus on his face. Absolutely gorgeous in the throes of passion. Kiss bruised lips parted in a silent moan, splotches of red painted across his cheeks.Your eyes drift down to the faint muscles of his chest..flexing in time with his motions.

fuckk...

Was it supposed to feel that good? Each thrust seemed to grow progressively better than the last. The sound of your name as he pistons his hips. Surely he had to be feeling it too.

~

No less than an hour before, the two of you were sprawled out on the couch.  Some cheesy horror film plays on in the background. You were supposed to be going out to see a film, but you had other ideas. You just wanted to watch it spray once again. Preferably all over your face. The blunt way you  propositioned him had him blushing and fumbling with his belt. You loved the way you could get him flustered, he still had no idea about your secret. For some reason you felt you had to prove yourself in a way. You had no problem getting him off.

He was so close, you could actually feel him start to tremble as a commercial about Tide laundry plays in the background. You continue to tease the tip of his cock with your tongue, all the while the beautiful noises continue to flow.

“O-oh yes-ss y/n.. just like that..” He whispers. The sound of his voice causes you to press your thighs together. Something was brewing inside of you, you needed to feel him completely. You had no idea why yo were so nervous to tell him. If he asked again, surely you would say yes.

Moments before his release, he prys you away from him, lovingly caressing your cheeks.Tracing his thumb along your lower lip, gathering up stray bits of saliva.

“Y/n..please just talk to me.. tell me what you need.”

~

The look on his face causes you to tremble as a wave of pleasure courses through your frame. Eyes filled with adoration a his fingers lightly caress your cheeks. 

“S-so beautiful y/n... you feel so.good...”

~

The two of you had undressed in a frenzy, the late afternoon sun beaming in  through the curtains. His lips were everywhere, lovingly tracing over your features, teeth sinking into the flesh of your neck.

“ Just lay back sweetheart” he whispers, his fingers move expertly between your legs. 

You settle back against the pillows, crossing your arms over your eyes ad he pries your legs apart. Completely open and on display, he continues to tease you with his fingers. 

“Y/n...look at me.”

You let out something between a sigh and a groan. Reluctantly, you pull your arms away from your face. Martin was watching you meticulously. Slowly working you over with his hand before bringing his fingers to his mouth. You wanted to disappear. A sinful moan escapes his lips before he leans in, peppering kisses across your belly. Keeping your thighs lewdly displayed, his lips finally move to your sex.

Pins and needles, with control issues  abundant--you felt so helpless in that moment. Just what was he doing with his mouth..why did it feel so good? All you could do was meld back against the sheets.

~

You were panting, inner thighs trembling around his waist..you needed him to get closer. Press deeper, a small whimper escapes your throat,, and his lips are on yours in an instant. All tongue scraping over teeth as his arms snake beneath you to draw you near. The lewd sound of flesh against slickened flesh causes your ears to burn. His breath coming out in heated puffs directly against your neck

You were starting to feel funny, the blunt tips of your nails dig into his lower back. The action alone seems to fuel him, he begins to piston his hips in a frenzy--seemingly lost somewhere in the back of his mind. his lips fall open in a silent cry. His hand immediately moves between you, teasing your clit with the pad of his thumb.

Your startled squeak causes him to chuckle before peppering kisses along your hairline.

“Oh y/n..It’s alright... you can let go..”

You didn't want to. You only wanted to prolong all the wonderful sensations. You wished you could snap a photo in your mind, the image of him rocking above you. So lost in his own world, almost in a daze--only snapping back to reality when he would look at you. You could feel the adoration in his gaze. The way he seems to lean in. You knew he was close, you didn’t want him to wait, so you simply close your eyes. Your arms wrap around his neck, keeping him close as he rolls his hips. 

Thoughts and images continue to flash through your mind. The image of him standing behind the register, His flushed expression whenever you would sit across from him at the dinner table. Windblown hair as he’d crawl in through your bedroom window. Martin was actually here with you right now. 

Breath seems to grow elusive as you pull him close to your chest. Small whimpers begin to flow involuntarily.  A final thrust, and you were completely spent. Your teeth dig into the flesh of his neck as your limbs lock around his slender frame. You wanted to keep him there forever. Martin seemed to feel the same.

Hips still rolling to their own accord, he kisses you sweetly. 

“ Perfect, darling.. Just like that..”

[wittyrosebush]

Dream SMP Reacting to a Witch!Hybrid

Pronouns: they/them

Includes: Dream, Quackity, Wilbur, qnd Tommy (PLATONIC)

Warnings: Meantion of drugs, swearing

A/N: This is based off of the canon characters and is set in the time of the Pogtopia/Manburg war!!! I might write a second part if this goes well. Also, this is the first thing I have written for this fandom, so I hope I get the character personalities correct. This is not beta read, so please don't attack me on my poor grammar skills. 😅

I hope you all enjoy!!! 💙

Dream

He was mining when he first met you

Dream heard a malicious cackle on the dark side of the cave and slowly drew his sword

He decided to charge towards the strange noise and was quickly met with an invisible body under him

He furrowed his brows and felt the body shuffle out from under him

"BEGONE STRANGE MAN"

"... excuse me?"

After a moment, Y/N's potion has worn off

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-"

Dream chuckled and put away his sword, deciding the person in front of him wasn't a threat

After Y/n calmed down, the two had a talk, explaining the situation

Turns out, you had thought of a joke while mining for redstone (hence the laughter)

"So where is your hat and huge nose? You are really attractive for a witch."

"Luckily, I got my attributes from my father. What was that last part?."

"Wait, what about your hat?"

"I haven't done laundry in a few days.... hold up did you just say I was attractive?"

Ever since then Dream has had you by his side partly because he is a little clingy creating potions for him and the rest of the dream team

"How do you feel about cursing children?"

"I'm not that kind of witch, Dream."

"But what if he was being a little blonde bitch?"

"DREAMWASTAKEN I SWEAR TO GOD-"

Loves bringing you stuff to use for your projects

Need blaze rods for a new brewing stand? Done.

Need lapis lazuli so you have a chance for better communication? Done.

Anything you want? Done.

He will literally go to the nether for a few hours and come back with his arms full of whatever you need

And if you don't need anything or just need to take a break, he'll spend the day taking you anywhere that he think you would be happiest

He has you make him a lot of potions, bragging to everyone on the server how much better at creating potions you are

"Y/n's potions last longer, are more effective, prettier-"

"Are you sure? I think-"

"Tell me what you think, I fuckin dare you >:( ."

Overall, he is your #1 supporter

Quackity

The day had been long, dealing with Schlatt definitely tires a guy out after 5 minutes

On his walk on the outskirts of the Manburg wall, he spotted a suspicious row of blaze powder leading to the woods

Dawning his armor and a sword, he followed the trail to a small hut

He could see the outline of someone in the hut nervously pacing around

Deciding what he thought was the best possible option, he knocked on the door of the hut

There was immediately the sound of glass bottles falling on the floor and muffled words

Soon, the door swung open to reveal a disheveled being with a nervous grin

And Quackity went from tough to awkward

"C-Can I help you with something?"

"Uh, do you waNT SOME DRUGS?"

"ExCuSe Me?!"

Everything was going to shit

After a moment of awkward staring, a glass bottle tumbled off the brewing stand

Upon focusing on what was going on behind the two people trying and failing to act normal, they both saw that every brewing stand was on fire

"ARE YOU ACTUALLY MAKING DRUGS?!"

"NO I'M JUST REALLY BAD AT THIS POTION."

Finally putting the fire out together, the two looked at their now soot stained clothes

The witch hybrid ran a hand through their hair and sighed

"Well this is completely ruined."

Quackity frowned a little hesitant to offer his help

"If you need to you could borrow some brewing stands-"

"Really? *-* "

On the walk back to Manburg, you explained who you were

Quackity was still a little confused

"Wait but what potion were you even brewing?"

"Fire resistance."

He immediately burst out laughing, which ended up with you slapping his arm repeatedly

Eventually, you two became the definition of the "friends to lovers" trope

You often helped him de-stress after stressful days in office with Schlatt

He'd try whatever you recommended

"I'd suggest putting quartz on your nightstand."

"Cool!"

Later that night, you forgot something at his house

Once you walked into his house, you could see stacks of quartz next to his bed.

He really trusted any advice you could give him

And on days where people would criticize you for being part witch?

Big Q will attack anyone

Even if he knows he will lose

And at random parts of the day he'll just tell you oddly inspirational thoughts

"You are a bad bitch, dare I say a bad witch. Own that shit."

"That is oddly motivational, thank you. :) "

Wilbur

The former president was strolling along the side of a river, trying to form a coherent plan of action

Upon noticing a person trudging out of the water fumbling with glass bottles, Wilbur jogged over to them and put a careful hand on their shoulder

"Are you okay?"

The person moved the soggy hat out of their face and smiled

"Yeah, I just fell in the water while trying to fill up some of the bottles, but thanks for checking on me!"

He hummed in response, wondering why he was already so interested in the being before him

"Well I should probably get going, but thank you!"

"Wait! What's you name?"

"It's Y/n, and you are..?"

"Wilbur Soot, it was an honor meeting you, Y/n."

This man spent the rest of the night thinking about you and who the hell you were

He didn't know much about the mysterious person, but he did know that they were one of the most alluring people he had met in a long time

It was weeks since he saw you, Wilbur nearly gave up searching

That was until you walked into him on a rainy day

The brunette immediately went in defensive position and pulled the stranger to his chest, despite the dampened clothes

"Um, Mr. Soot?"

He looked down to see you and his face lit up

"Y/n! It's a pleasure to see you again."

He took a small step back and kissed your hand

No one can convince me that Wilbur "Gentleman" Soot does not flirt by giving hand kisses

The two went into Pogtopia and Wilbur almost immediately wrapped his coat around you

"What were you doing out there? The rain is coming down so hard you must not have been able to see well."

"I was going to ask if I could borrow a few golden carrots for a potion I'm making."

Wilbur nodded and walked towards the stared and whisper shouted down

"TOMMY BRING ME SOME GOLDEN CARROTS!"

"BUT WILBUR, I-"

"PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME LOOK BAD IN FRONT OF THE STUNNING WITCH!"

The boy at the bottom of the stairs grumbled and the tall man sat next to you once more

After a few minutes of Wilbur fawning over everything you did, a blonde male walked up the steps and glared at Wilbur as he handed you the carrots

"Simp..."

Wilbur dramatically gasped as you chuckled next to him

You eventually started coming over to Pogtopia practically every day

Most of the time it was to see Wilbur, but the rest of your time was spent creating potions for the war

As the nation grew, you were brought out of your shell more with Wilbur introducing you to everyone

He didn't want you to feel uncomfortable in a new place

You often walked along the same riverbank where you met

You have definitely pushed each other off a few times

He keeps small things that you enjoy on him at all times

He keeps a tiny bottle of sand from the river you met at, a piece of your old robe, and so much more in his pockets

Whenever he feels like he's in a dark place or justneeds to ground himself he takes out one of the items and just holds it close.

Mans is so in love

Tommy

He met you in the nether while you were farming netherwart

The blonde was thrilled to find a new fortress and decided to raid it before reinforcements came

Seeing a sleeping figure next to a bed of sould sand, he took a few congident steps forward

Once close enough, he poked you with the stick

"You good?"

"I was good when I was asleep."

"AYE I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD SO-"

After arguing for what felt like hours, you both stormed off to find both exits being blocked by wither skeletons

Tommy had gotten beaten up pretty bad after the fight so you took him back to your hut to get all patched up

"I didn't even need your help. I'm tougher than I look."

"You legitimately passed out twice on the way here."

"HOW DARE YOU, I WAS RESTING MY EYES!"

After a few hours of healing and a ton of laighter, you two became the most chaotic duo in the smp

This british raccoon child would often steal small potions to pull pranks

But unless they were really important and you needed them back, you'd always join in on the pranks

He tried to get you to make a potion using the 'Tubbo Bath Water' one time

It did not end well

At the point in your friendship where you revealed you were a hybrid, Tommy was so confused

"That makes no sense, witches are still humans, right?"

"Yeah..?"

"So how does that make you a hybrid?"

👁👄👁

"Listen here you little shit-"

He likes to show you off to anyone that can listen

"You think you're special? HA! I have a best friend that is part witch and they will kick your ass. >:)"

He is really interested in everything you do but will never ask

But if you tell him about what you're doing unprovoked?

Tommy would get so happy

He is so excited to learn what you have to teach and would be one of the best friends ever

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Needles & Ink, Pt 2 (NSFW)

Lena slips in the back door of the InkSpot. She pauses just inside, absorbing the utter silence that fills the place. Gone is the thumping music, and buzzing of machines. Gone is the bustle of clients coming and going. It's completely and utterly still.

At nearly 4am, it's well past normal operating hours, even for the night crowd. Lena knows she herself ought to be in bed, catching as many winks as she could before her next morning meeting, but-- even after a day of committees and endless reports, Lena is absolutely wired. She'd known tugging on James' door would be a long shot, but when it opened she'd hoped her fellow night owl might be down for a late tattoo session. 

Looking out across the darkened shop, though, it seems more likely that James has simply forgotten to lock the back door. She pulls out her phone, intent on teasing James into oblivion, but freezes when an odd sound drifts out of James' office.

It sounds almost like a moan, but when it's followed by another, longer moan of a different pitch, Lena realizes someone is humming. Someone in the office is humming a Bonnie Tyler song.

Total Eclipse of the Heart, to be exact. 

Lena saunters silently to the office door and leans against it, taking a moment to observe Kara Danvers humming along to the music playing in her ears. She's bent over paperwork, and despite the hour and the solitude a soft smile graces her lips, pulling one to Lena's own face at the sight of it.

"You look good," she says in a low voice.

Kara jumps violently in her seat, jolting the entire desk with the force of her gasp.

"Oh my sweet baby Jesus!!" she exclaims, pressing a hand to her chest. When she looks up, Kara sags at the sight of Lena. "You scared me!"

Lena watches Kara remove her earbuds, and folds her arms over her chest, still leaning against the door frame. "Sorry," she purrs unapologetically. She smiles. "How are you? It's been a while."

"Good, good. I mean, I'm-- I'm in Metropolis! Wait-- you're in Metropolis! What are you doing here??"

Lena gives a tilt of her head. "Business. I may have moved my company to National City, but it still feels as though I do more business here than there these days."

"Right, um..." Kara suddenly looks nervous, casting a worried look past Lena into the hallway. "Sorry, but um.... we're kind of closed? Actually-- how did you get in here?"

Lena huffs a faint laugh. "Back door. James lets me slip in now and then. I was hoping he would have time for a quick session."

"Oh, um... I'm the only one here. Sorry."

"Don't be," Lena smiles. "It's good to see you. Is James treating you well? I don't need to yell at him, do I?"

"Oh, no! No, no, he's been great-- everyone has been really amazing, truly. I couldn't have asked for better hosts. I've been loving it here."

Lena nods, glad to hear it. Pushing off the door jamb, she lets her arms fall, clasping her hands in front of her. "Well, I won't keep you. It was good to see you--"

"W-wait!" Kara jerks to her feet, slamming into the desk yet again in her haste to keep Lena from leaving. Lena pauses, biting back a smile at her clumsiness. "James isn't here, but I am. Why don't we do some more work on your crane?"

"Oh, it's late--"

"No, I-- I mean, I'll text James to make sure it's okay, but... I'm down if you are."

Lena regards her for a long moment. 

"Okay."

--- 

There’s something ethereal in the moments that follow. James gives his blessing, which Kara barely notices past the distraction that is Lena Luthor unbuttoning her blouse. Backlit by a halo of neon light, she looks like a hazy dream, long and beautiful and full of mystery even as she lays herself bare. 

In deference to the late hour, Kara keeps the overheads off, and simply turns on her worklight. The spill of light pulls Lena’s attention to her, catching her watching. In the shadows, Lena smiles coyly. 

“Like what you see?” Lena asks, casting her shirt aside. She takes a wide stance, presenting herself to Kara’s gaze in all her tattooed glory. Maybe it’s the late hour, but Kara allows her gaze to linger, charting a path from the stylized storm brewing at Lena’s collarbones, to the dragon that disappears down one hip. 

“Always,” she murmurs.

Lena looks aside for a moment-- when she looks back, it’s with a heat that sends a bolt of desire straight to Kara’s core. She takes a breath that quakes in her lungs, and then suddenly Lena is there, tucking a wisp of hair behind Kara’s ear.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since our first session,” Lena murmurs. 

A flush heats Kara’s neck and face. “Me either,” she confesses. “I mean. You too--”

Her blunder is swallowed by a kiss. Lena’s lips press against Kara’s, warm and soft and absolutely intoxicating. Kara lifts her hands, framing Lena’s face and pulling her closer to deepen the kiss. She’s rewarded with a muted moan, and Lena’s hands on her hips, thumbs brushing beneath the hem of Kara’s tank top.

“You are so beautiful,” Kara breathes when they part, panting for air. There’s an insistent throbbing between her legs, aching for more. Lena’s hand cups her gently, making her whimper. 

“May I?” Lena whispers against her ear. Biting her lip, Kara nods. Only then does Lena unbutton Kara’s jeans with her long fingers, peeling the denim away to reveal her panties. Kara’s completely forgotten hat she’s wearing until Lena laughs, low and throaty in Kara’s ear.

The pizza panties. Goddammit. 

“I love them,” Lena murmurs, reassuring her. “But I’d love them even better on my bedroom floor.”

Oh god. Kara envisions a clean penthouse apartment, spotless save for the mess of their discarded clothes. But here in the shop? Gross.

“Guess I’ll just have to make do,” Lena says, hitching up the legs of her trousers to kneel between Kara’s legs. In moments, Kara’s pants and panties are both below her hips and a warm tongue sweeps through her folds, collecting the moisture of her arousal in a single taste. Lena hums with pleasure before her thumb gets to work against Kara’s bare clit. 

Kara quivers, nearly staggering as her body reacts. Lena’s hands brace her hips, steadying her. 

“All right there?” she asks, playfully teasing. Kara whimpers with a nod. To her surprise, Lena guides Kara’s leg to rest over her shoulder, until Kara’s stretched and gaping at her very core. “Press against me if you need to.”

Kara nods again. She doesn’t last long. In mere moments she’s moaning and writhing against Lena’s mouth, shuddering as waves of ecstasy roll through her. Lena’s tongue continues to guide her through her orgasm, pressing firmly to calm her through the aftershocks. When she finally pulls away, Kara can’t bend down fast enough to kiss her own taste away from Lena’s lips.

“On the table,” Kara urges, pulling Lena from her knees. She hastily pulls her pants up, but leaves them unfastened as she quickly devotes her attention to the curves of Lena’s body. Lena doesn’t quite make it on top of the table. She settles for leaning against its edge as she kisses Kara soundly, her hands buried in Kara’s hair. 

Kara kisses her messily, wet and sloppy, but Lena can’t seem to get enough. She only pulls her hands away to fumble at the back zipper of her dress pants, until Kara nudges her. “Turn around,” she murmurs.

Lena turns, and Kara carefully unzips her trousers. They fall to her ankles, exposing the rest of Lena’s tattoos. Kara takes a moment to admire them, kneeling to run her hands from Lena’s hip to her ankle, tracing the shape of the tiger clawing up one leg and the dragon coiling down the other. Even in the low light Kara can see the artistry, the mastery of the craft that has been inked into Lena’s skin. And there, curving around Lena’s ribs, a crane peeks out-- Kara’s own offering to the altar that is Lena’s body.

Unlike Kara’s pizza panties, Lena is resplendent in black lace. The fabric hugs Lena’s hips and ass in a tantalizing display. Kara can barely breathe as she stands and runs her fingers across the floral threadwork. Her whimper is eclipsed by a wonton moan from Lena’s throat, her hips pressing out and back against Kara’s hands.

“Kara…”

Lena’s voice is heady, even breathless. It sends a shudder of delirium down Kara’s spine. How is this her life. But Lena’s need is real and evident in the heady utterance, prompting Kara to hook her fingers under the panties and delicately sliding them down Lena’s hips. Every inch of Lena’s inked buttocks steals Kara’s breath, leaving her gasping by the time Lena shifts plaintively in her heels. Finally, Kara cups Lena from behind, and when Kara finds arousal nearly dripping from Lena’s core, she swallows thickly.

“Relax for me, baby girl.”

Lena shudders, sending a gush of fresh warmth into Kara’s palm. Leaning forward, Kara slides one hand down to Lena’s wrist, pressing it against the table as she slips two fingers into Lena’s folds. Gently, she begins to thrust.

“Harder,” Lena gasps almost immediately. She shifts her stance until Kara’s fingers hit a new spot. Kara nods, catching Lena’s gaze when she turns her head to look over one bare shoulder. She increases her speed, adds just a touch more pressure, and is rewarded with a hitch in Lena’s breath. Soon Lena is moaning with every breath, her back glistening with building sweat as her body temperature rises. 

Suddenly, Lena’s body shudders with a piercing moan, her walls clenching tight around Kara’s fingers. Just as she begins to come down, Kara releases Lena’s wrist to slip between her hips and the table to press her thumb against Lena’s clit, rubbing swift, furious circles until Lena crests again with a sharp gasp.

When she recovers, Lena turns against the table to loop her arms around Kara’s neck. Kara wraps herself around Lena’s bare skin, nuzzling against her neck, nibbling at her pulse point. 

“You’re incredible,” Lena murmurs. 

Kara hums against Lena’s neck. 

“I’m not finished yet.”

---

Kara draws back to wipe her hair from her eyes. Lena lays before her on a freshly sterilized table in nothing but her bra and panties, looking sleepy and relaxed despite the blood stippling to the surface of her skin.

“You know,” Kara observes, “not everyone would follow sex with a tattoo chaser.”

Lena smiles. “Their loss,” she murmurs. “I highly recommend it.”

Forgoing the use of a stencil, Kara had freehanded the plumage of the crane directly onto Lena’s skin, and already she could see the bird coming to life.

Kara smirks. “Not everyone is a masochist.”

“Imagine tattooing while having sex,” Lena drawls. “Now that would be kinky.”

A laugh bursts out of Kara, earning a deep grin from Lena. With her hair loose and sweaty, Lena is a veritable dream-- to have her skin under Kara’s needle is an honor on a bed of honors. The atmosphere is slow and silky around them, like the world outside has slowed to a standstill without them. Kara savors every moment, lest it all slip away. 

“So how has Metropolis treated you so far?” Lena asks, watching Kara dip her needle in fresh ink. She relaxes back when Kara approaches, allowing her easy access to the tattoo site. She doesn’t flinch when Kara resumes. “Still taking walk-ins? Besides me, of course.”

Kara grins, even as she focuses on what she’s doing. “You’re the first one I’ve taken in weeks, actually. Most people are looking for big, personal pieces, so the walk ins don’t really happen you know?” She pauses. “I’ve already started booking back at Argo, since my time here is already booked up.”

“Really? Congratulations!”

“Thanks.” Kara can’t help but blush. “But you know… something tells me I probably have you to thank for all this.”

Lena regards her. “Oh? How so?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you’re the only canvas I’ve worked on that James Olsen would have seen.”

Lena’s lips part in a silent ah. She regards Kara for a long moment, before reaching out a hand to halt Kara’s ministrations. With a single touch, she pulls Kara’s entire attention to her. 

“I didn’t suggest anything, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

Kara doesn’t respond, and thereby tips her hand: it’s exactly what she’s afraid of. That a top-paying client threatened to withdraw their business unless James agreed to take on an unknown artist from a strip mall in National City.

Lena cups her cheek gently.

“All I did was show James the work you’d done-- as I would for any piece I was proud of.” She holds Kara’s gaze, allowing her to see the truth in Lena’s eyes. “Anything he did after that is entirely on you and your body of work. Do you hear me?”

Kara releases a shaky breath, laughing slightly. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I hear you.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her arm. “Now lay back so I can finish.”

Lena does so, but her eyes don’t leave Kara. Kara can feel her gaze linger, until she’s too immersed in her art to be aware of anything else. 

---

“This,” Lena says hours later, pressing cash into Kara’s hand, “is for the tattoo. Just to be clear.”

Without even looking at it, Kara tucks it away. “Good to know.”

“Wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea,” Lena winks, earning a chuckle in return.

“Right. Absolutely. But you know…”

“Hmmm?”

Kara tugs Lena closer by the hips, bringing their fronts flush together. Taing advantage of their proximity, Kara kisses her deeply. “You’re going to need some touch ups.”

Lena smiles against her, then kisses her again. 

“Well, then…. I guess I’ll just have to see you again.”

“You will.” Kara creeps her hands playfully up Lena’s shirt, only for Lena to pull away with a good natured laugh.

“I have to go, but, ah… I’ll see you later?”

Kara watches Lena back away towards the rear entrance, a smile ever present on her lips.

“Yeah. You will.”

It’s not until long after Lena leaves that Kara realizes. 

She didn’t get Lena’s phone number.

[gleamglowsgraveyard]

Ask for a sirius request and you shall receive. I've been thinking about this idea for a while (and your writing is perfect for it ily) but how about a ravenclaw reader who is friends with james or remus and they introduce them? The one in my head was remus going to her dorm for a sleepover and bringing sirius and just being like "isn't she neat :)" and sirius immediately falling in love 🥺 no pressure if you dont vibe with it 🥰 ily bunches

i went to ravenclaw tower and all i got was this lousy stained shirt

pairing: sirius/reader

word count: 3.9k

summary: james and remus play matchmaker for you and sirius

content: ravenclaw!reader, fluff, it gets awkward (some of this was hard to write... 😭😭), dialogue heavy, you and sirius are very back-and-forth-y and witty (you’ll see what i mean), i know the title is long but i thought it was funny and i can do what i want

this was such a fun request!! i hope you don’t mind i took some liberties because i just immediately imagined remus and james secretly trying to match the two of you up for a while!! also i turned the sleepover into a party at ravenclaw tower!! (also also i came up with some cute ravenclaw girl ocs just for this, they were supposed to be minor but ended up having their own sideplots because i get carried away with everything. but they were fun to write! i gave them backstories and everything so if anyone wants to know more about them just ask :)

warning: mentions of alcohol!!

“You should meet Sirius.”

“Black?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you know another Sirius?”

You stick your tongue out at him and Remus smiles.

“What is it with Sirius, huh?” you tell him, adding a few drops of rain water into the potion before handing Remus the spoon to stir. He takes it and immediately gets to work.

“You and James,” you continue, idly counting Remus’s counterclockwise stirs in your head. “Not a day goes by where you don’t tell me I have to meet Sirius.”

In truth, you’d seen Sirius a few times. And he’d seen you, but neither one of you had actually spoken more than a few words to the other. Especially not since sixth year. Sirius had dropped Potions and Astronomy as quick as he could - the only two classes you’d had left with him. And seeing as you were in different Houses, bumping into each other in the common room was off the table as well.

But you had Potions with Remus and Astronomy with James, and whenever they could, they would always mention how you just had to meet Sirius. You sometimes wondered if Sirius was always being told he had to meet you.

“I just think you’d get along,” Remus shrugs, halting his stirring before you can even tell him to do so.

You both work in tandem for a bit after that, dropping ingredients into your potion and stirring when needed. You liked partnering up with Remus for this exact reason. You’d both fall into a comfortable silence and develop a good rhythm - you just flowed well together.

Once the potion is nearly finished, Remus speaks up.

“What about tonight? Isn’t there a party at Ravenclaw?”

“Robin says not to call it a party.”

“Well, that’s what it is.”

“Yeah, but we can’t call it that. At least not out loud,” you insist, not wanting your dorm mate’s wrath to come back later and haunt you. “It’s a quiet get-together,” you correct him.

Remus scoffs, knowing damn well that Ravenclaw parties are anything but. “That, then. You can meet him there.”

You raise an eyebrow in complete disbelief. “You’re gonna get Sirius Black to come to a Ravenclaw party?”

“What happened to quiet get-together?”

Damn it.

You quickly spare a glance at Robin, but she’s all the way across the room, scolding her partner for something he did to their potion.

“Good luck with that,” you continue, pretending to ignore his quip.

“We’ll convince him!” Remus assures you, as if it’s the least of his worries.

“Okayyy...” you sing, entirely unconvinced.

You’ve never seen Sirius Black at a non-Gryffindor party. He has way too much House pride to ever be caught partying in another common room. You’re almost positive you’ve seen him root for Gryffindor at Quidditch matches even when the team isn’t playing.

“Okay? So you’ll meet him?” Remus presses.

You laugh. “Okay! I guess!” you tell him, resigned. “But you and James have been hyping him up for a while, so don’t be surprised if he doesn’t live up to my expectations and I end up hating him.” You shrug a shoulder as you turn down the fire under the cauldron.

Remus just grins. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

.

.

.

Despite your nonchalant attitude with Remus earlier today, you actually find yourself feeling a bit nervous.

“Hey, do you guys know Sirius?” you ask over your shoulder as you straighten your outfit in the mirror. “Black?” you add quickly.

“Did you just ask us if we know Sirius Black?” A shrill voice cuts through the air and you know immediately that it’s Robin.

You groan, “I know, I know, everyone knows-”

“Everyone knows him,” Robin talks over you, and then sprays a copious amount of hairspray into her already voluminous blonde locks.

You move out of her way so she can use the mirror and she gratefully takes the opportunity, stepping in front of you to fluff up her roots.

“Yeah, how do you not know him?” Bea calls from the bathroom, where April is helping her into her dress.

“I mean, I know him,” you say, flopping down on your bed. “But I don’t actually know him. You know?”

“He was April’s first kiss!” Bea taunts. She makes several kissy noises and then you hear her say ‘ow!’

“You’ve got to stop bringing that up,” you hear April scold, “It was second year!”

Bea giggles and then skips out of the bathroom, April trailing closely behind.

Bea has on a stunning yellow sundress with long, belled sleeves - going all out, as usual. The color compliments her dark skin beautifully, but you know she’s really only wearing it to lure in that Hufflepuff boy she’s had her eye on.

April has still yet to get dressed, always waiting until the very last minute, but her straight black hair has been flawlessly curled - presumably Robin’s work.

“So what is it? Why do you wanna know about Black?” April asks politely, leaning against your bedpost as Bea sits on her trunk to slip on her shoes.

“James and Remus... They’re gonna get him to come here.”

Bea nearly drops her shoe, and Robin spins around to face you.

“Here?” The two say at the same time.

“Is he really?” April asks mildly, voice much gentler than the other two.

You shrug and nod your head at the same time, giving them an uncertain look. “I think so? Maybe? If they can convince him.”

There’s a beat of silence and then the hissing sound of Robin’s can of hairspray fills the air once more as she frantically tries to get her hair to cooperate. At the very same time, Bea starts to rummage around her wardrobe, muttering to herself about how ‘I think I have a red dress in here somewhere...’

It’s clear they’re both doubling their efforts, hoping to catch Sirius’s eye.

You laugh a bit and then turn to look at April, whose eyes are stuck on Robin’s reflection. She has a solemn expression on her face, but quickly snaps out of her trance when she notices you watching her.

“So,” she starts, putting on a small smile, “You’ve really never met Sirius Black?” she asks, sitting down beside you and crossing her legs beneath her.

“No, but I hear you have,” you tease, and she rolls her eyes.

“Yes, the first and only boy I’ve ever kissed.” She rolls her eyes.

You hear Robin fumble with her can of hairspray but think nothing of it.

April continues, “Anyway, that was second year,” she waves it off. “I do have muggle studies with him.”

“What’s he like?” you find yourself asking.

April shrugs a shoulder. “He’s nice, I suppose. Funny. Asks the professor a lot of questions about motorbikes.”

You tilt your head. “Motorbikes? Why?”

“Who knows. I think you two would get along, though.”

“Why’s that?”

April observes you for a few beats and then laughs a bit. You expect her to say something more but she just gives you a slight nudge with her elbow and then walks off, most likely to go get dressed.

Well that was pointless. You didn’t really learn anything useful. But then again, you’re not sure what you expected out of a conversation with April, who tends to keep her talking to a minimum (She claims it makes her more mysterious) (And she’s right, too).

Oh well. Perhaps you could find a way to strike up a casual conversation about motorbikes with Sirius.

Yeah, right.

.

.

.

It’s a few hours into the party when the door opens up, letting in James and Remus. Trailing behind them, looking unnecessarily wary, is Sirius Black. He traipses around as if at any moment something in the common room is going to jump out and bite him, and you struggle to stifle a laugh.

You quickly wander off before any of them can spot you, fleeing towards where the drinks are. You figure that when they find you, you may as well be doing something instead of just lamely standing around. So you pick up the ladle and start to refill your cup.

April had transfigured her cauldron into one made of glass, and Robin had used it to concoct her famous sickly sweet, lavender colored drink that she’d aptly named ‘Robin’s Brew’. It was made up of a mixture of muggle and wizard liquors, as well as a myriad of different fruit juices. The taste itself was actually semi disgusting, but you get used to it after the initial few sips.

You ladle some more of the drink into your cup and then spin on your heel, ready to resume the search for your friends.

That is, until you crash face first against a broad chest, effectively spilling ‘Robin’s Brew’ all over whoever you just bumped into.

“Oh my gosh!” you blurt out, setting the now empty cup down. “I am so sorry, I-” Your words catch in your throat when you finally look up to see the person’s face.

So much for a good first impression.

Sirius waves you off, looking down at his now purple stained white shirt. “Don’t worry ab-” he stops in the middle of the word as he raises his gaze to look at you.

His lips are still slightly parted as if his voice had simply escaped him mid-sentence, and his expression is stunned and mesmerized all at once.

“I, um...” he tries again, but it’s as if he’s been put in some kind of trance just by looking at you.

“Oh, great! You’ve met!” A cheery voice cuts through the tension, and you both turn your head to find James beaming at the two of you.

Trailing behind James is Remus, who takes in the state of the two of you and grimaces.

“Met?” Sirius voices as he looks at James, sounding a bit dazed.

“Yeah, remember? Y/N!” James reminds him. “She’s great, right?” he grins, and you cringe.

“Oh, this is...?” Sirius slowly turns his head to look at you again. “Hey...” he says faux-smoothly, as if attempting to salvage your very first meeting.

“Hey...” you say back a bit awkwardly. “Um... Look, there’s towels in my dorm, we can all go?” you suggest, looking to the others for approval.

“Why don’t you two go?” Remus proposes instead, and you shoot him an alarmed look.

“Yeah!” James nearly shouts, looking at Remus as if he’s a genius. “Yeah, you’ll find us later!” he’s quick to agree, and they both start to walk away.

You let out a nervous laugh. “Oh, I don’t know if-” you start, not sure if comfortable enough to be alone with a man you just met after spilling your drink on him.

But Remus and James don’t wanna hear it.

“Alright! See you later!” James throws a finger gun at you as he walks backwards and then spins on his heel.

“But I-”

“Bye!” Remus calls, and then they both disappear into a small crowd of people.

You turn to face Sirius, whose shirt is still dripping and who’s watching you with rapt intrigue. He turns away the moment your eyes meet, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Soon enough you’re leading Sirius down the corridor that leads to your dormitory, trying desperately to remember whether or not you’d tidied up your area of the room.

The door swings open just as you arrive at it, and from out of it come April and Robin who seem to be having a serious looking discussion. They quickly stop talking as soon as they spot the two of you, and April is quick to storm off, leaving Robin behind.

“Oh, you’ll want to get rid of that,” Robin says with a wince, gesturing at Sirius’s shirt. “The stain actually gets darker the more you try to get it off... So...”

You give a heavy sigh. “Yeah, thanks Robin.”

She shrugs apologetically with both hands in the air and then starts to walk off. “Robin’s Brew! Patent pending!” she calls over her shoulder as she scurries off to catch up with April.

“What’s up with them?” Sirius mutters under his breath as you lead him inside.

“Well, aren’t you nosy?” you’re quick to reply.

You say it as a joke, but immediately wish you could take it back. What were you thinking?! You didn’t know Sirius enough to joke around with him like that! You didn’t know him at all! Hell, you’d just spilled your drink all over him, for all you know the guy hates you!

You spin around, ready to apologize, but then Sirius is laughing, and you nearly let out a massive sigh of relief.

“Uh-” your apology catches in your throat for a moment but you quickly recover. “Sorry, I-”

“No, it’s okay.” He shakes his head. “You’re right, nosy is my middle name,” he tells you with a shrug and a lopsided grin.

You find yourself smiling back. “Sirius Nosy Black, huh?”

He hums. “Rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, definitely.”

It’s silent for a moment as you both look at each other. Your thoughts leave you a bit as you get distracted by that strange way that he’s looking at you, but then you remember with a jolt that Sirius Black is in your dorm, shirt stained lavender and dripping ‘Robin’s Brew’ onto the floor.

“Um!” You scramble towards the bathroom and yank a random towel off the rack. “Here,” You toss it and Sirius catches it with one hand.

“You can, um...” You trail off but then realize you’re still standing in the doorway, effectively blocking his entrance. “Oh!” You quickly move out of the way, leaving a clear path for Sirius.

“Thanks,” he says with a slight laugh before disappearing into the bathroom.

Once the door closes you’re left alone, idly shuffling around, not really knowing what to do now.

This was horrible. All of this was horrible. You’re alone in your dorm with a man you’ve just met - sure he’s friends with Remus and James, but that doesn’t mean it’s not awkward!

You have to focus. You have to avoid any more tense silences. What would you say when he got out of the bathroom?

You suppose he did laugh at your quip earlier - he’d even added a little joke of his own. You’d gone back and forth a bit. It was easy to converse once you’d gotten started. But getting started was exactly the issue... You needed a good topic. Why can’t you think of a good topic?!

The door to the bathroom opens up and out walks Sirius, leather jacket now slung over his forearm and white shirt drier, but still equally stained.

You panic.

“Hey, do you like motorbikes?” You blurt out, and then have to resist the urge to hurl yourself out the window.

Sirius’s eyes widen and he opens and closes his mouth a few times, looking like a stunned fish, before saying “Motorbikes?”

You purse your lips. “Yeah, I was...” You shrug, trying to play off your very strange, very targeted question as just casual conversation. “I was just wondering... I dunno...” you say, leaning against one of your bedposts.

Sirius breaks out into a smile. “I have a motorbike.”

“Really! No way!” you exclaim, pretending to be shocked. Although you didn’t really know Sirius owned a motorbike, it wasn’t all that surprising considering what April had told you just a few hours ago.

Sirius’s eyes narrow slightly, looking at you as if he’s trying very hard to figure you out. “Yeah... I’m fixing it up right now...” he tells you, still grinning.

“Oh? Is it broken?”

He tilts his head back and forth a few times and then says “Not exactly.”

You cross your arms. “Then why are you fixing it up?” you challenge.

Sirius just rolls his eyes. “Well I’d argue that anything that can’t fly can definitely be improved.”

That startles a laugh out of you. “You’re gonna get your motorbike to fly?”

“Laugh it up now!” Sirius nods as you bring a hand to your lips, stifling your giggles. “No one’ll be laughing once I finish my flying motorbike!”

“Oh, I’d love to see it in action.”

“Sure, I’ll take you on a ride once it’s done,” he tells you, voice genuine.

That shuts you up. All of a sudden you find that you have no witty response. Apparently out of all the things that could have rendered you silent, the prospect of going on a ride on Sirius Black’s flying motorbike seems to have done the trick.

Sirius notices.

“I mean- If you want.” he quickly says, raising a hand. “I mean- Sorry. I know we just met, and I made you spill your drink, and I think I stained your towel with whatever that drink was - sorry about that too - but I-”

“Hey,” you cut him off, giving him a pointed but lighthearted look.

He gazes back expectantly.

“I’d love to,” you assure him, and he grins.

You don’t even remember what you were so nervous about. This was easy. Talking to Sirius was so easy once you got into a rhythm.

So you did.

You talked for a while, and when you got tired of standing you laid down on your bed, face down, head resting in your hands and legs kicking behind you as Sirius sat cross legged on your trunk in front of you. You talked about possible spells and modifications for Sirius’s motorbike, you bonded about all the times James and Remus had tried to get the two of you together, you even just talked about whatever nonsense came to your heads.

You were still talking (now both sitting on your bed) when the door creaked open, letting in April and Robin. April was asleep and Robin was carrying her bridal style. You notice they’re both barefoot, but Robin only has April’s shoes in hand - hers were probably somewhere in the common room.

“Oh, hey,” you say in a hushed tone, not wanting to wake April.

“Hey,” Robin responds, though she’s not quite as cautious with her volume as you.

Earlier today you’d have thought Robin would’ve freaked out the moment she saw Sirius, but if she cares about him being in the dorm, she doesn’t show it.

“She fell asleep on the couch. Thought I should leave her here,” the blonde explains as she pads over to April’s bed. She drops the shoes on the ground and then pauses to look at you. “Do you mind?” she questions, nodding her head towards the bed.

You quickly get up, striding over to April’s bed and pulling back the blankets.

“Thanks,” Robin murmurs as she gently sets the raven haired girl down.

You pull the covers up again and April stirs a bit but doesn’t wake up.

Robin finally acknowledges Sirius. “Hi,” she waves with a smile. Sirius smiles back. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“No, it’s fine. We were just talking,” you assure her, and she nods a bit before turning her attention back to April, gazing down at her with a slight furrow to her brow.

“Where’s Bea?” you voice, curious.

“Went off with her Hufflepuff, I expect.”

“Mm. Is the party over?”

“Quiet get-together.” Robin corrects you without a second thought and you laugh lightly, sitting back down on your bed beside Sirius. “And yeah. I’m gonna go try to clean up a bit,” she says, sounding like the prefect she is.

You watch as Robin hesitates over April for a bit, smoothing the blankets over, brushing stray hairs from the sleeping girl’s face. It’s as if she wants to take care of her but isn’t sure how. In the end, she gives you a smile, bids a polite ‘goodbye’ to Sirius, and then exits quietly.

“We never went and found James and Remus,” you turn to look at Sirius once the door closes and he grins.

“I don’t think they ever expected us to.”

“You’re probably right.”

April stirs again and you get up to close the curtains of her four-poster.

“I should go help Robin,” you tell Sirius, and he takes the cue quickly standing up.

“Right. Sorry I kept you up.“

“No, it was fun. Sorry I spilled my drink on you.”

“No, it was fun,” Sirius echoes, and you give him a slight shove.

The two of you walk across the room and out of the door in comfortable silence, and once you’re in the corridor you speak up.

“So, hypothetically,” you start.

“Uh-huh,” Sirius assents immediately.

“If you wanted to... I don’t know... Have breakfast with me tomorrow...”

“Oh?”

“How would you go about that?”

“Hypothetically?” Sirius raises an eyebrow, as if double checking.

“Of course,” you nod.

“Well in this completely made up scenario,” he starts, “I’d probably meet you here at seven and walk you down to the Great Hall.”

You fight a smile. “Well, great.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. Hypothetically I’d definitely be ready by then.”

“Perfect.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

You’ve reached the door that leads out of the common room by now, and you open it up, leaning against the frame. The rest of the castle is dark as it’s well past midnight, and you can hear the quiet sounds of nearby portraits snoring. You’d be worried about him getting caught, but with all the pranks the Marauders have pulled throughout the years, you know for a fact that Sirius Black had plenty of experience sneaking about the castle after curfew.

You watch as he lights his wand with a quick ‘Lumos’ and starts to walk off, but then he hesitates.

“What?” you voice as he turns around, walking back towards you.

He stops right in front of you, looking at you very intensely, scrutinizing every inch of your face. For a brief moment you expect him to lean in and kiss you, but then he speaks.

“I know you brought up motorbikes on purpose. That girl April takes muggle studies with me, and she-”

You quickly shut the door in his face and press your back against it, eyes wide and smiling despite yourself.

You scurry off to help Robin and a few others clean up, spirits high with the promise of having breakfast with Sirius tomorrow morning.

And who knows, maybe by tomorrow he’ll forget all about the motorbike thing. At least, you hope he does.

(He doesn’t.)

.

.

Bonus, the next morning:

“There they are!” James exclaims as you and Sirius approach the table.

“Did he live up to your expectations?” Remus asks you pointedly as you sit down, and you poke your tongue out at him in response.

And then you shrug. “I’ve gotta say, right off the bat I wasn’t impressed.”

“You’re the one who spilled your drink all over me. My poor new shirt! Ruined!”

“Oh, boo hoo. Where will you ever find another plain, white T-shirt?”

“It had sentimental value!”

“And now it has a cute new design! So you’re welcome.”

“You want me to thank you for a stain?”

“It’s a fun souvenir from your first time in a non Gryffindor common room.”

“I should write on it. Big letters: ‘I went to Ravenclaw Tower and all I got was this lousy stained shirt.’”

“At least the stain is purple, it looked nice. Suits you.”

“Are you saying I look good in purple?”

“Sure.”

“So you’re saying I look good?”

“I- I didn’t-” you stammer, and then groan.

“Ah-ha!” Sirius points a finger at you. “Outwitted by a Gryffindor! If only Rowena Ravenclaw could see you now.”

Across the table, Remus and James watch on in dismay.

“Are you already regretting getting them together or is it just me?” James voices.

In response Remus sighs, “Oh, it’s not just you.”

.

.

.

(hey ps for the sake of my sanity let’s just pretend there was no easy simple drying spell they could’ve used)

also: about robin & april

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taglist <3 // @isxfisticated @l-adysansa @tomshollandz

[clarawatson]

It Only Takes a Taste

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x [Fem]!Reader (GN pronouns, fem coded stuff, but I’m not sure where this is going as a larger work so we’ll say Fem!reader to be safe) Summary: You work at a diner. Aaron Hotchner falls in love with you. We’re not kidding around trying to make us all sound like profilers, just accept the diner life, we love it here. W/C: 1498 Warnings: none yet!  A/N:  First chapter of that diner!au i was talking about here! AO3 ps. I forgot to tag people, so: @willowrose99 & @genevievedarcygranger my beloveds. If you want to get added to the tag list jump in my inbox and i’ll try to remember to add tags every time i post. Where am I in this series?  01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

~

When you first meet him it’s 5am and raining. You’re switching over shifts for your friend, Rita, because she’s been doing night shifts at the diner. This late into her pregnancy she shouldn’t be working, not technically, but she needs the money and she’s got insomnia because of the baby, so she works nights now. There’s always someone working with her, be it Joe (who’s got far too much muscle for a chef) or Lola (who can beat anyone to a pulp with a pie tray). In the early hours of the morning a bunch of tatt’ed bikies come and sit and talk about their extracurricular activities (definitely not legal) because one time there was an armed hold up and the police didn’t turn up until two hours after it had happened. People don’t like holding up a diner full of men who eat their own motorbikes for breakfast.

But when he comes in, he’s not any of them. He’s not even one of Lola’s nightly hook-ups (she needs the money, you don’t ask). He’s too well dressed in a grey suit (or is it black? Maybe it’s black), trying desperately to shove his I.D. badge in his pocket. He has a look about him that says ‘I’m part of one of the alphabet soup agencies’. A smile on his face, dead in the eyes, and the weight of the world on his shoulders. He fumbles with his wallet as he squints to read the menu behind the counter. The rain’s stopped dripping from his hair, instead he’s got droplets like his woken with the morning dew upon him.

“Hi love,” Rita coos as she hangs her apron up. She has a look about her that says she’ll eat this man for her breakfast. It’s an effort not to curse those pregnancy hormones some days.

“Go home,” you tell her, swatting her arm. “Put your feet up, rest, sleep while the baby does or some shit.” Rita sticks her bottom lip out and pouts, but she’s making grabby hands for her purse, which is stored where the tea towels used to be. Far too high to reach even when one’s not pregnant. You grab it down for her, ignoring the showering of thank-yous.

The new guy (who is getting more and more handsome by the second) is still looking at the menu. He doesn’t look like he’s going to stop looking and order any time soon.

“Are you sure you’re fine to take the metro in this weather?” you check. She’s rubbing her swollen belly and looking longingly at the booths that haven’t had anyone sit in them for hours now. 

“Wait forty-five minutes and I’ll take you!” Joe yells. He’s slaving over something in the kitchen even though it looks like no one’s ordered in hours. “Wife gave me the car ‘cause of the storm!”

“Forty-five,” you repeat and point her towards the seat that she’s been eyeing off. Rita sighs, nods, then goes out to the seat. “What can I get you?” Usually when addressing the customer you’d add something gentle like ‘sweetheart’ or ‘love’ or ‘dear’ because the customers like it and they come back because they think you’re treating them like a long lost friend.

He bats his dark eyelashes and rubs at his forehead.

“I don’t know.” He sounds tired, balancing on the very edge of exhaustion. He might just fall off into a pit of sleep that he won’t wake up from. Been there, done that. “Do you guys do coffee?”

You laugh and point to the brewed pot beside you. There’s one for each table, free refills with a pie purchase. It’s written in decorative lettering right above you on the blackboard.

“We can put it in a take-away cup. It’s before six so it’s free anyway,” you offer. The last bits a lie, but Joe doesn’t care about a cup or two of coffee going missing. He’ll catch it up later when he flirts with all of the mom’s coming through after school drop off. The new guy nods and pulls out a ten dollar note and shoves it in the tip jar. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he nods anyway. He’s like a broken bobblehead.

“I know.” He goes to the sweets display and searches through it like he’s looking for something specific. Maybe he is. You’ve not seen him in the diner before, and neither has Rita, but maybe he’s one of Lola’s regulars. Maybe you’d judged him wrong. 

“Anything caught your eye?” you ask, leaning over the counter as if you could see it from his angle too. Maybe you do it to show off just that little bit of cleavage. He notices, then looks like he’s done entirely the wrong thing as he licks his lips and blinks like a school boy.

“S-sorry,” he stammers, and Rita giggles. You point at her and give her a stern look, but she just puts her hand over her mouth and lies down on the seat. She’s still silently giggling because her belly keeps bobbing above the table. 

“I just…” he has that exhausted look on his face again.

“Long day at work?” The answer is always yes for the people who work at the alphabet agencies. He nods. “Take a seat, grab some coffee, take a minute. It’s only just gone five, you’ve got time.” 

He nods. He looks like he’s gotten his words all mixed up and they’re just sitting in his mouth, refusing to leave. Tongue tied doesn’t exactly encapsulate what looks like is going on inside his head. He sits at one of the chairs in front on the counter, and takes the coffee cup gratefully as you pass it to him.

He’s definitely an alphabet soup man. He sits in this weird stance like he’s countering his weight against a gun. His shoulders are hunched forward as if he spends hours a day doing paperwork. He’s got a nervous twitch in his hands like sitting still is only going to bring the next case.

You think about making a joke about turning on the cellphone jammer, but last time Joe made that joke the whole place ended up swarming with cops. Absolute disaster. No one’s going to do that one again. 

“Cherry, berry or apple?” you ask, grabbing a plate.

“Sorry?”

“Cherry, berry or apple?” Rita repeats from her booth. “For the pie, sweetheart.”

“Uh, I didn’t—“

“Eat it,” Rita growled. You pull a face at her even though she can’t see you. The guy smiles.

“Apple, please.” Well mannered. Sweet. He looks elated as you slide the apple pie to him and hand him the canned cream.

“Not as good as fresh, but it’s better than nothing.” 

He puts a generous amount on his plate. You half think he might like it more than proper cream. Rita leans up just enough to look at him as he digs in, fanning herself playfully before sighing and collapsing back down.

Joe brings out his tray of caramel salted cookies. They’re thick enough to look like cakes with a gooey caramel center, and they usually sell out pretty quickly. The new guy watches them intently.

“How much trouble am I going to get into if I give those to my son?” 

“How old is he?”

“Ten.”

You smile. That’s a good age. “How much do you hate his teacher?” 

He considers this with a gentle tilt of his head. “Not a lot. I’ll give it to him after school.” He pulls out his wallet again and Joe looks like he’s just hit the mother lode as he grabs one of the cardboard boxes. 

“If you really want to spoil your kid, y/n here can write really pretty on top.” You glare at Joe. He shrugs. He’s covered in cake batter and cookie dough, and smells like pancake batter. He’s always smelling sickly sweet, and like a well lived in home, despite looking like the living embodiment of Gaston. “She does it for my wife all the time.”

The handsome man’s phone buzzes. He checks it, then shovels the rest of his pie in his mouth like a starved man. 

“I have to go,” he says. He gives Joe another ten and tells him to keep the change. Joe looks like he’s about to break into a song and dance. You pour a fresh cup of coffee into a take-away cup and slide it across the counter to him. He thanks you a thousand times over then goes. With his cookie.

“Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Rita screeches the moment the door shut with it’s little jingle. “I’ll-show-him-my-cleavage-but-I-won’t-ask-his-name?? No wonder you can’t get a date!”

“I’ll do it next time.” Not that there’s ever a ‘next time’ for these alphabet soup agents. They’re always looking for the next place to go to so they don’t have a ‘regular place’ that can be ambushed. 

But in a perfect world... you’d see him every day.

[vennilavee]

love lockdown (7)

pairing: levi x reader summary: an anniversary spent together, and an old memory. warnings: wine, cursing, suggestive content, feelings of insecurity, smut (levi gets pegged)- 18+!!! word count: 4.3k a/n: based off of several asks you guys sent me hehe (the ones about the sweater curse, and tbah couple being the winery couple) tbah masterlist

Levi has been knitting for a long time, for years now, since a little before his mother had gotten sick. His mother had been the one to teach him- she had tried to even as a young boy, but he hadn’t really paid attention to it until he was older. He remembers how happy she had been when he had woven his first wool scarf. It’s been several years since his mother passed away, but he still keeps his knack for knitting alive and well.

Besides, it’s a way for him to feel close to his mother.

Levi has his favorite techniques tucked away in his brain and his favorite types of fabrics tucked away in a royal blue box in the corner of his linen closet. His trusty knitting needles also sit in the same box. It’s been a while since he had taken them out.

But he has decided that he’s going to knit you a thick blanket. Who better than to knit a blanket for anyway?

Once you and Levi begin to rack up anniversaries, Levi feels the need to do something different. Neither of you had celebrated monthly anniversaries because you felt no reason to (other than a nice candlelit dinner for your six month anniversary), but this specific moment in time feels different. Mainly because he’s come to the calming realization that you are it for him. And really, it’s a realization that has been brewing warmly for the last few months.

He’ll make it out of sunflower yellow yarn. The color that reminds him of you.

The idea is planted in his head about two months before and he sleeps on it. Before deciding that he wants to do it. It’ll take some time to finish, and he thinks he can have it done in a month or so.

Levi’s favorite way to knit is with a glass of whiskey and with the television turned on for background noise. With every stitch, he finds himself thinking of you- will you like it? He hopes you will- it’s not much, but it’s him.

But he has nothing to worry about, because he knows you’ll appreciate it. It’s part of why he keeps you around, after all.

“Dude, you’re knitting her a blanket? Have you never heard of the sweater curse?” Mike asks incredulously, “I would think you, as a well seasoned member in the knitting community, would know what the sweater curse is…”

“The what,” Levi says flatly. 

“The sweater curse,” Mike repeats with a raise of an eyebrow.

“You repeating it doesn’t tell me what it means. Spit it out.”

“It’s when someone who knits makes a sweater, or anything really, for their significant other. And then the couple inevitably breaks up, because one of them realizes that they put in way more effort than the other,” Mike says. He says it so knowingly, as if it’s fact.

Levi scoffs with a slow roll of his eyes. But still, something uneasy settles in his chest. He tries to quell it before it sprouts and blossoms, and he does a mostly good job of it.

But Mike’s words stay with him for the rest of the day. Even when you had called him to say goodnight from your apartment, it had lingered in the back of his mind.

You could tell something was off- after all, you like to think you could read him like a book. Despite him giving you his full attention, you could tell he was distracted-

“Levi? Is everything okay?” You ask softly, “You seem... preoccupied.”

“Yes,” He says instantly.

With that, you don’t push him. But still you frown a little at him, wondering what could be bothering him. You decide to change the subject. It’s taken a while, but these days, if something was bothering him then he would tell you.

After letting it fester for a bit and after he tried to work through his feelings on his own.

“Hey, can I come over this weekend? I have something for you… And also your bed is comfier than mine.”

“Just say you wanna sleep on my bed. No need for false pretenses.”

“Well, it is a well known fact that your bed is superior to mine…”

You don’t push him and Levi is grateful for that. Maybe he’ll voice his concerns when you come over.

The blanket that Levi is preparing for you still needs about a week of work, but they are coming along nicely if he says so himself. The material is soft- he’s particular about what he works with and for you, he’s even more picky.

With each weave and stitch, he grows a tiny bit unsure about the stupid sweater curse. He curses Mike for putting such a stupid idea in his head. But what if it holds some truth to it? After all, he can vividly remember the instances of breakdowns in communication in the beginning- how many times he was so quick to jump to conclusions rather than talk things out with you.

He’s come a long way since then, but what if the stupid curse holds some truth to it?

His slight spiral takes a backseat when his phone vibrates, a text from you letting him know that you’ve just parked your car and you’ll be inside in a few minutes.

Levi makes his way to the lobby to greet you. Almost every time he does this, you protest, telling him that you can just meet him in his apartment. But every time, he greets you in the lobby whenever you visit him.

It’s small, but it makes your heart sing happily for your chivalrous man.

Levi takes your bags and touches your elbow lightly as you both wait for the elevator to ding. In the privacy of the elevator, you kiss him hello quickly. 

“How was the drive?” Levi asks, rubbing your wrist.

“Felt longer than usual,” You admit, stifling a yawn. Levi hums in acknowledgement and keeps a hovering touch over your elbow as you both walk side by side to his apartment. You allow yourself the luxury of resting your head against his shoulder as he unlocks the front door.

“I would’ve come to pick you up if you were tired,” Levi scolds gently.

You shrug, “I don’t mind the drive, baby.”

Pet names slip easily from your lips when you’re in each other’s privacy and comfort.

“Go change and wash up,” Levi murmurs, patting your ass fondly, “I have dinner ready. I’ll pour you a glass of wine, shiraz good?”

You hum wordlessly and squeeze his arm with a grin. As you fumble through your small duffel bag that you specifically use for whenever you stay over Levi’s place, nerves begin to fizz up in your veins.

You sincerely hope Levi enjoys the small gift you had for him. Pulling on one of Levi’s looser shirts, your favorite purple hoodie and cozy leggings, you pull the gift tucked away in the side of the duffle bag and hide it behind your back.

“Hi,” You mumble softly, molding yourself to his side in the kitchen where he is setting plates for you both, “I have something for you, baby.”

“And what’s that?” Levi asks, bringing you in front of him and pressing your back against the kitchen countertop.

“Sit with me on the couch,” You murmur, tugging his hand in yours gently. Levi sees a small package in your hands as you not discreetly try to hide it from him.

You seem a little nervous, picking at the hem of your hoodie before finally raising your eyes to meet his.

You hope he likes it.

“It’s not much,” You mumble, “But…”

Levi unwraps the blue wrapping paper dotted with little cartoon stars on it with a raised eyebrow. His lips are pursed together in a thin line, wondering what it could possibly be and how he didn’t know you were planning to gift him something.

He thinks about the nearly completed blanket hidden in his bottom dresser drawer.

“It’s getting cold, and I know you don’t like how cold your neck gets in the winter,” You say, watching with wide eyes as he pulls out a rich navy sweater from the wrapping paper. It’s warm to the touch, the material thick and of good quality.

It doesn’t feel store bought.

“Did you- did you make this?” Levi says, almost incredulously, “You made this for me? Since when do you knit?”

“I don’t,” You say sheepishly, “You like knitting and I wanted to make something that you like. Or try to make something at least. If it’s shorter on one arm than the other, mind your business.”

Levi rolls his eyes and pats your head fondly. It had taken you months and hours to figure out what you were doing, with the help of videos and the elderly lady that you bought your fruits from on Saturdays.

He can’t believe you had done this right under his nose. But should he be so surprised, considering he is doing the same?

He wants to tell you about the blanket sitting at the bottom of his drawer, but he refrains. The sweater is a rich, blue that brings out his eyes (at least, according to you).

Levi instantly takes his shirt off to pull the sweater over his torso as you watch with hearts in your eyes. 

“I know it’s not much… Do you-mmph-”

Your sentence is cut off by the abrupt press of his lips on yours. Levi leans over, laying his weight on top of you and kisses you soundly- his tongue slipping in your mouth with the tilt of his head. The material of the sweater tickles your chin and your cheeks. You’re surrounded by him- his kiss, his touch, his distinct love.

Levi knew he was worrying for no reason. The sweater curse might exist for other couples, but not for you both. 

“Thank you,” He mumbles into your neck, his cheeks heating up, “It’s really warm.”

You only beam at him, adoration clear in the edges of your smile. Levi looks handsome, infinitely more handsome than usual since he’s wearing something that you made for him.

Your love looks good on him. 

The memory of the sweater curse is amusing now, when Levi looks back on it. Now, five years later, he’s with you at a winery in celebration of your anniversary. You’re spending the night at a nearby hotel- you had picked the winery and Levi had picked the hotel.

If Levi was a painter, he thinks this would be the perfect picture to paint. You, in a sea of green vines and a clear sky beaming down on you. You, with your glowing skin and mischievous eyes. You, with love sitting in every crevice of your smile that you give him.

Maybe someday he’ll paint it. You, his sunshine personified.

“Mmm, Levi darling. Don’t you think this red wine contains a note of blueberry? Perhaps some...how do you say...raspberry?” You giggle behind your wine glass, the liquid swirling around carelessly.

“It’s a pomegranate wine sweetheart,” Levi says in amusement. You always do this at wine tastings, pretend like you’re an actual sommelier when in reality you and Levi mostly believe that all wine tastes the same. 

“Close enough. It’s in the same family,” You huff.

“Oh is it? Blueberries taste like pomegranates now? What kind of berries have you been eating?”

“It’s called wine. You should try it sometime.”

That earns you a subtle swat of your ass and you giggle happily.

“It’s gorgeous out,” You sigh.

“Yes, it’s almost as gorgeous as you,” Levi says flatly and you nearly throw a slab of cheese at his chest, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Tell me you think I’m pretty.”

“You already know I do.”

“Tell me anyway. It’s my birthday, remember?”

“Your birthday just passed.”

“Okay, and? It’s still my birthday season.”

“You know you’re gorgeous. You know I think you’re gorgeous,” Levi rolls his eyes and then smirks, “But you’re prettiest when your mouth is stuffed full of-“

“I’ll blow you right here in these vines, don’t test me.”

“Stop making empty promises that were both too classy for and finish your damn wine.”

You beam at him and clink your glass noisily. It nearly slips from your grip but you catch it in time.

“We have about an hour until the wine tour. Think we can finish this bottle by then?” Levi murmurs, tugging on your hand for you to settle in his lap. 

The vines you’re seated in are far, far away from the main entrance of the winery. Away from prying eyes. Which is why you both allow for a little touching, a little kissing and a lot of flirting. 

“Who do you take us for?” You mumble and turn your head to kiss him lightly, “We’re wine connoisseurs. Sommeliers, if you will-“

You laugh wildly when Levi playfully nips your neck and steals a sip of your fruity wine. He wraps an arm around your waist, holding you tightly. His long, lithe fingers brush against your bare thigh. It’s funny, even after all these years, he still manages to touch you in a way that feels like magic. 

You both finish your glasses of wine and eagerly fill them both up to finish off the bottle.

Your lips are stained a pretty red, matching Levi’s own lips. You touch his lips with your fingers and he doesn’t even swat your grabby hands away.

“There’s some cheese at the corner of your mouth,” You say flatly, “I’ll just get it off-“

You kiss him and he expects it, already used to your antics. He doesn’t let you get very far, only allowing you to slip your tongue into his mouth and only allowing himself a plentiful grab of your ass.

“Wow, Levi, keep your hands to yourself. We’re in public,” You laugh to yourself, shooting him a pretend glare.

Levi only sighs and pops a cracker and cheese into his mouth, his hands never leaving the curve of your ass. Your giggles are higher pitched than usual, your limbs and your lips a little looser. 

Tipsiness colors your dark eyes when Levi pulls your sunglasses off. “You’re not fooling anybody, sweetheart,” Levi jeers, “You're drunk off your ass.”

“No! I’ve only had like… two glasses!” You protest, grabbing your sunglasses back from him.

Levi looks at you in disbelief but says nothing. He indulges you in taking selfies with him and deciding to change your lockscreen to a new photo of both of you.

He can’t resist kissing your cheek after another half a glass of wine. “Mmm, you’re pretty,” Levi murmurs into your neck, his face warm, “You wore this dress for me?”

It’s one of his favorite dresses and his favorite color on you, and yes, maybe you did wear it because you’re very well acquainted with this information. 

“No,” You roll your eyes and ignore the pinch to your waist as he tightens his arm around you, “I wore it for the wine tour guide. She’s really pretty, I might ask for her number-”

You swat his shoulder when he has the audacity to bite your neck in response. “I’d call you a vampire but you’re looking more golden than usual, my love,” You poke him, “That’s what happens when you get more than two minutes of sun per day-”

“You’ve got a mouth on you today, huh?”

“Gonna fuck the attitude outta me or what?”

“Tempting, but I’ve got wines to taste.”

Once the wine tour starts and you both get progressively more and more tipsy, blaming it on both of your affinities for wine, you make grabby hands for Levi’s cheese and crackers. He glares at you, close to pushing your hand away, but you stick your tongue out at him and swipe them anyway.

“God, fuck, you know what would taste good with this wine,” You whisper (but really it’s more of a low groan).

“What?”

“Fuckin’ Thai food,” You moan, cracker crumbs sticking to the side of your mouth, “Fuck, babe, I could go for some pad see ew…”

You huff, a dreamy sort of look in your eyes at the thought of it.

“You’re interrupting the wine guide,” Levi scolds, swatting your thigh. Though his eyes are starting to unfocus as the heat of your thigh feels so nice in his palm. He thinks he’ll leave his hand there for a bit.

“This tastes like I just dunked my head into a crisp apple and sucked the juice out of it,” You murmur, giving him a mild cider.

“Like in a good way?” Levi whispers.

“Duh.”

The wine tour consists of a few other couples and groups, but you and Levi keep to yourselves at a corner table as you give each wine you taste a rating. They all begin to blend in with each other after each taste, and pretty soon, you’re heavily leaning against Levi. The scent of his warm, spicy cologne curls around you and envelopes you in a hazy daydream filled with shades of grey.

“What?” Levi whispers when he sees you staring (a little dopily, he might add).

“Nothin’,” You grin, “Wanna nap at the hotel after this?”

“Can’t believe we’re getting drunk just to nap together,” Levi scoffs but he squeezes your hand.

“We have reservations later,” You remind him, “We both need to rally before dinner, honey.”

“Are you ready, baby?” You purr, stroking Levi’s hair back and leaning over to kiss his forehead. A pretty peachy pink blush colors his cheeks and creeps down to his neck. You tug his bottom lip out from the grip of his teeth.

A thin sheen of sweat coats his skin. You grin salaciously with hungry eyes and lick a stripe up his neck. His breath hitches, tilting his neck to the side a bit and you kiss his neck even over his pretty necklace with a green pendant hanging on the gold chain.

It’s pretty because it’s your necklace.

The softness of your lips over his skin- his chiseled chest, his lower abs- is a nice compliment to your fingers gently skimming his sides. You sit back, looking down at him from above. You lick your lips to moisten your suddenly dry mouth.

You’ve seen Levi like this, pliant and glistening for you too many times to count. But still, the sight of him flusters you and sends an instant rush of wetness flooding your pussy.

You adjust the straps of the black harness around your hips, tugging at the pretty purple silicone cock that hangs heavy between your legs. Levi tracks your movement with blown out eyes and a hand wrapped around his own thick, dripping cock.

“Did you like my fingers, baby,” You murmur, letting your hands travel up the expanse of his chest. His muscles tense with your touch, goosebumps arising instantly.

Levi hums, reaching for your hands and rubbing your knuckles. 

“Mmm, words, my love,” You mumble, pressing a thumb to his plump bottom lip. His hot breath warms your finger when he opens his mouth to reply with a soft ‘yes, sweetheart’, his voice heady and low. Broken and slow with desire for you.

You pull away from his lips, ignoring the way arousal swirls in your belly and your clit throbs with how needy he looks already. You reach forward and stroke his cock languidly and gather his wetness over your thumb and press your thumb to his bottom lip again.

“Open, baby,” You say, your own voice sounding a little raspy, “Open up.”

Levi parts his lips and allows your thumb into his mouth and he swirls his tongue over it, tasting himself on his lips. You groan at the sight with hooded eyes, wishing for some friction over your clit.

You look like a vision hovering over him- your legs tanned and glowing, eyes zeroed in on him, looking at him like you want to absolutely ruin him. You are a goddess, and he’ll follow you wherever you might take him.

Especially when you slide into him slowly, deliciously, as he savors the slight burn as it dissipates into pleasure. Your grip is tight over his hips, warmth and electricity spreading from your fingertips to his belly.

You’ll ruin him, ruin the silky navy sheets below him, steal his soul from his cock. All of the above. Anything you give him, he’ll take. He’ll take it with open lips and open legs.

It doesn’t take much for you to find a rhythm with your palms flat on the sheets on either side of Levi. Arousal licks your insides at every gaze of his heated cheeks and his murky, grey eyes. He’s openly vocal with you, panting and mewling into the sheets, alternating between fisting them and holding your hips with a searing grip.

“God, baby, look at you,” You whine, leaving open mouthed kisses to his chest while still rocking your hips into him, “Is this okay, baby? I love you-”

Levi groans and nods, wrapping his legs around your waist for a deeper grind of your cock. He palms your tits, squeezing in his large hands and moans into the space between you both.

“Are you wet,” Levi asks in a strangled voice.

“Fuck yeah,” You grin, thrusting your hips in a slow grind into him. His cock is throbbing, standing tall and pretty for you. You stroke him slowly, matching your thrusts with your strokes.

It takes coordination, but you’re used to it.

“Wanna sit on my face?” Levi murmurs, squeezing your thighs with his heavy hands. He’s close, so close, and you both know it- his thighs begin to quake slightly. And he has the familiar look in his face when he’s about to cum, his eyes go dark, lips parted and his eyebrows are furrowed into a tight line. 

“Mmm, maybe later,” You reply instantly, wanting to see him come undone by your hands and by your cock. By you, by the steadfast beat of love that surrounds you both and envelopes you on this silky sweet cotton candy cloud.

Or maybe it’s just the sheets.

“Is my baby close?” You purr, dark eyes swirling, “My baby’s gonna cum?”

“Fuck,” Levi groans, throwing his head back onto the bed when you thrust into him particularly harshly. The column of his pretty throat is exposed to you and you lean forward, his cock still in one hand. Sucking a mark on his clavicle, you nip his earlobe and his breath hitches as you make your way down his chest.

“Your cock is so big in my hands,” You marvel softly, looking down, “You’re so big, baby…So good to me. My big, strong, sexy man.”

And apparently, that’s what he needs to finally cum, a long, drawn out groan of your name slipping out of his mouth as he shakes in your hold. Ribbons of cum paint your hand and his lower abs, some of it even spraying on your harness.

“You’re messy,” You tease and Levi only hums in acknowledgement, “Are you okay? I’ll go get you water and clean you up, sweetheart.”

Levi doesn’t move, only shifting on his side tiredly. You make your way to the fancy, marbled bathroom to unclasp the harness and clean yourself up. Your pussy still throbs, achingly so, but that’s the last thing on your mind.

He calls your name gruffly, voice a little hoarse. You return to him with a glass of water and wrap your arms around him from behind, kissing the back of his neck gently. Your fingers thread over his sore muscles, his abdomen and his thighs and you rub his scalp soothingly with a deft touch.

“Are you okay?” You murmur, hugging him close to your chest.

“Yes,” Levi says instantly, “More than okay.” He turns in your arms and pushes his head into your bare chest, inhaling deeply and innocently grabs your ass. Just to hold you close- his touch is mostly unassuming. He likes being close to you, touching you, just breathing with you after times like this when you steal his soul with your cock.

You glance down at him and smile, pushing his dark hair away from his forehead and press a kiss to his sweaty skin. Levi nuzzles his cheek further into your chest, a content hum rumbling in his chest. His thigh brushes against your aching core and you force yourself to stifle a groan. But he catches it, because he always does.

Your attentive man.

“You didn’t cum,” Levi states, letting his hand drift downwards to palm your sensitive pussy. 

“We have later for that,” You mumble, swatting his hand away but he doesn’t listen. He presses himself closer to you, sinking his lips into your neck and rubbing your clit lazily.

His long, lithe fingers slide into your wetness easily and you huff into his ear. “We have now for that,” Levi murmurs, nipping your jaw as presses his finger into your dripping core, “Slow with me, baby.”

It doesn’t take much for you to cum, just a few strokes of his fingers in you and a few slow circles of his thumb on your clit. It hits you slowly, crawling up your toes before curling in your belly in a warm stroke of flames. It’s unhurried as it blooms in your belly, allowing you to savor every second of it.

“Sit on my face later,” Levi says, pulling you closer into his side. You throw a leg up around his hip and hum in agreement. You press a kiss to his clavicle, the slow of his heartbeat in tandem with the gentleness of your fingertips rolling through his hair.

“Happy anniversary, my love,” You mumble, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“Our anniversary was on Friday,” Levi says with a turn of his lips, earning himself a swat to his chest, “Happy anniversary, pretty girl.” 

Levi kisses your forehead, his knuckles brushing your cheek before dipping down for another kiss. 

“Cheers to many more,” You say, smiling into his kiss. He replies by deepening the kiss and pressing your back to the bed, allowing himself to drop on top of you. 

Levi’s touch has always made you feel infinite, and this time is no different.

tags: @simpingmaize​ @captainchrisstan​ @kentobean​ @alrightberries​ @melancholicmonologue​ @regalillegal​ @castellandiangelo​ 

[asphalt-cocktail]

okay sin sunday !! what if reader is feeling really self-conscious and one of the beatles (or all of them 👀👀) just worship the reader’s body and tell them how gorgeous they are,,, and make them cum like 4 times 😳

Oh my god I love this idea! I’ve been thinking about writing something like this so I’m excited you suggested it. This turned out WAAAYYYY longer than I expected. But if you want me to write another one where they have a proper fuck let me know! Because I also have that idea brewing 👀👀👀

Warnings: group sex, smut, oral(f), fingering, some body shaming and confidence issues, body worship

Your ears burned with embarrassment and anger as you pushed your way onto the plane through the crowd of people.

“I can’t believe they’d let someone who looks like that work for them.” The crew of girls snickered as they talked about you, oblivious to the fact that you were in ear shot.

The burning in your ears traveled up your cheeks and spread down the back of your neck as you stood in the tiny plane bathroom and stared at yourself in the mirror. You poked and prodded at your face, your big nose, and lopsided eyes then you smushed your belly in your fingers and let out a sigh. Maybe they were right.

“Hoy, you almost done in there love?” You could hear ringo knocking from the other side and quickly composed yourself.

“Yeah I’ll be out in a minute.” You answered back shortly before you exited.

The rest of the plane ride you sat some distance away from the boys, using the excuse of paperwork and the fact that you needed to get some sleep to not arise any suspicions.

After the plane landed you holed yourself up in the hotel room.

“Don’t you want to have a drink with us?” Paul’s eyes pleaded with you. It was tradition that after you landed you all sat down for a card game and drinks before sleeping the first night in your new hotel room.

You shrugged your shoulders “nah I’m kind of beat after the last flight.” Paul looked at you with a pouty expression and the way johns eyes narrowed as he looked at you told you he didn’t buy it. But neither of them said anything

The following evening as you all rushed to enter the the hotel after a business day of interviews and photo shoots you could hear girls again talking about you, “oh my god those shoes?” and “god can you believe they let her leave with her hair like that?”hammered in your ears.

Your throat felt tight and your eyes burned, a little hiccup left your mouth and you rubbed your stinging eyes with the palm of your hand. George looked at you and squinted his eyes as you all waited for the elevator, “are you... are you crying?” He asked loudly.

You blinked hard and felt hot tears run down your cheeks “no.” You said weakly and quickly rushed I to the elevator as the doors slid open. You crossed your arms over your chest and your lips pressed into a tight frown.

“What’s wrong?” John pressed, putting an arm in your shoulder.

You shrugged it off and walked off the elevator, thankful to hear it ding and see the doors open to the floor your room was on, “I’m fine.” You hiccuped quickly walking off.

When you got to your room door, you fumbled you with your keys before you finally broke and let out a soft sob, hoping the boys were far enough away that they couldn’t hear.

“Oh, come on love, we only want to help.” Ringo said staring at you with his droopy blue eyes.

Your lip quivered and you let yourself in, the boys followed shutting the door and turning towards you. You covered your face with your hands feeling Johns firm arms embracing you in a tight hug. His broad body surrounded you, making you feel comforted and protected from the mean words that dug I to your brain.

“I feel ugly.” You choked out, crying and leaving tear stains on Johns suit jacket.

You could feel their eyes burning into your back as John tried to soothe you, rubbing your back softly. The awkward silence told you that they didn’t know how to react, “what makes you think that?” You could hear George swallow thickly after he spoke, like he was trying to choose his words with military precision.

“The girls outside always say bad things about me.” You said finally pulling away and moving to sit on the edge of your bed, John followed holding your hand in your lap. You played with his fingers, tracing them and admiring the callouses and roughness of his palms.

“What girls?” Paul asked

“She means the ones downstairs.” George answered

You sheepishly looked away from them, “I don’t know why you guys keep me around, I’m no good.” You huffed out.

Paul gaped at you, “what do you mean no good?” He scoffed.

“Well there was the time I told you the wrong time for the interviews back in New York and we showed up on the wrong day, or the time I forgot ringos cymbals at the venue, or when I tripped over your guitar stand in the studio and knocked all the papers over.” You whimpered softly and rubbed your eyes, feeling more tears forming, “you guys should really get someone prettier who is more organized.”

John squeezed your hand, “a forgotten cymbal and some messed up papers are hardly a thing to get fired over. Hell Neil didn’t strap our guitars down and they busted all down the high way and we didn’t even fire him.” His hand cupped your cheek and forced you to look at him, “and don’t ever say you aren’t pretty.” The way he stared at you told you he was deadly serious.

You swallowed thickly and placed your hand over his, “Brian wouldn’t have hired you if he didn’t think you were worth it. You know how much of a perfectionist he is.”

Ringo hummed in agreement, “I knkw it’s easier said than done, but don’t listen to those girls out there. They don’t have anything on you okay!”

Paul nodded his head, “very easy on the eyes, love” he said and gave you a quick wink.

Your face felt hot and you quickly looked away and played with the hem of your blazer, rubbing the stiff fabric between your fingers, “I don’t know, they always say my hair looks bad and that I’m ugly or my nose is too big.” You still felt bad thinking about their words.

“Well do they know that you wake up two hours before everyone else to take your hair out of your funny little curlers every morning?” John asked

Your face whipped over to him, “how do you know I do that?”

Johns face flushed and he shrugged, “I hear you rummaging about when we get those fancy villas.” He admitted. He swallowed thickly and looked at the three other men.

The silence told you that they were conversing. It was something that only they seemed to be able to do with eachother, talk with looks they only they understood.

Paul cleared his throat before the silence could get uncomfortable, “here why don’t you lay back and if you wanted we could show you. You know how much we appreciate you.”

You could feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck and spreading across your cheeks, “what, what do you mean?” You asked.

John put his hand on your shoulder, “let us take care of you, yeah?” His eyes searched your face for any uncertainty.

“We can stop anytime you like.” Ringo added quickly.

You swallowed thickly and nodded your head, “Okay, I can do that” you said more to reassure yourself that you weren’t going crazy.

John sat back against the plush hotel pillows and patted his legs, encouraging you to settle between them. You hesitated for a moment and looked at the three men standing in your room trying to decide if they were taking the piss. The nischevious glint in Paul’s eyes wasnt the same as when he and John were scheming, no it was something you’ve never seen before.

You crawled over and laid against John’s chest, admiring how his body was soft and firm. You let out a shaky gasp feeling his hands rubbing your arms and brushing your hair out of the way, he tipped your chin back with his forefinger and placed a timid kiss on your lips.

The kiss was nothing you’d expect from big tough John. It was soft and sweet, like he was kissing for you to enjoy and only you. You let out a soft whimper and craned your neck at an awkward angle, wanting to take in more of him. He pulled away and smiled devilishly at you seeing your flushed face and dazed eyes.

All at once you felt the bed dip around you and you suddenly remembered there were three other people in the room. You felt a wave of embarrassment begin to wash over you.

Paul nudged your legs open with his knees and you hesitantly spread them open, now overwhelminlgly aware of how your cloths had begun to stick to your skin from sweat. When did it get so hot?

You reached to unbutton your blouse but your hands were caught between George’s long slender fingers. He gave you a kind smile and worked your buttons, placing soft kisses down your chest as each button exposed more and more of your skin. Your stomach twitched and you saw George hovering over your exposed tummy “don’t” you quickly said in a panicked voice.

George nuzzled his face against your soft tummy and kissed it, “please don’t be nervous, you’re gorgeous.” You could feel his lips moving against your skin and shivered at his words.

The three men removed the remainder of your cloths with soft touches and kind glances that reminded you this was about you, not them; and soon you were bare before them.

Paul slipped to the side while Ringo took his place. Paul placed little kisses along the outside of your spread legs while Ringo’s fingers lightly raised up them, the cool metal of his rings burning against your hot flesh. You squirmed as they both got closer and closer to your core. You watched with anticipation as both boys hungrily eyed you.

To your surprise Ringo was the first to act, swiping on of his thick fingers and gathering your slick on them before he inserted one into you. You let out a weak sigh and your walls twitched when you realized that George, John, and Paul also let out soft sounds of satisfaction and watched as Ringo’s thick finger pumped in and out of you with ease.

Your mind began to swim, feeling Paul kissing and sucking on your thighs and hips before kissing the top of your mound. Your hips jolted with surprise and your squirmed feeling the tip of his tongue expertly flick against your swollen clit.

You bit your lip hard and struggled to keep quiet, while staring at the two men at your lower half. Paula tongue traced rapid shapes against your clit as Ringk inserted another finger, “Jesus Christ,” you hissed out loudly, your back arching against John and your shoulders pressing into him.

John hummed and nuzzled your neck, kissing snd sucking on the sensitive skin, “love those pretty little sounds you make.” He whispered heavily in your ear. You shivered and tried to maintain your composure, but all sensibility was lost upon feeling George’s rough hands kneading your breasts and peppering your collarbone and chest with wet kisses.

Your mind began to swim with overstimulation, George’s hot mouth sucking and swirling your nipples against his tongue while Johns hand eagerly took to pinching and twisting the neglected ones while he whispered things that would make even the most foul mouthed sailors blush. Paul’s talented tongue flicking and lapping at your clit while ringos thick fingers pumped in and out of your soft wet walls.

George trailed kisses up your neck and jaw before placing an opened mouthed kiss on you, it made your toes curl feeling his tongue rubbing against yours while John kissed your neck. You brought your hand up to rub George through his tailored suit pants. He broke the kiss and lightly pulled your hand away, “this is about you” he said softly. He was so close you could feel his lips lightly brushing against yours as he spoke snd feel his hot breath on your face. “You look gorgeous like this, you knkw that right” he asked after placing a quick succession of lingering kisses in your lips, “taking us so well, suck a good girl, bloody brilliant”

Your face scrunched up and your walls twitched around ringos fingers. You were close. Heat began to build in your belly and your thighs flexed, “I-”you could hardly recognize your voice as you struggled to find your words.

“You gonna come for us?” Ringo asked, the pace of his fingers speeding up.

You let out a breathy whine and bucked your hips. Your hands traveled from George, to John, to Paul, unsure of where to ground yourself. Finally you settled with one hand in Paul’s hair, pushing his face closer to you while the other hand gripped John’s hand tightly. Paul’s lips lewly smacked as he sucked your clit and he let out a satisfied him, “Oh fuck” you huffed out.

Your breathy mains climbed in pitch and your back arched until suddenly your mind went blank and your skin felt like TV static. Your walls clenched around Ringos fingers as he and Paul worked you through your orgasm. Your mind felt fogged over like the morning after too much drink and your thighs felt sticky from your mess.

John, or was it George? Someone kissed your temple and you let out a content sigh, much too exhausted in that moment to open your eyes and check.

“I think you’ve killed her,” John said, cheeky as ever.

You hummed and arched your brow as it to say “I’m still here” and lazily opened your eyes.

The first face you saw was Paul, his pouty lips red and wide eyes hanging heavy as he placed an opened mouthed kiss on your lips. Paul’s were almost analytical, You could taste yourself on his mouth and moaned into the kiss. He eagerly swallowed up your sounds before pulling away and kissing the tip of your nose. A gesture so innocent in comparison to your prior actions.

You hadn’t noticed ringo left the room until he returned to the room with a warm washcloth. As attentive as ever, he cleaned your mess from your thighs. As he finished you grabbed his hand and pulled him forward, the way he kissed was wildly different from John, Paul, and George. The way John kissed you was tender, he kissed you for your pleasure while George’s were fiery and passionate. Paul was analytical, like he was always trying to get one step ahead of you as though it were a competition. But ringo he was soft, his mouth moved against yours with care, for a moment you forgot the rest of the boys were in the room. He smiled for a moment and pulled away.

Once your light and airy high passed you sat up from John’s chest. John looked at you “i don’t to ever hear you say bad things about yourself again.” He said like a mother scolding a child. His serious facade passed and a ghost of a smile played on his lips “if you do we might have to do this again.”

You smiled and let out a small laugh, “i don’t know if I’ve gotten the point across maybe I could use another reminder later.”

George grinned, “we’ll have to check with our fab assistant to see if it fits into our schedules.”

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #29: Fade In: Katsuki Bakugou

On a late-night movie date, you and Bakugou have the theatre to yourselves. You take advantage. 

Characters: Katsuki Bakugou / f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!), aged-up characters, overworked pro hero Bakugou, movie theatre (public) sex, lots of dirty talk, Bakugou’s sailor mouth

Notes: Today’s prompt was “Dirty Talk.” The premise is inspired by real-life events that are FAR more innocent than I’m making them sound. 😂  I’m enjoying writing all of these little Bakugou bits! Let me know if you want to see more of our grumpy boi after Kinktober.

Kinktober Masterlist

The city is buzzing with life, even at 10pm on a Tuesday.

You drag Bakugou out of the train station, practically hauling him up the stairs and dashing across the street in the last few seconds of a walk light. A few months ago, you’d have been amazed that he’s even holding your hand in public, but these days he’s quite happy to- even if he pouts the whole time.

It’s a warmer night for the season, so you’ve got on something cute- with a playful little skirt swishing around your bare thighs. You figure there’s no better night to push your comfort zone than one you plan to spend sitting in a dark theatre.

Comfort zone or not, you feel cute. Especially given how many glances you’ve caught Bakugou stealing at your legs.

You’re meeting this late on a weeknight because it’s the only chance that Bakugou actually has to see you. He’s been busting ass night and day at the agency lately, and he’s been pulling weekends for months. You’ve got work in the morning, but you’re so thrilled to actually go out with him you don’t mind.

It’s not like your job is particularly exciting these days, anyway.

You file into the theatre, snag a popcorn to share, and take your seats. You’re the first ones in the theatre, which doesn’t surprise you- this movie’s been out for a while, and it’s not exactly a primetime showing.

Besides, you’re early.

You catch up a little, taking handfuls of buttery popcorn. Bakugou does not like taking on the role of sidekick, but he’s way ahead of the rest of his classmates even landing a job like that at twenty-one. Still, everyone knows that sidekicks are some of the most overworked heroes in the game.

It’s not until the theatre goes dark and the previews start that you realize. Nobody else is coming.

Holy shit.

“Are we seriously the only ones in this theatre right now?” You turn to Bakugou in nervous disbelief. He gives an absent little shrug, reaching for more popcorn.

“I’ll still kick your ass if you start texting halfway through.” He shoots you a wicked smirk, stroking an indulgent palm affectionately over your thigh. You’ve still got goosebumps from the chill outside, but fresh ones race across your skin when he touches you.

It’s been a while. For both of you.

“Be honest.” His voice is gruff in your ear, cutting deeper than the noisy previews that flash across the giant screen. “You wore that skirt for me, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t wear it for anyone,” you chide. You rest your palm on top of his. His fingers curl against your thigh- and yours curl around his.

“So fuckin’ cute,” he growls. He nips at the lobe of your ear and you suppress a gasp. “Looked so naughty, stickin’ out the bottom of your jacket. Like you were walkin’ around the city with nothin’ on.”

“Stop,” you chide, heat rushing to your face. “We’re-“

“What? In public?”

Whatever witty retort you had planned dies in your throat. You’re the only ones in here. It’s dark. The doors are shut. The music is loud.

You’re not sure how long it’s actually been since they needed someone up there in the projection booth, but you’re pretty certain it’s empty.

Bakugou slips an arm around your shoulders and tugs you in close. He nuzzles the spot where your ear meets your jaw, then tilts his chin up and nibbles at the same place.

It’s getting harder to say no to him. Not that you were ever trying very hard to begin with.

You relax into his affections as the previews end and the movie itself rolls. The opening credits begin with a burst of music as you turn your head and surrender yourself to a searing kiss. Bakugou twines his fingers into your hair and tugs gently, tilting your head back for access to the bare column of your throat.

“D’you have… any idea… how long… I’ve been thinking about this,” he gasps into your skin. You try not to whimper. It doesn’t work.

Bakugou’s rough palm slides up the tender skin of your inner thigh. You part your legs just a little, encouraging him. His fingertips brush beneath the hem of your skirt. You’re already damp and heated, ready for him after what feels like a lifetime apart.

You’ve seen each other plenty over the past couple of weeks, but it was always in passing. You’d drop by the agency at lunch (and embarrass the shit out of him in the process), he’d come home to you exhausted on weeknights and pass out seconds after falling into bed. He’s so fucking overworked these days it’s a wonder he’s got any libido left at all.

You’re going to take what you can get.

“Fuck,” he snarls as his mouth trails back to your ear. “You’re wet for me already, sweetness? I knew you were into this kinda shit. So dirty, sweetheart, so fuckin’ naughty.”

“Katsuki,” you plead. He’s running his mouth especially hard tonight. It’s doing more for you than you’d care to admit.

“That’s it, baby,” he continues. “I know it makes you sloppy when I talk to you like this. C’mere, sweetness, lemme take care of you.”

He slips his arm down to your waist and drags you over the armrest into his lap. You don’t fight him, letting your thighs spread across his jeans. Immediately, he anchors one powerful arm around your waist to hold you in place, sliding his other hand between your thighs and pushing your underwear to the side.

“God,” he gasps against your shoulder as he sinks two fingers into your tight heat. “I’ve missed your pussy. I’ve missed fuckin’ you so goddamn much.”  He draws his fingers back and pushes them in again, settling into a slow rhythm. You’re right there with him, rolling your hips smoothly into his touch.

He’s hard already, stiff and excited down one leg of his jeans. You felt it the second he tugged you onto his thighs, and you’re not shy about rubbing yourself against it.

“That’s it, baby,” he growls. “You want it? You want my cock, right here in the fuckin’ theatre? You do, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you find yourself whining. You never used to be adventurous. Not before Katsuki came along. But he makes you wild.

He lets go of you and you lean forward a little, letting him scoot backwards to fumble with his fly. He unzips, pulling his thick cock out and hiking your skirt up. You feel it, heated and already dripping with precum, against your ass.

With one hand braced on your hip, he lifts you. You tug your underwear out of the way and hold it there. As you sink down on him, he lets his head fall back against the seat with a feral groan.

“God damn, sweetness. Fuck, you’re as fuckin’ tight as ever. So goddamn wet for me. That’s it, ride my fat fucking cock. Shit, you really know how to milk it outta me, don’t you?”

You start to rock your hips atop his, keeping the movements subtle. As you let go of your panties, your skirt flops back down around your thighs, concealing your union. Bakugou keeps one hand braced on your hip while the other roams, tugging your shirt out of the top of your skirt and slipping his palm over your chest.

“Not… gonna last long,” he warns tightly behind you.

“Me neither,” you pant. It’s been too long for both of you.

Bakugou loses patience and lifts you by the hips, planting his feet on the sticky theatre floor and rutting up into you with a sloppy slap slap slap. He pants hard into your shoulder, sucking and biting at your tender skin and growling more filth into your ear.

“That’s better. God, I really needed to fuck you, baby. Look at you. You’re gonna cum so fast on just my cock. You’ve been holdin’ out on me this whole time, huh?”

He’s right. You’re tipping your head back against his shoulder and riding out the waves of pleasure he pumps into you. He knows your body well- he can feel the way your thighs begin to tense and shake as you get ready to cum.

“Fuck, Katsuki… b-baby, I…” Your voice dies in your throat as your peak hits you, tight and silent. You dig your fingers into the fabric armrests on either side of your hips and grip him tight, descending into shivers atop him.

“Jesus Christ, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight.” Bakugou’s voice is beginning to break, too, but he keeps it down hard and growls softly from the depths of his chest. “Wet little pussy drippin’ out all over me. God, you’re such a mess. Fuck, I can’t wait to fill you up. Gonna put so much cum in your belly, sweetness. Gonna make you so messy for me. Getting so fuckin’ close, baby, oh, shit, oh g-gah…”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence either. He cums hard beneath you, intense and sudden and fast. The wet burst of him inside you is harder than you anticipated but you let him fill you. You let him fuck out the pleasure and you let him collapse, spent, into the plush chair behind him.

His jeans are a mess. Your underwear is, too. Slowly, you work your way off of him and he tucks himself back into his pants. You settle into the pleasant weight of each other. To your immense surprise, nobody finds you. Nobody discovers what you’ve done. You leave the theatre without incident and later, when he takes you home, he fucks you twice more.

The next morning, your coworker slinks eagerly up to you in the break room as you’re grabbing your first cup of bitter office-brew. You didn’t get much rest last night.

“So?” She nudges you, grinning wickedly. “What’d you think?”

“Of what?” You eye her sleepily.

She rolls her eyes. “Duh. The movie. How was it?”

“Oh.” Your brain freezes up. You panic. Think of something to say. Quick. “It was… great. Such a cute ending.”

Quite an answer, considering it was a horror movie she’d recommended yesterday.

[yoongisleftearring]

Moonlight

-> Pairing: yoongi x reader

-> Genre: angst, fluff

-> Word Count: 1,347

-> Warnings: two sleep-deprived sad babies

× in which you have trouble sleeping and the only thing that calms you is the music of the mystery pianist down the street.

====================================

Walking at night was your form of therapy, a way for you to relieve the tension that cramped your shoulders. You could feel the stiffness within your body fade with each step, letting out a sigh of relief at the feeling. Walking through the streets of Seoul at night with nothing to illuminate your path other than flickering streetlights and the moonlight wasn't smart. You knew that, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care. You knew what lurked in the darkness but it didn't faze you. You could hear laughter from a neighboring street, people just beginning their nights hopping from bar to bar you assumed.

You didn't pay much attention to them as you walked, focusing on the sound of your steps on the sidewalk. The constant melody reiterated your solitude. The muffled playing of a piano becoming more apparent the closer you drew to one particular building. The building you find yourself standing in front of almost every night, admiring the soothing music of the instrument as your brain fumbled to theorize who the person was who played the sweet tunes this late at night. Maybe they are like you, a mind too plagued by thoughts to sleep. The only certain thing, they were talented. Normally you would listen to the delicate music for a few minutes, then leave. The instrument filling your thoughts enough for you to be content enough to go back to your apartment. Today, for whatever reason, you decided to stay longer, taking a seat on the steps outside of the house where the music originated. You don't know how long you stayed there, the musician had you transfixed on their every note, so much so you had barely registered that the vibrations of the instrument had stopped flowing through the air around you. Furrowing your brows in disappointment, but, you suppose the musician had to stop at some point.

With your back to the door of the house, you didn't notice the creak coming from the door as a figure slipped outside. "You don't seem to be one for sleeping." A low voice sounded from behind you as you spin your head towards the voice. A man, in his mid-twenties you would guess, stood in front of you, his pale complexion relaxed as he looks down at you. You didn't speak, too caught off guard by the arrival of the man. He took this as an invitation to take a seat beside you. You kept your eyes focused on him as he smiled at you subtly.

"How-how do you know that?" You stuttered, shaking your head at the nervous habit. The man in front of you looked at you in confusion, almost as if you should know how he knows that.

"You come every night. How could I miss you?" The man spoke with a deep but soft tone, his brown eyes peering into yours, they looked sharp, analyzing but warm. You shook your head slightly, still not understanding what the man was saying.

"So, you-"

"Are the one who plays the piano so late at night," He chuckles and you widen your eyes in realization, your surprise was evident. After all of the scenarios you had imagined and the countless faces you had given to your mystery pianist, you weren't expecting him. "Yeah, it seems like you aren't the only one who isn't a fan of sleep." He chuckles darkly and you offer a half-smile in understanding.

"You clearly like the piano but that's the only thing I know about you. You have a name?" You study the man's face to detect his motives, you couldn't detect any maliciousness and honestly, you couldn't find the harm in disclosing minimal personal information with a stranger.

"Y/n. You're really talented." The man smiled bashfully at the compliment, his eyes dropping to his hands as he played with the threads of his jumper.

"Yoongi," He spoke as he wrapped his arms around his body, only now did you notice how chilly the night air had become. "Are you not cold?" Yoongi spoke looking over your body to the thin layers of fabric that you wore, he was sure that you would be colder than him.

"Kind of, I'm okay though." You smiled up at him, meeting his eyes he knew you were colder than you were letting on.

"Come on, I'm not having my number one fan freezing to death on the steps of my house." Yoongi chuckled as he stood up, dusting himself off before holding out a hand for you to take. You stared at the extended hand, his fingers were pale like him, they were slender and boney, a result of years of playing the piano you theorized. You placed your cold hand in his warmer one and he gently pulled you so you were standing facing him. "Only if you want to." His cheeks heated up slightly as he lifted his hand to run over the skin at the back of his neck. You nodded, slightly endeared by his sudden nervousness. He stepped into his house and you followed close behind, your eyes taking in each detail. The space was cluttered with old books and music sheets. He led you into the living room and told you to sit on the couch while he brewed coffee for you both.

While he was gone your eyes roamed around the room, examining each detail. You noticed that there weren't any pictures of family hanging on the walls, instead, the only framed photo being of Yoongi and six other men, each with wide smiles on their faces as they started into the camera. The picture radiated happiness resulting in a smile of your own.

"My friends. That was a good day, Jimin had a performance and we all went out to celebrate afterward." Yoongi snickered slightly at the fond memory as he handed you a mug, taking a seat on the couch, you hesitantly doing the same.

"Is Jimin a musician too?" You asked, taking a sip of the coffee and maybe it was the delirium caused by the lack of sleep but you swore you have never tasted better. The man shook his head in response.

"No, a dancer," You nodded and your eyes flickered across the room once more. "So, what brings you around here so late?" Yoongi speaks.

"Couldn't sleep." You utter simply. And it was the truth, you couldn't, although you weren't in the mood to go into the details with the musician at the moment.

"And every other night?" The man questions and you just nod your head in response, his eyes meet yours and you could see the understanding swirling around in them.

"And you? A fan of receiving noise complaints from your neighbors?" You smile as you lift your cup to your mouth. The man chuckles in response.

"It's what I live for," The man smiles wide, his gummy smile causing you to smile as you watch him. "Couldn't sleep either." His smile dies down into something more somber like there's more meaning behind those words than the two of you could comprehend at that moment. You nod, yawning. It had been a while since you had felt tired but even after consuming a coffee, the lack of sleep seemed to hit you.

"Seems like that's it for tonight," Yoongi speaks as he lifts the empty cup from your hands, watching your eyes become heavier. You both walk to the door, standing without an idea of how to leave this. You reached for the door handle but a warm palm was placed over yours, you turned your head toward the man, his dark eyes piercing into yours. "I'll be playing again tomorrow." You smiled shyly, your cheeks heating up. You pulled the door open, his hand dropping back to his side.

"Goodnight, Yoongi." You spoke as you made your way outside, wrapping the black scarf he had given your closer around your neck.

"Goodnight, Y/n."  The man spoke softly, watching your retreating figure disappear into the night.

[thosewickedlovelies]

AND THEY WERE WALLMATES: Banana Bread (part 1)

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: probably T for mature themes (implications of sexy times and violence). It will go up later ;)

Summary: You share an apartment wall with Javier Peña, but that doesn’t make it any easier to get to know him. You didn’t think your baking would be the catalyst (read: Javi is jealous that Connie gets all the extras).

Tags: Mention of blood; super vague description of wound care; alcohol; TW for Javi: you have FEELINGS bby

Word count: 2,791

A/N: I guess technically this starts at the beginning of season 1, but I don’t plan on referencing the events of the show, so imagine they’re working on things less intense than trying to catch Escobar. I found Javier really tricky to write for, so I hope this reads okay! I’m so excited about the future chapters I have outlined for this lol pls get hype.

Masterlist

---

You had only been living in your new place for about a month when you got new neighbors. You were glad for the company- the four-apartment building was fairly new, and didn’t feel very lived-in. You did your best to add some personal flair to your apartment, but it still had the effect of reminding you of your own newness to this place, your lack of any deep personal connections.

Your other neighbor didn’t exactly help with that. Javier Peña had lived here for awhile before you moved in, but that was all you knew about him; you didn’t speak much beyond your neighborly greetings and his insinuating smiles. He never hides his lingering glances, but nor does he make any other moves- you sense he’s a safe type, all bark and no bite (without consent). So you always amusedly but politely ignore the invitation implicit in your exchanges. They don’t seem to have a lot of depth anyway, as if he’s just trying for the sake of trying. Granted, he probably never has to do much more than that- you’re very aware of how attractive your neighbor is on the surface. You just prefer to feel a connection slightly deeper than surface level before going home with someone.

You learn more about him from Connie, who tells you that he works at the embassy with her husband, Steve. In “janitorial services.” You raise a bemused eyebrow at that, but respect your neighbors’ privacy and don’t ask further questions. You help Connie get a job at a hospital a few blocks away from the one you’re a nurse at and promise to help her practice Spanish.

The building feels more lively now, and you’re happy to have a confidant upstairs, especially one who’s more privy to the life of your enigmatic hall-mate. You don’t know if it’s the neighborly care you feel for your new friend or if there’s some other unconscious change, but you begin to keep an ear out for Javier. You do share an apartment wall, although you don’t glean much through it. Some standard kitchen rummaging, television noise, the occasional bedroom guest (whose enterprises you try not to listen to, but damn if the man doesn’t have a perfect voice for after-dark activities). The most noticeable thing about him is the odd hours he keeps: sometimes in tandem with Steve’s schedule and sometimes not, you can never predict when he’ll be in or out.

--

Little do you know, you’re not the only one paying attention. Javier has spent many an evening alone with only whiskey and the television for company, but now there are other things to stimulate his senses. The smell of your baking filtering through the wall, even lingering in the hallway the next morning. The sound of you singing to the radio while clattering about the kitchen. Sometimes he turns the tv down to listen and imagines there being no wall between your two homes. What would his life be like with someone to infuse that kind of sweetness and light into it?

He doesn’t mean you specifically, necessarily. If, once or twice, your face jumps to mind while he’s taking care of himself in bed, he thinks nothing of it. You’re his beautiful neighbor- it’s a fantasy begging to be played out.

But damn if he hasn’t been tempted to make it a reality. He gets to taste your baking sometimes when you leave extras with Connie, and one day she catches his brow creased in a frown, distracted halfway through a slice of walnut banana bread.

“Javi,” Connie repeats, trying to get his attention.

“Yeah.” Javier snaps out of it, looking up.

“You’ve been staring at that piece of banana bread for a full two minutes. Is it gonna do a trick?”

He decides to lean into it, see what Connie’s reaction might be. “Only if the trick is getting me out of my pants. I don’t know a man alive who could resist the shit she makes.” He scoops another forkful into his mouth to prove his point, letting the rich, nutty flavor remind him of other places. Homes. Real homes, made of people, not the solitary kind he lives in now.

She rolls her eyes at his crudeness, but agrees. “You’re right about that. I don’t know where she gets the energy to do this after hospital shifts.”

Javier hides his next thought with another forkful of bread and a noncommittal noise. Wonder if she’d have as much energy for it if she had a man to tire her out. It was automatic, a question he couldn’t help debating with himself. Surely no one who spent that much time in the kitchen could have energy to spare on…other pursuits.

Connie is regarding him shrewdly. He avoids her gaze, focusing on finishing his plate in large mouthfuls to avoid the questions he can feel brewing. But he’s not quick enough. “Has she always brought you extras too?” she asks. Too casually, idling with her fork.

“No,” Javier says dismissively, and it’s not quite a scoff. “She wasn’t here long before you showed up. We’re not as close as you two.” Understatement. Did he sound sour about the fact?

Before Connie can ask any more questions he rises from his seat. “Well, don’t let me keep you. Tell Steve what I said.” With a nod of farewell, he turns and strides out the door.

--

One night you’re awoken with a start from where you’d fallen asleep on the couch. Heart pounding, you sit up, listening intently. You’d never felt unsafe here, but you’re aware of the potential dangers. What had woken you?

You hear a swear from the hall, and your muscles relax as you recognize Javier’s low voice. There’s a beat of silence, then a scraping, clinking sound. He must have dropped his keys. But then he grunts, and concern sweeps over you. You’re a nurse- you recognize the sound of a man stifling his pain.

There are long delays before each new noise that indicates an action. The doorknob twists as he grunts again, but it’s a moment before the key turns in the lock. It seems to take an age for him to get through the door; his motions sound clumsy before he closes it. Safe in the privacy of his home, so he thinks, he lets out a longer sigh, the pain and exhaustion now obvious in the sound. But you can hear his fumbling through the wall, and you worry your lip between your teeth. It is your place to go see if he’s alright?

Finally you decide that it is. You’re his neighbor and a healthcare professional, and it is your professional opinion that he sounded in-pain enough to warrant a check-up. Plus, you heard him that way before he got inside, you reason. So it’s not as if you were just being snoopy through the wall.

Just in case, though, you grab some muffins you made earlier as a backup excuse (once again mentally thanking whoever left the cookbook in your apartment). 11:30 isn’t too late for a friendly drop-by, right?

You knock softly on his door. “Javier? It’s me.” Nervous energy taps in your fingers. You’re never even been on his side of the hallway before.

There’s a shuffling sound, and the door unlatches. A narrow gap opens, into which Javier plants himself, and you immediately zero in on where he keeps one leg wedged behind the door. He leans into the elbow propped against the doorjamb above his head, while his other hand already holds a glass of what you can smell is whiskey. He looks like he would rather be anywhere but here at this moment. “Neighbor,” he greets dryly, a neutral expression on his face.

“Uhh.” You’ve never been this close to him before, and his appearance catches you off-guard. His usually combed hair is messy, waves tangling over his forehead, and he’s sweaty, the open collar of his shirt damp and the exposed skin gleaming with moisture.

Javier raises an eyebrow expectantly, taking a sip of his drink. His glances down at the plate in your hands, and it prompts you to speak.

“Hi, Javier. Uh, sorry, I know it’s late, but I thought I’d bring you some of these-“ you lift the dish “-before they come with me to work tomorrow. They’re banana bread muffins.” Your voice falters with your confidence. Your eyes can’t help but flicker over his face and chest, taking in the smear of dust on his jaw, the redness of the knuckles wrapped around his glass. Mostly you’re trying not to look at the leg he’s definitely hiding, which you can tell he’s keeping his weight off of.

--

Javier stares at you, not buying it for a second. His lips purse for lack of a cigarette to wrap around. He shifts the weight he has on his arm- damn, his leg hurts- and wonders what could have possibly prompted you to start bringing him baked goods now of all moments. “Why aren’t you bring those to Connie’s?” Like usual.

“Um, well-“ He sees your gaze finally drop to the leg he’s kept out of view, and too late remembers who got Connie the hospital job.

“I heard you drop your keys, and it sounded like you were in pain,” you confess. “I’m a nurse, Javier. I can help if you need it.” Though apologetic, your tone is firm, face sincere as you offer him aid. Him, your grumpy neighbor who does nothing but leer at you.

Well, he isn’t that proud. Javier sighs, and opens the door further. Your eyes widen as you see the long slice in his pant leg, blood still damp around the wound beneath. “Shit, Javier, what happened? It doesn’t matter, shit, sit down.” You surge forward without waiting for permission, tucking yourself under the arm of his uninjured side and steering him toward a dining room chair. Where he’d been about to sit down down and tend to the cut himself. He supposes your apartments mirror each other, but your familiar reaction to the layout still surprises him.

“Whoa, hey, watch the whiskey,” he exclaims, flailing out the arm holding the glass, taken aback by your sudden manhandling. With one hand still occupied by the muffins, you direct him solely with an around his waist and your shoulder propped under his armpit. He couldn’t have resisted if he tried. If it weren’t for the fiery pain in his leg, your hold would have him feeling a very different kind of heat.

You give him a look that says you won’t be fooled by his blustering as you deposit him onto the chair and the plate on the table. “May I?” you ask, kneeling, hands hovering above his wound.

“Oh, now you’re asking permission?” He scoffs in disbelief but waves a hand in consent, leaning back in the seat.

You scoff right back at him. “Look, I see blood, I make the macho men sit, okay? Why didn’t you go to a hospital with this?”

Javier studies you as you carefully lift the denim to peer at the cut on his thigh. He takes a sip of whiskey to buy time (as well as dull the stinging pain). You’ve put on a robe over what looks like pajamas, but you seem too alert to have just dragged yourself from bed. And yet...was that a pillow mark on your cheek? Just there, arcing from your temple to your jaw…

“Javier?" you're looking up at him, a touch of confusion on your face.

“Did I wake you up?” he hears himself asking.

Her gaze drops again. “No,” you answer. “Well, yes, but I fell asleep on the couch, so it was a good thing.”

Ah, that explained the pillow mark.

Finally you stand. Your hands rest on your hips, heedless of your fingertips smudged red with his blood. “It doesn’t actually look too bad. I have enough supplies here to fix you up. You stay here, take off your pants if you can manage it by yourself, and I’ll be right back.” And with that you whisk away, robe swishing through his front door.

Javier remains where he is, a bit stunned by this turn of events, your sudden insertion into his life. He shakes his head. Maybe whiskey and blood loss shouldn’t go together. He tosses back the rest of his glass anyway in order to wrangle off his jeans.

By the time you return, he feels more composed, if rather uncomfortably vulnerable, sitting in just his boxers with a bloody slice across his thigh. He watches silently as you arrange various medical supplies on the table and pull up a chair across from him. You perch on the edge of it and look at him before doing anything else. “Are you gonna tell me how you got this?”

He’s not about to tell you it was a fluke accident during one of Carillo's interrogations. Somehow, while his back was turned, the guy got free and tried to escape, swinging a knife wildly as he hurled past Javier. The cut was long, ugly, but shallow. He’d live. He couldn’t say the same for the man who delivered it.

--

Javier considers his answer. “Can’t,” he says. “It’s better if you don’t know.” His gaze skitters away as he speaks.

He works for the government with a poker face like that? “Janitorial work, huh?” you say dryly. Sighing, you reach for the antiseptic. “At least tell me what made it. So I can treat it properly.” You look at him steadily.

Javier looks back for a long moment. “A knife,” he says at last.

You nod, and rip open a packet of gauze. He sucks air through his teeth as the antiseptic sears the wound clean, but otherwise doesn’t speak while you work. Which is fine. You notice he’s drained his glass, and you empathize. Frankly you wish you had a drink yourself right now.

Once you’ve cleaned the cut it’s easier to see the damage. Which is minimal, thankfully. Most of the blood was probably from him moving around when it happened. You explain what you’re doing as you seal the wound closed. Only when you’re almost finished does he speak.

“Why don’t you ever bake me anything?”

It’s so unexpected that your hands still. You stare at him in astonishment, waiting for him to elaborate.

“What I mean is…christ,” Javier mutters. The unflattering fluorescent light overhead highlights the dark circles under his eyes as he scrubs a hand over his face. “You always leave extras of stuff at Steve and Connie’s. Never here.” With me.

You resume your work on his thigh, surprised to feel a tinge of guilt. “You didn’t seem like a baked goods kind of guy,” you reply, hoping you don’t sound too defensive. It was true, after all. Though you never got a sense of threat from Javier, neither did he seem the type who would appreciate domestic gestures of friendship.

He didn’t look offended, however. I’ll try anything once,” he says, the ghost of a familiar smirk suggesting he’s feeling better. But then he leans forward, all traces of smirk vanishing. “And your lemon drizzle cake was incredible.” Javier looks at you seriously. His face is too close for your level of acquaintanceship, but you don’t move away.

Surprised, you assess him anew, wondering if you’re catching a glimpse of the man beneath all the masculine posturing. He’s nicer-looking this way, you muse. His face softer, brown eyes wide and sincere. You hide just how pleased you are at this insight (which you’re sure he has no idea he’s giving you) beyond allowing yourself a small smile.

“Well, maybe next time I’ll bring you some.”

--

Javier can’t quite find another quippy response, so he just gives a small nod, finding it hard to draw back even after you break his gaze. He tries not to fidget as you place a final strip of tape over the gauze bandage.

“There,” you declare, your work complete. “That should hold you for tonight.” You stand and gather up your supplies, giving him care instructions as you go. “Got it?” You seem much more relaxed than when you first arrived, confidence in your work squaring your shoulders. It’s…compelling, much more so than your usual reserved smiles in the hall.

“Yes ma’am.” Javier nods, not having heard a word. “…Thank you,” he adds, begrudgingly grateful.

You smile wryly at him. “Goodnight, Javier.”

You’ve nearly reached the door when he speaks again. “Javi.”

“Hm?” Pausing, you turn back to him.

He clears his throat. “You…you can call me Javi.”

Your smile is much warmer this time, brightening your eyes, and Javier feels his heart pound. “Goodnight, Javi.”

[burnedbyshoto]

the marriage contract

chapter one: [begin this journey.]

— Just because your soulmate is Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t mean that he’s the one meant for you; in fact, he’s your worst enemy. With trouble brewing across the way, and with no one able to complete this job except you and Bakugou, there’s nothing you can do except go along with the mission. But wait, what?! You’re supposed to be married?!

pairing: pro hero!bakugou katsuki x pro hero fem!reader

chapter warnings: cursing

word count: 4,093

a/n: in this enemies to lovers story, only you get to decide whether you remain enemies, or if you succeed in becoming lovers. the choice to make is at the end of the story, good luck :D also, background on your quirk (sorry, I had to give you a quirk in order for this to work the way i see fit.) I won’t lie, im really nervous about all this... hopefully this is fun and won’t come and bite me in the ass.

Quirk: Water Sprout - using water from your body, you are able to extract and then use the water (that comes from your body or has come in direct contact with your fingertips) freely. Drawbacks include constant dehydration, dizziness, headaches.

bolded choice is the answer. ~ {masterlist}

[Begin this journey.]     [Turn back now.]

relationship status: enemies.

“You’re fucking with me, right?”

Cosmic and gods, there was nothing in this world that proved these existed.

Nothing.

Nothing in this world could show the nonbeliever that there was an outside force in the world that made people suspect that there were otherworldly ties. Not the appearance of quirks, which was proven to be a genetic mutation as part of humans' evolution, and even the sudden and ancient appearance of The Contract did anything to solidify this - well, at least to some.

Quirks were easy to understand.

Powers, drawbacks, uniqueness.

Oh, it was something that was still so new to the world that people enjoyed it so, but for The Contract, oh how that was different.

The Contract was what was the name of the world wide know phenomenon more known merely as soulmates. Everyone had a fated one, and you would know who they were because every once in a while, a simple choice would appear before you.

A this or that situation.

You would pick one of the options, and somewhere out in the world, there was a person who, despite their own free will, would succumb to your choice. It was as simple as choosing to make someone double knot or single knot their shoes, or sometimes as hard as pulling the plug on a stranger, you had no idea existed. But it had been generations since it had first appeared, and people had grown to accept the inevitable. Which, in turn, brought out new problems.

Soulmates, while fundamentally and theoretically excellent and good, seemed to shock people by the work that needed to be put into them to succeed. Two souls that were perfect for each other didn’t guarantee two people were perfect for one another. The blind, false, true love these people bragged and teetered on was ridiculous and often led to horrible breaks within soulmate bonds. People did not understand that soulmates - just as any other relationship - needed time to fester and grow. It wasn’t an over the counter remedy, it was two people trying to find similarities other than the gods and the cosmics wanting this.

It was rather rough, to say the least.

Most people didn’t mind the growth, waiting for their soulmate to become the person meant for them. Others, well, you were the perfect example of it.

Your entire life, you had thought your soulmate was an asshole, well, scratch that, he IS an asshole. Every chance he got, he would always pick the worst of the two options. He chose for you to reject pursuers in your school days, to trip your siblings, to yell at your parents when you were upset. He picked for you to get up early in middle school and train, to study for tests right when you were about to go out with friends. He was obviously picking the worst things for you (not that you were any better), and so by the bitter age of fifteen when you were put into Shiketsu High School, you were glad to pledge to be someone who wouldn’t accept the soulmate shit for anything.

If he was your soulmate, so be it, but he would never be your lover.

Things in high school and your last year of middle school went reasonably well, the choices the two of you had to make were simple enough. The worst one you remember seeing late one night at the beginning of summer break during your last year of middle school, two options illuminating before you.

[Accept his offer.]     [Decline his offer.]

There was no context for your choice.

But there had been a pit in your stomach, something telling you to chose the bottom one, and you did. Nothing consequential came from that, and you forgot about it with time.

High school went on with usual choices; both of you continue to choose the lesser of two options from what you could tell. The worst thing was rejecting your senior who had asked you out on a date (something he had told you to keep a secret from the school officials), and you had really wanted to go on a date with him… but nonetheless, you survived. Fresh out of high school with your official Hero License under your belt, you had been accepted into Rising Agency, a very new agency founded by a class older than you over at Yuuei - Class 1-A.

The prominent faces being hero Deku, Ground Zero, and Shouto.

Somehow you had passed the interview selection and had been accepted, and your first day went horribly. On account of your quirk, Water Sprout, you had woken up with a mouth drier than a desert, and like you always did, you grabbed your liter bottle and went to chug.

Only two options popped before your eyes the moment you moved the water to your parched mouth.

[Spill the water.]     [Safely drink the water.]

You had tried your hardest to get your lip to the opening, but you knew better. During the time The Contract appeared, time literally froze. Your soulmate was given up to fifteen seconds to choose the answer before the first choice was automatically selected. You had tried to suppress the scream at the back of your throat when the cold, cold water came splashing down on your chest. Spraying all over your bed.

The scream you made when you were soaked to the bone no doubt made your soulmate smile wherever he was.

So you were glad when his options appeared before you a few minutes later.

[Break the sink faucet.]      [Turn off the water.]

With a sniff, you held no remorse when your hand jammed out and hit the option he deserved.

You had arrived at the agency's front door within the next hour, your most formal business clothes were worn fresh and sharp. Your hand held your case with your hero costume and nerves at your stomach. This was it, you had thought, your hands sweating profusely, your mouth so dry you felt faint, and with a quick chug of your water, you entered the facility.

The agency smelled like Pine-Sol and sweets, and you found the front desk immediately but were off-put by a man who was already there. His back hunched over, arms crossed, and placed onto the counter as he seemed to be arguing with the receptionist.

Nearer and nearer you drew, and the more you began to recognize just who the man was: Ground Zero.

Calm down, calm down, calm down.

Your heart hammered viciously in your chest as you were finally in earshot of the conversation - it seemed that he was fighting over his new time slots for his routine patrols. But you were no stranger to his… vivacious temperament, and instead of addressing him first, you figured it was in the best interest to simply ask the receptionist what your first steps should be.

But as you opened up your mouth, your internal monologue of what to say blaring on repeat so that you wouldn’t mess up, the world froze, and you panicked.

[Ace the introduction.]      [Fumble the introduction.]

The world was still for five seconds, but never did you ever once experience someone moving within The Contract. So, when Ground Zero’s hand moved and punched in an option that was mirrored right in front of your mouth, you immediately felt the blood in your cheeks from seeing him recoil back to your heart faster than you could blink.

“Hi, I’m Hero, and I’m new? I’m looking for the y/l/n room?”

Horror struck through you immediately at the realization.

Ground Zero was yours...?

He was your…?!

You saw red.

“Hah? What kind of introduction was -- WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Your fist throbbed pathetically still curled near his face, and Ground Zero’s blazing, burning red gaze matched the blood pouring from his busted nose as you panted like a corned animal.

“YOU MADE ME WET MY BED, ASSHOLE!”

So went your first interaction with your soulmate.

Your fist connecting and shattering his nose. Three of his friends holding him back, and three trying to escort you away quickly. It was indeed one for the books.

But that was three years ago, and at the age of twenty-one, you could still not handle the sight, or the presence of your soulmate, and vice versa. The both of you were like oil and water, conflicting and fighting whenever left together for too long, unable to get along. He was not meant for you, and you were not meant for him - it was evident like night and day.

Right decisions were made, however, once knowing who the other one was. The both of you taking track of each other’s patrol schedules to make sure good choices were made at that time, just in case, but as soon as the other was off, payback was a bitch. The entire agency had learned that both of you were soulmates the same day the both of you found out, and there were actual looks of sorrow given to you from his friends?!

Not to mention that his nickname for you was bedwetter now, something that both infuriated and embarrassed you to this day.

Both of you were separated at all times, never once having to work together, that is, until today. A time where we find ourselves back in the beginning.

“You’re fucking with me, right?”

A part of you wanted to roll your eyes at Bakugou’s quip, but in all consideration, you agreed with him ultimately.

“Unfortunately, I’m not,” Yaoyorozu sighed, her mouth pinched and her hands passing both you and Bakugou a small stack of documents for you to read over. You took your file after placing your water bottle down and opened it immediately as Yaoyorozu continued to speak. “Kane, Bryan is an American man who has recently been on Japan’s watchlist. He is highly dangerous, evasive, and a hard man to pin anything on… all we know is that innocent people are going missing when they enter his land, and undercover heroes end up in the sea with no memories, or worse, dead.”

That took you by surprise, and your stomach twisted at that thought.

Heroes have turned up dead?

“I don’t doubt the seriousness that this Kane man brings, but no offense, Creati, why does it have to be a mission for Ground Zero and I?” you asked, your eyes flittering from the blurred photo of the man on your page onto the slightly frowning commandeer of this agency. “We aren’t exactly… a good fighting duo? If what I think you’re asking is correct, why not send in Deku and Ground Zero? They have the best duo track record, I’m sure that they’ll be able to apprehend this man better and faster than we can.”

Yaoyorozu sighed, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip while her fingers drummed on the table, obviously not comfortable telling the full explanation.

“Well, to be honest, he stays on a remote island nearby, and it’s very exclusive.”

You owlishly blinked at Yaoyorozu, who straightened in her chair, a new air of confidence flowing through her that made you almost ask if a choice had been made for her.

“Kane owns a private island that is known for its resort, and to enter the resort, there must be two truths to this,” her eyes were holding yours for a moment, they were deep, so dark that for a second you felt fear tickle at the back of your spine before she turned her attention over to Bakugou. “One: those who may enter must be in a romantic relationship.”

What?

“Two: they must be soulmates.”

“WHAT?!”

You blinked, your head snapping over at Bakugou, who had yelled the same words as you did, obviously not impressed with what they were now enforcing. Oh god, this was not what you were thinking at all!

“Why the hell does it have to check off those two boxes? I’m not going somewhere obviously dangerous and in the middle of nowhere with bed wetter!” Bakugou growled, his feet planted onto the floor as he had his upper lip pulled into a sour face of sorts. “I’ll do it with literally anyone else, ponytail!”

“Unfortunately, that’s not an option,” she sighed, her hand pushing through her bangs with a sad shake of her head. She looked tired, and her exhaustive eyes rose to meet yours, and his, and her voice was weak and oh so pleading. “There is some way they can tell if you’re soulmates, and those we sent out who weren’t already soulmates never made it in. You two are quite literally our only option, without the two of you, we don’t stand a chance.”

“So, can we act as estranged lovers then?” you questioned, your stomach twisting in the thought of having to display any sort of romantic displays with the man sitting right next to you. “We can be a couple trying to work on our relationship?”

Yayorozu gulped.

“W-We actually made profiles for the two of you…”

“And?” came Bakugou’s near whisper.

“Y-You’ll be acting as a, well, a newly married couple. This is your honeymoon… I know you two don’t have a good history, and your on field teamwork has never been tried, but I’m pleading to you two now, please consider. You have until tomorrow to tell me if you accept.”

If there had been a choice that appeared for Bakugou to make you slam your head through the desk, you would have thanked him for choosing it.

[Carry all the bags]     [Take only his bags.]

“Thank you!” you chirped with no pity for the situation you had just placed him in, the glint of a sneer flashing across Bakugou’s face was fierce as he took the bags of luggage the two of you had been given from your agency. This was it, it was starting.

The weight of what was to come of this was now starting to hit heavily, the importance of the diamond ring on your finger - a symbol of the fake marriage contract between you and Bakugou felt like a ton. There was no hiding the discomfort the both of you held when you had to act in love, your hand itching to leave his clammy, abnormally warm hands, and you never realized how he mumbled under his breath until you were forced to sit next to him on the private plane. But as you were given two days to prepare for this mission, it didn’t hit you what was happening until you unloaded from the plane.

From the initial observation of the island, you immediately recognized just why the owner was so elusive and able to keep his agenda hidden. The island's natural barriers were bright as day, the rocky mountains seemed entirely inhabitable, and the entire resort was located where the mountains met the beach. Tropics and natural waterholes existed in those parts before slowly blending into the white sand beaches with water so blue and clean that you genuinely wished you would be having a good time.

You hated having to remind yourself that you were here for the sake of a mission and not to simply lay out, well, it was easy to forget that until Bakugou was beside you, and you fought the instinctive reaction to scowl at him. In fact, with your gaze falling onto the blond-haired hero, you didn’t notice the small woman appearing from nowhere, a bright smile on her face and white linen clothes on

“Welcome to Hibani Island!” she chirped, her eyes closing in well-practiced greetings, she spoke with an accent, and with her appearance, you assumed she was American. “My name is Jane, and I’m here to welcome you to our wonderful island! May I please have your names and the choice you had upon arrival?”

Your greeting smile disappeared at that point, your head tilting in confusion, “I’m sorry, our choice?”

“Mhm!” Jane nodded enthusiastically, the same bright smile plastered on her face. “Our wonderful island works in mysterious ways! As you both know, our beautiful resort is only for those who are soulmates; after all, we would never wish to poison her beautiful nature with impure love! Upon entry, with the help of the island, I am able to procure a choice for you and your soulmate to make! Since I posed the question to you,” her glazed over eyes focused on you, “I would appreciate it if your partner answered!”

There was a silence, and it couldn’t have lasted any more than a few seconds in all reality. But in that still, you could feel the hair on the back of your neck stand straight up, there was obviously something entirely wrong here.

“A choice about who would carry the luggage in,” Bakugou calmly, smoothly answered, his voice somehow not picking up on any suspicion. “Be -- Y/n chose that I would carry them all.”

The way your name passed his lips made your spine stiffen, it felt weird, unnatural, fake.

Well, this entire thing is fake, you reminded yourself, grateful that Jane was at the moment impressed by Bakugou’s correct statement.

“Well, wonderful! I’m so glad that our island can greet two beautiful soulmates today! Your names? So that I may check you both in?”

“Nakamura Katsuki and Y/n.”

“Amazing! Let’s get you to the main lobby, and they’ll set you two love birds up!”

Thankfully, Jane was a woman who didn’t mind talking to herself the entire way over to the resort’s main lobby, she spoke wonders of how the hot springs were especially “magically” at night, and promised that a trip during that time would lead to “the best of fantasies.” The resort itself was oddly busy. Couples were everywhere, each in their own world, yet all orbiting around one another, never once mixing.

The white sundress you wore suddenly felt too simple, especially with the stupid designer wear most people were wearing.

Jane escorted you to the front desk, and with one last overenthusiastic smile, she disappeared.

“Check us in, Joo Dee just about made me fucking lose it,” Bakugou grumbled, his patience hanging on a much thinner thread than yours apparently.

“Glad to know it takes only one super smiley person to ruin your day,” you couldn’t help but snip, the rolling of your eyes only stopped when the front desk clerk began to walk over, a bright smile on his face, and his hand waving in greeting.

You opened your mouth, ready to begin talking when his welcome rang clearly in your ears, but just as it happened all those years ago, the world froze.

[Ace the introduction.]     [Fumble the introduction.]

The prideful, arrogant smirk on his face seemed to burn into your back as he stared from behind you.

“Hi, I would like it.”

Your voice gave out, and with burning cheeks, you and the front desk clerk stared at each other, the awkward silence biting into your throat. The clerks’ smile, breaking slightly in his second-hand embarrassment and wonder as to why you stopped talking, but despite wanting to continue speaking your voice refused to work again.

Bakugou Katsuki was an asshole.

“Are you here to check in?” he asked, his eyes searching yours in hopes that was what you were here for.

With a burning face, you nodded, and the check-in proceeded.

The clerk, who introduced himself as Ryan Locke, quickly checked you and Bakugou into your rooms. He pulled out a simple paper map and circled the small house - yes, small house - that the two of you would be residing in. Just as the package the two of you purchased, both of you would be here in two months, and the entire time everything would be included. Name it, and it would be brought to the room, well, house. You nodded, trying to take everything he was throwing at you in, not at all relying on Bakugou, who was standing by the window staring at the other guests with a frown on his face.

PDA was not something either one of you were comfortable with.

“Well, that’s it from me! Should you need any assistance, please do not hesitate to call!” Ryan smiles, the crinkles by his eyes creasing, even more, washing you over with ease despite the tension in your body. You heard Bakugou approach the two of you, and with him beside you, Ryan seemed to remember something as he rubbed the back of his neck. “And, there is a couples event tonight, should you and your husband want to join! Most couples do, and by the look of it, it may help re-spark things?”

A sour rancid taste crawled at the back of your throat as you awkwardly laughed, your fronts were weaker then you thought, and shook your head, “Oh no! That’s no issue! We’re actually here on our honeymoon,” your fingers pressed to your chest, your eyes trailing to where Bakugou was standing in hopes that it somehow looked romantic. Pet names were a thing, right? But what to call him? “Uh, K-Kacchan is actually super shy with PDA!”

You froze when the only nickname you’ve ever heard used toward Bakugou fumble clumsily from your tongue.

Kacchan?!

KACCHAN?!

WERE YOU SUDDENLY DEKU?!

“Oh! Yes, I understand now!” Ryan laughed, waving off his mistake, the apples of his cheeks dusting in what you could only pray to be embarrassment. “Well, if you want to help your Kacchan here express his love for you without care of the world, tonight’s session is the place to be!”

He turned and walked away with a final smile, most likely retreating to the ringing phone in the back room.

“I swear to god, do not ever call me that shitty nickname ever again, or else I’ll explode your ass,” Bakugou hissed, his hand grabbing you by the elbow as he had you in close.

“I’ll call you whatever I damn please!” you hissed back, ripping your elbow out of his hold.

You watched as his upper lip twitched, and he moved to go grab your luggage, something The Contract still held over him. You stood with the papers that Ryan had given to you, the stack of itineraries and options of what the both of you two could do while at your stay taking far more room in your arm then you thought was acceptable. Your concentration on your fake husband - as you kept vehemently reminding yourself - broke when the door opened and in walked a woman who was alone, and headphones on her ears. You offered her a smile when eye contact was made but did nothing more.

Bakugou leaned down, his hands lifting up the luggage, most definitely annoyed with rolling the large suitcases. But with the woman’s course and the way that Bakugou’s back was towards her, having not noticed her entry at all, you could see that they were going to collide. Essential items were in that suitcase, and you had no idea if they could break if Bakugou managed to drop them after crashing with her. But again, it would be payback for the embarrassing first encounter with Ryan!

But before you could make up your mind on what to do, the world froze.

[Crash into her.]     [Avoid her.]

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

(make sure to vote for the choice to be chosen!)  poll closes august 30 8am pst

[whumperooni]

sick

Pairing: Satan x Reader, Lucifer x Reader

Tags/Warnings: jealousy, cucking, very submissive reader, fingering, violence and blood mention, kinda toxic relationship,

Word count: 3k

A/N: this popped into my head and wouldn’t let go so i had to write it u.u

✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣

It makes him sick.

“You picked the red coat? No, no- darling, go put on the black one I bought you. You look so beautiful in it.”

It makes him sick.

“The Fall? Absolutely not- you’re going with me to Lord Diavolo’s tonight. He wants to see you, kitten, and we’re not going to disappoint him.”

It makes him sick.

“Now, now- that’s enough. You had a big lunch today; you don’t need to gorge yourself anymore.”

It makes him sick.

Teeth gritting, Satan watches as Lucifer fixes a diamond collar upon your neck. Fists clenching, Satan watches as Lucifer runs his gaze over your small form and reaches to adjust the hem of your dress.

“Perfect,” Lucifer murmurs. “You look perfect.”

You blink up at him, docile and sweet, and Satan has to look away from the way you smile at his big brother, has to look away from the way Lucifer places his hand to the back of your neck and nudges you to walk out of the room.

You’re so complacent under Lucifer’s thumb- so content. It makes him sick how easily you bend to his will, how you change your life at his whims and submit to his demands without any hesitation or words of protest.

Lucifer doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t deserve someone so sweet and so obedient, so very good.

He doesn’t deserve you and it makes Satan sick.

A scowl crosses his face and he crosses his arms over his chest, tries to ignore the ugly throb of envy that pulses in his chest.

“Satan? What’re you doin’ out here? I thought you were goin’ to Solomon’s tonight.”

The question distracts him just for a moment and Satan takes a breath, closes his eyes and nods.

Solomon’s, yes. He’s supposed to go to Solomon’s- he should go to Solomon’s.

It would be better to do that than stay at home and stew.

He leaves the room before Mammon can pull him into a senseless conversation and he heads to Solomon’s- brow furrowed and a stormy rage brewing through his mind.

✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣✣

Two in the morning is when Satan arrives home.

Two in the morning and he’s drunk, fumbling with his keys and shoving off his coat with more force than what’s necessary.

He shouldn’t have let Solomon talk him into drinking. He shouldn’t have accepted the wine that had been pushed his way nor the whiskey that Solomon had plied on him either.

But, he had.

He had and now he’s drunk, risking a hangover in the morning and a long day ahead of him.

Stupid. He was stupid.

A huff escapes him and Satan makes his way to the kitchen, grumbles to himself when he nearly trips over a rug.

It’s quiet in the kitchen- blissfully quiet, blissfully without any brothers scrounging around for a late night snack. Satan goes straight for the fridge and he gets himself a bottle of water, cracks it open and downs half of it in one go.

His head throbs whenever he finally stops drinking and Satan presses the bottle to his forehead, sighs as his eyes fall shut.

He’s so tired and the world is so fuzzy- he hates feeling like this.

He hates feeling likes this, but he hates more so whenever there’s a small sound behind him and he turns around to find you.

You wearing a silk nightgown and one of Lucifer’s shirts over it. You with a sleepy face and marks on your neck that your collar can’t quite hide. You who looks at him and then looks away, bites your lip and lowers your head meekly as his eyes narrow.

Of course- why shouldn’t he run into you tonight? Why shouldn’t he be tormented with the sight of you looking so lovely all wrapped up in scarlet silk, looking so thoroughly owned with his brother’s claims marking your soft body and the diamond studded leather wrapped around your throat?

Satan huffs and your eyes flit to them, flit away in a hurry.

You’re not supposed to look at him. Him, or any of his brothers. Any demon or human or angel, actually- only Lucifer, only Diavolo.

It makes him sick.

You don’t speak- you never speak unless spoken to- and that stokes the rage that had simmered down, brings it up to a dull roar that has his eyes narrowing, his lips dipping into a scowl.

So obedient, so submissive- there’s not a hint of a backbone in you and it makes him burn with anger, sear with frustration and fury.

God, he loathes- loves- how weak you are.

He watches as you squirm under his gaze and he watches as your mouth opens and shuts, as some quiet distress has your fingers curling into your nightgown. It only further serves to his eyes narrow even more and his teeth grit as your own dig deeper into your bottom lip, as it trembles.

Pathetic. You’re so very pathetic.

“Speak,” he finally snaps out, unable to stand the silence any longer.

The word is irritated, but your shoulders relax at it and Satan scoffs at the relieved sigh that sounds from you, the way your lashes flutter but your gaze stays on the floor.

“I- I wanted to get some water...I’m sorry...”

Meek, soft- your voice is so small and so apologetic and there’s no reason it should be. There’s no reason it should be so timid and there’s no reason he should enjoy it so much.

It’s disgusting. He’s disgusting.

“Then get some water,” he huffs, leaning against the counter. “No one’s stopping you.”

A tiny noise and your fingers twitch at your side, your cheeks heat as you take a few apprehensive steps forward. If he were just a bit more drunk, Satan might roll his eyes at the display but he stays silent instead, frowns as you make your way to the fridge.

You’re too close to him as you grab the water from the fridge- he can smell your perfume and he can smell Lucifer’s cologne, smell the faint scent of sex lingering on you.

Vile. It’s so vile.

You take the water and you close the door, but you don’t leave as he expects- you hesitate where you stand and you flutter nervous fingers around the bottle, bite your lip once more as Satan watches you.

“What?” he asks, exasperated by you and your meek little display and the way his eyes can’t help but to linger on your curves.

He hates his brother but, gods, does Lucifer know how to dress you.

“I,” you start- anxious, quieter than before, “I...I...can I have a snack? Please?”

You’re asking him if you can have a snack? You’re seeking permission from him for something so basic?

Satan blinks and he wets his lips as his cock stirs, as you squirm and fret before him.

“...you may.”

His approval brings a tiny smile on your face- something that could nearly be called excited. He hates it and he hates the way it makes his heart pound, hates the shy joy that crosses over your sweet features, hates how it makes his eyes grow hooded and a heady sense of satisfaction thread through him.

He hates the way it makes him want to break from his control, pull you to him and make you look at him, make you submit more to him.

Stupid, weak human- how dare you shake him the way you do. How dare you wreck his self-control when you won’t even be his.

“Thank you!”

Sweet, happy- your sincere words has his fingers digging into his arms, his frustration spiraling all the more.

Lucifer doesn’t deserve you.

You go to the cabinets and you have to stand on your tiptoes as you root around them. You’re just so small compared to him, to his brothers and it’s so very horrid how it has his cock hardening even more as his mind flashes with images of you beneath him, you sitting in his lap.

You’d fit against him so well.

A please noise sounds as you find your snack of choice, but it’s drowned out by a click of a tongue, a disappointed sigh.

“Darling, you know you’re not allowed a snack so late at night.”

Satan’s heart stops and you go perfectly still- back rigid and the snack falling from your trembling hands, a quiet whimper leaving you as Lucifer steps into the room.

“S-Sir...Sir I...”

You can’t even finish your apology, can’t form any excuses. If you were anyone else, Satan may pity you. Instead, his rage is fueled even more so and he’s left near snarling as his older brother bypasses him without so much as a glance spared his way to go to you.

“Who gave you permission to have a snack?” Lucifer asks, murmuring the question as he forces you to turn to face him. Like this, Satan can see your wide eyes and the tears in them, your wobbling lower lip and the shame all over your pretty face.

“It certainly wasn’t me,” Lucifer continues on, hand finding your cheek. “Did my kitten think she could break her rules?”

A tiny whimper, your eyes darting toward Satan, and your head hangs, your small shoulders shake.

And then all of a sudden, Lucifer’s eyes are on him- narrowed, his head cocking, displeasure showing in the way his lips press together.

The aggravation from him has Satan’s scowl shifting into something that’s almost a smirk and he only lifts his head higher as Lucifer looks him over, stares him back down as something vindictive surges through him.

Oh, he wants to rub his brother’s face in it. Oh, he wants to gloat over this small, insignificant victory and have his brother’s smooth facade breaking.

“...ah,” Lucifer says, attention turning back to you. “I see. You thought his permission would make it alright?”

Wide eyes widen even more and Satan huffs as you sniffle, as you bob your head in a tiny nod and admit to your mistake.

Disgusting. Weak. God, can you stand up to him even a little?

(No, no, of course not. Because then you wouldn’t be his and then Satan wouldn’t be aching to have you in his clutches.)

“I- I’m sorry...”

A tut from Lucifer and his hand tightens its hold on your face, brings a noise of distress from you and tears that wet your lashes.

“Darling,” Lucifer hums- softly, dangerously, “you’re so very foolish, aren’t you? Don’t you remember who you belong to?”

A gasp and you’re shuddering, Satan is gnashing his teeth as fingers dip below your collar and tug. Lucifer’s gaze moves to him and it’s so amused, so thoroughly entertained.

He could kill him, Satan thinks. He could kill him.

“Perhaps my kitten needs to be reminded of who owns her,” Lucifer muses. “Perhaps everyone needs to be reminded of it.”

Oh, he is not-

“Y-Yes, sir...”

You’re pulled in front of Lucifer before Satan can so much as blink and his shirt is ripped off of you, your nightgown is tugged above your hips. You’re bare underneath it- no underwear to be seen- and Satan’s fury gets waylaid by shock, by want and greed as your thighs are nudged apart and your hips are made to arch back against his older brother.

“Lucifer-”

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Lucifer interrupts- voice so casual as his hand dips low to run a finger through your slit. “Gorgeous, obedient, and so very eager to please. My good little girl.”

Lucifer’s good little girl.

The words have you gasping softly, the touch has your cheeks heating up. You are gorgeous and you are obedient and you are so very eager- your hips grind against Lucifer’s fingers as he dips them inside you and Satan hates seeing it, hates that his cock is harder than before, hates that his hands twitch with the need to reach out and touch you, feel your silken wetness for himself.

“Ah, sir...”

The soft mewl comes out sweetly, so darling and dear. It makes Satan’s eyes narrow and his teeth clench, but the smirk the graces his brother’s face has him growling in envy, his hands tightening into fists.

Bastard.

“She’s exquisite,” Lucifer murmurs. “Always so wet, so easy to rile up. It feels like heaven sliding into her. And she so does enjoy being filled- don’t you, darling?”

“I- oh- oh, yes! Please!”

Needy- your quiet cry is so needy.

You’re so needy and Satan is so hard. Hard, avaricious, furious at the situation unfolding before him.

How dare Lucifer pull this? How dare he dangle you like a treat never to be savored before him?

Magic crackles along Satan and he snarls, pushes himself from the counter and glares all his rage toward his older brother and the moaning beauty before him.

“Stop. It.”

Lucifer’s smirk grows and his fingers plunge deeper into you, you cry out louder than Satan has ever heard before as you thighs shake and your body tilts forward with a moan.

“What?” Lucifer asks, taunts. “Are you bothered by this? You don’t want to see her losing herself to pleasure?”

He does- god, he does. But he wants to see you losing yourself to pleasure brought on by him. He wants to break you apart and have all your mewling, whimpering pleas all to himself.

“Perhaps you want to indulge in her?” Lucifer muses, thumb moving to grind along your clit. “Perhaps you want to fuck her yourself?”

“Lucifer-”

“Kitten, do you want that? Do you want anyone but me?”

A whimper, a shake of your head- you sniffle and you shake at the question, have to be held up by Lucifer to keep from collapsing onto the kitchen floor.

And Satan- Satan’s heart cracks and his rage explodes along with the cups drying on the counter, the plates stacked in the sink.

How dare Lucifer? How dare you?

The noise of breaking dishes has you startling and the step that Satan takes toward you has you stuttering out panic, but he can’t see it- can’t acknowledge it- as his tail slams against the cabinets and makes their contents tumble onto the floor in rushing, loud heaps.

“L-Lucifer!”

“Shh, darling,” Lucifer soothes- unruffled by the threat Satan carries, uncaring at the volcanic fury threatening to be unleashed. “He knows his place. He knows your place.”

“My place? My place?!”

The words fly from Satan’s mouth before he can think to contain them and his snarl has the kitchen rumbling, has tears dripping down your cheeks and your hips squirming against Lucifer’s hand.

Lucifer only hums and he retracts his fingers from you, licks your juices from them with a sneer.

“Absolutely decadent.”

Satan moves so fast that the kitchen becomes a blur and his hands seek Lucifer’s neck, his claws reach to dig into that arrogant neck and slice it to bloody pieces.

He’s thrown across the room before he can so much as bring a drop and the impact has the fridge denting, food scattering along the floor, and a terrified cry ripping from you.

“Sir!”

Sir? Sir? Even after Lucifer throwing him across the room all you can think about is that bastard?

Disgusting. You stupid little wretch.

“Sir! Lucifer! Please- please don’t-”

A scoff sounds and ebony wings appear, wrap around your trembling form and pull you closer, hide your glittering tears from view.

“Look, now you’ve upset her,” Lucifer huffs. “My poor little darling.”

“Fuck you!”

A whimper, a tut, a snarl. You’re lifted up and you tuck your face into Lucifer’s neck, cling to him like the pathetic, weak, disgusting thing you are. Satan heaves himself out of the wreckage and you flinch as he growls, sniffle and whine as Lucifer’s arms tighten around you.

“Come, kitten, you shouldn’t have to see something so ugly.”

And just like that, you’re whisked away and Satan is left to sweep the counter free from its contents, snarl and rip chunks of marble out of it and hurl them against the wall.

They explode into dust and he heaves, rakes his claws through his hair and shakes with so much rage it has the whole house quaking.

The sounding of running footsteps are drowned by the pounding in his ears and Satan growls as he grips onto the sink, nearly falls to his knees as his fury pulses so thick and bitter it has him choking.

Vile. Disgusting. Sick.

It’s all so sick.

Satan drops into a crouch and he presses his hand to his mouth, tears at his flesh as he shakes and breaks under the weight of his horrid rage and greed and heartbreak.

Repulsive. Weak.

He’s so pathetic- just as pathetic as you are.

Satan squeezes his eyes shut and he grits his teeth as his brothers spill into his room, slams his fist against the floor as a sweet, teary cry sounds from high above.

“Satan?! Satan what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Satan-”

He stands and he wipes the blood from his cheeks, storms past his brothers and to his room, hurls a vase at Lucifer’s door when he passes it and he hears you whimper out a loud “please!”

He doesn’t stop until he gets into his room and he slams the door behind him, collapses onto the floor and buries his fingers into his hair, snarls because his cock his still hard and he can’t get the image of your heated cheeks and stuffed, sweet crux out of his mind despite the rage and the violence and your fear.

It makes him sick.

He makes himself sick.

Satan curls into himself and his tail wraps around his body tight, his heart thuds faster and faster as his frustration spirals with the threat of him lashing out once more.

He’s so sick. This whole house is sick.

The thought that he will never have you makes him sick.

It doesn’t stop him from stroking his cock to the sound of you being ravished, though, and it doesn’t stop him from gasping and growling and coming to the thought of snatching you away from his big brother, fucking you senseless in front of that bastard and putting you in a collar of his own.

Someday.

Someday.

Someday he’ll make his brother feel as sick as he does.

And Lucifer, you, everyone will rue the day.