#{prepare for trouble}

[montgomery-moods]

Could I request a limited life Pearl stimboard with themes of moths and hourglasses?

Posted! Hope you enjoy! I love making anything with moths in it so this was an absolute joy.

[wndaswife]

(fic request) pls write this w nun!wanda (if you want) 😵😵😵

to worship and submit | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Being the daughter of the man that leads the church choir means attending the services when you run out of excuses to be anywhere else, but a young woman who's recently joined the parish to become a nun has begun to make your time there worthwhile.

Word count: 7419

Tags: smut, fluff, humour, sacrilege, quite literally fucking in front of a crucifix, even i feel slightly guilty for writing it, strap-ons, rough sex, spanking, slapping, spitting, degradation, praise, daddy kink, mentions of masturbation, sub!wanda maximoff, dom!reader | MINORS DNI

A/N: SO... i did do some research for this fic... but only SOME... meaning some of the info may be incorrect fyi!!!

gif credit to evilly

Every Sunday since your dad joined the church as their choir leader, you’d been making yourself busy in advance just in case he’d ask if you wanted to come to the services. 

You were proud of your dad — really, you were — because he loved music and loved the community the church brought him, and the church was closeby to where your mom worked as an elementary school teacher, so your parents were able to work together when there were community events that involved both the school and the church.

Though, being happy for your dad didn’t mean you also had to be happy when he invited you to the services.

Sometimes you’d attend special occasions like Easter and other holidays and church events wherein your dad prepared his own assortment of music and such for the choir to play, but only because you were there to support him and what he was passionate about — music and community and his family.

Such events were big deals at the church he volunteered at because it was well-known for its large community; the church itself was closely connected to a nearby convent where it had close ties to the nunnery there, as well as having one of if not the most ornate architecture all preserved within a historically-significant religious landmark.

But for the last few weeks, he hadn’t asked you to go with him because he was so busy with the new influx of students joining from the Catholic elementary school your mom worked at; they were all there singing on the weekends for their volunteer hours, but at the very least, your dad said they were still enthusiastic and friendly kids.

So on the morning of one of the very rare occasions in which you hadn’t had anything planned for the Sunday because you weren’t expecting him to invite you as he hadn’t for the last while, your dad invited you to the service.

You could’ve truly made up an excuse and flat-out lied about being busy, but it’d been a while since he asked and you knew he’d been working hard with the new students in his group, so you supposed it wasn’t so much trouble to accept his offer, even if you did groan it out in a superficial fit about having to get out of bed earlier.

It wasn’t that you not being religious had anything major to do with avoiding going to church, because you didn’t entirely mind when your religious parents brought you to the services for special occasions, but rather because you didn’t very much have the patience or sufficient concern for the readings and worship to attend the nearly-two-hour services.

That was truly your most pressing issue with attending the Sunday services with your dad, but today was different, with an unexpected experience to make you dread going even more than you did previously.

“Excuse me?” a timid, unfamiliar voice chirped from behind you.

You turned to see a young woman standing by the doorway of the back hall where the entrance to the choir balcony was. 

Typically, you sat around there when your dad was conducting because you weren’t very involved in the church enough to sit at the pews nor were you part of the choir. 

But from where you were sitting, you weren’t entirely uninvolved as you could still see and hear the services — it was the perfect spot. 

“You aren’t allowed to sit here,” the young woman told you, running the pads of her two fingers along the edge of her sleeve. 

Her dark brown hair was neatly pulled back into a conservative bun and she was wearing a black plain dress with a modest plain scoop neckline to show the buttons and collar of the crisply-ironed long-sleeved white blouse underneath that all of the church’s nuns wore, but the simplicity of her outfit and the uncovering of her hair meant to you that she was presently studying at the church to become a nun. 

“I’m the choir dude’s daughter,” you said with a polite smile and looked away, expecting for your response to be all the elaboration she needed. 

In a way that was subtle with the intention not to be offensive but in that very manner was offensive in itself because of how irritating her caution was, the woman cleared her throat. 

“I-I know,” she pressed, “but this area isn’t open for seating. For anyone.”

When you didn’t answer for a moment as you stared at her, she quickly said, “I’m sorry. They told me to tell you.”

“I’ll find a spot in the pews,” you answered and collected your things. 

From the corner of your eye, it seemed that she wanted to offer a seating alternative just to make up for what she was forced to tell you, but there wasn’t very much else she could offer. 

That Thursday, you were back at the church to pick up an ironed uniform for your dad; it was for a special event set for the upcoming Sunday, and the church pressed it for him and everything. 

It was a nice gesture.

They were nice people.

On Thursdays, there were only morning services and events for children in another spacious room where they could colour and play with the church’s team leaders and nuns. 

But in the afternoon — which it now was — there wasn’t anything going on. 

When you arrived, the church was still and warm with gentle sunlight shining through the stained glass windows and casting a myriad of colours against the pews. 

You looked over your dad’s text again and walked through the directions he told you to take to get to the back halls of the church, just a few turns from the stairway that led up to the choir balcony. 

The room where you were to pick up the uniform was as pretty as the rest of the church; it was a small prayer room with a pedestal and stained windows and red carpeting, but it was much cozier and probably hadn’t been used for prayer for the group size it was designed for in a little while.

You could see through the glass door the folded uniform for your dad on the windowsill behind the pedestal with a name tag placed on top of it ready for pick-up along with a few other clothes for some other church volunteers. 

Upon entry, you closed the door quietly behind you and stepped into the room where you could now see a small table by the window and a familiar young woman sitting with a notebook, jotting a few things down from what looked like a leather-bound book. 

“Can I just get my dad’s uniform from there, or do I need to sign it off or something?” you asked, announcing your presence. 

She looked up from the notebook and at you then to the uniforms on the windowsill. 

“Oh, you’re…” She paused and thought for a moment. “The choir conductor’s daughter?”

“Yeah.”

“I can sign it off for you,” she replied and smiled. 

She stood from the table and walked around it to the uniforms, where a piece of paper was set beside the line of neatly-folded clothes.

You watched as she jotted down a few things onto the paper with a pen before carefully picking up the packaged uniform and turning to hand it to you.

“Thank you,” you answered. 

“Of course. Have a good day,” she replied and bid you a goodbye before heading back to the table by the window. 

You were on the way to leave the room, but you couldn’t, for some odd reason, take your eyes away from the way she lowered herself into her seat and resumed her notetaking. 

She didn’t notice when you changed your direction and walked towards the table she was sitting at until you were perhaps just a metre away from her, when she then looked up from her notes and up at you. 

“Did I give you the wrong uniform?” she asked, worried and now standing up from her chair. 

“No,” you answered quickly and waved your hand.

She stayed standing, curious as to why you walked back. 

“Hard at work?” you asked, pointing at her notebook. 

Confused for a moment, perhaps by your curiosity in speaking with her, she looked over to her notebook and then back at you with a friendly smile, “Yes, a little. They gave me something to study from. I’m just taking notes.”

Carefully, you reached forward and spun her notebook around so you could read it. 

Her curiosity seemed to spike when you leaned forward to read her notes, and she looked at you with a small smile. 

“Um,” she started awkwardly. “I want to apologise for earlier this week. For making you move seats.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you replied and looked up from her notes to smile at her reassuringly. “I know they just made you tell me because you’re new.”

The young woman seemed reassured, her shoulders even relaxing a bit when you said it. 

“You’re still… What do you call it? Like, you’re studying to be a nun here? Not fully one yet?”

She shook her head. 

“Yes, I’m in the study period before becoming a novitiate,” she answered. 

Your fingers ran over her delicate handwriting, feeling the indentations of her pen against the paper.

“To worship and submit,” you read aloud from the notebook. “Fascinating.”

She caught onto your twinge of sarcasm but approached it with humour, laughing a little and conceding, “It is a bit medieval, but an important quality, I’d presume.”

Reflecting suddenly on how young the woman seemed much younger than the other nuns, you asked her, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

She was a bit older than you, but still quite young.

Her hair was down now, though still neatly brushed and free of frizz and tucked behind her ears. She was wearing a white long-sleeved shirt and an ankle-length black skirt patterned lightly with gardenias. 

“How did you get into wanting to be a nun, anyhow?” you asked and moved your attention away from the notebook and towards her. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“I-I don’t?” she inquired, almost sounding nervous at the implication that she wasn’t training herself properly. 

“I mean, pious and submissive — sure,” you said, referring to her notes, which made her seem a bit flustered, “but not like a nun.”

She questioned curiously, “More like…?”

After humming aloud in thought, you turned to her with your hip laying against the edge of the table and suggested, “Elementary school teacher. Vet. I don’t know, something like that.”

She was pretty — truly. 

Cute, even. 

“When I was younger, I wanted to be a vet,” she told you, smiling sweetly. 

“Changed your mind?”

“Younger as in quite young, perhaps around ten,” she recalled. “My parents are both rather religious and ever since I turned fourteen it’s always been their intention to have me join a congregation.”

Interest piqued, you asked, “And your intention for yourself was…?”

“For myself?” she repeated as if taken by surprise. 

You nodded once. 

She paused for a moment to hum thoughtfully before saying, “I was happy to follow whichever path my parents intended for me.”

“You find passion in nunnery?” you asked. “Genuine question — not judging.”

“Of course,” she answered. 

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you quickly checked it to see that your dad had messaged asking if you were able to pick up his uniform.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been holding you back from something,” the woman apologised and stepped to the side to allow you to leave.

Sliding your phone back into your pocket and adjusting your dad’s uniform in your hand, you replied, “No, not at all. My dad’s just impatient. I should get going now though, since here’s a few errands I have to run before noon.”

She nodded in understanding. 

“It was nice being able to talk with you,” she then said. “I haven’t been able to talk with very many people since I came here. It’s all just been about studying and the church.”

Before you left, you made sure to ask for her name, to which she replied telling you it was ‘Wanda.’

Cute name.

It’d been quite a while since you ever attended the services two weeks in a row. The last you did was during the last half of August the first year your dad started conducting the church choir, during which you had nothing else to do but wait for classes to start — so you went to the services.

This time, because the church was celebrating something special, your dad asked both you and your mother to attend the service because he’d been working on preparing a set of songs for the occasion.

Under the guise of being a supportive daughter, your parents didn’t second guess why you were so willing to attend the service this week, nor did they ask if there was a certain individual you were perhaps a bit excited to see again.

Truthfully, you couldn’t stop thinking of Wanda since you last saw her a few days ago. There was much to her you felt laid dormant and sleeping, awakened only just in the slightest during the conversation you had with her. She was kind and curious, but also painfully naive. 

She was a few years older than you but knew far less about the truth of her own ambitions and strayed perhaps not even a foot’s distance away from behind her parents’ shadows.

Wanda was interesting, but intrigued you for far too long for her to be only that. Though you couldn’t very well figure out what it was about her that made her bounce around in your head like a pinball until an unassuming evening.

It was sincerely an unrelated act when you first started, travelling your hand down between your legs in the silence of the evening to relieve yourself of the pent-up stress from classes that’d come over you during the last few days.

Truly, it was completely unrelated to Wanda and anything and everything about her when you started, and even during, until you reached your peak of release and found your imagination flashing with curiosities about what she looked like under her garments, how she’d squeal if you spanked her ass and if she’d like it, or how she’d cry out in sheer pleasure if you forced her down and made her take her spankings regardless.

For a moment afterwards there was guilt, but every day onwards there was curiosity, wondering for hours about what you’d seen when you reached that point of pleasure during which Wanda was your only muse.

You’d like to tell yourself it was only that curiosity that guided your willingness to attend the service with your parents, but it was something else entirely too — something completely carnal.

For the first hour of the service, Wanda was still nowhere to be seen. Because of the church’s connections with its convent, the nuns had a large role in some of the day-to-day happenings, but mostly during important church events like what you were presently attending.

Wanda wasn’t a nun yet; she was yet to be even a novitiate as she had mentioned, and so perhaps she just didn’t get to attend events like these. 

Though you personally found that counter-productive, you weren't one to complain about the convent’s decisions, but you did wish you got to see Wanda.

If she wasn’t one to be able to attend such events, when would you see her next?

After coming to the realisation that you probably just weren’t going to see her today or perhaps even for a little while, you excused yourself after having been present for nearly all of your dad’s song arrangements and with enough time to be able to be back from the washroom with well-enough time to catch the rest of his songs.

To your surprise, you saw the very woman who’d been on your mind for the last hour was sitting in the hall by the stairway that led up to the choir balcony. She was wearing the same outfit as she had been the first time you met her, with her hair done up in the same way too.

“Excuse me, but you aren’t allowed to sit here,” you teased, approaching from the right and walking into the hallway.

She quickly swiped at her eyes and began to apologise before she raised her head and saw it was you who had spoken to her, and you who now stood beside the bench she was sitting on.

Though she smiled and seemed relieved and happy to see you, you could tell that she’d just been crying — alone in this hallway away from the service and the nuns and sitting at the far end of the bench so as not to be seen by the people attending the mass.

Wanda stood, running her palms down the sides of her dress with a friendly smile while saying, “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” you answered distractedly as you focused on the slight redness of her eyes and the tip of her nose. 

You then asked once you were sure she’d been crying, “Are you okay?”

Suddenly feeling self-conscious after realising it must've been obvious that she’d been crying, Wanda carefully wiped under her eyes again and even tried making herself seem less dishevelled by tucking her hair behind her ears before you took her hands away from her face and made her stop fidgeting with her appearance.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?” you pressed.

Dismissively as to not bring any more attention to herself, she told you, “It’s really nothing. It’s nothing to bother you with.”

“I wanna be bothered,” you answered lightheartedly. “Come on.”

Wanda smiled at your gaiety and you urged her to tell you what was wrong once more before she finally exhaled in surrender though she didn’t sit down before speaking, implying that in spite of the fact of giving in to you, she wasn’t very well planning on delving too deep into what had been bothering her.

“Earlier today, I had accidentally misplaced the leather book I’d been studying from — the one you saw me with a few days prior, if you can remember,” she said. “And I was scolded terribly for it. It was quite deserving as it was an important collection of notes and such, so I do not question from where my scolding had come, but it seems to me that all I’ve done since I started here is get myself in trouble with the other nuns.”

Here, you tried taking her hand and urging her to sit down, but she wouldn’t, and slipped her fingers out of your hold.

“They found the book in one of the small prayer rooms I’d been studying in, so at the very least it was not a mistake of ruining the integrity of the book by losing it completely, but rather the very principle of having been given something so important and misplacing it,” she continued.

Wanda swallowed and seemed to be contemplating whether to go into more detail, and you could tell that there was something else that had been bothering her that didn’t exactly have to do with misplacing the book.

Before she had the chance to make a decision, there was a passerby who came from the service in search of the restrooms, which interrupted Wanda’s train of thought as she and the man exchanged a brief hello.

“We can go somewhere else,” you offered, taking her hand and heading down the hallway with her. She didn’t take her hand away from you this time, but instead told you that she only needed time to be on her own and that she was fine now. 

The only other place you knew was the prayer room you picked your dad’s uniform up in, and fortunately it was unlocked.

You ushered Wanda into the room and she smiled at you from behind and you led her forward to one of the front seats in front of the altar, regarding you with admiration for the effort you put into wanting to express your concern for her and make sure she felt heard. 

The early morning beams of light shone through the stained glass like they had that afternoon you’d come here a few days prior, but the room was far less stuffy now, familiar and almost reminiscent of something nostalgic. 

The feeling could easily be because of the fact that you’d been envisioning what you could remember from it nearly every hour since that past Thursday, with the room in the background of your mental portrait of Wanda. 

She settled down in the seat beside you, feeling encouraged more so because she wanted now to be closer to you rather than solely to sit and talk about what had been bothering her. 

But she could partake in the latter if that was what you asked of her — and it was. 

“I know that I hardly know you, but I’ve been here for nearly a whole month and you are the person I feel closest to,” she confessed.

You felt flattered, though you knew telling you that she felt close to you wasn’t exactly the point of why she said that. 

Wanda further reflected aloud, “I’m getting nowhere I’m supposed to, not finding the call to God like both my parents and the nuns told me about though I have even given it plenty of time. I studied English in college and yet can find not even a little interest in my religious readings.”

While she thought in silence for a moment, you didn’t interrupt her. 

When she found the words to verbalise what she’d been meaning to say, she began with a question: “Do you remember when you asked what my own intentions were for myself? On Thursday?”

You nodded. 

“It’s ridiculous, but I can’t even recall the last time I sincerely asked that to myself, but perhaps in shallower terms, such as wondering where I might be in a few years or what I might do with my time in the convent.

“But never what I wanted — never who I wanted to be.”

After a moment, when you were sure she wasn’t trying to find words to express herself nor contemplating whether to say something, you asked, “And do you know who you want to be?”

For a brief moment — half of one, really — Wanda looked thoughtful, and then she said and gestured to her clothing and the prayer room, “Not this.”

“So then, what?” you inquired further. 

You teased, “A vet?”

Wanda giggled and sat back a bit in her seat. “Perhaps if I were ten,” she said. 

Then more seriously, she added, “But now, I’m not very sure.”

“How did you come to realise what you were interested in?” Wanda asked. “For example, your studies. What are you studying?”

She was talking fast, obviously very invested in your conversation together and also rather curious about you. 

You thought that was cute; you liked Wanda. 

“I’m studying philosophy,” you told her to which she straightened and was eager to hear more about. “But with studies, it’s different, because you’re talking about more personal matters. Academics are far different from personal paths.”

Wanda seemed a bit disappointed because she was looking for a definite answer, but what you explained certainly made sense to her. 

She pondered about something then instead asked, “So about personal matters, then. What about those?”

“What about them?”

“Give me a principle to follow,” she sought. “Something I might be able to apply here. Something as general as you’d like it to be, but applicable.”

Her steadily growing smile made it clear that though she was certainly looking for advice, she also thoroughly enjoyed exchanging quips with you and exploring more about you. 

In a way, she was as eager to learn about you than how to help herself, if not more so. 

You hummed thoughtfully and Wanda watched as you were deep in thought. 

“A principle for you,” you said, “could easily be that it’s okay to be selfish, to think only of yourself when you’ve spent so long doing anything else.”

Wanda asked, slightly amused but far more curious, “You recommend hedonism?” 

“To you?”

She nodded. 

You replied, “Indubitably.”

If you hadn’t already been thinking of Wanda in painfully great amounts before that morning, then you certainly were afterwards. 

The third week came around and by then Wanda was banging against every square inch of your skull like an intruder, necessitating the need to be seen and thought of every other minute in any way you could.

Perhaps the relationship you developed with her thus far was one of friendship and nothing more, yet her persistence that never strayed too far from your mind seemed to you that she had become reminiscent of something greater than a platonic figure. 

In any case, you had to muster the ability to ask your dad in the most nonchalant manner you could if it were possible for you attend Sunday’s service. 

You did it in a way that did not make it seem to him that you were about to become a familiar face in the church, but rather that someone had simply happened to ask you for help during the last service and wondered if you might be able to attend the next — which is quite literally what you told him. 

It wasn’t a lie. 

Not even when you said that it was a young woman who was studying to become a novitiate at the convent that was curious about the choir and the other volunteers and had asked you about it last week, because Wanda did truly ask about the choir and the other people who volunteered at the church once. 

But that wasn’t at all the reason why you wanted to attend the service that Sunday. 

“Y/N,” a voice called in a hushed tone when you passed the hallway leading up to the choir stairway where your dad had already walked up towards. 

You slipped away from the people filing into the pews and quickly came to Wanda’s side. 

“Don’t you have places to be aside from fraternising with the guests?” you teased as she took your wrist and led you towards the room you both seemed to like talking in the most. 

“After last week’s ordeal with the book, I’ve been put on some kind of probation from participating in the services so I have more time to study independently,” she told you, not seeming particularly worried.

She added, “On Sundays, the convent is rather empty, so they wouldn’t notice that I’m off not studying. Though I could very well say I chose to study in one of the extra prayer rooms here.”

“And I’m sure they remember how much you love the prayer rooms here,” you said, wiggling your eyebrows at your reference to her having lost the book in one of them. 

Wanda faked a laugh in the driest manner you’d ever heard and you nudged her arm to which she told you to stop joking around with her so she could tell you something important. 

She closed the prayer room door and sat you down beside her. 

From a small bag on the chair to her left, she pulled out a small dictionary. 

Here, you were tempted to make fun of her and ask why she was carrying around a dictionary so tiny, but you recalled that she had wanted to ask you about something serious. 

She flipped open to a page she had bookmarked. 

“Hedonism,” she read aloud. “In philosophy, the belief that pleasure and the absence of pain is the most important principle in determining the morality of an action.”

Wanda looked up at you from the dictionary. “This is what you meant?” she asked. 

You nodded. 

Curiously, you inquired, “Do you agree with it?”

She looked back down to the page in which had written three definitions of hedonism, the third being the one defined by philosophy. 

The first two you could not quite read upside down. 

“I have never heard of it in such detail before the time you mentioned it last week,” she said, running her eyes over the words in contemplation, “but it’s interesting.”

“What would be your first endeavour to pleasure, if you had to make a guess?” you asked her.

Wanda ran over the words of the definition again with her eyes, perhaps still deep in thought about it or absently doing so while she contemplated an answer to your question. 

“My first?” she repeated. 

You looked down at the dictionary page now that she was holding it at a slightly different angle that oriented the letters better for you. 

The first definition read, ‘Pursuit of pleasure.’

And the second — you had to tip your head to the side a bit to decipher it — read, ‘Sensual self-indulgence.’

During your deep concentration, Wanda had come to an answer to your question, and it wasn’t until she leaned forward and kissed your unsuspecting lips that you realised she had even stopped looking at the page. 

It was the uttering of her muffled words against your lips that triggered something deep within you, perhaps equally as restrained as her own. 

An unfinished sentence, but one on its own nonetheless. 

‘I want…’ she had uttered, breathless and with one hand cupping your cheek and feeling with the pads of her fingers the softness of your skin. 

With that, you hastily reached forward and grasped at her ass, lifting her from her seat and stripping her down so she was in nothing but her undergarments. 

The paths of your nails streaked red against her pale skin while you devoured her every step of the way, your lips following every inch of skin that became exposed to you while your hands made quick work of unzipping her dress and unbuttoning her blouse. 

She sighed when you kissed her breasts and squeezed your hands around her waist and hips, taking her selfishly and finally spreading her legs and sitting her down in your lap. 

“Are you…” you began between breaths, pausing to figure out your wording and sitting back in your seat to look at her. “Have you had sex?”

Wanda giggled, finding your question amusing. “Of course I have,” she replied and took your hands and placed them on her hips again. 

“Cocky,” you jested, hooking your thumb under the clasp of her bra and releasing it so it snapped against her back, causing her to arch her body into you with a soft gasp. “Thought you might’ve been abstinent or something.”

“I don’t mean to be cocky,” she said in a low voice. “But I am certainly not abstinent.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Only if you choose to be.”

“I choose to be,” you said with conviction. “So for whom should I be jealous, then?”

“College students.”

You gasped superficially.

“You fuck college students? Exclusively?”

“No!” she laughed. “I mean I haven’t been very active since my time in college.”

“Haven’t had sex since college?”

She corrected, “I didn’t mean that either.”

“So what did you mean?”

“This conversation is like pulling teeth.”

“Why? You want me to fuck you hard against this floor right now, baby?” you asked. The very crudeness of your words, albeit teasing, made Wanda’s breath hitch, and so within that reaction you found her first tell. “No foreplay or anything?”

“This isn’t foreplay?”

“Hardly.”

“Then what is?” she asked though sounding slightly pouty about it. 

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re all turned on and impatient from just that. Teasing gets you off?” you pressed. “Didn’t even have to be told how I wanna see your gorgeous ass bruise when I fuck your cunt from behind like you’re my sick little fucktoy whore?”

Her hips twitched. 

“Y/N…” she muttered, perhaps out of impatience or forewarning for how you were teasing her, either way you could not tell and weren’t very rushed in trying to figure it out. 

You pulled her bra down and released one of her breasts, slapping it lightly with your fingers and causing her to gasp before pinching one of her sensitive pink buds. 

There would be no indulging her past what you were willing to indulge; you were careful not to touch her more than what was intentional. 

You bucked your hips up under the guise of adjusting your seating, grinding your stiff cock against the soaking panties which were now beginning to soak your pants. 

Her cunt was sensitive beyond the thin fabric, causing the strap to rub her perfectly through her soft, swollen folds; you could practically hear how sticky she was without even looking. 

“What is that?” she quickly asked, looking down between her thighs. She tried moving back to get a better look, but you quickly held onto her hip with your other hand and pulled her harshly back to her original position, making her throbbing clit rub directly onto your cock. 

A strangled yelp was breathed past her lips. 

“Don’t move unless I tell you to, you understand?” you told her. 

She nodded.

“Everywhere else in this building, there is only one God, but here in this room, I am yours. You will listen to what I tell you and take what I give you, even if it hurts. You’ll be grateful that I make you hurt as much as you will when I give you pleasure.”

In spite of everything, Wanda repressed a tiny smile and said, “You’re scary when you’re authoritative with me.”

You laughed through your nose and replied, “I can get scarier.”

Her smile widened into a grin and Wanda’s hand came to the back of your neck when you leaned forward and kissed her, one arm circling around her waist and carefully slipping her off your lap as you stood from your seat. 

“We’ll get caught,” she voiced concern against your lips.

“Then be the lookout.” 

You made sure she didn’t trip on her way up to the podium, and soon you had her chest laid flat against the lectern and facing the front doors, the shadow of the large crucifix behind the both of you casted against the red carpet from the morning sun shining from behind the stained glass. 

Wanda listened as you unzipped your pants and when she made an attempt to turn her head and look at what you were doing, you put your other hand against her upper back and pressed her back down, reducing her line of sight to your face and shoulder and nothing else. 

Her clothed cunt was prodded at, the stiff tip of your strap finding her hole through her panties and nudging at it teasingly. She groaned impatiently and reached back to take hold of your hand, to grab onto anything and urge you forward.

In response, you spanked her harshly and made Wanda yelp out in surprise and wince.

“You dirty, impatient slut,” you spat.

She immediately whimpered, “I’m sorry, daddy.”

That satisfied something in you that you hadn’t even known you wanted, and you were more than happy to share in that satisfaction.

You hummed and tucked a finger under the waistband of Wanda’s panties, making her twitch impatiently while also doing her best to listen to her orders. Then you laid your hand flat against her lower back, rubbing her supportively and making a warm flush form across her face.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Wanda?” you asked, looking up her bent-over half-naked body to the back of her head.

She nodded.

“Good girl,” she confirmed with a nod.

Gently, you squeezed her ass and danced your fingers up to the waistband of her panties that you finally pulled down, exposing her gorgeous, glistening cunt.

It took just as much resistance from you not to shove your cock right into her as much as it took Wanda to not thrust her hips back and grind her clit against your strap.

“Why don’t you tell me all you’ve been studying about the last little while?” you said, running a hand down her ass and sliding a thumb into her pussy, feeling heaps of pride with the way you slipped inside with no resistance. 

She was incredibly wet and so, so warm.

Distracted by the way your thumb probed shallowly at her hole, giving her just enough pleasure to make her throb but just short of enough to satisfy her entirely, it took Wanda a few moments to regain her focus before she finally asked, “S-Studying? About what?”

“You’re a smart girl, Wanda,” you encouraged, slowly sliding your thumb out and grazing the pad of it lightly over her swollen slit and across the hood of her clit. “Methods on how to be a proper nun. For example, swear yourself to the Lord, abstain from sex, so on and so forth.”

Wanda swallowed and tried her best to focus with the way your thumb began spreading her cunt out, revealing to you the glistening folds of her pussy. She began stuttering and finally squeezed her eyes shut hard enough to be able to recall some of her studies.

“Um, there was…” she uttered and ran her fingers along the edge of the wooden lectern, “living in modesty; not showing off one’s body in any crude manner, not partaking in pleasures of the flesh.”

Three of your fingers began rubbing slow circles against Wanda’s hole, squelching against her dripping cunt and making her tremble and moan shakily.

“And what next?” you asked.

“I-I can’t… Can’t focus…” she told you helplessly.

Your thumb flicked at her clit and Wanda’s body jerked forward. 

“One more,” you urged. “Come on. Give me one more good one and I’ll fuck you with my cock. You want that, don’t you?”

Intentionally, you began to focus on her clit now, having your index finger graze it as your middle and ring finger slowly began delving in and out of her sticky hole, purposefully making it even more difficult for Wanda to find the words for herself.

“I want… I want that,” she shuddered, hanging her head and squeezed her eyes shut again.

“So, then, give me one more.”

Wanda’s breathing deepened as she tried her hardest to focus. 

With every intention to make it more difficult for her, you reached up with your other hand and pulled her bra down, allowing you access to knead her breast and feel her nipple harden against the palm of your hand.

She whimpered into her arm and bit down on her bottom lip.

You stepped forward and removed your fingers from her cunt to rub the length of your strap through her pussy, wet fingers taking hold of its base and running it through her swollen folds.

“A-Ah, Y/N, please…” she mewled, though neither of you were quite sure whether she was begging for you to stop and allow her to think thoroughly or for you to have mercy on her completely and just fuck her.

“One more,” you reiterated and aligned the tip of your cock with her entrance. 

You placed both hands on her hips and began pulling her backwards, fucking her shallowly and watching her pussy take your cock with just as much anticipation as Wanda was struggling to withhold.

She hugged around you beautifully and it was truly only the tip; you couldn’t wait another moment to fuck her until she was begging for you to fuck her until it hurt.

“A-Another,” she finally trembled out, “is to be, by nature, a woman of submission, to worship your God and seek no amount of personal domination over–”

Fully satisfied with her answer and terribly impatient yourself, your fingernails dug into Wanda’s hips and you jerked her ass back against you, forcing her to take your entire cock in one swift movement.

She cried out and you wrapped a hand around her waist, running your nails down her side and feeling an inexplicable need to mark her, to cause her pain, to reduce her to a whimpering trembling, bruised mess so cock-drunk that all she’d feel for the next three days is the aftermath of being rough-fucked like a slut.

“Hit me, please, daddy,” she begged, wrapping her fingers around the edge of the lectern and arching her back.

So you did — repeatedly. 

You spanked Wanda over and over, having the sound of your palm meeting her ass echo through the room and only reiterating to the both of you how she was much less of a nun or a student or any reflection of purity, but a braindead nympho whore good for nothing but getting her pussy fucked raw.

She was a loud fuck, crying out in whimpers and moans and other strings of partially-comprehensible words telling you how good your cock felt and how much she loved getting fucked by you.

The playing organs and belting choir playing during the service muffled Wanda out, but Jesus Christ, if any of them out there had been able to hear her getting fucked down the hallway, they might just think for a moment that it was the calling of an angel or at least something in some way divine.

But none of them would ever know what it looked like to fuck Wanda from behind, pulling her up with their hand around her neck so you had access to slap her face and spit into her mouth like you could, pinching her clit and fucking her through to her third orgasm.

How beautiful she looked, sweaty and a mess with her long brown hair fanned out and stuck in strands against her back, crying out in equal parts pain and pleasure and finding herself incredibly pleased by being used like a filthy object.

And you’d make sure no one else could get the chance to see the sight but you.

“I’m gonna come again, Y/N,” she cried, breasts pressed against the cold wood of the lectern and arms pressed against her back. “This is my last, please, I can’t take anymore.”

You let go of her wrists and wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her from the lectern. She was arched at a slight angle so your arm could assist in continuing to fuck her, but she was now much closer, and she was now able to loll her head back against your shoulder.

“This is the closest thing a slut like you will ever get to heaven, angel,” you told her, kissing her temple. “Make your God proud and come on my cock, filthy bitch.”

Wanda reached back and held onto you for support while her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parting as a silent cry escaped her, her third and final orgasm coming over her without mercy.

You squeezed at her breast and leaned your head down and bit at her shoulder and up the back of her neck, getting in as many markings of your ownership as you could.

She sighed out and uttered your name, to which you ran your hands up her stomach, one hand moving up to her face and gently tilting her head over so you could kiss her lips.

Her knees buckled out and you carefully set her down on the floor before sitting down beside her. Wanda panted heavily into your chest, one hand on your knee and the other arm wrapped around your shoulder. 

You had your arms around her waist, rubbing her back supportively and whispering in her ear words upon words of how beautiful she looked, how good she’d been for you, then soon confessing how much you’d been thinking of her over the last few weeks, how much of your mind she occupied and how much of your time you spent thinking of her.

Wanda liked hearing that last part most, but she particularly enjoyed when you told her how it felt to masturbate to her, to imagine her looking up at you and choking on your cock at your final point of release, and how really being with her was plenty more enjoyable and, quite frankly, more beautiful than you ever could’ve fantasised about on your own. 

The both of you were on your knees, sweaty with the labour of sex and kneeling in each other’s arms at the foot of the towering crucifix, whispering and giggling to each other all the equally sweet and dirty confessions you could exchange before the service was over.

[circeyoru]

You Think It’s That Easy? = Requested

[Yandere Human!Alastor x Arranged Marriage!Reader]

The Request (1) + (2)

Part 2 is out, please check Masterlist for the link

I supposed that it would be heavily implied that Reader here is female, cause I can’t imagine Alastor’s time letting male and male into a marriage. Sorry to my male readers!

A friendship between families is not something to be happy about. At least, to the children of the two families it isn’t

“Darling, meet Alastor, for now you two aren’t of age yet, but in time, you two will be married.”

That line was what chained you down to another without room for rejection or say. Luckily, Alastor himself wasn’t keen on the idea as well, so whenever you two were out of your parents’ sights, you two were off to do as you please

Your parents ran a successful shipping company, leading them to be absent throughout your childhood. They sent you to live with their friend, Alastor’s parents, later the idea of marrying you two was formed. Alastor’s father ran a factory, producing metal and machinary, so he was well off. There wasn’t a thing out of place, except maybe the greedy he has to money

With the lack of parents, you had to rely on yourself and you had plenty of private lessons to prepare yourself before going to going to school. You saw Alastor’s father as a sinful man that leeched off of your parents’ fame. The idea of marriage was mainly from him as well, since he wanted more compensation on top of what was given to him while taking care of you

Alastor was more of a mama’s boy, as you took notice. Very obedient to her, yet when it came to his father, he was much like a doll. You also saw his father as abusive, though he played the kind and sweet father figure when you were around, when you were out of sight, his switch is flipped. You leaned to Alastor’s wounds when you caught him reaching for a med-kit in the dead of night

The two of you made your peace with the arranged marriage after sometime spending at school. You two also thought of just going through with it since either of you found ‘love’, nor did you two want to disappoint your parents

A glorious wedding day supposed to be the best day of one’s life was a dull ceremony for you and merely a formality for Alastor. Vows spoken with the intent to break, rings exchanged as mere jellewery, and a kiss shared just as a performance on stage. Somehow, the smiles on your respective parents’ face was worth the trouble

You two moved out and lived in a mansion that was affordable. You two slept in separate rooms, nearly nothing was shared. The situation was much like a roommate. Nothing between you two suggested that there was the concept of ‘love’

Though an odd friendship of mutual acceptance and private support was formed. While you both had your fair share of friends and connections, you knew you could always rely on the other for anything because you’ve known the other your whole life and seen the ugly side of the other and accepted it

Like when Alastor’s father was accidentally killed in a factor fire and his mother passed away from an incurable disease not long after. Or your parents that died from a shipwreck while out at sea during a vacation you refused to go. During these traumatic times, while people around you two tried to claw at you, the other would protect and be a source of comfort

That’s why you two agreed to have the marriage stay in tact. It will be broken off when either one finds a partner that was ‘true love’

And that time came faster than imagined. You found that love you wanted, you didn’t tell anyone, opting to keep it a secret. You had a face to put on, so does your love. You knew Alastor would understand, in fact, he’d be ecsatic for you. Since this meant he would be free of this playing house game. You honestly figured Alastor had a lover of his own as well, since he returns home so late and would immediately head to the showers to clean before falling asleep

Everything planned for your leave, you didn’t inform Alastor and thought it was fine for you to just leave with your love. You did and none was the wiser. As a form of curtsy and thanks, you left Alastor a great sum of money, a letter of farewell, your wedding ring and signed marriage divorce papers. If he wanted, maybe you two could do on a double date?

While you were happy and dandy with the arrangement, Alastor found himself unable to go through with it when that time come. His hands crunched up the letter and he shoved away all that money. You see, he never expected it, but he fell for you in a way it wouldn’t be considered normal. You were someone he just want to let go

Starting that factory fire was easy, call it a trial. He hates his father, yes, but he also wanted to see if you’d break off the marriage since his father was the one to suggest the idea. But you didn’t and offered him a shoulder to ‘cry’ on, he realized then, that he prefered your presence other than his mother’s

“Alastor, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, My Dear. Accidents happen all the time.”

“No, it’s not!” You suddenly hugged him out of nowhere, you knew perfectly well of his aversion to touch, yet you hugged him tight and provided your shoulder, “Don’t hold it in, Alastor. It’s not good for you. I’ll be right here for you.”

Slowly, Alastor returned the hug. His arms wrapped tightly against you, he let his face bury between your neck and shoulder and forced tears out. When he felt your hands patting the back of his head and soothing his back, a sickly grin formed. He likes this.

He realized his love for you when you mentioned some unsatisfactory suitors that approached you even when your wedding day was near. He killed a few and faked some accidents there. Then he had that was your parents that wanted to stop the wedding since his father was dead and you didn’t appear interested in him

So he found some people with a grudge against your family and planned an accident during their vacation. He appeared as your knight in shinning armour when those some people targetted you. He catched them away, but he just had to off them for attempting to harm you. There, after everything blew off, he offered his hand in this staged marriage as a form of support to you. You needed a husband to rely on, even though you have the money, a lady such as yourself can’t last long alone

The moment you accepted, he got to work. Rooms changed to a shared bedroom, you two would appear as a couple in cafes to enjoy meals and breaks. Everything to make it seem like you two were truly a couple instead of what happened before

Alas, his time with you was very limited. With his popular radio shows and nighty activities, he couldn’t keep up with you. But in his eyes you didn’t change much, so he continued. He noticed you were happier, but when you didn’t tell him anything, he didn’t know what was happening. He assumed you had a successful deal made or the like

“Darling! Dear! I’m home!”

But all that returned his greeting was the empty silence of the mansion.

To think you found your love without telling him. He was careful to eliminate any potential lovers of yours. How did he miss this one?! He’ll admit he was busier than usual, but he had been keeping an eye on you. What went wrong?

As dramatic as it sounded, he felt like his life was sucked out of him when he saw the papers on the table. The flowers he brought, which were your favourite, and the ingredients he brought to make your favourite meal were long discarded on the floor. He left work early to celebrate your anniversary with you and you left?

He scrambled up his and your shared bedroom, your personal belongings and stuffs were all gone. He went to his study, your files, documents, and books were all gone. He went to the kitchen, your favourite kitchenwares were gone too. His knees gave out beneath him, you truly left. You left him

“I wish you a happy life with your lover, Alastor! Don’t mistreat her! And it’s not proper to stay out too late into the night, Alastor~” Those inferno words that taunted him. He could practically hear your voice teasing him from the letter. Did you think he had a lover too? How could he when he loves (is obsessed with) you?

Blasphemy! 

The next day, ladies were eager to comfort him and console him. The news of his divorce and that he was a free man was all over town, no doubt something you did to ensure that he and his supposed ‘love’ can be together in public. He was in no mood to entertain them

Alastor buried himself in his work, radio broadcasting and killing. As much as he wanted to hunt you down and kill whoever stole your heart from under his nose, he can’t. The two of you were famous in your own rights and it would cause quite the scandal that both of you might not recover

So he took out his witchcraft book. Binding souls request both souls’ blood and hair, he had collected yours beforehand. A sacrifice, the body in front of him will do well, it was the some person that tried to copy you and earn his love

He’ll see you in Hell and when he does, Alastor will not let you go

Note: Another story that's not {Unwanted Soul}! I'll probably continue that one when all the votes are in. At least, the new plotline will be like that.

Since this request was a long time ago, I went and made it longer than others. Hope you like this one in the meantime!

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron

@mistpurpl3

[simplyreveries]

Hello! I would like to make a request for Riddle, Kalim, Ortho, and Malleus (gn reader, platonic or romantic. except for Ortho, platonic for him)

How would they react to finding out that the reader wasn't allowed to celebrate their birthday back home and has never had a birthday party?

riddle rosehearts

I have a feeling riddle never really had experienced a birthday party himself, unless it was someone like trey or che'nya doing some little kid attempt at giving him one during their childhood and that is until he came to nrc and got to feel that more. Yes, riddle is saddened when he hears that you've never gotten to have one yourself more so greatly upset. you’re the last person he would ever think deserves to have that happen to, he will make sure to go completely out of his way with the help of trey and other dormmates he made help to ensure that your first birthday would be positively perfect..! riddle really wouldn't accept anything less than best for you.

because of his own experiences with… unpleasant birthdays he knows what a dreadful feeling it can be so it only amps up his own feelings into making it good for you. The roses will be painted your favorite colors, he’ll make sure trey makes you the tastiest cake/pastries of your liking, decorations are of your taste he is going above and beyond here. ace and deuce even make sure to tread more lightly around him as he's invested in this… they cannot cause any trouble on your special day hjsdjklsdg

all he can think about is the smile that will be on your face once you've seen what he has done, at least he can hope so. he frets about choosing a gift for you, but he’d settle for something small but sentimental like a necklace. his tension and initial worry do seem to evaporate when he sees you having a good time, he feels a sense of relief and simply cannot keep his eyes off of you.

kalim al asim

kalim literally cannot fathom this... he is immediately planning and preparing your birthday as soon as he hears about it and yes, it's going to be his best one yet (”kalim my birthday is in two months-”) he talks to jamil all the time about his plans and how it's going to be absolutely perfect for someone as perfect as you. kalim really is observant, especially towards you— he knows what you like and will implement any of that into this celebration of yours.

I don't just mean a big loud party with a bunch of people— kalim already knows if that really isn't your thing but trust me, he will still go above and beyond even if it's just some sleepover with him and some friends of yours. we haven't even discussed the amounts of gifts you’ll be receiving. I 100% believe he’d be like giving you some gift every day in your birth month, he’ll claim they're all to make up for the birthday gifts you didn't receive growing up.

on the day of your birthday, you could look at what he’s done and be like “isn't this a bit-” “too little??” hahaha. he is so full of energy that day; he tries to get you to dance with him even if it's just him making some fool of himself to get you to laugh. because, despite all the things he does and gets you objectively kalim’s priority is to see you happy and laughing throughout the day. that will be his biggest reward.

ortho shroud

ortho knows you pretty well, he does analyze people incredibly. so, he can easily understand what exactly it'd bd you’d want for a birthday… the issue may be is how do you get a bunch of people to celebrate something in ignihyde?? he’d settle to making some surprise party for you at ramshackle and drag idia to help him out. Along with the other first years.

he would make sure to let others like grim, ace, deuce, and the ghosts that live in ramshackle know what he’s doing as he still asks for some advice from them quite often. it's cute to see how serious he takes it; he gets all stern with people like ace or grim to make absolutely sure they don't spill and reveal the little celebration they're setting up for you, it's almost a little intimidating until he switches a 180 to a cheerful and excited demeanor when the plans seem to be going his way.

the party would end up becoming some sleepover with him and the first years, a little chaotic, but really fun. on top of that, ortho is getting his own experiences with things like this with friends for the first time too and he loves it.

malleus draconia

he has had spent most of his birthdays, rather lonely. i mean, he literally doesn't like cakes for the fact that they once gave made him sick because he didn't have really anyone to split it with. not to mention, his birthdays may become quite repetitive and boring with his years of age. however, he almost seems confused when you mention that you’ve never really have had one before. malleus believed that it was normal for humans to always have one, it's what he's been the most exposed to.

malleus could not stop getting that fact of you out of his mind, he seemed to be troubled and lost in thought on how to make you feel better about it. most likely, coming to lilia for help since he’s usually the one to do birthdays, obviously. of course, malleus would be quite happy and excited even to have one celebrated for you at diasomina— silver is quick to suggest he handle cake after past experiences with lilias cooking and baking skills.

he tries to actually keep to a surprise but he’s so obvious about it as he can't help but feel excited as he awaits your reaction to it all. you could ask him one night outside of ramshackle if he's planning a party for you and he’d chuckle and be like “am i?” (disappears??). he doesn't seem to leave your side once the day comes, content and pleased with how happy you seem. you’ll catch him staring at you the whole time as you go about your day, blow out candles for the first time, open gifts (which are obviously some rare, expensive accessory from him) and experience what it’s like for the very first time.

[hoes4lino]

A Mistake I Will Never Regret ❄️

WARNING ⊂✦⊃ This story contains suggestive / nsfw content. Minors please don’t interact, beware of the content you consume online.

Genre: Friends to lovers, comedy, romantic, college AU.

Word count: 4.8k

Reading time: 18 minutes

“Making this plan was a mistake but I don’t regret the outcome”

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ

The cold breeze of January made your body shiver as you waited patiently for your best friend to arrive. You paced in circles, pointer finger stuck in between your teeth as you bit it anxiously.

This was a bad idea. You told yourself, you don’t even recognize yourself for what you are about to do.

A loud thump and the cold sensation in your neck made you turn around quickly. He was here. There was no turning back.

His soft laugh embraced your ears as you rolled your eyes annoyingly “You are so annoying, you know that” You glared at the boy that had literal tears forming in his eyes.

“Hey!” He snapped back “Says the girl that texted me in the middle of the night to meet up in the park on a snowy day” He mocked you, making you cringe at yourself as you remember why you are here.

“Right….” You mumbled, He noticed the shift in your mood and looked at you concerned “What is it?” He questioned you. Shit. You took a deep breath preparing yourself for what you’re about to request.

“How much do you love me?” Looking at him with puppy eyes making him scoff “I don’t have money if that’s what you want” You snort looking at him in disbelief “I don’t need money”

He tilted his head confused “Are you in trouble?” “No” “Are you in your death bed?” “No” “Are you leaving?” “No.” He stopped questioning you to think.

“Will you let me-” He cut you off “OMG ARE YOU PREGNANT?” This man can never be serious “You know I had my doubts, ever since I saw you looking at the baby clothes at target” You bend to grab a snowball and threw it at his face.

“Hey!” He yelled as he cleaned the snow in his face “Im not pregnant! And can you blame me? That tiny dinosaur pj was hella cute” You scoff.

“Well if you are not pregnant then what is it?” The way he looked at you made it a hundred times more difficult to say.

“I need you to pretend to be in love with me” You cringe at your words as he stood there with a straight face.

A minute passed no words just intense eye contact “Say something” You practically begged. His body falling to the ground as he frantically started laughing.

“C’mon Minho I’m serious!!” You grabbed his hood to pull him back to his feet. “Damn late hours in the night really do wonders to people” He teased making you regret for even suggesting him.

“Pleaseee” You throw yourself to your knees and begged him grabbing his leg “I will never ever ask you for another favor” You look up at him with puppy eyes making him roll his eyes.

“Ok but like for what? Girl I need more details” You stood up happy that he accepted, you pulled him into a hug. “I will tell you more in the morning, Im freezing to death right now” You said as you started running away like a child who just got in their way.

“Wait y/n!!” He started chasing after you.

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ

“Ok so let me get this straight” Your best friend traced as he took a sip of his hot chocolate.

“You like Hyunjin.” He looked up as to see if he understood everything you just told him “But he only likes girls that are hard to get, so you want me to pretend like im one of your hoes… to make him jealous?” He squinted his eyes as he spoke.

“You make it sound dumb but yeah that’s the plan” You grin at him as you offered him a piece of your chocolate croissant which he accepted.

He laughed “What are we high schoolers?” He teased gaining a glare from you “I know it’s childish, but what’s life without drama?” You say gaining a preach gesture from Minho.

“You got a point, so when are we starting” He said vaguely as he grabbed his phone. “As soon as possible, but remember! You are the one that needs to pretend like you want me.” You grabbed his phone so he would look at you.

“Yeah, yeah I know” He said rolling his eyes “But what’s in for me?” He questioned making you scrunch your face, you didn’t thought about that. After all he is indeed helping you.

“I mean you might get laid from this plan, so what do I get in return?” He raised an eyebrow as you looked deep in thought. “Umm… Remember Clarissa from our sociology class? I will get you a date with her” You said hoping he would accept that deal, although convincing her was going to be rather hard.

“Im not really into her but she is hot so… deal” He said stretching his arm towards you. You giggled at the gesture you loved how he was always there for you.

“It’s a pleasure making business with you Lee Minho” You took his hand and shook it before both of you bursted out laughing.

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ

But sometimes things don’t always go as planned.

At least you never expected to see your best friend in between your legs as an outcome of this plan.

What started as a ‘How to turn on a man’ lesson end up in a rather heated…whatever situation this is.

It’s been around a month since Minho and you agreed to play this little “Lets make Hyunjin jealous” game. And to your surprise it worked perfectly. After days of Minho giving you the princess treatment during school hours, Hyunjin started getting a little annoyed and decided to ask you out on a date.

“So once he is in between your legs, he should leave wet pecks all over your thighs” His cold finger pads traveling along your burning skin, indicating where ‘Hyunjin’ should kiss you.

In this moment you aren’t sure if he still has Hyunjin in mind. At least you don’t.

You called him to visit your dorm because Hyunjin invited you to a date. And you being the virgin you are, you needed help to know what to do in a heated situation.

The night started normally, just two best friends gossiping and giggling about the situation in hand. He looked genuinely happy for you though he was feeling a little feisty today.

“Just cause he asked you out doesn’t mean he wants to kiss you” He said as he laid down on your bed, his face snuggling against your favorite plushy.

“Ouch” You said as you joined him in bed “But what if~” You trace shaking his body to get his attention. Then suddenly out of nowhere he unattached from your plushy and pushed you on the bed to pin you down. You did not see that coming.

“Then, welcome to ‘How to turn on a man 101” He teased as he moved away from you and stood up. You were about to stand up but he was quick to sit you down on the edge of the bed.

“Tsk Tsk Tsk” He moved his finger in a no manner “You will remain seated like the good student you are” He patted your head “Yes Professor Minho” You said in annoyance at his little game. “There you go, good girl” Those words shouldn’t have made you feel butterflies in your tummy.

“Ok so” He sat next to you “Lets pretend I’m Hyunjin, we are watching a movie” He began explaining the plot of the fictional situation.

“I’m gonna wrapped my arm around the back of your shoulder” He said as he did the action, pulling you closer to his body, making you stiff “Now don’t do that” He turned to look at you “If you stiffen your body he will think you don’t want that and will give you space” He explained “We are trying to get you laid not respected” He then stopped as he processed his words.

“I mean. I don’t want you to get disrespected, the moment he does something you don’t like you call me and I will beat hi-” You chuckle lightly “I get what you mean Minho” He smiled warmly “Good”

“So try to relax yourself” You do as he says gaining a satisfactory smile from him. “Now consider this as his move, in order for something to happen there should be a balance, show you interest” He looked at you waiting for you to do something.

“This is not going to work… Im too awkward- what am I supposed to do” You said frustrated, making him pinch the bridge of his nose.

“It has to be something smooth… maybe try grabbing my hand that’s on your shoulder and play with my fingers” You listen to him like an eager puppy that’s willing to learn few tricks to get a treat.

You do as he said, lightly touching his hands, your fingers intertwining with his as you opted to rest your head on his shoulder.

He looked at you with a bright smile “Look at my pupil” She patted your head “Such a fast learner” You giggle at the compliment, you always loved how he would always encourage you whenever you did something that was new to you.

After that, the hours seemed blurry, you can’t quite recall how he ended up in between your legs. It all started in an innocent way. How did we get here.

You are both fully clothed though the bulge in his grey sweatpants is hard to miss. You low-key regret wearing shorts, cause the way he was tracing his fingers in your legs shouldn’t be this delightful.

It felt like if someone was teasing you with a feather, it was taking you a lot of self determination to not react to his touch. Him on the other hand was shameless; he had no intentions to hide how much he was enjoying this, lust written in those chocolate eyes of him.

“Though” This was the first word you heard in a while, breaking the intoxicating tension in the silent room “I doubt he will enjoy this as much as I am right now” He moved to look directly into your eyes a teasing smug on his face.

You scoff “You pervert” You sat down to hit his shoulder, His laugh erupting in the room. “You asked for my help, I gave you a tiny preview of what could happen” You rolled your eyes.

“It’s too late, are you not sleeping over?” You remarked as he stood up to grab his jacket “Honey after this I’m afraid I can’t stay over” You knew what he meant, his erection was too obvious and probably painful as well.

You just hummed in understanding and walked him to the door. You were already beginning to regret this plan. As you closed the door you stood there for a couple seconds hoping he would knock and stay the night with you.

Yet it didn’t happen. You curse yourself for wanting something else to happen, he was your best friend he was just helping you for your date tomorrow. Though you wondered if he felt something… maybe a spark… something… anything.

You yeeted yourself to your bed, trying to drown the craving you had to feel his lips in yours or in any other part of your body. Taking a few deep breaths you were able to fall asleep. Oh the adventure that awaits you.

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ

“phewww” Minho whistled as you entered your bedroom, You were wearing a black dress that screamed slut me out. You found it quite odd that Hyunjin invited you to a party on your first date.

You would be lying if you say you weren’t expecting something more intimate, more romantic at least. But you won’t complain, parties are the perfect place to get laid and when your date is Hwang Hyunjin you won’t miss the chance.

“Look at you” Minho said as he stood up from your bed and made his way to you. You could feel his presence behind you as you tried to wear your necklace.

Both of you made eye contact through the mirror as he touched your hand for you to give him the necklace. While you grabbed your hair, he gently helped you put it in.

“I wonder who gave you such beautiful necklace” He teased making you laugh. He gifted it to you for your 19th Birthday a year ago and since then he always expects you to credit him every time you wore it. But can you blame him? It was a Swarovski necklace he bought with his hourly shift job when he was 20. Now that’s a friend to keep.

“At this point Im going to engrave a ‘Gifted by Minho’ on the necklace so everyone knows” You teased back making his chuckle.

“Are you ready for the party?” He said looking at you from the mirror, you nodded simply “Are you going too?” You questioned as you saw his outfit.

“Yeah, I’m trying to see if I get lucky and bring someone back to my dorm” He smirked making you snort in disgust “Too much info Minho!” You shook your head trying to erase the picture your brain created of him with someone else in bed.

“You imagined it didn’t you” Oh god how much you would love to erase that stupid smug off his face. “You are so annoying you know that?” He laughed “I wonder how many more times Im going to hear that from you” He tilted his head to look at you closer “Till I die” You said before going to get your phone which was ringing for the couple last minutes.

“It’s time for me to go” You announced as you re entered the room to get your purse “please-" He cut you off to finish your sentence “Lock the door when I leave, I know” He said with a soft tone and a smile.

You couldn’t help but reciprocate the smile “I will tell you all the deets later, bye!” You said closing the door to meet with your date, leaving Minho alone in your dorm.

“Of course you will” He said sitting down on your bed quietly. He would be lying if he said he is not excited for you, but deep down he wanted to be selfish and pull you back from Hyunjin.

When he accepted this plan he hoped some spark would light up on you and realize he likes you, however it never did and what pisses him off is that the plan worked just how you said it would.

How could you be so blind with his feelings? He sighed before standing up to leave your dorm, locking the door as you commanded.

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ

“Ummm Hyunjin…” You said uncomfortably, you been in this frat party for God knows how long. The beginning was perfect, you and Hyunjin had so much fun, even made out for a couple of minutes, however as the alcohol progressively started to take over his brain he began to lose interest in you.

“What?” He said, his tone sounding more aggressively than he wanted to “I’m sorry” He slurred “What’s wrong?” He asked again this time sounding more concerned “I umm I want to leave” You said softly a little ashamed that you are basically taking him out of the party.

“Ok bye” He pecked your lips before returning to talk to his friends, you tilted your head taken aback, you tapped his shoulder to get his attention again “You are not leaving with me?” You questioned him once he turned to look at you again “Pfft Fuck no” He said as his friends next to him began to laugh.

oh.

You needed some air.

You walked to the bathroom to get away from all that noise, you tried your best to swallow your tears. Everything was going so perfect… when did everything went down. Did he not like the way you kissed him? Maybe the dress was too much… makeup maybe?

You sighed as you made your way out of the bathroom, walking back to the spot you were with Hyunjin to get your purse. Even when the lights were dim and your vision was blurry you could see his figure kissing someone else, you were about to take another step when someone grabbed your waist and stopped you.

“I have your purse let’s go” Minho said worried “No.” You tried to escape his embrace to see it closely. Maybe your eyes were playing a trick on you. You needed to confirm it.

“Y/n” He said softly making you look up at him “Let’s go baby” He pouted making you sighed, swallowing your tears again. You couldn’t let anyone else see you cry.

The car ride was silent, Minho played few of your favorite songs to cheer you up, yet nothing could drown the embarrassment and humiliation you felt at that moment. He walked you to your apartment. He hoped to hear a word from you, yet it didn’t happen.

You were about to close the door without saying a single thanks, this pissed him off. He stopped you before you could close the door, it startled you by the loud bang of his hand against the door.

“I won’t let you go without even hearing a single word from you” He said looking intensely at you. That’s when you broke down, tears streaming down your face, your head down. “I- I thought he might be the one” You began crying. The alcohol in your system making you spill everything you been keeping.

“Im about to turn 21 next year and yet I have never ever dated anyone” You slurred, Minho didn’t know what to do exactly at that moment, he was taken aback by your sudden meltdown.

He stepped inside your dorm and closed the door behind him, locking it before helping you reach your bed. You sat down on your bed as you kept yapping about how you craved to be loved by someone special, Minho just looked at you as he stood in-front of you.

Cursing you in his head as he has been there this whole time dying to get a chance.

“Minho do you think Im pretty” You raised your head to look at him, your doe eyes shining like the stars. Minho looked at your face, your mascara ruined from your tears, and your plump lips formed in a pout. If he were to make you cry it would be for another reason, cause fuck. You looked hot in his eyes. He shook his head trying to erase that thought from his mind. Not the moment Minho. Maybe those shots got into his brain.

When you saw him shaking his head tears began to shred like there wasn’t a tomorrow, Minho panicked as he saw the way you misunderstood his actions. If only you knew what he was thinking about.

“I- No y/n” He crouched to be eye level with you “I didn’t mean that” He said with eyes filled with panic “Liar!” You hit his shoulder as you kept crying.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or your tears or maybe he was just too desperate, however never in a million years he thought he would be brave enough to kiss you.

He didn’t even notice he was kissing you until you accidentally moaned in his lips. He separated off you as quick as he was to kiss you.

“Shit y/n��� I’m sorry- I had too many vodka sh-” This time he was the one to accidentally slip a moan as your lips crashed on his.

You flung your arms around his neck and you pulled him to the bed with you. They say love is a weird emotion, it surges from tiny actions and it vanishes when its not the right person. How does someone’s heart know who is the right one though?

That’s the funny part. It doesn’t. Love is like a russian roulette, it comes and goes, however with Minho, it was always there. It never vanished no matter how annoying he got at times. You just were too blind to accept your feelings. Maybe afraid of the rejection that could have come with confessing.

When humans are in love they rather live their lives filled with ‘what if’s’ than being rejected by those who their heart choose. That’s why people say Love is a coward emotion, because only those who are brave enough are capable of experiencing it.

“Y/n shit” He cursed as you involuntarily grinded on his crotch as he kissed you “I- I can’t do this, not when you are-” You stopped his sentence to peck his cheek “just the tip?” You said in an innocent voice.

And that’s how only three words could break down his moral of never fucking a drunk girl, specially you. He wanted the moment to be special but how could he resist when you were practically begging him.

Let this be a mistake he will regret in the morning. Cause fuck it he won’t hold back. “Just the tip” He grunted as he kissed your neck, his hands groping your ass and thighs.

He was about to slip his hand under your dress to touch your pussy when he remembered something important. At least to him. You were a virgin.

“Fuck I can’t do this” He sat up leaving you dumbfounded “Why?” You protested “You kissed me first so I thought you would” He was quick to stop your words “It’s not that… I do want you, Fuck I been dying for this the moment I met you, I have even daydreamed about fucking a child inside of you the moment I saw you in the child section at target” He started rambling nonsense he doesn’t even know where it was coming from.

His words sent a million butterflies rushing to your tummy, your legs pressing against each other “But…” You trace tilting your head waiting for him to continue “but… you are a virgin and I want you to be a hundred percent sure that you want me to be the one” You chuckle lightly.

“I am sure though” You said moving to sit on his lap and kiss his neck slowly “No… you are drunk” He said caving into your kisses. “I promise you that I only had 2 mimosas and that was hours ago” You said trying to convince him you were pretty much sober by now which was indeed true.

“What’s 8 x 8” Here it was the stupid mathematical questions he would always pull on you to see how coherent you were “64” You rolled your eyes “Square root of 12?” “144, c’mon give me something hard” You said annoyed waiting for him to believe you.

“You are sitting on it” It took you a moment to process what he meant, your cheeks flushing as you felt it. You hit his shoulder and hid your face with your hands “You are so annoying y-” “I know that” He teased as he grabbed you to lay you down on the bed, his body pinning yours.

His smirk sends tremors through your knees. "You wanna know a secret...?" You hold your breath as he leers closer, allowing you to better see the lust flickering through his umber eyes. "I been holding back to just bend you down ever since we started this little plan, I hope you turn into little slut for my cock..."

Holy shit. Who would say you would hear those words coming out of his mouth.

The wave of wetness that pools between your thighs immediately soaks your underwear. It takes every bit of your lingering self control to not grind your best friend's crotch like a horny rabbit.

Even so, you find it more and more difficult to repress your dirty desires as Minho trails his hands up your legs, pausing to lift and wrap your knee around his hips. So this is what heaven feels like. You nearly moan as you feel his erection pushing against your pelvis.

"Oh fuck—" Your brain completely short circuits, unable to stop your desperate moans. Yours and his moans bleed into one another as your clothed cores come into contact. Minho's fingers tighten on your leg-just shy of bruising.

“Please just the tip” You begged as you seek to make eye contact with him.

You wonder if he can feel the extent of your wetness against the front of his jeans, but all thoughts are chased away when he dragged his finger on top of your swelling folds.

"Fucking hell" He hisses, his hand beside your head tightening into a fist- "You are so wet for me… it feels like dream” You chuckle at him, too drunk on the sensation.

“I'm not gonna I-last if you are this wet for me..." His words only motivate your intentions, thrusting your hips into his fingers, desperate to feel his. Seeking more leverage, you wind your arms around his waist and tug him even closer against your body. His face seeks refuge in the crook of your neck as you continue, further fueled by the hot breathe caressing your collarbones.

"Fine. I’ll give you what you want” He said breathlessly as he sat to take his pants off and raised your dress enough to let him see your wet panties. He wanted to let you keep some modesty and you were grateful for that.

You silently agree with your companion to keep your top clothes on, gasping loudly when his tip tap on your cunt. He moved it up and down your arousal to wet him a little bit. You both breathed heavily at the sensation. Just the tip. Just the tip. He kept remind himself as his tip slowly made his way inside your cunt.

He made sure to go as slow as possible to not make you uncomfortable, he wished you would have let him eat you out before stretching you, but Mrs little impatient didn’t let him.

The way your warm cunt clenched on his tip was making it hard to focus on the task in hand, which was not enter you fully. But how could he restrain himself when your hand is playing with clit in front of him. It was like you were taunting him. Speak of the devil cause you might be the temptation in person.

And oh god you were indeed the devil cause if it wasn’t for the way you desperately asked him for more he would’ve just done the tip. However someone was greedy and the next time he knew he was fully inside you trusting his cock deep inside you.

The lewd sounds embraced the room, the sloppy sound of your arousal and the thump of his pelvis hitting yours turning both of you even more.

His lips never left your body, he was either leaving love bites in your chest or kissing your mouth like it was your last day.

Although everything felt so sudden, it felt right. The passion the lust everything. It felt like the best timing.

It wasn’t until his kisses got sloppier that you knew he was close to cum, you grabbed his hair and squeezed it tightly as he switched your position, placing couple pillows under you so he could have better access to your cunt.

If you thought he couldn’t go any deeper you were wrong. His dick rubbing that spot that’s been getting teased for a while now. He pressed his hand on your stomach just so he could see how deep his dick was inside you. And oh lord that drove him to the edge. You both cling to one another as your climaxes approach one after another.

Minho's guttural groan triggered a release that spills white-hot bliss through your veins. You can feel your cunt pulsating as you fight to catch your breath. It's not until post nut clarity hits you that you realize what was going on.

"Did we just?” You asked embarrassed as the man cling into you hummed happily, his hot breath hitting your neck.

"You were the one begging for it you better not regret it" He teased as he hugged you even more tightly, if this was a dream he hoped he would never wake up.

You shove Minho with a newfound adrenaline, staring at his confused expression “You are annoying. I really hope you know that.” He began to frantically laugh as he pecked your lips “And you love that charm of mine, I know that”

The rest of the night was spent in kisses and chuckles, until you both finally drifted into a slumber sleep. This whole plan was a mistake you will never regret.

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ 🎐 *ೃ

A/N: Sorry I made Hyunjin the bad guy, this character indeed does not fit his personality but as always remember that my fics never correlate to any of the idols real image, its all pure fiction. Also I didn’t proofread this, as I rushed to finish it on a school night, let me know of there’s any typos. Hope y’all enjoy! <;3

[magics-neptunes-things]

Ready, Aim, Shot

Hi! ♥ I hope you are all ok!

I have trouble finishing all the stories I started, but I’m working on it!

This one took me a little longer to write, I hope you like it. It is a little different from what I have written so far, but it is following a request from an anonymous:)

Summary: You’re a journalist and you were sent to a complicated place in the world. Will the attack you suffered prevent you from finding your girlfriend’s arms permanently?

TW: Angst, mention of war and bomb, accident, hospitalization.

PART 2 | PART 3

____________________________________________________________

Alexia is the only woman you fell in love with, and everyday you find yourself falling even harder for her. She was perfect for you. Caring, loving, loyal, attentive and sweat. Your bond is even more special than you ever dreamed before you became a couple.

However, things could have started more easily. You are a journalist/reporter and you know perfectly well that celebrities are not fond of this kind of profession, for good reason. When you found yourself following her for days for the report "Alexia: Labor Omnia Vincit", she was very professional at first. Like, really very very professional. But you lived with her for weeks, met her relatives and finally you found yourself covering her with heart eyes.

What you never imagined was that things could be reciprocal.

Shortly after announcing your relationship, at your friends and family only, you quickly settled together. Your cat met officially Nala at that time and you were spending happy days all four in Alexia’s apartment. I mean, your apartment now.

There are sometimes a few days during which you can't see each other, when Alexia leave for football or when you go in another country for a report. You go watch Alexia at every opportunity you have, enjoying to see her evolve in her element. And you know that Alexia reads or looks the articles or reports you participate in.

Alexia has already had a lot of trouble accepting that you go to eastern Europe last month for a report, so it's with a ball in the belly that you come home tonight. You have to tell her you’re leaving for another complicated place in the world and you know it’s going to be hard for her to accept.

You nervously bite the inside of your lip when you open the door of your apartment, immediately greeted by Nala who comes to rub in your legs, almost making you fall. You laugh gently and lift her off the floor to put a kiss on her skull before resting her gently. Your cat, for its part, opens an eye from its cat tree, long before turning and falling asleep again.

"Thanks for the welcome, Diabolo" you grumble.

You roll your eyes and hang your coat in the cupboard of the entrance before going in search of Alexia. Her sneakers at the entrance and a pleasant smell of food floats in the air, informing you that she’s home. Nala is ahead of you, running towards the kitchen, where you find your girlfriend.

The smile she gives you when you arrive takes your breath away and you accelerate the step to have her faster against you. Your face in her neck, you breathe her smell before putting a kiss, then several along his jaw to finish on her lips.

"Holà mi Amor"

She says to you smiling, passing both hands in your hair.

"Holà."

You let her kiss you again before taking a look at the stove to see what is in the pots.

"Did you finish training early?" You ask when you realize she’s had time to prepare all this and shower before you come home.

"No" she laughs softly "My mom came by to bring us what she cooked for her dinner with her friends tonight. Apparently she planned too big"

"Like she didn’t mean to"

You laugh too and Alexia throws you a smile and a amused look. You both know that she cooked huge quantities on purpose to be able to bring you some, Alba surely received her part too and you wouldn't be surprised to learn that your sister also received Eli’s visit with a tupperware filled with paella.

"Do I have time to shower?"

You want to get comfortable quickly, knowing the discussion you have to bring later. You think you’ll wait until the end of the meal though, not wishing to spoil your girlfriend’s appetite.

"If I had known, I would have waited for you" Alexia whispers, sliding her hands dangerously close to your butt.

"Alexia Putellas Segura, you are worse than a male teenager" you smile against her lips before kissing her tenderly. "I make it quickly."

After a quick shower, you go straight into Alexia’s clothes section of the wardrobe, choosing an old FC Barcelona jogging you love and one of her t-shirts with a Nike logo.

"It seems that you are wrong again on the side of the cupboard mi Amor" Alexia tells you with a knowing smile when you return to her.

"Oops."

********

After the meal, you sat on the sofa in the living room to watch the series that you started to follow recently. You still haven’t managed to talk about it, Alexia seems so relaxed and happy tonight that it breaks your heart to have to make this announcement.

However, your worry must be easily noticeable, since you feel Alexia’s hand on your fingers as you mechanically wiggle between them.

"Okay, what is it?" she asks you, slightly getting up to see you better.

"What?"

"You haven’t paid a single second of attention to the episode since we started it, you play nervously with your fingers and you keep biting your lip. What the hell is going on?"

You sigh softly and sit cross-legged on the couch, not finding the courage to look into her eyes. Beside you, you feel Alexia put herself in the same position. You feel her gaze on you as you speak again.

"I have to leave in three days for a new report" you finally confess.

"Where?"

"In the Middle East"

"No."

Alexia’s firm voice makes you look up and you can’t tell if her "No" is a ban she puts on you or if it's a form of denial to this information. Her eyebrows frown, her eyes are hard and you have to take it on yourself not to lower your eyes again.

"There’s no way you’re going. It’s too dangerous."

"This is my job, Ale" you point out lightly.

"I don’t care. You stay here, there is no fucking way that I let my girlfriend going right to death, your boss is completely crazy and irresponsible."

You watch her get up and go around in circles in the living room, talking while gesticulating her arms in all directions, scaring Nala in the same time.

"I’m not going alone, there will be my team with me."

"I. Don’t. Care."

********

Three days later, you find yourself at the airport with your team. By working together, they became your friends and Alexia knows them very well. And they know Alexia very well too. That’s probably why Lola asks you with surprise about the absence of your girlfriend to say goodbye.

"She didn’t want me to go"

You hardly swallow your saliva and thank Lola mentally for not insisting. Her compassionate smile is enough to bring some tears to your eyes, which you fortunately manage to stop.

Alexia is very mad at you. She tried emotional blackmail, anger, tears and pretty much everything in her possession to keep you close to her. The worst part is you would have preferred to stay with her, but you couldn’t refuse that warrant. You had already refused a report to manage Alexia’s anxiety a few days before and your boss warned you that it was the last refusal on your part that he accepted.

You don’t know if Lola passed on the information to the rest of the team, but they all show themselves to be particularly caring with you. Ben offers to check in your luggage and you gladly accept. You take a quick look at your phone and see that you have messages from your parents, your sister, Eli and Alba, but none from Alexia.

She left for her training saying goodbye of course, it was still out of the question to leave you angry. You can’t blame her, you know perfectly well that if things were reversed, you would react the same way. She too had tears in her eyes closing the door behind her and that didn’t help you leave your apartment earlier

"Well, look who’s here" Marta laughs.

Like the rest of your team, you turn to the point she’s staring off behind you. And you feel an electric current running through you when you recognize Alexia’s silhouette. She hasn’t seen you yet and you can see her look through the crowd with a desperate air, as if she were afraid of having arrived too late. Fortunately not, with the amount of material you have, boarding always takes forever.

Without hesitation, you split the crowd and she finally sees you. A few seconds later, you are in her arms and it's only now that you see Mapi over her shoulder. The tattooed one winks at you before getting away to give you some privacy.

"I thought I was too late"

Alexia’s voice came to you in a muffled way, her face being buried in your hair while she hugs you against her with all the strength of her arms. You give her back her embrace, certainly with much less force, but this embrace brings you the comfort you needed.

"Thanks for coming" you mumble back.

One hand in her hair and the other in the hollow of her back, you breathe deeply for the first time in three days. You stay like this for a few moments, before Alexia lets go of you with one hand to search in the pocket of her coat.

"I have something for you."

You watch her do and after a few seconds she show you a necklace with a pendant hanging. You would swear that something is hidden in it, but before you can question her on the subject, Alexia resumes speaking.

"You’ll open it on the plane, okay?"

You nod and let her hang the necklace around your neck. Her fingers make you shudder and you hurry to get back against her when she’s done. You don’t care if you’re being watched or even if someone recognized you. In any case, it’s been several weeks since edits of you two started appearing on the Internet. Alexia doesn’t seem to care much either since she’s the one who initiates your kiss.

"Promise me you’ll come back"

"I promise"

Her forehead leaning against yours and her look in yours makes you forget the rest of the world around you. The place where you fly is dangerous, you are perfectly aware of it. And Alexia too. She doesn’t make you make those promises every time, but only when she knows there’s a risk.

"I hate your job."

Her remark makes you smile softly and you replace a lock of her hair behind her ear before resuming speech.

"I think this is the last time I leave"

"What do you mean?"

The surprise forces Alexia to take off her face from yours to be able to better observe you. Her hazel look plunges into yours when you shrug your shoulders.

"It gets too complicated for both of us and I don’t have the same pleasure doing what I do anymore. I’ll talk to my boss when I get back, but I’m thinking of resigning"

Alexia’s face becomes perfectly smooth under the shock of the information and she blinks several times before responding.

"I- I never asked you to quit" she stutters, making you smile.

"I know"

You smile in front of her amazed air and kiss her tenderly on the cheek. You have been working for the same people for many years and have made a name for yourself in the profession. And even if a job change is turned down, you know you’ll find something else elsewhere.

You hear Lola calling you gently behind you, meaning it’s time for you to go. Alexia looks at you and your smiles are more like grimaces. It’s time to say goodbye.

"Take care of yourself and don’t let Diabolo eat too much."

"I will"

A new kiss is exchanged before you have to release her. You take a quick look in the direction of your team, most go up to the departures floor thanks to the escalator, only Lola is waiting patiently for you downstairs.

"Be careful, mi Amor. Think of me?"

"Every second of the day Cariño."

A few hours later, you are installed on your plane seat, window side. As if to better stick to your mood, the rain began to fall on Barcelona, drawing shapes on the porthole through which you look. Remembering the pendant that Alexia gave you, you gently take it in your hand to better observe it. You have no trouble finding the security to open it and inside you discover a rolled paper that you unfold. You smile and realize it’s a picture of you and Alexia. Behind it, she wrote a note.

"Forever with you. Te amo tanto. Alexia ♥"

********

Since your arrival, you have been able to exchange several messages and phone calls with Alexia. Things are going better than you both imagined, to your relief. You are not exactly in the middle of the conflict, the work you were asked to do being more focused on the population who decides to enlist in the army to defend their country. You are protected by soldiers who follow you like your shadow and you even feel safe.

It's the mind entirely turned towards the report that you climb in the jeep that brings you and your team where you have to meet several people to interview them. You have to go back to Barcelona in two days and your idea to resign is still on your mind. The more you think about it, the more you know it’s the right thing to do.

You are listening with amusement to Ben talking about his son’s latest mischief when something happens. A click, followed by the panic cries of the men around you. They express themselves in their native language that you don't master, or very briefly. A few seconds later, a heat wave lifts you off the ground and you are thrown out of the vehicle, unconscious, the mine you drove over blowing up everything around.

********

When Eli and Alba appear on the edge of the training field, Alexia knows something bad happened. The joke she was exchanging with Ona gets stuck in her throat and her face visibly pale. Jonathan accompanies them and beckons her to come to them. It's with tingling throughout the body that Alexia stands up and makes her way towards them.

"What happened?" she immediately asks, looking her mother in the eye.

"Y/N's team ran over amine. Half of them are still missing"

It's Alba who speaks, making Alexia look in her direction. Unable to open her mouth, she waits for further information.

"Y/N has been found, but it's not good Ale"

"What do you mean "it's not good?" "

Alexia gets upset, bringing their mother in the conversation for the first time. Obviously she fears the reaction of her eldest, knowing how attached you are to each other.

"Alexia…" she makes a soothing tone by grabbing her daughter’s arm.

"But just tell me! She’s dead, isn’t she?"

Alexia’s tone rises and she must take it upon herself not to push the physical contact initiated by her mother. Eli and Alba exchange a look before the first one resumes speaking.

"No, but she’s in a bad state. She was found unconscious and is on an official ventilator. They don’t yet know how badly she’s hurt. As we speak, she’s still in a coma and they don't know if she will make it."

********

The days that followed were a summary of hell for Alexia, your parents and your relatives in general. Due to the geographical distance, the news has reached them in dribs and drabs only by the interval of your team. Your boss got yelled at by Alexia, your father and Alexia’s mother. If you weren’t about to resign, there’s no doubt he’d demand you do.

After a few days of staying together at your parents', your loved ones have finally started their lives again. Your sister went back to work, but Alexia literally had to be taken out by force to agree to return to the training grounds. To make sure her daughter would go, Eli even asked Irene to come pick her up.

The information about you is vague but they know the main thing, you’re still alive. "She promised to come back to me" Alexia repeated several times, both to convince herself and to reassure others.

Even if she will never admit it, seeing her friends makes Alexia feel better. She strongly suspects them of doing everything to change her mind, but she is sincerely grateful. It changes her from the four walls of your parents' living room or yours, even if your animals also bring her comfort and affection.

Alexia is in the middle of a discussion with Mapi and Aitana when her phone rings from her bag. As always, she feels a mixture of feelings at the idea of dropping out, fearing bad news. But it’s usually your mother who gets calls from your bosses to give them news. It’s been three days now since they learned anything new.

Seeing that the call number is unknown, Alexia hesitates a few seconds before answering but ends up doing so. Normally, people with access to her phone number are allowed to have it. She has never had any problems with that.

"Holà?"

The silence settles on the other side of the phone and the Latin checks that she has picked up before putting the phone back against her ear.

"Is there anyone here?"

A new silence sets in. Just as she was about to hung up, Alexia finally hears a voice at the other end. The voice is barely higher than a whisper, as if the person were particularly exhausted.

"Ale? It’s me…"

The ground slips under the captain’s feet so abruptly that neither Mapi nor Aitana has time to catch her. Sitting on the floor, the one who had managed not to shed a single tear since the announcement of your accident melts into tears, alerting her two friends who are now convinced that something dramatic is happening.

Alexia let a flood of curses that you’ve never heard come out of your girlfriend’s lips when she realizes it’s you on the phone.

"I’m alive" you end up adding, not really knowing what to add.

"You had better" sobs Alexia before finally raising her eyes on Mapi.

Lost in her emotions, she didn’t realize that her reaction alerted almost the entire team. Ona, who had gone to take her shower, kneels beside Mapi, both leaning in the direction of their friend and captain while others stand in an arc around her.

"It’s Y/N. She did it."

********

Your parents had already had to detain Alexia so that she wouldn’t jump on the first plane upon learning of your accident, but this time it was even worse. With the injuries you’ve got, you couldn’t go home right away. The translation was sometimes complicated at first, until the Spanish embassy sent someone to do the translation. From there, you were able to recover your phone and thus be in contact with Alexia and your loved ones more easily. The connection is not always optimal, but having your girlfriend only a call from you does you a lot of good.

It's not in very good condition that you get on the plane to repatriate you to Barcelona, but you specifically asked to return as soon as possible, even if you were then hospitalized in Spain. During the explosion, it was mostly the left side of your body that was injured. In addition to a crumbling shoulder, broken ribs and a damaged knee, you find yourself with a head injury and a broken nose that fortunately had time to deflate. Thanks to that you no longer look like a boxer at the end of his career but it looks like you have two big cockroaches.

You learned yesterday that three of your six team members didn't survive the attack. Ben and Lola have already returned to Spain and it's with a hint of guilt that you leave Marta alone on the spot. But her family is coming in two days and she swore to you that everything was fine for her.

Exhausted by the journey to the airport, you slept all the way back and it is only when the wheels of the plane touch the ground that you open your eyes with a start. The person assigned by the embassy to follow you smiles kindly and you answer vaguely, before looking out the window. When you see the airport building, you feel your heart speed up. Alexia is waiting for you, a few hundred meters from you.

You tried to refuse to be moved around in a wheelchair, in vain. So it is with a sulky pout that you find yourself traveling through the airport, to the place to collect your belongings. The good news is that you had left almost all to your camp and so you were able to recover everything. Even the necklace offered by your girlfriend survived and did not leave your neck a single squad then you left Barcelona.

Your suitcase is much too long for your taste to arrive and you refrain from jumping on your chair of impatience when it is time to pass the security control of customs. Everything is going too slowly and you are convinced that you would go faster by limping with your crutch. But you finally arrive in the main arrival hall and it only takes you two seconds to spot Alexia, your eyes are attracted to her like a magnet. By the time she comes to you, you get up from the chair and two seconds later you’re finally where you want to be forever. In her arms.

The embrace is not very practical, your arm in sling prevents you from holding her as you would like and you clench your teeth not to flinch despite your painful ribs. You still feel that Alexia is doing everything she can to be delicate. She has not yet been able to truly realize all of your injuries.

But in the end you don’t care, because it’s all about her. Alexia feels like she can breathe completely for the first time in about ten days. You feel her coming off of you after a few minutes and you have trouble supporting her gaze. You know that you look terrible, even if you are not the type to wear kilos of makeup every day, there you are really far from being to your advantage.

"Mi Amor" she whispers tenderly, holding your face in her hands before as much delicacy as if it had been porcelain. Her thumbs caress your cheeks and you feel tears in your eyes. "It’s over. You’re home."

You nod and close your eyes, letting her kiss you tenderly before she takes you back against her.

Needless to say, the next day your boss received a letter of resignation from you. Thanks to what happened to you, you received a starting bonus, allowing you to have money set aside before embarking on your new project, writer and WAG. Because from now on, it’s out of the question to part with Alexia for more than half a day.

[cubarsis]

queridos. | h. fort garcía

synopsis : hector brings his girl home for the first time

genre : fluff

requests are open 🤍

AS HECTOR‘S GIRLFRIEND prepared to attend his family gathering for the first time, she couldn’t shake the feeling of nervousness gnawing at her stomach. She fidgeted with the hem of her dress, her heart racing with anxiety.

Sensing her unease, Hector wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soft and reassuring. “You don’t have to worry. My family is going to adore you, just like I do. And I’ll be right by your side the whole time.”

His words were like a soothing balm to her frazzled nerves, and she leaned into his embrace, finding solace in his comforting presence. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m just… nervous.”

Hector pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin. “I understand, but you have nothing to be nervous about,” he assured her, his voice filled with love and understanding.

“Just be yourself, and everything will be fine.”

As Hector and his girlfriend arrived at his house, Hector’s mom was waiting eagerly at the door, a warm smile lighting up her face. Without hesitation, she stepped forward and enveloped Hector’s girlfriend in a tight embrace, her motherly warmth instantly putting her at ease.

“Welcome, dear!” Hector’s mom exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine warmth and affection.“It’s so lovely to finally meet you in person. Hector talks about you all the time.”

She felt a surge of gratitude and relief wash over her as she returned the hug, feeling welcomed and accepted by her boyfriends family. “Thank you so much for having me,” she replied, her voice tinged with emotion. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you too.”

Hector stood by their side, a silly, proud smile on his face as he watched the exchange between the two most important women in his life. Seeing his girlfriend being embraced so warmly by his mom only reinforced his feelings of love and appreciation for her.

After Hector’s mom’s warm embrace, Hector’s dad stepped forward with a friendly smile, extending his hand in greeting. “Hello there, it’s a pleasure to meet the girl who‘s keeping my son busy,” his dad said chuckled. “I’ve heard so much about you from Hector. It’s wonderful to finally put a face to the name.”

She returned his handshake with a smile, feeling a sense of warmth and acceptance from both of Hector’s parents. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. “I’m really happy to be here.”

With introductions out of the way, they all moved inside and settled into the cozy living room. Hector’s mom brought out some refreshments, and soon they were all engaged in lively conversation, sharing stories and getting to know each other better.

As they sat together, Hector’s mom and his girlfriend engaged in a playful and teasing chat about Hector and his role as a boyfriend. With cups of tea in hand, they leaned in, ready to share their thoughts and experiences.

Hector’s mom couldn’t resist a mischievous glint in her eye as she turned to her son’s girlfriend. “So, my dear,” she began with a teasing tone, “how is Hector doing as a boyfriend? Is he treating you well and living up to your expectations?”

Hector’s girlfriend chuckled softly, enjoying the playful banter. “Well,” she replied, matching her tone, “I must say, Hector has been quite the charmer. He’s always showering me with love and affection, and he never fails to make me smile.”

Hector’s mom nodded approvingly, a knowing smile on her lips. “That’s good to hear,” she said with a hint of mischief. “But you know, Hector can be a handful sometimes. I hope he’s not causing too much trouble for you.”

Hector’s girlfriend laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, he definitely keeps me on my toes,” she admitted, her eyes sparkling with fondness. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s a wonderful boyfriend, and I feel lucky to have him.”

As the conversation about Hector carried on, his mom couldn’t help but express her observation of just how deeply in love he seemed to be with his girlfriend.

“You know,” she began with a warm smile, “I’ve been watching Hector lately, and it’s clear to me just how much he adores you. He has shown me countless pictures of you, and his face lights up whenever your name is mentioned.”

Hector’s girlfriend smiled warmly at his mom’s observation before turning to her with equal affection. “And I love him just as much,” she confessed, her eyes meeting Hector’s with a tender gaze. “He’s truly the most caring, supportive, and loving partner I could ever ask for.”

The woman beamed at the exchange, her heart swelling with happiness for the young couple. “You two are absolutely perfect for each other,” she said with a smile. “I couldn’t be happier to see how happy you make my son.”

His mom nodded, a knowing smile on her lips. “I can see how much he cares about you,” she said warmly. “He’s never stopped talking about you since the day you two met. And seeing you together, it’s clear that you bring out the best in each other.”

As the evening wore on and the atmosphere grew more relaxed, Hector found himself growing increasingly clingy to his girlfriend. With his parents teasing them gently, Hector felt a sense of comfort and security in their presence, knowing that they were supportive of their relationship.

His girlfriend smiled warmly at him, her eyes twinkling with affection as she leaned into his embrace. Hector wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as they sat together on the couch. His fingers traced gentle patterns along her back, savoring the feel of her warmth against his skin.

Hector’s parents chuckled at the sight, exchanging knowing glances as they watched the young couple. “Looks like someone can’t bear to let go,” his mom teased, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

Hector blushed, but he couldn’t help but grin sheepishly. “Can you blame me?” he replied, his voice filled with genuine fondness as he pressed a kiss to his girlfriend’s forehead.

His dad chuckled, clapping him on the back. “You’ve got it bad, son,” he said with a wink. “But hey, that’s what young love is all about.”

Sure enough, as the evening drew to a close and they prepared to say their goodbyes, Hector’s mom pulled him aside with a serious expression on her face. Hector braced himself for what was to come, knowing that his mom’s lectures were always well-intentioned but sometimes a bit overwhelming.

“Hector, I want to talk to you for a moment,” his mom began, her tone gentle but firm. “I can see how much you care about her, and I just want to make sure you know how lucky you are to have found someone like her.”

Hector nodded, swallowing nervously as he prepared himself for the inevitable lecture. “I know, Mom,” he replied earnestly. “I won’t mess things up, I promise.”

His mom smiled, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I believe you, Hector,” she said softly. “Just remember to always treat her with love and respect, and everything will work out just fine.”

Feeling a sense of relief wash over him, Hector hugged his mom tightly, grateful for her words of wisdom and support. As they said their goodbyes and headed home, Hector knew that he would do everything in his power to make sure he didn’t let his parents or his girlfriend down.

cubarsis 2024

[imyourbratzdoll]

Hi firstly I love your work secondly I have a request about something like Lee cheating on reader hurting her bad eventually she moves on with Steve Kemp and one day Lee sees reader again he tries to win her back troubling a bit and Steve comes to comfort protect her and he scares Lee in unique way (we know what Kemp does for a living 😉)

hello, thank you! and I hope you like this!

summary - lee cheats on you which causes you to spend time finding yourself, leading you toward your new love steve kemp. what happens when the one who broke your heart finds you again?

warning - angst, cheating, violence, mentions of cannibalism.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by a deactivated again:(

No one ever prepared you for the pain of being cheated on, you thought that Lee was the one, having been together for five years. You had dreamt of the two of you getting married, being the perfect little housewife for him. You never expected to walk in on him balls deep inside his secretary, the very one he told you not to worry about. Everything was blurry after that, you could barely remember you storming out of his office, or that he didn’t even chase after you. You didn’t wait for him to come home, you immediately packed your things and left the house, letting him come home to an empty house. 

It had been two years since you had your heart broken and through those years you had managed to love yourself and find love again, even though your trust issues would spike at times. From time to time, you would get flashbacks of walking in on Lee, getting stabbing pains in your chest when you remember each painful detail of that day. You stare blankly ahead, lost in your thoughts with a coffee in your hand, you couldn’t hear as Steve calls for you.

“Sweetheart.” 

You remember walking in, dropping the freshly baked biscuits to the ground as you watched the love of your life fuck into his very young and pretty secretary that’s bent over the desk. You remember how his head turned and he just smirked at you, it felt as though your heart was being ripped out.

“Y/n!” You blink, feeling a burning sensation on your hand and your eyes move down, causing you to notice your recently bought coffee has now crumbled into your hand as the liquid flows out of it, burning your flesh. “Fuck, Honey. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Steve gently removes the ruined coffee from your hold and into the trash before he pulls you over to a bathroom and carefully cleans your hands. “Flashbacks again?” You nod, “I’m sorry, I forgot that, that particular pet name was what he used.” 

“It’s okay… It’s my fault.” You stare at him with wide eyes as he glares at you. 

“No it’s not, it’s never your fault!” He gently takes your face in his hands and places a soft kiss on your lips. 

Steve Kemp, what a dream he was. You had met him during a time where you were between loving yourself and finding love again. You had been walking past your local hospital and ran into him as he was coming out, gobsmacked as to how they hired such handsome doctors. You even blurted out asking if his looks distracted the other doctors from their job. He laughed, causing your mind to become fuzzy as you stared up at him dazedly. For the first time in a long time, you felt happy and through that happiness, you asked him out. Thankfully, he accepted and here you are, staring at the godlike man as he cleans the hot coffee from your hands.

“I love you…” He looks at you and smiles, bringing your hands up to his lips and kissing them softly.

“I love you, honey. Now, there won’t be any scars or damage. So are you ready to go? I can reorder a drink, maybe a cold one this time.” You smile, nodding and letting him help you down from the sink. Steve wraps his arm around you gently, leading you back out into the coffee shop and lines up to reorder an iced coffee. 

As you leave the coffee shop, waiting for Steve, your world begins to crash as you hear a familiar voice. “Well if it isn’t my little ol’ sweetheart!” Your eyes widen as you turn and stare at the chubby man making his way over to you. How the hell was this possible? He made it clear that he would never leave his hometown. “You’re a hard woman to find.” He stands in front of you, a smirk on his face. “Now, what do you say, baby. You come back home, this little spat of yours has gone on long enough.” Lee’s grubby hands reach forward and grip your arm, you didn’t know how you ever fell in love with him. 

“Get your hands off of me! We are over! Did that not go through your head when I left after I caught you fucking someone else?!” You struggle against his hold, looking behind you in hopes that Steve comes out soon. 

“Pfft, please. That wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last, so now, Sweetheart. You are gonna shut your pretty mouth and come with me, and then, you will turn a blind eye whenever I go out with another woman. You hear?” 

“Well that isn’t happening.” Steve steps out, your iced coffee in his hand. He stares down the man, not flinching as Lee tries to intimidate him. “I suggest you let go of my girl.” He speaks slowly, but clearly. When Lee doesn’t let go, only tightening his hold on your arms, causing you to let out a whimper. With quick movement, Steve steps forward and grabs ahold of Lee’s wrist, gripping it and beginning to twist. His glare sharpens as Lee lets out grunts of pain. Steve leans forward and whispers, “If you touch, look, speak or even think of my girl again. I will cut you up into little pieces and serve you to your town.” Lee’s eyes widen and he immediately lets go and backs up, usually nothing would scare Lee, but the seriousness in Steve’s voice and eyes made him rethink everything. 

Steve’s arm wraps around you and he hands you your drink, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Right, well. You aren’t worth this much trouble.” Lee clears his throat and quickly walks away, and you look up at Steve.

“Did you threaten to cut him up?” Steve looks down at you and smiles.

“Of course, and also you are worth it.” He winks at you and you shake your head with a smile.

“I mean… I wouldn’t stop you if you went through with it.”

And with those words, a plan began to form inside of Steve’s head. 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[hier--soir]

raising cain | 001

din djarin x ofc

pairing: spy!din djarin x spy!ofc rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: at a private gala in berlin, two agents slip inside, uninvited. unbeknownst to one another, and working for seperate agencies, they prepare to bring the same target to justice. the only problem is - one of them wants him dead, and the other wants him alive. who will succeed? will the strange connection they feel stop them from completing their mission? warnings/tags: modern au, spy!din can bring them in warm or he can bring them in cold, ofc is named + has short hair + is french, alcohol consumption, brief + unemotional mention of being an orphan, violence [including impersonal violence between din and ofc], descriptions of blood and injury and [briefly] brain matter, murder, very brief mention of sex trafficking, sexual tension like hello, choking [sexual and non sexual], ofc has an interesting relationship with pleasure and pain, fingering [not technically in public, but certainly not in private], kinda dom!din, explicit rough unprotected piv sex... on the floor... carpet burns... okay bye. word count: 9.7k series masterlist | main masterlist to raise cain means to cause a commotion, to create a disturbance, to make trouble. a/n: my only defence is that i've been watching too many james bond movies lately. also, for the record, i love berlin. also also, the smut in this made me blush. okay hope you guys like this one x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part one of raising cain.

BERLIN, FEBRUARY

It is bitterly cold, and she hates Berlin.

Not because of the weather, although it never helps to visit a city one loathes while the windows are covered in a thick layer of ice and the ground a slippery sheen of sleet.

No, Cain hates Berlin because it has always been a city of business for her. Never pleasure, nor entertainment.

In the car, en route to the gala, a driver escorts her by the Staatsoper Unter den Linden, the Berliner Dom, the Altes Museum, and each one passes her by in a blur of beige architecture and pretty lights. Endeavours for another trip, another year, another life.

She pays her driver in cash and thanks him for taking the scenic route. In broken English he slips his number into her palm and asks if she will use his services the next time she visits Berlin. She smiles and nods and doesn’t tell him that she hopes to never return.

Her dress is a flimsy thing. One of satin and silk that clings to the skin of her arms, her torso. It curls around her ankles, just shy of brushing the ground as she exits the car. The air outside bites against her skin. Her feet ache and cry out for reprieve, strapped into a skimpy pair of shoes that pinch at her toes as she glides across the cobblestone path.

A clean-shaven man stands at the door, adorned in a modest suit and a winding earpiece. He requests her name, notes her face, and grants her entry with a strict nod and an all too brief once over. Handsomely oblivious to the comforting weight of a weapon at the inside of her thigh.

The venue is small, but the crowd is thick, pulsing with life; dense enough for her to mingle, to go unnoticed as she glides through the ground floor, blending into a mix of countless other women dressed in long slinky dresses. She wears black because they all do; her makeup is simple because she did not come to be remembered.

She accepts a flute of champagne from a man with a tray. Offers him a graceful smile and a softly spoken danke schön, and waits until his back is turned before tipping the golden liquid into a plant at the base of the staircase.

Chancellor Karl Weber skirts past her, one of the most powerful men in the German government, and she does not meet his eye.

She is patient; thoughtful as she surveys the room. She knows better than to move too quickly. She counts the exits and entries, the number of security guards and wait staff. Assesses the balcony that overlooks the room, curving around the entirety of the upper level, and slips up a winding staircase when she is sure no one is watching.

With every upward step, the lengthy slit down the side of her dress parts, revealing the soft skin of her legs.

There’s something intimate about the balcony space. Red velvet drapery covers the walls, hanging from the roof and spooling against the floors in soft crimson swirls. She takes in her surroundings, fingers twinkling across the gorgeous fabric as she walks. A slim door around the bend, at the other side of the upper level, reads NUR FÜR MITARBEITER; staff only.

Another, a few paces behind where she settles, leads to a small bathroom. Six private stalls, one with a thin window above the toilet, just wide enough for her to squeeze through. Beyond it; open air, a thick pipe that leads down to the street. Perfect for scaling.

Assuming a position near the bathroom, she tucks herself amongst the drapes. Lets shadows and velvet caress her skin and hide her from prying eyes as she juts out a knee and slips a slender hand between her thighs.

The pistol is dense. Thick and black, it rests heavily in her palm as she slips a titanium cylinder from her purse. Deft fingers lead the butt of the suppressor to the mouth of the pistol. Pin meets groove and she lets it spin, stroking cool metal as she twists and twists until it clicks into place.

Ulrich Meier stands four metres from the stage, eight from the bar, and two from the closest security guard.

Another man—taller, leaner—talks down to him. Speaking in hushed tones, the two of them glance over their shoulders every few moments. Careful, cunning as they talk.

And as she watches them, her face remains neutral. But somewhere inside of her chest, somewhere forbidden and secret and soft, she feels a threatening rage begin to unfurl.

Because the longer she stares, the easier it gets to picture other faces. Men and women with sallow cheeks and fear in their eyes. Countless bodies strewn apart by weaponry they had no business being close to; rigor mortis setting their horror-stricken faces in stone.

Yes, that anger unspools inside of her. Burns through her veins like ice, chilling her blood until she feels nothing but relief as she bends her elbow and lines up her shot.

Cain does not think about collateral. Cain does not think about those standing close to him, ones who will no doubt remember this night for the rest of their lives. She does not think about his wife or his children. These things do not concern her. All that matters is the mission.   

Her hands are steady around the weapon, finger poised beside the thick trigger. She takes slow breaths. Deep inhales that fill her lungs, followed by warm exhales. Once, twice, three times until she is steeled. An eye pinches shut. Her finger slips over the trigger. Meier laughs at something.

And then a heavy palm lands on her waist.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The man’s voice is a low, rasping thing.

She stiffens, grip freezing around the pistol. His breath hits the back of her neck, and a hundred little hairs there stand on end. She smells cologne, light and airy. Feels fingertips dig into the flesh around her hipbone. Ulrich Meier turns and walks towards a doorway, disappearing from sight.

“Take your hand off of me.”

“Lower your gun.”

Cain’s elbow whips backward, cracking hard against the centre of his chest. His fingers tighten then fall from her waist and she spins on her heel, the butt of her pistol colliding with his jaw.

He stumbles backwards and she advances on him, returning the gun to the holster on her thigh before striking him across the cheek with an open palm. His head hardly even turns before he’s batting her arm down with a stern shove.  

She throws a mean fist forward, but her knuckles barely graze his jaw before the heel of his palm snaps against her chin. The blow sends her staggering to the side, head bouncing off the wall with a low thwack. She tastes blood, the tip of her tongue stings, and when he steps closer she juts her knee into his groin. Feels the harsh rush of the breath leaving his lungs, exhaled roughly across her face, and snarls.

Cain wraps her fingers around the nape of his neck and digs her nails in, pulling him down to meet the knee that she drives into into his stomach. The man grunts against her chest, his hand grasping upward to wrap around her neck. He squeezes tight, dragging her toward him before rocking her skull into the wall again, holding her there. Stars burst in her vision, her nose tingles, and she spits a low curse. Music swells downstairs, a live band starting up on the stage.  

Neat curls and dark eyes dance before her. She blinks to stop the world from spinning. Firm jaw… strong nose. Moustache.  

“Din Djarin,” she rasps, voice strained from the pressure of his palm on her neck. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Recognition sparks in those dark eyes.

“Cain,” he grunts, pupils like pinpricks as he assesses her face, and then his free hand is sneaking past the slit in her dress, tapping the gun at her thigh.

“A Walther?” Din’s fingers squeeze ever so slightly tighter at the sides of her throat, callouses rough on her skin. "A little old fashioned, isn't it?"

“A German gun to kill a German cunt,” she whispers. The artery in her neck pulses and pounds, blood roaring in her ears. “It felt fitting.”

“No one dies tonight,” he grits out, and it takes everything she has not to laugh right in his face. He cannot see the way her arm is twisted between them, fingers working to loosen the tiny dagger resting just inside the sleeve of her dress free.  

“I should have known,” she smirks faintly, fingers grasping the hilt of the blade now. “The Guild do love to play around in international affairs these days.”

“Quiet,” he hisses, fingers sliding up to grip around her jaw now. His palm is hot against her lips, covering that sly smirk, the way she sucks in warm, grateful breaths. “Keep your mouth shut. Meier doesn’t die tonight. Not here.”

Smooth, careful, she presses the tip of her blade against his abdomen. Only 4 inches in length, but long enough—sharp enough—to penetrate through two layers of clothing and pierce the thick skin of his side. Thumb and forefinger tighten, begging for an excuse to press forward, to eliminate this new complication.

But then two things happen in quick succession.

Cain hears a peal of laughter raise from the staircase and glances past Din to spot blonde hair, a red dress, and slides the dagger back inside her sleeve. Moving fast, his hand falls from her face, body curling protectively around hers in a faux embrace. He tucks his face against her neck and the short hairs in his moustache raise goosebumps on her skin.

“Qu’est-ce-que tu fais?” she hisses. What are you doing?

“Shut up,” he bites back, jostling her against the wall once more.

Laughter dies down into awkward chuckles and murmured words. Cain peers over Din’s shoulder, understanding him then. Her fingers tangle in the loose curls at the nape of his neck and she watches them, ignoring how soft it is against her skin. Two women, eyes assessing them from the top of the stairs. The blonde frowns, wary; concerned.

“They’re looking,” Cain warns, hooking an ankle around the back of his.

Something soft skates down the side of her neck. Such a stark contrast to the rough grip of his hand before; a pair of lips tracing gentle kisses along her pulse point. For a moment, she holds her breath, focusing on the dull ache in the back of her skull, the feeling of his arms around her. 

“Make them look away,” he says plainly, the words a hot wash against her skin.

His palm tightens around her hip, and Cain tilts her chin upward, letting the women see her smile as he lays kisses against her throat, lips parting to form a loosely whispered oh. Through heavy lidded eyes she sees the women flush and look away, one of them giggling. But they do not leave.

Meier, where is Meier? The thought jolts through her like an electric shock, and her smile fades a little.

Frustrated, she skates a hand around his body; lets it fall to the hem of his suit jacket, rucking it up until her fingers are digging into the flesh of his ass. Round and thick with muscle, he tenses beneath her grip, letting slip a harsh grunt of surprise into her ear. The women balk at that, turning to begin their descent down the stairs at last.

Biting back a smirk, Cain’s fingers trail up up up inside his jacket, around the front of his body. Down the buttons on the front of his white dress shirt, the solid muscle beneath it, to where it meets his trousers. The tips of her nails flirt across the front of his pants, and she is certain he’s stopped breathing; entire body still beneath her touch, lips frozen against her skin. Searching, searching, she finally hums triumphantly, fingers sliding over the holster on his hip at last. Hidden beneath his jacket, she fondles the butt of his gun. Slim; inconspicuous.

“Hmm,” she purrs, lips brushing the soft skin of his earlobe. “I thought it would be bigger.”

“I thought I told you to shut u—”

Din flinches as her other hand touches the side of his face, a finger pressing swiftly into his ear canal. His head tilts to the side, trying to evade her touch, but she’s already pulling away, using his surprise to slip around his body and move towards the stairs.

She smooths fingers over her hair, neatening the mussed strands and tucking them behind her ears. Straightens the neckline of her dress, ensures her holster is hidden. From where she stands, Meier is nowhere to be seen.

Din calls after her, a low warning. She doesn’t look back, gripping the railing of the staircase as she begins her descent. The gala is in full swing, guests dancing and talking in every direction. A six-piece band performs a playful jazz song from the stage.

“There is no need to shout,” Cain murmurs, smiling when she hears a sharp intake of breath through the earpiece.

She doesn’t know if he follows her down. Keeps her gaze trained forward as she accepts another glass of champagne from another man with another tray. Drinks it this time, thick hurried gulps that wet the skin beside her lips and soften the rough scratch in her throat. She wanders, looking for the man she came here for, and in time she ends up at the bar.

“A vodka martini,” she tells the barman, slipping onto one of the plush highchairs at the counter. “Dirty.”

The blonde man grips a clear glass bottle from his station and asks, “Shaken or stirred?”

She waves a hand, unbothered. “Dealer’s choice.”

He’s short with thick hair and a reddish hue to his beard. Handsome enough. She watches him with a light curiosity as he finishes making someone else’s drink.

It doesn’t take long before Din Djarin slips onto the seat beside her, suit jacket straightened out, not a single curl out of place, and orders a cosmopolitan.

The barman pulls two frosted coup glasses from beneath the bar and Cain arches an eyebrow at her companion.

“You’ve a sweet tooth, Monsieur Djarin?”

“It seems that way,” he murmurs, turning on his stool to face her.

Brown eyes assess her face in this new lighting, pupils flicking across everything he can see. His hand reaches across the bar and peels a small square napkin from a pile. Slides it across the wooden countertop.

“Wipe your nose.”

She swipes the material beneath her nostrils and spies a small blot of blood on the fabric, crumpling it in her fist with a saccharine smile.   

“In Germany long?” he asks casually, nodding at the bartender when he places their cocktails on the counter.

“As long as it takes.” She wraps her fingers around the stem of a chilled glass, dragging it closer. “And it shouldn’t take long.”

He takes a lengthy sip, draining half the glass in seconds, and his eyes slip closed as the alcohol hits his tongue. Cain watches his throat move as he swallows and crosses her legs tighter on the stool. Feels her gun holster dig into the soft flesh there and welcomes the distraction.

“Alone?”

He eyes her for a second, gaze momentarily dropping to the low cut of her neckline, the swooping curve of her shoulder. “I was.”

“Well,” she holds out her glass to him. “It’s an honour.”

A beat passes as he contemplates her—her words, her steadfast gaze—and then he knocks the rim of his glass gently against hers.

“I’d apologise for upstairs,” he smiles faintly, posture loosening. “But I’m sure you understand.”

“There is no need,” she agrees easily, taking her first sip. Cool vodka slips down her throat and she allows a pleased purr to fall from her lips. “Tempers are frayed. Patience is short. What’s a little scuffle between friends, hmm?”

He smirks at that, a miniscule upward twitch of his lip. Friends.

“You know, I’ve heard the stories about you,” he tells her.

His suit jacket is well tailored, she notices. Tight around those broad shoulders of his, hemmed perfectly around his wrists to reveal crisp white sleeves and silver cufflinks. 

“Is that so?”

He nods. “Cain, the femme fatale.”

“Mm,” she smirks, tracing a finger around the rim of her glass. He watches the sharp point of her red nail ping against the coup. Glances down to her toenails peeking past the tip of her heels; the same colour. She wiggles them for him, and he looks up.

“Then it appears there are equally silly tales about the both of us, non?”

“Do tell.”

Her grin broadens, something like excitement splicing through her veins. “Well, I had wondered if it were true. That you have your own little… catchphrase.”  

A low scoff rumbles from his chest, and his stare cuts to where the bartender stands, mixing a drink only a few feet away. Across the room, one of the musicians onstage starts up a winding piano solo. Sparse and melodic to start, he sprinkles his fingers against highest keys on the piano, and Cain focuses on keeping her gaze on Din. She never did care for jazz.

“Do you say it every time?” she teases in a whisper, eyes lit up with mocking glee. “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in co—”

“Stop.”

Din’s voice is harsh, a little too loud for the quiet space by the bar. The word cuts through the soft music and has a few guests glancing in their direction. Cain laughs, unperturbed by the sudden attention, and plucks an olive out of her drink. A saxophonist joins in with the pianist, and he relaxes once more. Leans into this little game of hers.

“Don’t be a fool,” he softens, reaching over to tuck a short strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb brushes the curve of her jaw as he pulls away and she fights the shiver that trips its way down her spine. “Not every time.”

She laughs again, quietly eyeing the length of his fingers as his picks up his glass. His knuckles are thick. Warm blue veins spiderweb across the back of his hand, disappearing beneath his shirt. If she tries hard enough, she can still remember how it felt to have that hand pressed against her throat, squeezing.

“And what else do they tell you about me?” she licks her lips, elbow on the bar, leaning forward to rest her chin in the palm of her hand. Eager – hungry.

“I know you’re an orphan.” He is stoic as he says it; as if unphased, uninterested. But Cain’s eyebrows lift, delighted.

“Then it must be true of you too,” she posits slyly, left eyelid dropping in a wink. “No one is more eager to accuse another of being an orphan… unless they themselves are one also.”

He ignores that, though she can see the way his weight shifts in the seat and the muscle in his jaw twitches.

“A Valkyrie.”

“Common knowledge in our line of work.”

“You’re from Paris.”

“An easy guess,” she leans back, bored. 

“Your first name is Nikita,” Din says then, a teasing lilt to his voice. She considers that he may enjoy this game just as much as she does.

And that makes her pause. She lifts her glass and laughs against the rim, a soft tinkling sound that rings in his ears and has every man in earshot turning to look at her.

“You watch too many films,” she swallows with a smirk. “Think French, Monsieur Djarin.”

He ponders it for a moment, lips pursed softly, gaze darting somewhere over her shoulder and then back to her face. Takes a sip of his laughably pink cocktail and licks the residue from his lips, savouring every drop.

“Camille.”

“Oh,” she rolls her eyes, fighting back a genuine smile now. “I know you can do better than that.”

It’s his turn to wink now, and for one fleeting moment she feels oddly at peace with the idea of spending the rest of her evening at the bar with Din Djarin. A stranger, yes, but a little less so than the others that crowd the room.

In a career so harsh, characterised by its solitude, its violence, Cain is unaccustomed to the feeling of being seen like this. She knows unfamiliarity and discomfort and pain like the back of her hand. Is no stranger to a man’s grip around her throat, her life in his hands. But not this… this twinkle of implicit understanding that she can see in his eyes. Those endless brown eyes that say we are not so different, you and I.

Despite the bloodied napkin in her lap and the ache in her jaw, it’s enough to loosen her shoulders; to set her at ease.

But then he turns to stare pointedly over her shoulder, and she snaps out of it. Twisting around on the stool, Cain follows his gaze until she spots Meier across the room. He stands with a few others, shoulders back, eyes bright. Perfectly oblivious.

The barman slips to the other end of the counter, serving a tall gentleman, and Cain lowers her voice.

“What does the Guild want with Ulrich Meier?”

Din takes a sip of his drink. Keeps his eyes to the right, glossing casually over guests, the band, and then back to the asset.

“Information,” he says finally—carefully. “He’s of no use to us dead.”

She hums quietly, plucking an olive from her drink. Eats it slowly, allowing the briny taste to wash over her tongue as she watches him. When he doesn’t speak again, she squints, unimpressed.

“Are you not going to ask me the same question?”

An amused sound escapes his mouth, and he meets her eye again.

“You want Meier dead,” he muses simply. “But why so abruptly? When there is so much to be gained from taking him in.”

“That is not an option for us.”

“Why?” His voice takes on a harsher quality now, eyes narrowing. Mistrust.

“Did you know that name Ulrich,” Cain murmurs, leaning forward to avoid any listening ears. “Comes from the Old High German name Uodalrich? Uodal meaning heritage. Rich meaning king; ruler.”

Din Djarin says nothing.

“Did you do your research before coming to Berlin?”

“Yes.”

“Then you understand that Monsieur Meier is not simply an arms dealer.”

A beat of silence. His fingers tighten around the stem of his glass. “Yes.”

“He took his name personally, you see.” Her eyes float back to Meier. “Held it in his slimy little hands as a baby and said Oui Maman, I will rule. I will rule the desires of weaker men, and bring nightmares unto any woman that I can get these two hands on.”

“This is about revenge.”

“This is about justice,” Cain snaps, that calm façade slipping for a second. No more games. Din’s spine straightens. “Have you ever spoken to a human trafficking victim?”

He takes another sip of his drink and does not respond. She does her best not to remember the photos from her briefing. Not to remember the countless interviews, witness statements, and obituaries she’d had to paw through before her flight.

“Your silence is very telling,” she smiles, that easy composure returning. “But I trust that you understand my position now. Ulrich Meier will be of no help to your organisation after this evening.”

“Cain—”

“Because,” she continues easily. “When I leave this building, he will no longer be able to speak. And if you wish to get in my way… then I am afraid the same fate will befall you, Monsieur Djarin.”

A soft announcement sounds through the speakers, and they turn their heads to listen. The Chancellor will be giving his speech in a few moments. That’s her cue.

“And Weber?” he asks, the words coming out stilted, rushed. “What do you think of him? He’s known for turning a blind eye to Meier’s dealings.”

She tilts her glass, swallowing the last of the icy liquid.

“I do my best,” she places it down on the counter with a soft clink. “Not to think of men at all. Unless it is imperative to my mission.”

“And yet you’ve thought of me,” Din asserts, gaze heavy. His eyes slip down, just long enough for her to notice the way he stares at her mouth, before his eyes return to hers. “You know me. Enough to recognise my face in a second.”

“As I said,” Cain smiles, stepping down from her chair. “Imperative to my mission.”

He is still as she leans in and presses a soft kiss to his left cheek, and then to his right.

“Take care, Monsieur Djarin. I would like to see you live another day,” she says, slender hand coming up to the side of his face. Her finger taps the piece in his ear once, and she is not smiling anymore. “I’ll be in here if you need me.”

Cain coasts around the edge of the room, keeping her eyes to ground whenever an unfamiliar sets of eyes strays in her direction. Swipes a finger beneath her nose once or twice, checking to see if any blood has returned. And as Chancellor Weber makes his way towards the stage, she makes her way back upstairs, quietly hoping that Din does not follow her again.  

Halfway up, a single word crackles through her ear piece.

“Amélie?”

Surprised, she grips the banister and almost turns around. But she can hear a woman speaking into a microphone in German, performing a plain and winding introduction for the Chancellor, and continues her ascent.

“Wrong.”

Reassuming her position on the balcony, shrouded in waves of those soft red velvet drapes, she watches Weber take his place on the stage. A hush falls over the crowd and her eyes move fast, landing easily on the thinning grey hair atop her target’s head. Every eye in the room is facing the stage. The Walther is thick and heavy in her palm as she ensures the silencer is correctly in place. Old fashioned indeed.

Cain’s breathing is calm, heart rate slow and measured as she raises the weapon and aims it at his head. And then, like a little ant crawling across her skin, she feels something shift. The air gets thicker, and a suddenly familiar shiver tickles its way down her spine.

Her eyes tick up and she pauses at the sight of Din on the opposite balcony railing. Almost hidden entirely by the shadows, pistol raised. And it is not pointed at Ulrich Meier, no… no it is pointed at her. And he is so handsome, even when he’s bluffing.

Grinning now, she lets the tip of her finger lightly caress the trigger. So gently, with no intention of doing any damage just yet. Some feeling akin to glee sparks up in her chest. Such excitement. The Chancellor’s voice fills the room, swelling from the speakers as he welcomes his guests.  

Din’s face is placid, unimpressed, and then that honeyed voice drifts through her ear once more.

“Celine?”

Cain allows herself a brief laugh, eyes drifting back down to rest on the man she came here for. The target drapes an arm around his wife’s waist. She inhales deep, filling her lungs before letting the air spill from her nose. Calm, collected. All of it so easy for her.

“Wrong again.”

The Walther jerks in her hand, bullet flying silently through the air, and for a moment there is silence. Nobody moves.

And then Ulrich Meier’s wife releases a blood curdling scream, dropping to her knees and cradling what’s left of her husband’s head in her lap. Popping the silencer off her gun, Cain catches a glimpse of thick, dark matter across the woman’s chest, spilling down the bare skin of her arms, and then she is slipping away into the bathroom in search of that thin little window.

Back on the cobblestone street, sirens wail through the air, police cars and ambulances roaring past as she traipses away from the scene. A little flushed, a little exhilarated, she blends into a crowd of pedestrians, hidden in the shadows. She cuts across the road, avoiding traffic, and heads toward Unter den Linden, knowing it is safer to walk. Don’t be seen by a taxi driver, don’t be recognised, don’t—

“That was a clean shot.”

The words ring in her ear, clear as day.

Cain’s feet drag to a halt against the ground, shoulders stiffening. She turns, eyes assessing the busy pathway behind her, a parked car idling by the side of the road a few metres back. But she can’t see him anywhere. Countless unfamiliar faces wander by, jostling her shoulders as they pass, but he isn’t amongst them. He’s hiding somewhere, watching her from afar – playing his own little game now. Shivering against the cold, she turns and continues walking.

And then: “I thought I might follow you home.”

The words are so confident, so self-assured, and they send a rush of jagged heat blossoming between her thighs. Her heels clip against the ground, knees feeling a little weaker all of a sudden.  

“Would you like that?” he asks, and she wishes she could see his face. Wants to see the desire burning in his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw as those words drift from his pink lips.

“Only if you can keep up.” A little breathless, the words form a soft cloud in the air in front of her face.

Din laughs, low and dark in her ear, but he doesn’t speak again.

She walks for a long time, ambling her way down dark streets, icy wind whipping at her hair for all of half an hour before she finally reaches the street of her hotel. And all the while, she spares quick little glances over her shoulders, trying to spot him in the shadows. Her clothes begin to feel too tight, too warm, despite the low temperature, and with every step her panties cling closer to her warm, wet skin.

The hotel doorman smiles tiredly at Cain as she approaches, holding the door open wide to welcome her inside. As her feet hit the entryway steps, his eyes flit over her shoulder.

“Ein freund von dir?” A friend of yours?

When she turns, she is quietly amazed to find Din there. Gait unhurried, only a few steps behind her. There’s an easy smile spread across his face. Hands tucked deep in his pockets; the top button of his shirt undone.

“Ja,” Cain murmurs, slipping inside.

Din nods to the doorman, following her in. “Guten Abend.” Good evening.

They do not speak as she leads him toward the elevator. Her numb fingers slide against the button with an upward pointing arrow, and together they wait. Heat radiates from his body, warming the skin of her back where he stands behind her, so close yet not touching her yet. Together they slip inside when the doors open.

She presses a button, the number twelve lighting up on the switchboard, and the doors glide closed.

Soft, tinny music plays in the elevator, and they stare at each other from either side of the small space. Din’s chest rises and falls with steady, measured breaths. He watches her and she watches the buttons on the wall, lighting up in turn as the two of them travel up, up, up.

Two floors below Cain’s, he speaks for the first time.

“Vivienne,” he says. “Final guess.”

Her eyes flash to him and she smiles, the skin beside her eyes pinching.

“It’s Remy,” she reveals at last, voice so soft, so forgiving now that her mission is complete.

“Remy,” he repeats. Rolls the r like she does, hums around the y. Sees how it tastes in his mouth and steps forward, saying it again, again. Remy, Remy, Remy, Remy Cain.

“Don’t wear it ou—”

His lips crush against hers, chest warm as he pushes her back back back into the wall. His hand flies up, cradling the back of her skull to protect it from the wall. Not a third time. Despite the softness of his hand, the way his fingers card gently through the short locks of her hair, his kiss is biting. A wet mess of clashing teeth and tongues as he works her jaw open, coaxing his way inside of her mouth. A rough exhale streams from his nostrils, warming the skin of her face. His breath tastes like Cointreau and lime, and she moans. 

His hand slips up her thigh, trailing past that slit in her dress for the second time this evening, until his fingers are brushing against the front of her panties. Feeling the thick damp strip in the lace, the way the thin material clings to her centre.

“Fuck,” he exhales, and when he meets her eyes again his pupils are blown fat and black with desire. Moving fast, he tugs the gun from her holster. She pauses, eyes narrowing, but then he tucks it into the waistband at the back of his trousers, simply allowing space for his forearm to rest between her thighs.

The elevator thrums around them, stomachs dropping as the metal box takes them higher and higher through the building. A finger curls around the edge of her panties, dragging them to the side, and when he finally slides through her wet cunt she sighs into his mouth, every muscle in her body pulling taut and warm. 

His touch is lax, almost taunting as he sucks her tongue into his mouth and traces a digit over the drooling mouth of her entrance, smearing it up to make a mess of her clit. When she moans he presses down; careful little circles there, messy figure eights, a sharp back and forth back and forth back and forth, trying to see what she likes best. And the second her eyes pinch shut, a low curse falling from her lips, the elevator dings.

His hand whips out, slamming against the red emergency stop button. The elevator jerks to an abrupt halt and then he’s on her again. Teeth at her collarbone, her neck, her jaw, fingers moving in a slick blur against her pussy. Her thighs splay apart, and she leans heavy against the wall, knees shaky, trusting him to keep her from falling to the ground. 

“So fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, the words brimming with pride, and she trembles beneath his touch, needing more and needing it now.

“Inside,” she pants, lips parted and searching for his again. “Want your fingers inside me.”

Din swallows those words down, pressing two fingers inside of her with a groan. Remy gasps, bearing down on the weight of his fingers and shivering as he curls them inside of her. Stretching her out and grinding his knuckles against her entrance with every deep thrust.

“Yeah?” he goads, watchful eyes drinking in the way she moans for him, turning her face into her shoulder as if to hide how good it feels. “You like that, hm?”

Warm wetness pools out of her, dripping past his knuckles and onto the inside of her thighs. Obscene sounds fill the tiny space as he pumps in and out of her, and she catches herself glancing upward, searching for a security camera. She spots it in the corner just as he fits a third finger inside and grinds the heel of his palm against her clit, her mouth falling open with a rough groan. Her shoulders tilt forward, forehead knocking against his shoulder, and Din grunts, fucking her harder. His fingers never leave her wet clutch now, the tips of them persistently working against that soft spot at the top of her walls.

“Such a tight little cunt,” he’s saying, nipping at her earlobe, but the words blur and warble around the rushing in her ears. “Squeezing my fingers so good, you’re so good.”  

She grips the back of his neck, squeezing desperately. Her jaw aches with the strain of hanging slack.

“Tell me,” he says roughly, growing impatient. Everything feels hot, too hot; the skin of her face against his shoulder, her chest, the sizzling tension coiling in her core.

“Close,” she chokes out. Din snakes his free arm around the back of her waist, steadying her loose-limbed frame between his body and the wall. “Just a little longe—ohhh, merde.”

He shifts then, the thick heft of his cock crushing against her thigh through their clothes. He presses a finger against her clit now. And that low rub, his calloused thumb paired with three thick fingers massaging into her, is enough to send her spilling over the edge.

A hoarse cry pries its way out of her throat, body shaking against his and he works her through it, still pressing down against the aching bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. She pulses around his fingers, everything pulling tight and wet around them as she comes. Teeth sink into the lapel of his jacket in an attempt to muffle her cries but his arm is dropping from her waist, hand coming up to grip her jaw and push her back.

“Let me hear it,” he purrs, voice like silk as it washes over the skin of her neck.  

“Ohh,” she moans, uncaring now about the camera, about who will hear. Focusing wholly on his fingers on her face, her cunt, the way her entire world seems to shake within his grasp.

He holds her there, lets her shake and shiver beneath his touch until the ebbs of pleasure finally fade and she’s strong enough to stand on her own. Remy watches as he takes a small step backward, pressing one hand over the front of his trousers and three slick fingers past his lips to taste her come. Din’s eyes slip shut at the taste, lips pursing as he sucks the remnants of her from his skin. Flushed and awed by the intimacy of it, the depravity of it, she looks away.

Her fingers tremble against the button as she presses it, and the elevator shudders back to life around them. Another sharp ding rings out again, the doors sliding open within seconds.

A few paces down the hall, the key card slips easily against her door, and she presses it open, flushed as she steps inside and kicks off her heels. She discards them somewhere to the side, turning to watch him follow her in, toes sinking gratefully into the rough carpet beneath her feet.

The door slams shut behind him and he tears his jacket off, letting it drop to the floor as he makes his way further inside. And he looks so much more intimidating like this, she thinks. Domineering as he advances on her, the thick length of his cock evident against the front of his pants. Despite him aiming a gun at her less than an hour ago, despite the way he slunk through the shadows to follow her back here, this is the first time all evening that she’s felt eager to bend to his will, his desire. Her heart races, thudding heavily against her ribcage, and he grins wickedly at her, as if he can fucking hear it.

They collide in the middle of the room, slick swollen lips sliding against each other in a mess of harsh exhales and lewd smacking sounds. Her hands roam across the vast expanse of his chest, trailing down to cup him through his pants. He groans at the feeling, hips jerking forward, seeking more more more. He rips the gun from his holster and tosses it onto the bed, her Walther following shortly from the back of his waistband, and then his hands are on her too. Fat palms pawing at her body, gripping the meat of her ass and squeezing, trapping her against his chest so he can rut his cock against her stomach. Din grips the back of her head then, thumbs rough against the apples of her cheeks as his mouth devours hers.

Thick fingers drift from the ends of her hair down the nape of her neck, the curve of her spine, until they slip beneath the back of her dress. Distracting her with his kiss, greedy and lustful and dominating – she doesn’t notice his curious fingers until they’re curling around the fabric and ripping. Remy staggers backwards with the force of it, gripping his neck. He snarls into her mouth, following her to the ground as she falls. The breath rushes from her lungs and her tailbone aches from how she lands but she doesn’t care. Doesn’t even care when Din straddles her waist, chest heaving, and continues to tear satin and silk from her body. The black material practically shreds in his hands. So thin and delicate, the threads fall apart with every twist, every yank, until he’s prying the ruined dress away and throwing it towards the bed.  

Remy’s fingers work hastily to undo the buttons on his shirt, but just as she reaches the fourth one, he’s gripping her hands, pinning them above her head. Din’s free hand works open his belt, the button and zip on his trousers, and then he’s dragging them down his legs, freeing the thick weight of his cock. She gasps, eyeing the angry red tip hungrily. He’s thick and long and leaking against the white material of his shirt. Her hands push against his and she grunts when he simply tightens his grasp on her, the friction of the coarse carpet harsh against her skin.

“I let you have your way back there,” Din says, eyes blazing. “Are you gonna let me have mine now?”

Her body stills, wholly captivated beneath the heat of his gaze, the weight of his thighs over her hips.

“Yes,” she exhales, mind a blur, limbs still loose and heavy from her orgasm. “Yes, Din, just fuck me.”

“The Guild are gonna have my fucking head for this,” he mutters, fingers falling from her hands to rest heavily at the waistband of her panties.

Remy isn’t sure if he’s talking about Meier or her, but she doesn’t fucking care. What happens to Din after tonight is not her problem.

He toys with her for a moment, tickling the skin around her navel, above the band of her panties, before his fingers hook around it and—snap. She flinches as the material is torn away, her skin pinching beneath the lace.

She stares up at him, clad in nothing but the pale material of her bra now. He watches the way her chest heaves beneath it, nipples painfully stiff against the thin lace.

“It was the right thing to do.”

“I know,” he snaps angrily. He shifts back, moving down her body until he can pry her legs from between his, spreading them open on the carpet to display her glistening cunt to him. The sight seems to stem his anger a little, jaw going loose as he gazes down at the shiny swollen mess of her.

A thick thumb swipes through her folds, pinching one of them back to hold her open for him to ogle at.

“Such a pretty little cunt,” he tuts under his breath, thumbing at the flesh between her clit and her hole.

Her face heats, heart stuttering in her chest a little at this feeling of exposure. Can feel the intensity of his stare practically inside of her the longer he looks, waiting for something.

“So take it,” she says finally, patience thinning.

She fists his shirt in her hands and tugs him forward, breath hitching when he grips his cock and jerks it slowly, smearing her wetness down the length of it before notching his tip at her entrance.

He pushes inside of her in one fell swoop, hardly giving her a moment to adjust to the fat girth of his tip before he’s pressing deeper. Lips on lips, sucking the breath from her lungs, their kiss vibrates with the strength of his groan. It tastes like relief, like understanding. And for a moment it’s just that. The thick weight of him seated inside of her, his chest against hers as they kiss lazily, sloppily, smearing spit across each other faces, tasting beneath tongues, behind teeth.

“So fucking tight,” Din bites out, forehead heavy against hers.

“Mm,” she whines, face screwed up.

A dull burn ricochets through her abdomen, the stretch more than she’s taken in a while. Remy wills herself to relax, but desire has her core tightening around him, sucking him in further and further until the coarse hairs at his base are flush against her clit and there’s nothing more to take. She loops a leg around his waist and ruts up against him, and anything soft about him vanishes.

Din’s thrusts are punishing. Hard and fast, the weight of his hips rocking her into the ground over and over, until she can feel carpet burns forming at the base of her spine, the soft skin of her ass. Every slick pass of the heft of his cock punches the air from her lungs and has her eyelids fluttering.

It’s greedy, the way he fucks her. Like he’s had it before, perhaps in a past life, and been deprived of her touch for years. He fucks her like he misses her. Like he loves her or hates her or something dark and grotesque in between the two emotions. Like if this were the last thing he ever got to do in this lifetime, then he was going to do it right.

So she says, “Harder,” and he grits his teeth, fucking her into the carpet until she’s sure there’ll be littles scrapes and bruises on her back in the morning.

The tip of his cock brushes near to the end of her, and every little nudge there has her gasping in an intoxicating medley of pain and pleasure.

“There?”

“Yes,” she begs. “Fucking—yes.”

Din works her open like it’s his fucking job. Settles on his knees and drags her ass up onto his thighs, splitting her open with every brutal thrust, hands fitted over her waist in a vice.

Up close like this she can see past the collar of his shirt. Can see thick raised lines on his skin, pink and purple scars beneath his collarbones. She reaches up and lays a hand there, feels his heart jack hammering against the marred skin, and moans his name. Din, Din, Din.

And he likes that. Releases an almost pained moan at the sound of his name on her lips, leaning down to attach his mouth to her neck. He bites and sucks and kisses, leaving a trail of deep dark marks from the hollow of her throat to the hinge of her jaw.

“That’s it,” he snarls into her skin, hand lowering to press down above her mound, and that mixed with the sound of his voice makes a fresh load of slick gush out of her. Pushes her deeper into this depraved, endless pit of pleasure he’s raining down upon her.

He tells her again, say it again, and she cries out Din, head lolling back against the floor.

Something fierce begins to brew inside of her. A bright white twisting feeling that frays and sparks like a live wire, stoked by the speed of his movement, the firm press of his hand against her lower stomach. And just as she thinks she’s there, almost there, so close, a shrill ringing comes from the sofa to their left.

Din’s hips stutter against hers, head snapping to the side to pinpoint where the interruption emanates from. A little pink phone rings and rings, the sound piercing through her ears and setting her teeth on edge. She taps his chest quickly, urging him back. He frowns, opens his mouth to tell her no, tell her ignore it, but she pushes him harder, again and again until he slips out of her with a haggard moan.

He grips her waist and turns their bodies, landing on his back with a thud. Eyes trained on his face, the dark red blush on his cheeks, his swollen mouth, she reaches out blindly, snatching the phone from the receiver and putting it to her ear.

“Allo?” Remy breathes, eyebrows pinching together as she sinks down onto his cock, free hand splayed on his stomach. “Bonjour.” 

He props himself up in a seated position, resting back on one hand while the other comes up to grope at her chest. Cocky asshole. But her eyes glaze over as she takes in the tanned skin that peeks out of his shirt again, the soft smattering of hair between his pecks. Legs spread out wide on the carpet, he watches her bounce slowly on his cock, nodding in encouragement but careful not to speak, lest he be heard down the line by her handler.

At this angle his tip presses into her g-spot with every movement. It only takes a moment for that low burn to start up again in the base of her stomach. Her mouth is open wide, ragged breaths spilling from her lips as she listens to the words being spoken down the line.  

She says, “Ouais, c’est fait.” Yeah, it’s done.

Din’s fingers flex around the cup of her bra, tugging down the fabric to let one of her tits spill out. He sighs heavily, leaning forward to latch his mouth onto the skin there. Lathing hot, messy kisses against her sternum, her nipple, and then grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud. She trembles against him, hand coming up to grip the back of his head and hold his face there. He sucks it into his mouth, pulls it taut between his lips before letting it slip out with a wet pop.

“À bientôt.” See you soon.

She hangs up the phone with a rough clang, and then her mouth is seeking his out again. Teeth clash and she moans at the sharp pain, uncaring. Din’s grip on her waist tightens and he plants his feet on the carpet, fucking up into her at a break-neck pace. She cries into his mouth, a harsh animalistic sound, and her stomach is pulling tight, cramping up. Her cunt locks down around him, and when she comes it’s a low throb of a feeling. A deep swooping ache that spills from her core and spreads out through her thighs, her stomach, until her body is jerking and twitching above him.

“Fuck yes,” he grits out, white teeth flashing in her hazy vision. He doesn’t give out, spitting a mess of that’s it, fucking give it to me as her pussy flutters and drools around his cock. Her hips roll and stutter over his, the muscles in her stomach twitching beneath the skin, and Din swears under his breath. Her vision whites out, throat hoarse and head pounding as she succumbs to the pleasure. And he feeds off it.

“God, look at you,” he grunts, prolonging that low burn in her gut the longer he fucks into that softest warmest little spot. “Made to take this cock.”

“Say it,” he rasps urgently, eyes rolling back when her hand grips his throat for purchase, nails digging sharply into the skin over his thrumming carotid. “Say you fucking want it.”

“I want it,” she moans, back arching, knees on fire where they slide against the carpet at his sides. “Want your come, Din, fuck—fuck, give it to me, give it to me.”

His body practically vibrates as he comes. A thousand tiny little twitches and spasms rocking through this frame, the muscles in his thick thighs turning to tense stone beneath her. A gravelly shout falls from his lips, cock kicking hot and hard against her walls until she feels his spend begin to seep out of her around his length and pool around his base.  

It’s almost frantic, the way his hands clutch at her body, clinging to any part of her that he can. And when she thinks he might pull her closer, press himself deeper to keep painting the inside of her walls, he pushes her away, dragging himself from her clutch just to grip his length in a tight fist.

He strokes himself in tight wet movements, a few final weak spurts of his come shooting up to land over her mound and the swollen lips of her pussy. And only when he’s done, spent cock beginning to soften in his palm, does he pull her down a little. Resting wet hands over the base of her spine to feel the way she shivers, body shuddering its way through the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Remy’s chest expands with stilted, ragged gasps for air, trying desperately to fill her lungs as she folds against his hot thick frame, exhausted.

And after a few moments the foggy, erotic blur that held her mind in a vice for the past few hours slowly begins to lift. Din’s hand is on the back of her thigh, fingers splayed, tickling the skin there, and the weight of it suddenly itches. Reality drifts back in and it feels heavy on her shoulders. The clock beside the hotel bed reads 9:12 – her flight out of Berlin leaves in two hours.

His hand drifts up her back, nudging her down to rest her head against his chest. Her body aches suddenly; dull pains popping up in her neck, her jaw, her hips. She remembers the way it felt to have his palm strike her chin and almost smiles.

A metre away, her suitcase lies spread open on the floor. Clothes and lingerie and a gun peek out of the red trunk. She can see two passports beside it, stacked neatly atop one another. And she knows that his hotel room can’t look that dissimilar from his own, but it feels too much now. As their breathing starts to even out, vision swinging back into focus, this level of intimacy – having another person, even a colleague of sorts – seeing behind the scenes of what after looks like for her… it feels like a splinter in the tip of her finger. A sharp sting that won’t go away. Wrong.

Remy rests her chin against his collarbone and glances up at him. Din’s eyes are closed, lips parted as soft breaths puff out from between them. He looks tired – almost as tired as she feels.

“I’m going to shower,” she tells him, fingers brushing curls back off his forehead. His eyes are soft, warm as they open to watches her stand. Too much, that look in his eyes. Too close. “Be gone when I come out, okay?”

Remy turns, back to him as she grips the handle of the ensuite door, and for a moment she pauses. Feels the weight of the silence between them, the heady scent of sweat and come in the air, on her skin, and glances over her shoulder. Looks between him spread out on the floor and her things dotted across the room. An empty martini glass lying on its side. The blush-coloured rotary phone on the hotel sofa. Passports with different names, birth dates, home countries, addresses, and her face. She knows that has to be firm now.  

“Don’t give me a reason to kill you, mon chére.” My darling.

Din’s lips curl up into a smile and his eyes drift up to stare at the ceiling. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She slips inside the bathroom and pulls the door almost closed behind her. Twists a nozzle until water is beating down against the floor of the shower and steam begins to fill the room. Silently, she pries open a cabinet and slips her hand beneath the sink, feeling around until her fingers grasp the pistol strapped there.

Bare skin of her back flush to the wall, thighs still wet with come and sweat, she peers out through the crack in the door. Still ajar, she can see him past the wooden frame. Sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her, looping his belt through the waist of his trousers. With her eyes trained on the soft skin of his neck, on messy curls, on shoulder blades and biceps that bulge out against the thin material of his dress shirt – she leads a silencer into place over the mouth of her gun. A rhythmic repetition, the exact same as earlier. She doesn’t even need to look down. Pin meet groove, twist, twist, twist.

Din slips his arms inside the suit jacket, elbows bending as he smooths his palms along the front of it. She holds her breath as he turns, as he takes three steps toward the hotel room door, and then—pauses. Hand on the doorhandle, he does not move.

Remy’s finger rests featherlight on the trigger.

She is calm. What happens next is his choice.  

And he must know this because he does not turn around. Does not try to catch one last look at her. His fingers curl around the handle and he slips out the door, closing it was a soft click behind him. The air in the room rushes to fill his sudden absence.

Only when there is silence does she exhale, dropping the pistol onto the marble countertop beside the sink. And she smiles as she slinks beneath the hot spray of the shower head, letting it rush over the crown of her skull and drench her hair.

Her scalp stings and pink water swirls in the drain, blood slipping from a little cut on the back of her head. She pays it little mind, tilting her chin up so the scalding water hits her face too, stripping away a thick layer of sweat and blood and secrets from her skin. The silence stretches, and her smile grows. He does not come back.

Smart choice, Din Djarin.

thank you so much for reading! x

[senp1i]

Bestfriends | Jang Wonyoung x M!R

WC: 2496, anon requested from last year also I used Grammarly for the first, how'd u guys like it lmao, I'm not sure If ill use it again tho, it makes everything bland IMO but less work for my sickass so ++ sorry for the smut, i know the req said fluff but.. i got too excited lmao

Wonyoung and Y/N had been close since they were little demons running wild in their neighborhood. They were damn near conjoined twins, always finding trouble to get into together. Whether it was sneaking out in the middle of the night or raiding the kitchen for midnight snacks, they did everything as a dynamic duo.

As they got older, that closeness only intensified. Y/N started noticing the little things about Wonyoung that made his heart go faster than a F1 car - the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, or how her slight gum showed whenever she flashed that bright, smile. Not to mention Wonyoung was a total smokeshow inside and out, with a fun, chic personality to match her goddess looks.

Y/N had it bad, simping for his best friend in the most cliche way possible. But could you blame the dude? Wonyoung was straight-up perfect - smart as a nerd without the glasses, kind as a nun, with a decent enough sense of humor and just the most beautiful girl. She had a rocking body too, not too curvy but with an ass that just wouldn't quit. Y/N's testostrones start raging just thinking about her.

He knew he had to make a move before it was too late. Wonyoung was starting to get attention from the other dudes at school, and it was only a matter of time before some fuckboy tried to swoop in and steal her up. Y/N couldn't let that happen - Wonyoung was his, had been since day one, even if she didn't know it yet. The plan was simple: confess feelings, get the girl, and ride off into the sunset or whatever cliche, What could go wrong?

Famous last words.

Y/N had been preparing himself up all day to finally spit it out. He was gonna meet Wonyoung at their favorite hangout spot in the park after school and pour his heart out. Butterflies were going apeshit in his stomach as he approached the park bench, hands sweaty and shaky.

That's when he saw it - Wonyoung, sitting there looking as gorgeous as ever, with some random kid down on one knee in front of her. A fucking confession. Y/N's heart fell into his gut as the world seemed to stop.

"Oh fuck no..." he muttered under his breath.

The guy was a senior from what Y/N could tell, though he didn't recognize the bastard off the top of his head. He was decent-looking, Y/N supposed, but he was biased as hell. No one was good enough for HIS Wonyoung.

From a distance, Y/N watched in horror as the guy declared his feelings, pulling out a bouquet of roses from behind his back like a damn rom-com from the nineties. He felt like he was gonna launch at the fuckboy as Wonyoung accepted the flowers, a small smile playing on her lips. Wasn't she gonna shut this guy down?

Y/N wanted to turn away but found himself frozen, a bystander in his own nightmare. He watched as Wonyoung leaned in and...hugged the guy. What the actual fuck was going on?

His brain jumped to the worst possible conclusions - were Wonyoung and this random dude already a thing? Had Y/N been living in delusion this whole time, pining after someone who was already taken? Bile filled his mouth.

As the guy pulled away from the hug, still smiling at Wonyoung with tender affection in his eyes, Y/N felt like he was going to lose his shit for real. This was happening, right in front of his eyes. His moment, his chance at happiness, being ripped away.

Head spinning, Y/N turned and booked it before he could witness anything else. He ran blindly, fighting back the lump of emotion forming in his throat. He had been so ready to lay it all on the line, and now...now his heart was shattered into pieces.

Over the next few days, Y/N avoided Wonyoung like the plague, skipping all their usual hangouts and making excuses whenever she tried to reach out. He just couldn't stand to be around her, not after having his feelings so violently crushed. It was too damn painful.

Wonyoung wasn't having it though. She was too damn stubborn, too persistent to let this go on without getting to the bottom of it.

"Dude, what the fuck is up with you lately?" she cornered Y/N after somehow tracking him down in the school courtyard after school.

Y/N averted his eyes, clenching his jaw as he fought to keep his composure. "Nothing's up. I'm fine."

"Bullshit," Wonyoung scoffed, seeing right through the flimsy excuse. "You've been avoiding me for days, and I want to know why."

There was a tense pause as Y/N remained stubbornly silent, staring at a random spot on the ground. Wonyoung sighed in exasperation, planting her hands on her hips.

"Did I do something to piss you off? Because if I did, I wish you'd just tell me instead of giving me the cold shoulder, N/nie"

Y/N squeezed his eyes shut briefly, pained by how stupid Wonyoung was being and the fact that her nickname still made his stomach get fuzzy. Of course, she had no idea about his feelings, how crushed he felt watching her accept that other guy's flowers, even hugging him.

When he spoke again, Y/N's voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with barely suppressed emotion. "I saw you...with him...the other day in the park."

Wonyoung's brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before realization seemed to dawn on her. "Oh...you mean [whatever name] ? When he asked me out?"

Y/N flinched at how casually she referred to the guy's name as if i wasn't a big deal. As if their friendship, their closeness, didn't mean anything next to this new romantic prospect.

"I can't believe you'd even entertain that loser," Y/N bit out bitterly, venom in his tone. "He doesn't deserve you."

"Woah, harsh," Wonyoung laughed lightly, though her eyes had taken on a more serious glint. "For your information, I turned him down. Like, completely rejected his ass."

Y/N's head whipped up in surprise, eyes widening almost comically. "You...you did?", voice cracking mid way too. 

"Of course I did, dumbass," Wonyoung rolled her eyes, gentleness returning to her eyes as she closed the distance between them. "Did you think I'd go for some random guy over you?"

The words hung heavy in the air between them as Y/N struggled to process them. Over him? What did that mean exactly? Surely Wonyoung couldn't mean...

Clearing his throat, "W-What are you saying?" Y/N stammered out, heart beating fast in his chest.

Wonyoung reached up to cup his face lovingly, so close now that he could see the faint dusting of redness on her face, and could smell her sweet fruity perfume. She stared into his eyes with an intensity that made his knees go weak.

"I'm saying…- *sigh* I like you, dummy," she murmured, voice soft yet filled with sincerity. "I've had feelings for you for a long time, but I didn't know how to tell you. I was waiting for you to make a move."

Y/N felt like the wind was knocked out of him as Wonyoung's words slowly sank in. This whole time...Wonyoung had liked him back? He had been stressing out for nothing, making assumptions and jumping to conclusions without even giving her a chance to explain.

"You...you like me?" Y/N asked dumbly, hardly daring to believe it was real. "Like, like-like me?"

"Yeah, dumbass," Wonyoung chuckled fondly, rolling her eyes again. "I like-like you, a lot. So are you gonna kiss me already or what?"

She didn't have to ask twice as Y/N surged forward, capturing Wonyoung's plush lips in a sloppy, desperate kiss. It was clumsy and inexperienced, driven purely by pent-up feelings, but it was absolutely flabbergasting. Wonyoung made a soft *mmph* of surprise before melting into it, her arms winding around his neck.

They kissed again and again, getting lost in the sensation of finally having each other. Years of hidden crushing and repressed lust came pouring out in a strong wave. Y/N wanted to drown in Wonyoung forever, to burn up in her flames.

When they finally detached, panting and flushed, Y/N cupped Wonyoung's face gently. "I thought I lost you," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers.

Wonyoung let out a breathless laugh, eyes sparkling with a mixture of affection and glee. "You could never lose me, dummy. I'll always be yours, no matter what."

And as Y/N pulled her close for another kiss, the courtyard around them faded into the background until it was just Y/N and Wonyoung in their little bubble. Their lips moved together urgently, all teeth and tongues, everything started gushing out again,

Y/N knew in that moment, as Wonyoung whimpered softly into his mouth, that she was telling the goddamn truth. They'd been two peas in a pod since childhood, attached at the damn hip through thick and thin. But right now, with their bodies pressed together so personally, they became one - two puzzle pieces finally slotting together after years of being one halves.

And fuck, did it feel good to be home.

Wonyoung kissed back like she did everything else - with out-of-control passion and zero fucks given. She gave as good as she got, nibbling at Y/N's lower lip teasingly before licking it with her tongue. Her hands moved freely, bunching up the fabric of his shirt as she pressed even closer, determined to get rid of any remaining space between her and his bodies.

"Fuck, baby...wanted this for so long," Y/N muttered when they briefly pulled back for air, his voice low and filed with lust.

"Then take it," Wonyoung shot back breathlessly, her eyes dark and hooded as she pushed her hips against his, grinding on his erection. "I'm yours, remember?"

That was all the encouragement Y/N needed. Tangling one hand in her silky hair, he angled her head to the side and attacked her neck with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. Wonyoung let out a needy little whine, arching into him desperately as he found her sensitive spots

"Y/N...shit, that feels so good," she moaned, nails scratching over his clothed back as he showered her pale skin with attention.

Hearing her say his name like that, all breathy and horny, just drove Y/N more. He wanted to mark her up, let the whole world know she was his and his alone. Wanted to make her come undone right there in the yard where anyone could see but of course, they had a reputation to keep as he hoisted Wonyoung up suddenly, grinning at her squeak. Her legs immediately wrapped around his waist as he rushed into the hallway and pinned her against one of the lockers, the metal clanging loudly. Not that either of them cared about being overheard at this point - they were too far gone.

"You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?" Y/N groaned out, rolling his hips, grounding against her clothed vagina teasingly so she could feel how hard he was already. "Been wanting this tight little body for years."

Wonyoung let out a shameless moan at his words, her pupils blown wide with horniness. "Then take it, what are you waiting for?" She ground down against the bulge in his jeans tauntingly. "I'm not gonna break."

It was all the invitation Y/N needed. Crashing their lips back together hornily, he reached down to hitch one of Wonyoung's legs higher on his waist, opening her up further. His other hand skimmed up her thigh, dipping underneath her skirt to tease at the lace waistband of her panties.

"Is this what you want, baby?" he asked against her lips, fingers creeping higher to brush over her damp slit through the skimpy fabric. "You're already so wet for me, wony"

Wonyoung's head lolled back against the lockers with a thud, her chest heaving. "Don't tease, asshole" she retorted shamelessly, squirming against his hand in search of more. "I need you inside me. Now."

Y/N felt his dick throb painfully at her words, at the way she begged for it despite her usual bossy, headstrong personality. Seeing Wonyoung like this, overwhelmed by need and desire for him, was making his brain short-circuit.

Kissing her deeply again, he slid his hand properly into her panties and finally, blissfully, pumped two fingers into her sloppy, wet pussy.. Wonyoung moaned sharply into his mouth, her inner walls fluttering wildly around the thick fingers as she took him into the final knuckle.

"Fuck...you feel so fucking good," Y/N groaned, slowly working his fingers in and out of her tight vagina. She felt like heaven, insanely hot and wet like she was made just for him.

"Harder," Wonyoung whimpered, already twitching pathetically on his hand, completely shamelessly in her pleasure. "I can take it, I wanna feel you tomorrow."

Y/N felt a fresh wave of precum ooze out at her husky demands. He always knew Wonyoung was a brat, but her complete lack of self-consciousness, and her willingness to take whatever he gave was driving him wild, especially in the empty school hallway.

Growling under his breath, Y/N picked up the pace of his pumping, curling his fingers with every pull. The smutty sounds of her slick cunt soon filled the hallway, echoing obscenely with Wonyoung's loud, horny moans.

"That's it, baby...gonna make you feel so good," Y/N murmured hotly against the sweaty side of her throat, biting down to leave a mark. "Want everyone to know who you belong to."

"Yours, 'm yours!" Wonyoung cried out, arching her back almost painfully as she blindly chased her orgasm. Her nails grounded and slid over his shoulders hard enough to sting. "Oh fuck, I'm...I'm gonna..."

Y/N could feel her growing impossibly tighter around his fingers, those velvet walls beginning to twitch wildly. With a groan, he slammed his palm firmly against her clit, sending Wonyoung catapulting over the edge into euphoria.

She came with a sobbing and whiney moan, her whole body tensing up as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Y/N swallowed the desperate sounds spilling from her lips, amazed by how gorgeous she looked in the high of her orgasm. He fingered her through it lovingly, dragging out every last tremble until Wonyoung’s limp and tired against him.

"Good girl, that's it," he murmured adoringly, pressing soft kisses to her sweaty hairline as she clung to him like a koala. "You did so good for me, baby."

Wonyoung merely made a weak, incoherent noise of hum, too orgasmed out to form proper words. She nuzzled against his neck happily, her jagged pants slowly evening out to deep, relaxed breaths.

"Mine," she finally mumbled once she'd got to her senses, voice raspy from all her moans. She punctuated her words with a clumsy nip to his neck, more like a mosquito bite than anything.

Y/N chuckled, squeezing her ass with the hand still under her skirt. "Always."

[montgomery-moods]

Could I request a stimboard of me (Etho) & Skizz with flowers and the night sky? - Voidling anon

Posted! Hope you enjoy!

[writer-by-the-sea]

hello!! may i request something fluffy where a touch starved elliott is visited by a farmer who can’t sleep and wants to cuddle with him? they’re not yet dating, but there’s EXTREME romantic tension between them

Slightly BARELY NSFT, No beta, no spell check lol

The storm raged outside, the lighting illuminating my cabin, each flash of light shortly accompanied by thunder that roared so loudly it shook my bed. I sighed and stared up at the ceiling, the rain beating down on the roof and providing me with the white noise I would normally crave; but now I laid there disturbed by the storm and sleep continues to evade me.

I let my thoughts slip to the farmer… Weeks ago they told me how they can’t have trouble sleeping through the night, that they were considering pills to help them through the night. I couldn’t help by wonder how they were fairing this night. Were they just as frustrated as I? Tossing and turning under the covers and considering giving up and waiting for the morning?

All I knew was that tomorrow would be a day with many cups of coffee, perhaps even an espresso or two.

I leaned over, reaching for my bedside lamp, flicking the switch with well rehearsed practice— only for the light to ignore me. I blinked at the light, tapping the switching again, and then once more..

“Lovely,” I mumbled and stood. The power was out.

Near my desk sat an oil lamp, one that I preferred to save for emergencies; I suppose this fell into that category. I considered what I would do with my time now, writing coming across my mind. Although, as of late, anything I’ve written has only been conveying my sappy and desperate need for the touch of another.

For far too long I’ve lived in this cabin alone. Something I thought I would enjoy, but I find myself feeling more and more lonely as each day passes. These days it’s gotten to the point where I find myself starved for attention. I wander around town more often than ever, finding excuses to see the others (mostly the farmer,) and I go on to bore them with tales of my unsuccessful writings.

With my lamp lit, I found my way back to my bed, my new plan for the night to reread over my pages and correct any mistakes I come across. Forever I will misspell at minimum ten words per page.

I may be a writer but I am no expert at spelling, ironic as it may be.

Just as I began to settle back in bed, there’s a knock at the door.

Unusual, but it wouldn’t be the first time Willy visited in the dead of the night. He might be in need of some snacks if he saw Sebastian earlier in the day, or asking for help to shovel rain water out of his shop again.

I groaned and slipped out of bed, now giving up on my plans and preparing myself for Willy’s visit. A night of fishermen’s stories and tellings of his childhood. Not that I minded it, but I would rather relax tonight..

The knocking came again, urging me to open it and let them in. Part of me was tempted to ignore it, to pretend to be sleeping and leave Willy on his own — as rude as it may be.

But then—

“Elliott?” A voice called from outside my door, helpless and scared.

I ran to the door, flinging it open to reveal the farmer standing there. Drenched from head to toe, but still smiling as I greeted them. “Oh my goodness!” I cried and stepped back, opening the door even further and ushered them inside. “You must be freezing! Please, come inside!”

The farmer quickly ducked in, wasting no time in kicking off their boots and closing the door behind them. “I’m sorry to drop by so late,” they began and removed their jacket. “I just—“

“Couldn’t sleep?” I asked and took their jacket. I hung it and then offered a towel.

They gave me a sheepish smile, nodding and accepting the towel. “Did I wake you?”

I waved them off. “No worries, I was awake. I couldn’t sleep either.”

“Is it okay if… I stay here a while?”

I could tell they were embarrassed to ask, scared even as they avoided my gaze. If not for the cold weather outside, I would think they were hiding heated cheeked. But that may have just been wishful thinking. “Of course!” I replied. “Stay as long as you like—“ I paused, looking over their drenched clothes and uncertain on how to phrase my next words. “Do you… perhaps need a change of clothes?”

The farmer looked down again, chewing their bottom lip and twisting their hands in front of themselves. “I don’t want to be a burden—“

“Nonsense!” I rushed to my dresser, plucking a few of my clothes out to present them. Mostly oversized clothing, things I haven’t worn in ages but I knew would be comfortable and warm. It would definitely be better than what they wore now, anyway. “Let me know if these are okay,” I said and handed the clothes over. “You can change in the bathroom if—“

“Thank you!” The farmer replied and took the offered clothing….

And then began to strip before me.

I gasped and spun around, heat flooding my cheeks from what I’d saw so little of. Soft, supple skin… A few minor scars across their body, no doubt from the farm and the mines… How I wished to turn back around and take them into my arms, to kiss every scar, to lick every curve, to worship and adore their body just as they deserved.

I held myself back, taking a breath and moving to my bed to readjust the blankets and pillows. I wasn’t sure what tonight would bring, I wanted to keep my hopes low but—

“You can turn back around.”

They stood there, my sweater hanging off one shoulder and my old pajama pants hanging low on their waist. “Sorry about that,” the farmer mumbled. “I was actually really cold and started changing without thinking.”

“It’s no problem.” I chuckled and took their wet clothes from them, moving to hang them in my bathroom. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

Once in the bathroom, I closed the door behind me. How could they look so adorable in my clothing….

I slowly hung their clothing, willing down the urge to run back out and pull the farmer into my arms. To compliment them on how cute they looked, to kiss across their exposed skin and slip my hands under the sweater they wore. To lead them into my bed and remove their borrowed clothing piece by piece—

“Fuck,” I whispered and stared down at the shirt I held. I forced myself to hang it up with everything else.

Tonight, the farmer came to me for a place to relax. For a place to hide out the storm. For a place they knew they could trust without a starving writers wandering hands all over their body. Their perfect, gorgeous, sexy, strong body.

I shook my head and stepped out of the bathroom, ready to chat with the farmer about the weather, about the night sky, about everything but my cravings to just touch them. But all of the words fell out of my mouth.

They laid in my bed, under the covers and flipping through one of my books from the library. The light of my lantern dancing across them, their beauty freezing me in place. A fantasy I’ve dreamt of a million times, only now I could do nothing. My breathing unsteady, the palms now sweaty, my throat dry and all words failing me as I let my eyes trail over them.

The farmer noticed me and scooted to the side of my bed, pushing themselves into the wall before patting the empty side. “It’ll be warmer under the covers,” was all they said before they looked back down at the book. A book that only detailed the secret to ‘writing an award willing novel.’ Something I knew they wouldn’t actually be interested in but…

I climbed into the bed and slid under the covers, biting my tongue when my leg brushed against their own. This couldn’t actually be happening, right? There was no storm outside and I was simply in a very deep sleep. If not for the warmth coming from the farmer, I may have actually believed I was dreaming…

The farmer leaned towards me, their head coming to rest on my shoulder, their book now closed and forgotten in their lap. I kept my eyes forward, my hands turning to fists as I let the weight of their head settle upon me. “This is nice,” they whispered and snuggled in a little further, one of their hands going to lap on my arm. “Do you mind?”

“No,” I muttered back, gulping as they shifted even closer, their arm now laying across my chest as they got more comfortable. “I— I don’t mind.”

My body felt like it was being doused in flames, feeling more aware than ever of everything around me. The rain coming back to my mind, softer than before as it fell across the roof, the thunder still rumbling outside but now miles away, the farmers hair as it brushed against my cheek, their arm as it laid over my fast beating heart, their thumb as it caressed my arm.

“I really appreciate you letting me come in tonight…” I could feel their breath across my neck, my body shivering as I let the feeling wash over me.

I took a breath, attempting to form the words. Their legs were on my own now, the farmer pulling me further into the bed and encouraging me to relax and our combined warmth made my eyes grow heavy.

“I’ve dreamt of this so many times,” I said, my voice a whisper as I finally gave me.

The farmer giggled, their laugh light and adorable… and bringing what I’d just said to light. “And? Is it everything you imagined?”

I sighed and wrapped one of my arms around them. “Even better.”

In the morning I would wake with the farmer still in my arms, their nose tucked into my neck and snoring softly. Our first night together that would become one of many.

[ageingfangirl2]

Cook For A Day! Luffy (OPLA)

Sanji gets sick and leaves y/n in charge of cooking duties. y/n is new to the crew and worries no one will like their cooking, unaware that Luffy will eat just about anything put in front of him. Luffy x Reader (Fluff)

Y/N

'y/n come here for a moment,' Sanji croaks, voice hoarse as you pass by his cabin and open the door.

Sanji knew it had to be you walking around the ship this early because no one else bothered to get up before sunrise, and since joining the crew only a month ago you were an early bird and liked to help Sanji in the kitchen because he also got up early.

'You sound awful Sanji, are you okay?' you ask, concerned.

Sanji coughs and you realise the cook is ill, 'I think I'm going to stay in bed today. Can you take over cooking duties for me?'

Your eyes widen at the request, 'Err, are you sure? I don't want to mess up your kitchen.'

Sanji tries to laugh but fails, 'You've watched me so I trust you. Now go get breakfast ready.'

You nod, 'Okay, but if it goes wrong I'm blaming you.'

'Shoo, now let me sleep...' Sanji mutters and yawns.

You quietly shut his door and take a deep breath. What if no one on the crew liked your cooking. They had such high expectations because Sanji was amazing. You wanted to be fully accepted so you couldn't mess things up.

Entering the kitchen your mind goes blank on what to cook. Do you play it safe and prepare something Sanji would make or experiment a little? You had a couple of hours before anyone else woke up so you had some time on your hands.

LUFFY

I was awoken by a very strange smell, it wasn't a bad smell, it just wasn't a smell I'd come across before. My stomach rumbled either way, and I knew Sanji had to be up cooking, with our new crew mate y/n helping him.

I sniff the air as I leave my quarters, the smell was coming from the kitchen and it smelt kind of spicy and warm. I passed by Sanji's room and hear snoring coming from the other side, so he was still asleep, which meant it had to be y/n in the kitchen.

y/n came from a town that I remembered having very nice food. A lot of spices and seasonings were used to flavour what could have easily been regular bland food.

Pushing open the door to the kitchen the smell of spices hit me full on, and y/n who was holding a pot yelps at my sudden appearance, but before the pot can hit the floor I stretch and catch it.

'You're up early captain,' y/n says nervously, avoiding eye contact and going back to cooking after I'd placed the pot back down.

My eyes widen seeing a lot of food on the counter in front of me, and my mouth watered merely looking at it, 'the smell woke me up, why is Sanji sleeping?'

y/n answers with their back turned to me, 'he's sick so asked me to cook. But as you can see I didn't know what to cook and now I feel like an idiot.'

I sit down and pull the nearest bowl towards me, it looks like regular porridge but has a slightly red colour, 'why did you cook so much?'

y/n's shoulders slump, 'because Sanji is an amazing cook and I want you guys to think I'm good too. I need to be useful.'

I dig into the porridge and see there was some kind of seasoning that made it both sweet and a little spicy, it would wake you up in the morning. Either way, it was delicious and I quickly finished the whole bowl and looked around the counter for my next meal.

'You're useful y/n,' I say between mouthfuls, 'people like you, you're very good at getting us out of trouble with your words. You're also good at fighting, and making delicious food.'

y/n spins around eyes wide, 'you like my cooking?'

I nod and pull a plate of cooked fish towards me, 'I like the spices and seasonings, I could eat this all day.'

y/n leans on the counter opposite me watching me stuff my face with a smile on their face. Usually by now, Sanji would have scolded me for eating while he was still cooking but y/n looked proud. y/n needed to try less hard to be liked because they were already accepted by the whole crew, but that would take time.

'I have a couple other dishes prepared if you'd like to try them, captain,' y/n suggests.

I continue to devour the plate in front of me and smirk, 'Keep them coming.'

This was the most talkative y/n had been the whole month. They were very easy to get along with and promised to bring any new dishes to me first. If y/n cooked more I might just get up earlier in the morning.

[xmalereader]

Simon Riley x Medic! Male Reader

—

|| Masterlist ||

—

Authors Note: I’m finally updating again 😫, I’ve been busy with my studies and advancing in my Japanese before I leave next year, gotta be prepared and working extra hours for the money 🤪, but either way. I was able to get a few requests completed and will make sure to update as much as I can!

Request: Remember the quest where graves seize all Los Vaqurous (Dunno the spelling sorry- ;-;) and have to kill both ghost and soap? What if Reader who is medic from Ghost Team and Graves saw the potential and decide to have Medic Reader for himself so he seize Reader too. Follow the plot of the game, they got Reader last after saving Alejandro and his team. Happy ending where Reader said "You found me... " and Ghost reply with "I always found you" :D

Warnings: Language, background, reader is a medic, soft ghost, slight angst, mentions of past trauma, Graves is a creep, Spanish language, Price likes reader.

Word Count: 1.9K

Tag: @keera9534

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—

Y/n was the teams best medic, being picked by Price himself due to knowing how good he was at patching up the team and providing the proper medicine. He first joined the team when Price was in need to medical help after taking a bullet to the abdomen. When they brought him in, the nurses and doctors were far too frantic and full of worry as they ran around the medical wing checking on other wounded soldiers and trying to attend to them, leaving Price with no medical attention. The captain had tried to patch himself up since it wasn’t the first time that he’s gotten injured and had stitched himself up.

But the situation was far worse and the bullet had been lodged inside which made it difficult for Price to get it done himself. It wasn’t until one of the rookies quickly stepped up, attending Price and making sure that he’s given the proper attention. The captain was too drowsy to fight off the rookie due to blood lose that Y/n acted quickly, ignoring Prices cursing and pained groans while he worked on his wound, using the proper tools to remove the bullet and get him stitched up.

Price noticed how fast the rookie worked and how quick he is to stitch and patch him up. The captain was left in surprise and impressed by his work only for the rookie to get in trouble by doing something he wasn’t stationed to do. That same day Price took interest in the rookie and asked Laswell about him, getting his records and reading into his life and finding out that the young man had gone to the best medical schools and ended up here.

The kid was reckless, but knew what he was doing and Price liked that.

Y/n was the first to be recruited by Price, getting trained in combat and how to handle a gun in order to keep himself alive while out on the field with the others. After a few months Price later brings in Ghost into the team, scaring the poor rookie when they first met. The doctor found him intimidating due to his silence and the skull mask he wore, rarely talking to Y/n whenever the two were in the same room or whenever he was patching him up.

The two only spoke whenever they were on missions, but never in private.

The doctor figured that he wouldn’t be getting along with Ghost for really long time since they rarely spoke, only for that to change when one of the soldiers that he was helping started hitting on him. Flirting with him and finding excuses to see him whenever he was injured and the doctor grew irritated by it. It all happened when the Solider grew upset with Y/n ignoring his snarky flirting, cornering him and growing desperate only for Ghost to randomly appear behind man and pull him away from the doctor.

Ghost had given the man a deadly look that frightened the man easily and was quick to scurry away. Y/n appreciated Ghosts help and offered to buy him a drink as a thank you which Ghost easily accepts, giving the two a chance to finally talk with each other out of base and non work related. That night was all it took in order for their feelings to grow, sometimes tip towing around each other, but it was clear as day that the two liked each other deeply.

Their relationship deepened as the years went by to the point where they ended up dating for a two years, working together in the field along with Gaz, Soap, and Price. The three knew how inseparable both Ghost and Y/n were that it wasn’t a surprise when they were assigned to work under the Shadow Company, getting the know Graves who they followed orders from.

His time working with the Shadow company was strange. Y/n sensed that something wasn’t right when he was grounded by Graves and to stay in base and work as a doctor from there, which he did not like. Their were times where he tried to get in communication with Ghost and to tell him about the strange feeling he was getting only for his requests to speak with the lieutenant to be rejected which only made the feeling worse.

It wasn’t until the night that Graves decided to go against them that all hell broke loose.

The alarms of the base were going off and the sounds of shouting and protests were being heard.

Y/n was rushing out of the medical room, looking around with confusion and worry as a few soldiers were running around the place. “Que esta pasando?” He asks one of the soldiers running down the hallways as they quickly tell him that they are being rounded up in the main lobby. It doesn’t really reassure him about the alarms going off and heads towards the lobby.

“Round them up!”

“Get them in the cells!”

He stands over the lobby to see Graves shadows rounding up Alejandros men, pointing their guns at them and forcing them into cells. The image alone lets him be aware of what is going on, noticing one of the Shadows spotting him and calling out. “We have one on the balcony!”

“Shit!” Y/n is quick to duck down when they shoot their guns at him, making him run out of sight and trying to find a way out of base without getting killed.

He’s able to make it down the first floor without being detected only to turn the corner and come face to face with Graves. “Easy, doc.” He says while grabbing him by the arms, stopping his struggles when he noticed three shadows behind Graves and armed. “I ain’t gonna hurt you doc, your far too special.” Said Graves as Y/n glared at him, gritting his teeth in anger as he pulls his arm away from his hold. “I knew something was bad about you.” He points out while his eyes remain on Graves, keeping a close eye on him as the man chuckled. “Yeah, well, it’s already too late. Your friends are probably dead by now since my shadows are hunting them down as we speak.”

Y/n scoffs. “I guess your leaving me for last to kill?”

Graves grins. “Oh. Oh no, you—“ He takes a slow step forward while Y/n takes one back. “You I will keep, your a good doctor and I will be needing you for sure, but for now I need to make sure you don’t escape.” Graves signals the three shadows towards Y/n, “Lock him up, separated from the others while I clean up this mess.”

Y/n takes a step back from the shadows and tries to fight back, kicking and punching them only for them to grab him by the arms and wrists and pining him against the wall, grunting and glaring before he’s dragged away from Graves who only watched with a sinister smirk on his face. He’s taken to his own cell, tossed inside without a care while they locket the door on him.

“Son of a bitch!” He shouts, slamming his firsts against the metal door and pulling on the handle, knowing that it wouldn’t work already. “I swear to god when I get out of here I am going to kill you!” He goes on, throwing out his own threats to anyone who can hear him. He doesn’t forget Graves’ words and how he was hunting down his team for all he knows both Soap and Ghost could be dead, but refuses to believe it. Soap was a great shot and Ghost.

Well, he was something else.

A simple shadow couldn’t kill him.

Simon had been through far worse condition. When they were a few months into their relationship and the trust between the two was growing, Simon had gained the courage to finally talk to Y/n about his past. When Simon told him about his time as a kid and the way his father treated him made the doctor realize how bad his life really was and the reason why he joined the British military. Y/n didn’t judge Simon nor did he ever bring up his traumas whenever they were alone, only thinking about it in silence.

Their conversation deepened their bond and the two grew closer than ever.

While Y/n paced around the room he tries to figure out a way out of this cell, checking every crook and cranny as his fingers skim over the barred windows only to curser under his breath when he doesn’t find anything. “Dammit, Alejandro this place is sealed.” He mumbled out to himself.

He checks under the bed, hoping to find anything that could help him and crawls underneath. “This could work.” He finds the metal bed frame to be rusty, crawling out and using his strength to kick a piece off, groaning with each kick until the metal piece falls off, taking it in his hand and working quickly to scrape it against the concrete floor, sharpening it enough to use as a weapon.

Before he could finish up the sound of gun shots is heard from outside his cell, causing him to freeze as the alarms of the base are going off again. He doesn’t stop to think and quickly continues to sharpen the metal and quickly finished up. He holds it in his hand tight while standing close to the doorway, preparing for anyone who comes in.

The sound of gun shots grows louder, hearing muffled shouts in the background as he keeps his eyes on the metal door. The sound of tumbling bodies gets him alerted while holding up the sharpened metal piece, moving closer to the door as chains rattle on the other end, he pressed himself against the corner as the door is prided open.

The doctor doesn’t think and is quick to react, swinging his arm down at the shadow entering his cell, but his hit us quickly blocked. He kicks his leg and brings him down on his knee, using his other arm to wrap around his neck and hold the sharpened blade against his neck.

“Y/n!”

The sound of a familiar voice gets his attention, looking up to see Simon standing on the other side of the door along with Rudy and Alejandro who stared with wide eyes by how fast he is to defend himself. “Ghost?” He breaths out, looking down to see who he has in a headlock only to see Soap. “Shit, Soap—“ He quickly lets go of him and lowered down his own weapon.

“No worries, mate. Understandable reaction.” Said Soap with a nervous laugh while slowly getting up from where he kneeled.

“I thought…” Y/n starts, eyes focused on Ghost who approached him slowly, taking the blade from his hand and tossing it aside while the doctor stares at Ghost. “I didn’t think you’d come for me.” He whispers and Ghost gives off a soft chuckle. “I’ll always come for you.” He responds back, reminding the doctor that he would never leave him behind.

“Come on, lets get out of here and get somewhere safe.” Alejandro is quick to speak up while they leave the cell and help out Alejandro’s man out of their own cells. “Here.” Ghost reached for one of his pistols and hands it to Y/n who takes it into his own hands and cocks the gun. “Why do I get the small one?” He pouts out, getting a reaction from the other man who rolled his eyes. “You’ll get a bigger one once we are out of here.” Y/n chuckled softly at his response. “That’s a promise.” He whispers loud enough for Ghost to hear before following the others out, getting them to safety.

[sillygoosealert]

hi again 😋 can i request reader giving bi-han the silent treatment after a disagreement or bi-han just being bi-han 😭 and when it’s time for bed they decide to sleep on the couch or in a separate room and that’s when he’s had enough and demands for them to talk and pulls the grandmaster card🫣😋 sorry if this was all over the place LMFAO

No, because you're on to something with that. It was not all over the place btw 🎀

Obey your GrandMaster

Bi-han angst to fluff

It’s late again tonight when Bi-Han returns to his room. You’ve been waiting hours after he said he would return. Everything is neat and orderly, and you hate it. You hate how you clean things in preparation for him, wait for him- and nothing. Maybe you actually hate how you let him ignore you just for you to follow him around until he sees you.

You’re like a dog- or rather something more vile. A rodent would be more fitting. You are small compared to him. He is much more respectable, powerful, and well-known than you. He is a well-dressed businessman and you are a rat that is following him around begging for a morsel. A crumb to satisfy your raging hunger that is the need to feel seen. But he won’t see you, he won’t even know about the problem. It could be plastered across every poster and billboard but he wouldn’t see it. Maybe he can’t fix your problem. Maybe you would have to accept that and find someone who could.

Then the door to the room opens. He comes inside and walks towards you. You aren’t excited, you feel a little sad that you can’t wallow and pout anymore. He runs his fingers through your hair and immediately leaves to go to the shower.

When he returns you frown and catch him before he goes to sleep.

‘I want to talk’

‘Okay, we can talk’

‘You don’t have time for me anymore. You don’t touch me, talk to me, kiss me. Are we even together?’

‘Do not speak to me that way. We are together. I do touch you. And I do kiss you. Where is this coming from?’

‘You only acknowledge me when I beg you to. These things don’t come to you naturally. I can’t just act like it doesn’t hurt me- like you don’t hurt me when you can’t even face me when you go to sleep’

‘You are being outrageous, I do not have time for these- these silly accusations’

‘I can't deal with this right now. Goodnight.’ you are leaving the room now.

‘Where do you think you're going?’

Nothing is said. You walk out and go to the couch. Fluffing up one of the decretive pillows, you lay down and close your eyes. He comes out a few minutes after you leave. He didn't think you would actually sleep somewhere else for the night.

‘You are being absurd, get back to bed. It is late.’

Nothing once again. It clicks for him that you are ignoring him. He is getting the silence treatment for not compromising.

‘You dare ignore me?’

Crickets.

‘I demand you to answer me.’

He can huff and puff all he wants, you are staying firm on your talking strike.

‘Obey your Grandmaster, retaliation will be met with punishment’

He is standing infront of you now, one hand gripping your jaw. He's squeezing your cheeks. Now you're crying. He picks you up and carries you to bed.

‘I..will not be punishing you if that's what is troubling you..’

‘Did you listen to anything I said earlier?’You cough out through sobs.

‘I am at an understanding you need me to provide more for you. If that is what upsets you I will try to make it part of my day to spend an hour with you.’

‘Thank you..’ you sniffle

He wraps his arms around you and you are on top of him. Your head is under his chin, and his nose is in your hair. It feels nice to be held, to feel his love. He's trying, you're trying, and it’s enough. You're enough for him. And he's enough for you.

🎀

[imaginidol]

Jongho: Backstage After-Hours

!!mentions of NSFW!! 18+ !! do NOT interact if you are not comfortable with smut!! as requested, here is a Jongho smut fic for you! This one is also pretty long so be prepared for that :3 IF you are comfortable, you may read more smuts here: hongjoong, san, mingi, yunho, wooyoung. PLEASE feel free to request more if you'd like! I'll get to ALL requests soon!!

The last thing you would've expected of this year was to be screaming your lungs out at a front-row seat for ATEEZ.

The shock overwhelmed you the night that the ATEEZ tickets were released for their tour, and no more than four seconds into the queue, you managed to snag a front-row seat.

Front row. Front. Row. To ATEEZ.

Sure, this meant you'd be working overtime for the next few weeks, but it was a small sacrifice to pay for the unmatched excitement that would await you soon. You've never been so quick to put any purchase like this into your credit card, and now the day finally came and here you were--screaming you rabid lungs out for the boys who made you the happiest person in the world.

Your live-in-the-moment excitement bounced off and influenced the fans around you. Soon enough, your side of the pit was the most fun to visit by the boys. They loved the energy, the fact that you were hopping around and screaming your heart out, singing along to all of their songs, and you were one of the few fans who didn't have a phone up to your face capturing the perfect fancam for the entirety of the 3-hour long concert duration.

Now, if your luck for front-row hadn't been enough to convince you that fate was indeed real, you were surely re-considering it when a security guard briskly walked up to you as you started leaving your seat, asking you to follow him once the concert ended.

Am I in trouble? is all you can think in your head as you nervously walk behind the guard, going over the events of the night that might've caused a misunderstanding.

Maybe they think I'm a sasaeng. Maybe my tickets were a fraud!?

To your surprise, you weren't yelled at or interrogated at all. Instead, a tall, slender woman with a KQ shirt greets you with a smile.

"Before you accept to come backstage and we proceed with anything further, I'll need you to sign this," she hands you a pen and a clipboard with an NDA form for you to read and fill out.

I'm being given an NDA. A Non-Disclosure Agreement. These things only happen in...

You shakily hand back the form with your information and initials signed.

...fanfiction.

The woman takes you towards the back and you quietly admire a multitude of stretching backup dancers, audio and sound engineers, large camera and videography equipment, and so much more.

It's a lot brighter than I ever imagined a backstage to be, you thought, attempting to distract yourself from the impending elephant that would soon ensue.

Finally, you're introduced to Choi Jongho, main vocalist, main dancer, and the infamous maknae of ATEEZ.

No. Fucking. Way.

"Ah, I didn't think you'd agree to come back here," he bows his head, offering you a warmest smile and a water bottle. "I'm Jongho, thank you for coming."

He offers you a seat on a single-seater sofa, closing the door of his dressing room behind him. He sat himself on another single-seater to be closer to you, and now you were practically face-to-face with one of the most beautiful boys to ever cross your existence.

This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This. Isn't. Fucking. Happening.

"I know who you are," you giggle, introducing yourself and offering your warmest smile, ignoring the obvious screaming and fangirling raging on in your head.

"I wanted to meet you backstage because I wanted to tell you that I saw you up front," he smiles, "and I really liked your energy. I wanted to meet you so bad."

"You liked my energy?" you scoff, "Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?"

"You wouldn't be too surprised if you knew what it's like from the stage," he smirked. "There's always a camera on you. I don't blame anyone, of course, because you do what you want with what you pay for. But sometimes the crowd is too immersed in their videos that they forget to enjoy the moment. It makes me feel like a robot."

He turns to you, covering his mouth in slight embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to invite you here to listen to me vent."

"No," you giggle, "I totally get it. I enjoyed the moment with you guys too, and I loved seeing you come to my side of the stage when we linked. Sharing interactions like that really made me feel like you guys noticed me, too. You're really great performers."

"Thank you," he smiles.

Several small conversations (and several arm pinches to make sure you weren't dreaming or anything) later, you manage to calm yourself down the more and more you talked with Jongho.

He really is just an ordinary person, just like me.

"Who's your bias?" the boy suddenly asks, leaning back against his chair.

"My bias? Currently you, obviously," you laugh.

"Nah, you're just saying that 'cause I'm right here," he says.

"Fine. My bias currently is Yunho."

"Currently? What, it changes?"

"Mm-hmm," you nod, "I can't ever stick to one bias. You're all just so fun to stan."

"Okay," he grins, "we could change it from Yunho to me then, right?"

You grin, covering your mouth as your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.

"How about you?" you poke back.

"Me?"

"Yeah, who's your favorite fan? Is that even a thing?"

He lets out a loud laugh, turning back to you.

"You could be my favorite fan," he smirks.

"You're also just saying that," you smile.

"Can I be honest?"

You cock your head to the side, a curious smile beaming across your face. "Honest? About what?"

"You're the only fan I've asked to come backstage for this tour," he says quietly.

"You're lying," you giggle.

"I'm not," he whispers as a more endearing smile crosses his face. "I think you're also very pretty."

He eyed you steadily now, slow blinking and leaning back against his chair. You couldn't help but think about where this could lead to, if you allowed it.

"Is that why you made me sign an NDA?" you smirk, crossing your legs and leaning against the armchair.

The boy scoffs, looking away in embarrassment. "No, I didn't mean to come off as--"

"Relax," you tease, "I'm just messing with you. I think you're really cute, too. Way cuter in person."

You eye him steadily now, a sly grin meeting his. "Can I be honest now?"

He keeps his eyes locked on you, marveling at the way the apples of your cheeks illuminated your face when you smiled.

"I'd love to put that NDA to good use."

Jongho smiles slowly, relaxing against his chair and man-spreading his legs.

"Come here, then," he whispers.

His expression fades to lust at the sight of you slowly making your way to his lap. One of the many things he loved about you tonight was your outfit. You were wearing a black and white blazer dress with a deep, plunging neckline. An outfit that made your pretty face stand out in a crowd, but also one that implied you were grown enough to fuck.

And man, was he glad that you were initiating it.

You lean over him as he pulls your legs over his lap, grazing his lips gently against yours, closing your eyes as you caressed each other's faces and bodies in unison. As he kisses you slowly, he brings a hand against your thighs, curiously outlining his fingertips over your curves. You bring a hand to his jaw and push further into his mouth, inviting his tongue into yours with each fervent kiss. Jongho glides his hand from your hips to your inner thighs, circling his fingers around your clothed groin. The feel of Jongho's fingers poking at you through your clothes was enough to make you crave for his warmth against your body.

"Jongho," you whisper into him, "let me entertain you tonight."

You begin sliding off his lap and start unbuttoning your dress, taking a few step backs as you slowly and seductively exposed more of your collarbone, shoulders, and breasts. You step out of your dress and fold it neatly on the floor, using it as a cushion for your knees.

Jongho bites his lower lip and brings a hand to cover his mouth to hold back a grunt. Seeing you bend to your knees in front of him was enough to ignite an emerging boner rising deep inside his black sweatpants.

You slowly glide your hands against his hips until you reach the waist of his pants, tugging at them slowly until his boxers were out.

Cute, you think, as you're greeted by a pair of pink AllSaints boxers.

"I ran out of black pairs," is all he can embarrassingly admit, his cheeks growing bright and hot at seeing your smile.

"No," you whisper, "these are so much better."

You pull his boxers down to reveal his long, hardened cock already pleading for your entertainment.

You dampen your lips as you begin stroking the erect member with your hands, pulling soft, deep strokes as the boy reposed against his chair.

He bites his lip harder to hold back a low grunt, his lust for you enticing further at the feel of your warm hands wrapped around him. He exhaled deeper and heavier breaths as you began twisting his member, gently stroking it over and over. Suddenly, he felt the warmth and wetness of your tongue delicately licking against his tip.

The boy reaches a hand to your head, calmly running his fingers through your hair before proceeding to nudge you further, bringing your mouth gingerly around his cock. You obeyed, sucking on him considerately before picking up the pace.

You experimented with your timing for a bit, switching between your hands and your mouth (and sometimes both) wrapped around his throbbing member. The boy's breathing intensified as he began to feel himself on the verge of reaching a climax. He massaged your scalp as he pushed you deeper into him, soft sounds of gagging and choking erupting in the air.

The boy lets out a whimper as he looks down to see you shying away from him, licking your lips and wiping your mouth as you stood up.

"Why'd you--why'd you stop? I.. I was so.."

You grinned, knowing that edging him was part of the entertainment deal you wanted to give him exclusively.

"Are you being entertained? I didn't say I was done," you grin, climbing back on his lap and wrapping your thighs around his cock. You leaned into him, placing your hands over his shoulders as you slowly began riding his dick, throwing your head back as your soft moans progressively got louder. All at once, the tempered boy was also thrusting himself underneath you, desperately wanting to take charge of what was about to come.

And so, when he couldn't hold himself back anymore, he did.

He stood up and carried you towards his vanity mirror, sitting you against the tabletop. Your legs wrapped around his waist, sinking your fingernails deep into his back, gasping as the boy started fucking you. And he was going in hard.

From behind you, he caught sight of himself in the mirror as he fucked you hard, and to his surprise, the reflection in the mirror had aroused him even more. The way your legs were clenched and buckled around his waist, the way you bounced up and down at every protruding thrust, the way your head was leaning into his shoulder as you desperately bit into his blades with hopes of silencing your screams. Now he was going in harder, clutching onto the sides of the desk as the furniture rattled underneath you both.

He turned to face you, sticking his tongue inside your mouth agape. At this point, he was taking full control of you and your body, and all you could do was try to ease the thristing moans repeatedly escaping your lips.

"Fuck," Jongho grunts as he feels himself on the verge of climaxing, and in a sudden instant you find yourself on your back against the floor in an attempt to make you more comfortable.

If only there was a fucking longer couch instead of single ones, he quietly cursed in his head, pulling your legs over his shoulders and mindlessly fucking you on the carpet. While the floor wasn't the most comfortable place to fuck, it had come in great luck as Jongho had managed to finally reach your G-spot.

You tightened your handgrip against the legs of the vanity desk behind you, letting out the last of your cries before feeling the hot release of your orgasm rush through your lower abdomen. You noticed the boy's face scrunch up as he was about to ejaculate inside of you, and then in an instant you felt the rush of his hot cum spilling in and all over your inner thighs, making a mess of the floor beneath you.

"Fuck," he panted, bringing your legs down from his shoulders and wrapping them around his hips instead. You looked in awe as the sweat drops rolled down his forehead, his mouth agape and eyes closed as he tried to steady his breathing.

You sat up and placed your hands around his jaw, giving him a quick kiss before he could open his eyes again.

"What was that for?" he smiled tiredly.

"For being a good performer off-stage, too," you smirk.

He laughs, repositioning himself on the floor to where you were sitting across his lap again, his hands wrapped around your waist and your arms around his neck.

"You're a good fan," he says, his eyes softening as a smile crossed your face, "both in a crowd and in private."

You smile, letting him pepper kisses all over your cheek, jaw, and lips.

"Are you gonna look for me when you come back for your next tour?" you say, cocking your head to the side.

"I don't think you believed me when I said you're the only person I've picked from a crowd for this tour," he insists again.

"You're lying, that's why I don't believe you," you tease.

"I'm serious. I mean, I've invited people over before... for my past tours... but none of them have had as much of a colorful personality as yours. You're the first who really stuck out to me in a long time, really. Both on and offstage. I hope you never lose that part of you."

"Awe," you smile warmly, "look at you being so sweet. It makes me kind of want to bias you, now."

"I haven't been able to change your mind from biasing me instead of Yunho?" he furrows his brows in annoyance.

"I don't know yet," you shrug, planting another soft kiss against his cheek.

"Then I guess that leaves me only one option," he grins, giggling into your neck and rocking you gently back and forth, "be my girlfriend one day, so I can make more time to convince you to always choose me."

small pt. 2 coming soon!! (sfw :))