#My teeth look fine now but my lower jaw was crowding so much that one of my lower incisors would fall out in a few years if I didn't fix it

[ordinarytalk]

Alright

Braces, round 3, let's go

[cryptidwritings]

Dark Water

Chapter 17 : Run a Rig

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Content: forced labor resulting in injury, death threat, physical exhaustion, self-sacrifice not resulting in death, whumpee makes a risky bet.

Two giant thumps on the wooden door woke Moss. He locked eyes with Isidro, then rolled over to conceal his face as the door opened.

Isidro sat up, yawning from being dragged out his exhausted sleep while Theodora poked her head in.

"Shipment's in! Ye work or ye starve-" She stepped inside, "what the hell happened to ye nose?"

"Huh? Oh," Isidro touched the bridge. It was tender, "I sleep walk. Must have hit something..."

"Hm," she pushed the door wide, "well, get going."

"Y-yes... though, um, my friend's fever returned last night-"

"-fuckin' hell!" Theodora snapped.

Moss winced, closing his eyes tighter.

"I don't have time for excuses! Either 'e gets up or I throw 'im out!"

"...Aye, Miss."

Isidro sprang up and shook Moss' shoulder. The swabbie rolled back again, noticing Isidro's outstretched hand, which he took, adding a bit of shake to his reach as if to authenticate his performance.

As if on cue, Moss' body screamed for him to stay down. He forced his legs to straighten - to hold the weight of his body again. His muscles strained, his legs shook, and as he put some pressure on the wounded leg, he could feel the splinters of pain returning - winding up his thigh and into his hip and lower back.

Isidro leaned in and whispered, "You alright, mate?"

Moss grit his teeth and glanced up at Isola - at the open door - and answered with a sharp nod; also trying to convince himself while slowly putting more weight on the leg until he was standing upright, gripping somewhat tightly to Isidro's shoulder. Turns out he didn't have to pretend much. The look of petulant impatience on the pub owners face gave him enough credibility to convincingly drop dead.

Theodora's arms settled in their usual cross as she stepped out of the way.

"Just small steps at first," Isidro coached, holding him around the waist.

Moss took a step, swinging his good leg, planting his heel on the ground. He was fine, but as the muscles around his injury flexed, it sent fire, and Moss' leg shook until he relieved the pressure.

Isidro acted as a crutch while Moss tried to get used to the pain, and Theodora led them out to the docks.

As the swamp and sea air met, it created a thick blanket of fog that rolled over the early morning ground, mocking the cloudless sunrising sky.

"Head up, lad," Isidro reminded, trying to keep pace as Theodora turned around again at the base of a ramp where other pirates stacked small crates on the sand.

"Take these to the store room. The one under the stairs," she ordered, addressing Moss suddenly as other pirates grabbed crates and hustled back inside, "earn ye keep now. Savvy?"

Moss' jaw set, and he huffed with an affirmative nod, pushing off Isidro until he was standing on his own two feet. He let go of the sailor's arm and limped forward.

Isidro went first, grabbing one of the larger crates. he glanced at Moss as he passed, noting the sweat already pooling on his upper lip that was pressed so tight together he could barely tell the lad had lips to begin with.

He hurried, weaving around the barmaids. Anne gave him the side-eye as she deftly avoided the corner of the crate.

"Apologies," he blurted, placing it into the storeroom before hustling his tired legs back through the sand.

"Pick it up!" Theodora yelled.

Isidro ran.

A crowd had gathered, and he fought his way past the wall of pirates who were jeering at Moss, who sat in the center of the ring, collapsed next to a fallen crate and dozens of red apples scattered around him.

He held his thigh, looking up at Theodora with flared nostrils as the sting of his broken stitches and the warmth of his fresh-flowing blood began to soak through his fingers. Her gaze set upon him like a rising wave; coming closer to test the strength of his sails.

She leaned by the hips, looking Moss in the eye.

"Get up, ye worthless piece of fodder, or I'll drop ye neck-deep in the swamp 'til a croc feasts on ye entrails," she spat.

Moss flinched as a glob of rum-soaked mucus landed on his chest, and he looked back up at her with a fiery glare.

Isidro burst forward, sliding through the sand - kneeling between Moss and Theodora with his hands raised in surrender.

"He's bleeding, Miss," he said, "the bullet went clean through his leg and he hasn't had enough time to recov-"

Moss saw Theodora's arm raise, but instinctively closed his eyes on the downswing. The slap echoed, and when the lad opened his eyes again, he saw Isidro with his face down-turned over his left shoulder, eyes open but brows twitching.

Isidro slowly moved his head back to center, keeping his gaze down to Theodora's shoes as his cheek burned red. The crowd had gone quiet, watching the altercation with expectation and intrigue.

"Ye want to interrupt a pirate's business?" Theodora asked the sailor.

Moss glanced up at her, suddenly a speck on the sand. She shook her head and pushed a strand of loose hair behind her ear, letting out a sigh. The crowd's energy charged with anticipation. Moss could only stare, trying to figure out the air of the situation as she scanned the crowd.

She grabbed Isidro's collar in her fist. He tensed, gripping the cloth of his pants.

"Then I want to see ye sweat," she threw him at the laughing crowd, where eager hands grabbed at his limbs and pulled him toward the pub.

Theodora then walked to Moss, taking note of his wound, and the way his jaw tensed and untensed from the pain. She waved a few of the others over, gesturing to him. His breath shuddered as the shadows descended on him.

"Get 'im up. Bind 'im round the bottom of the post," she ordered, now looking at the others, "ye get the rest of the crates inside, and if I find anything missing I'm taking it up with ye Captain. Aye?"

"Aye, aye."

Moss didn't have time to protest before hands grabbed him under the arms and hoisted him to his feet, pulling him back inside where the crowd had nearly tripled.

"Out of the way!" The pirate holding Moss yelled while pulling him towards the center, throwing him onto his hands and knees towards the pole.

"Gah!" He grit his teeth and collapsed to his stomach. His screams went unnoticed over the cheering crowd as they stomped and rallied, growing louder as Isidro's slumped form was revealed with a length of rope tied around his neck leading to the post, and his hands bound behind his back.

Isidro locked eyes with Moss and winked just before Theodora grabbed Moss by the scruff of his shirt and pulled him center, forcing his back against the pole before rope was wrapped around his wrists.

The lad watched as the sailor closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

"Make ye bets at the bar! No bleedin' or ye forfeit ye winnings!"

The eager pirates rushed toward the bar, leaving the poorer half to take their place around the pole; each armed with an excited look in their eye, and blunt weapons in their hands.

Then the music began, and and overly zealous hand lashed out from the crowd, striking Isidro in the thigh. The sailor stumbled to the side, and ran. The rope lead him around the pole as the pirates yipped and cheered as if chasing a dog around a yard.

Isidro tried to keep track of the time while dodging fists and sticks that jut out from the sea of pirate bodies; growing thicker and rowdier as bets were placed and the music played on. Boots slammed into the wooden floor as they fought for time up front, taking turns with random objects to throw and thrust.

By his twelfth rotation the crowd began to blur. He stopped and scurried the other way, his boots squeaked as they gripped wood.

"Go down ye waste of breath!" A pirate among the crowd roared, throwing a rock. Isidro ducked, and the stone hit the pole and clattered to the ground.

The jaunty tune ended and began again and again before Isidro began to slow. His breathing was quick, and no matter how he gulped for air it didn't seem like enough. The mass of bodies - a wall of sound and heat - created a vortex of stolen oxygen that made him dizzy. Sweat ran down his back, soaking his shirt, and the crowd could sense his weakness.

Some hits seemed more personal than others. He felt the sting of lost wages hit him in the back and face. Contemptuous kicks found purchase on his shins and thighs. Then a punch found its way directly underneath his ribs, sending him to the ground with a wheezing cough as the rope around his neck pulled taut.

"Fourteen minutes! The winner at sixteen is Pistol!"

Boos erupted from the crowd as the lone pirate, with tattoos covering his arms that were barely legible underneath thick layers of graying hair, ran toward the bar and grabbed his purse, turning around to the watchful gaze of pirates.

"A round on me!"

The crowd abandoned Moss and Isidro to grab their drinks with a hearty cheer. As the air cleared, they felt like they could breathe again, and Moss watched the curled sailor who was trying to calm his spasming diaphragm with slow and steady breaths.

"Need help?" Moss offered.

Isidro shook his head and coughed in response, bringing his knees underneath in an attempt to sit up, but was quickly knocked back down by a hard-booted shove from a nearby table.

"Hey!" Moss struggled with his restraints.

"What?" the pirate asked with a gleam, "ye have a problem with my boot, bondsman?"

Isidro immediately rolled over, giving his head a quick shake.

"Free lips but bound hands?" He whispered to Moss.

Moss bit back a response as the pirates laughed and returned to their conversation. Before too long, they drank themselves into a steady calm and Isidro managed to snake his way towards the pole; still catching his breath as he leaned up against it.

"That wasn't so bad," he coughed and snaked his head to try and loosen the rope.

Moss looked at him, "why did you do that? You knew it wouldn't end well."

The sailor swallowed and licked his dry lips, "I've felt worse, lad. Plus, I needed to see something."

His eye glanced behind Moss, which prompted him to turn his head as Theodora's boot planted between them and Pistol.

"Lem'e have an'ther go at 'em!" the winning pirate lumbered forward with the stench of his victory seeping from his pores.

"If ye want a hit ye have 'ta pay."

"How much?"

"A silver each."

Pistol scoffed.

"What? They're tied up and pretty for ye," she tapped Moss' injured leg with toe of her dusty boot. He grimaced, then glanced at Isidro as an idea crept into his head.

"Or we could make a bet."

That perked the drunkard up. Moss swallowed, ignoring the icy glare from Theodora.

"If..." he scrambled, "if you can knock me out in one hit, she'll give you a free room with meals. If you can't, you give half your purse."

The man looked down at Isidro and Moss, holding his pint loosely in his palm as his body swayed.

"Unless you think an injured swabbie can beat you?"

The pirates eyes narrowed, "Oh, I'll take ye off'r an even spare ye the emb'rsment of an unfair fight," he turned to Theodora as he pointed his tankard hand at Moss, "if I knock 'im out wi' one hit, ye give me free room an' board fer a month! An if 'e knocks me ou'n I give ye my coffer. Deal?"

"What of a draw?"

Pistol smiled, "I give ye tha' silver fer tha pleasure."

Theodora tapped her foot, then slowly reached down and pulled on the rope. Moss' hands fell, and she immediately gripped a wrist and pulled him up, coming face to face with him as a twinkle of excited rage filled her eyes. A warning - his last.

"One hit each," she repeated.

"On my honor," the pirate smirked, then reared back.

His broad fist landed square in the middle of Moss' face. The force made him reel back on his bad leg, keeling over and knocking him to the ground.

"Ha! Haha!" The pirate laughed with the grit of rum stuck in his throat, "tha's a room an' board, lass!"

"He's not out," Theodora gestured to Moss, who was now struggling to get up, "that was the deal."

Pistol grimaced, then set his drink on the table.

"Have at ye, then!" He growled and puffed out his chest.

Moss pushed himself off the floor, keeping his bleeding leg straight as he stood and hopped over toward Pistol. He tightened his fist and blinked away the bullets of sweat cascading into them, locking eyes with the pirate who was just a tad taller than him but with broad shoulders molded by decades at sea.

In another life Moss could have respected the man, but sea water is salty and Moss had unwilling drank his fill.

He planted his good leg in front of him. His toes dug into his sand-encrusted shoes, which clung to the ground as he twisted and pulled his elbow back. Then catapulted it forward.

The pirate's face rotated as his teeth clattered, and the only sound left in the pub was his body falling to the floor.

Theodora relaxed her crossed arms and glanced at the swabbie. His blood was in his ears, flooding any good sense he might have had to not look completely shocked as she removed the man's purse and looked to the ship's crew.

"This man has a debt to settle. Fetch 'is coffer an' bring it 'ere else 'e dance the hempen jig."

The only confirmation she got was the movement of bodies out of the pub, and she grabbed Isidro and Moss and escorted them back to the room.

"I-is he still breathing?" Moss whispered.

Isidro glanced over his shoulder, "I... I think so."

The door shut behind them, and Moss finally relaxed his fist as he rubbed the sweat from his head.

Isidro's eyes followed the thump as a bloodied rock settled between Moss' feet.

"Christ, lad," Isidro looked at him, "you're an animal."

Moss couldn't calm his breathing, and his adrenaline damn near made him want to either throw up or faint. Instead, he extended a shaking and bloodied hand.

"Like you said, we're in this together. Aye?"

Isidro smiled wider and clasped Moss' hand, pulling him closer with a slap on the shoulder.

"Aye!"

taglist: @sparrowsage @kixngiggles @honey-is-mesi @annablogsposts

[drakenology]

the yakuza wife - yakuzaboss!bakugo x housewife reader - inspired by @hanji-is-life ‘s sexy ass. 

yakuza au

tw: violence, sadism, mentions of blood, smut, cum, cussing, daddy/ddlg kinks undertones, mentions of guns, very much harley quinn and joker only joker actually loves harley in this ya know?

“where the fuck is my money?” bakugo asks this bludgeoned man tied up to a metal chair in some god forsaken warehouse god only knows where. 

“please sir, i’ll get it to you as soon as I can! please stop!” the man pleads, flinching when bakugo raises his fist to land a mean left hook into his jaw with a dark chuckle. 

“you know you shouldn’t borrow from people if you have no intentions in payin’ em back. it’s fuckin’..” he pauses before taking a crowbar and bashing the man in both his knees, blood curdling screams filling the empty space. “rude!”

bakugo smirks as the man begs for mercy, pulling a set of pliers of his pocket and holding them up to the man’s face to tease him, grabbing by his neck to make him meet his intimidating gaze. 

“shoulda thought of that before trying to playing me for a fuckin’ fool.. hey, I wonder how many teeth I can pull outta ya before your weak ass passes out.” he grunts, waving the plier in his face until the sound of his phone ringing stops him from doing anything.

“you’re lucky I gotta take this.” he mumbles, taking a piece of dirty cloth and shoving it into his mouth to keep him quiet.

bakugo turns away and rolls up his sleeve, setting up his tools for torture as he answers the phone. 

“hi baby!” you chime, at the mall having the time of your life with his credit card. 

“hey. ‘m workin’ whaddaya want?” he says, holding up his pliers and sitting them down on the table as his hostage screams in the background. 

“just checking on you, dummy! whatcha want for dinner, hm? i know you haven’t eaten yet.” you say, holding up different dresses to your frame to imagine yourself in them. “hey, pink or powder blue?”

“pink. and ‘m not hungry. you’ve got security with you, right baby?” he asks, kicking the man onto the floor with a loud thud. 

“of course. you won’t let me leave the house without them.” you respond, not even paying attention to the muffled screams you hear in the background. you’ve learned not to ask too many questions when it comes to being a yakuza wife. 

“gotta keep my baby safe, right? listen, princess I gotta go. i’ll be home before 9 okay?” 

you suck your teeth and roll your eyes, “fine. be careful okay?”

“always am. love you baby.” as he hangs up and returns to his task. 

the difference between you and katsuki was night and day. everyone knew you to be so sweet and kind; unbeknownst to them all how you ended up with a cretin like Bakugo. even though Katsuki was immoral in many ways, he knew marrying you was the right thing to do. who else would want to dress his wounds and pick out his suits for the day?

katsuki demanded you quit your job. in fact he came with you to put in your two weeks notice, tough scowl staining his features as your boss signed the approval with shaking hands.

from that day on he ensured you were well taken care of and that marrying him and becoming his housewife came with many perks.

for starters, your husband was loaded. all those years of extorting and money laundering paid off every time you come home with a couple shopping bags from the mall.

katsuki loved lavishing you in the finest of everything, adoring how you look in designer. so much so, he fucks you by the bay window of your luxury penthouse, the Chanel dress he just bought you hiked up over your ass as his calloused fingers make way into your mouth. you’re pinned to the glass, bare breasts pressed against the window as he railed you from behind. and he wonders why you turned out to be a spoiled brat.

your gifts always made you stand out above the rest. many men fawn over you and he knows this. just a small price to pay for having a fine ass wife. but if anyone ever forgot their place, if anyone ever got to close. well. that’d be the last time you’d ever see them. course you have no idea why. but even though katsuki loved you with all his heart, you could be a real pain in the ass. you were so bratty, especially when he was busy. 

one day you came trotting into his office in the middle of some business deal. whatever. your jimmy choos popped and you needed a new pair before the yacht party you were attending started. 

“daddy’s taking care of business right now, okay? go wait outside.”

“no! you promised we’d go shopping! I need new shoes what the fuck am I supposed to do with these?” you whine, pouting like usual to get your way. bakugo’s brow raised, walking towards you and gesturing for the meeting to continue without him. his hand rested on your lower back as he escorted you out.  

he fucked your brains in in the next room for disobeying him, panties around your ankles, your charm anklet jingling as he picked up your legs. 

“spoiled fuckin’ brat. told you to wait didn’t I? hm? or did you make a scene ‘cause you wanted my dick?” your head hangs back as your hips are held down by him, thrusts brutal as you cry for him to slow down, face turned away from his. he grabs your chin and turns you around harshly with his scarred and calloused hands, bruised knuckles turning white with a tight grip. 

“look at me when i’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you.” 

he came inside you when he was done, pulling your panties up for you as it dripped down your leg. 

“now.. back to what I was doin’. tell the driver to take your ass home.” he huffs with a zip of his pants and a shake in his sleeves to fix them. bakugo leaves you on the desk, leaving the door cracked for you to leave when you got yourself together. and when you did you could hardly hold yourself up, holding your high heels in your hand as you limp to the car waiting outside for you. 

having a yakuza boss as a husband was always exciting. something in you liked the danger; the thrill.

you tell this tale to your other socialite girlfriends and they almost never believe you.

you were out with bakugo on a date when work called. to your dismay, he had to get up and leave. you insisted on being brought along, hating being left alone in that big house that was often empty without him. he agreed but only if you promised to be quiet like a good little girl. 

when you arrive at some warehouse (the same one mentioned earlier), a man was already hog tied on the ground, muffled screams behind a piece of duck tape as bakugo ripped it off. you sat by a table, legs folded in annoyance. this interrupted date night? you scoff and fold your arms. 

“ah. good seeing you old friend. remember me?” he asks, taunting him a little with a gun in his hand pressing it against his jaw as the man let out muffled pleas for him not to shoot. 

“you tried stealing from me. fuckin’ idiot. my boys caught you in some hotel with your little girlfriend. did you think you were gonna have a victory fuck after you made off with my money, hm?” bakugo asks, hitting him upside the head with the butt of his pistol.

you jump at the sound of the blow, a small part of you turned on watching your husband beat the crap out of a complete stranger. your pussy starts to ache when you peer over at bakugo’s strong tattooed arms as he flung his jacket aside, rolling his white sleeves up to ensure his expensive suit doesn’t get soiled. 

“oh fuck, where are my manners? this is my lovely wife, y/n. say hi baby.” he coos at you, a switch from rough to gentle when he spoke to you. you smile and wave, the hostage sobbing out a weak greeting when bakugo demands him to. 

“anyways. what’d you do with the money, asswipe? gonna tell me or are you gonna make me fuck you up in front of my pretty wife. god, look at ‘er, ain’t she gorgeous? you know I was about 30 minutes from railing her before you had to go along and ruin our night. I should kill you right here.” bakugo turns his head towards you with a sick look in his eye. 

“whaddaya think, princess? what should I do to this motherfucker, huh?” he asks. 

“smack him again. he ruined date night.” you grumble, folding your arms. 

“he sure did, baby.” bakugo says, punching the hostage in his jaw. he gestured for his men to crowd around him, all of them taking turns kicking and beating him with metal bars. katsuki walks towards you and pulls you into a passionate kiss, a bit of blood on his knuckles as he pulled your hair. god, this whole situation was sick. but why was it so hot?

bakugo carries you away to the car, tells the driver to fuck off somewhere while he rails you in the back seat, knowing his men will take care of the rest of what he started inside the warehouse. you straddle his lap, bouncing up and down on his stiff cock as the car rocked back and forth. the car windows fog up as your body heat commingled throughout the space, your hands pressing against the glass to gain to balance as you rode his fat cock. 

“fuck, daddy. you’re so hot when you’re handling business. ooh, you’re dick’s so hard.” you purr, bakugo’s hand pinching and playing with your breast as his hips thrust upwards. He smirks at you, almost a bit shocked you got as turned on as he did from the pain he inflicted.

“hmm, I know baby. god, you’re sick. getting this wet from watching me beat up some punk. dirty fuckin’ girl.” he huffed into your hair, leaving sloppy kisses on your neck followed by harsh nibbles.

truth is even though you were so sweet and caring, you had a dark side no one knew about. I mean why else would you marry into the yakuza? 

you were both fucking insane. 

[bluejayblueskies]

oh if you did a little something for jonmartin and "hiding their face in the other’s neck" i would be so 🥺💕

touches prompt list

a little post-circus kidnapping hurt/comfort! cw for wounds/injury, mild blood, mentions of non-consensual touching, and mentions of kidnapping

.

There is a stranger’s elbow digging into Jon’s side.

He shifts from one foot to the other, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his side while surreptitiously giving the stranger a glare that he hopes adequately conveys his dislike of the current situation. The tube is packed, as it always is at this time of day, and there are… so many strange hands. An elbow, at least, is better than the hand that had pressed to his back as the individual it belonged to had instinctively tried to maintain their balance.

After all, Nikola didn’t touch him with her elbows.

Jon doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t want to think about any of it. He wants to lie down in a soft bed and get his first good night’s sleep in a month and finally have the space to process. Alone.

Instead, Martin stands next to him on the train. His hand rests just beneath Jon’s where it grips one of the metal poles, and Martin takes care not to brush against him despite how crowded the car is. Jon considered telling Martin, when they first got on the tube, that it was okay—that his touch would be… well, it wouldn’t be bad. But he’d stayed silent, allowing Martin to cultivate a careful space between them. They’ve been silent for the past twenty minutes as they’ve passed by station after station on their way to Martin’s flat in Brixton.

“I have a flat,” Jon had said uncomprehendingly when Martin had suggested (or rather, gently begged) that Jon come back to his flat with him. “It’s, um. It’s nice. Spacious. S-sturdy locks.”

“You… you don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Martin had said, sounding and looking very much like he wished Jon would anyway.

“I’m fine.” Jon was not fine. But he could be fine until he got back to his flat. It was always good to have a short-term goal.

Martin gave him a look that clearly said that he thought Jon was full of shit. Jon was, but it was still unnecessary. He was just trying to keep it together. What did Martin want—him sobbing and crumpling to the floor right here in the Archives? No, that wouldn’t do at all.

“You were kidnapped. Twice now. I really don’t want it to happen a third time. Besides, I…” Martin trailed off and fluttered his hands at his sides. “I—I should take a look at your hand. And your, um. Wrists.”

Jon looked down at his arms. They were, indeed, quite red and raw and scabbed over and likely to scar. Nikola had been irritated when she’d seen that he’d been tied up so tightly, but she’d decided there was nothing to be done about it. She would just ‘make do with what she had.’ And, well. She had never stopped Breekon and Hope when they’d cinched the ropes just a little bit tighter each time.

“I have first aid supplies in my flat,” Jon lied. He was fairly certain that he had a backpack of What the Ghost merchandise and a single mattress to his name at the moment. “I can take care of it.”

“So can I.” Martin took a deep breath. “I just… I don’t want to see you hurt, Jon.” His cheeks were flushed a rosy pink, and he looked over Jon’s shoulder at the wall behind him. “J-just for tonight, at least? I want…” Martin swallowed. “I want to make sure you’re safe.”

And then Martin had turned those lovely blue eyes to his, and, well. Here they are.

Jon adds 24 hours onto his mental countdown of the time he has left until he’s allowed to break down and tells himself that he can manage. It’s… important to have long-term goals as well. He splits this one into steps.

Step one: get to Martin’s flat without crying. He achieves this easily enough. He finally escapes the cloying presence of strangers as Martin’s door shuts behind them, and then it’s blissfully quiet. Martin flips on a light, illuminating the space in pale yellow. It’s a little bit messy but otherwise spartan. The walls are painted a dull eggshell white, the floor made of cheap lino. Martin sits Jon down on the couch and disappears into the bathroom. Jon stares at the wall and focuses on breathing evenly and thinking about anything other than how smooth his skin feels when he slowly rubs his fingers together.

Step two: let Martin bandage his wounds without crying. This is… more challenging, if only because it hurts. Martin apologizes profusely as he wets a cotton ball with isopropyl alcohol and gently cleans the inflamed areas. Jon sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down, focusing on anything other than the stinging, burning sensation in his wrists and hands. Funny—he’d thought that at this point, he would be used to the pain, but he’s not. All he knows now is what to expect.

Martin carefully wraps his hand and wrists in bandages. For a moment after he’s done, he delicately holds Jon’s hands in his like they’re porcelain. His hands are warm and soft, and Jon imagines how lovely they would feel against his cheeks. He thinks briefly that Martin is going to raise his unbandaged hand to his lips and lay a kiss across the back of it, but Martin doesn’t. Instead, he sets Jon’s hands back in his lap and stands, mumbling that he’s going to go make some tea.

Jon scrubs his uninjured hand across his eyes, just once.

Step three: sit on the couch with Martin and drink tea without crying. Martin presses a mug of steaming chamomile into his good hand and lays a plate of biscuits between them. “Th-they’re your favorite,” Martin says with a small, nervous laugh, like Jon’s not already staring at the plate with something choked sitting in the back of his throat. “I—I figured you probably haven’t really eaten today, and… I don’t really know what you’ve eaten lately. So, um. Yeah.”

Jon thinks of the things that Nikola had called food, then chooses not to think of them at all. He tucks the memory into a box next to cold hands and exposed skin and burning ropes and slams the lid before it can all come spilling back out again. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. He gingerly takes a biscuit in his stiff, aching hand that hasn’t had the time to heal properly and probably won’t get the chance to do so in the future and pops it into his mouth whole so he doesn’t get crumbs on Martin’s couch.

Step four: eat a biscuit that tastes like the best biscuit you’ve ever had and is the first palatable food you’ve had in weeks without crying.

“Jon?”

Jon blinks and comes back to himself. He’s staring blankly at Martin’s face, at eyebrows folded in concern and mouth curled into a small frown. Martin’s freckles are smudged into smears of tan, and the lines of his jaw waver like a mirage in front of Jon’s eyes. That’s odd, Jon thinks. Then, he feels something wet hit the top of his cheek.

Oh, no.

Quickly, Jon reaches up and scrubs the tears away from his eyes. As soon as he lowers his hand, more spring up in their place. He curses and sets his mug of tea down heavily on the table, taking one more look at Martin—whose eyes are now wide with worry—before turning away and attempting to pull himself together.

Step five: stop crying. Stop crying. Stop crying.

(Stop crying, his grandmother says as he stands in the living room, hands and knees dirty and hair a mess. He’s managing to say words between his sobs, words like book and stole and spider. She’s frowning at him, but her voice is still patient and calm when she says, You’re not making any sense, Jonathan. Stop crying, please, and speak clearly. You had a nightmare?)

“Jon, what’s—” Martin catches himself, which Jon is thankful for. He thinks that if Martin had finished that question—asked him what’s wrong—Jon wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from saying, what isn’t? “What can I do to help?” he says instead, a hand hovering carefully in the air between them like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch Jon or not.

“Don’t look,” Jon manages to say. He immediately feels ridiculous and follows with a quick: “S-sorry, it’s—I don’t k-know how to—I’m not—I’m n-not good at—”

“I’m not looking,” Martin says softly.

Jon cuts off, takes a breath, and turns his head back toward Martin. True to his word, Martin has his eyes closed, though his hand remains in the air between them. Jon presses his good hand to his mouth for a moment to hide how the sight rips a new, more ragged sob out of him. Then, tentatively, he reaches forward and takes Martin’s hand.

Martin inhales sharply. Jon almost lets go, but Martin curls his fingers around Jon’s hand and squeezes. He holds Jon’s hand tightly yet so achingly softly, and Jon could weep. (Or rather, is weeping.)

“Can I hug you?” Martin says abruptly, like he’d been fighting an internal battle about whether or not to say it and had just lost. His cheeks darken, but he doesn’t say anything else or take it back. His jaw shifts as he pinches his lips together and worries them back and forth.

Jon is… not the kind of person who initiates or seeks out hugs. He always makes them too stiff, or he holds on just a bit too long and makes them awkward, or he doesn’t know what to do with his hands and ends up just dangling them uselessly in the air. He’s also never really seen the point of them if he’s being honest. As a form of greeting, surely handshakes or waves or head nods get the point across just fine. Right now, though, there is truly nothing in the world that Jon thinks would make him feel safer than having Martin’s arms around him.

Jon nods, then remembers that Martin can’t see him and whispers, in as composed a voice as he can muster: “Please.”

Step six: hug Martin Blackwood without falling apart completely.

Martin’s arms are soft and warm around him. His chest is flush with Jon’s, and he’s holding him so close that Jon is practically on Martin’s lap. All Jon can think is that it’s been so long since he’s been held by something not made of sawdust or plastic. He grips the back of Martin’s jumper with lotion-soft hands and cries tears that have been collecting for a month into the fabric as he buries his face in Martin’s neck. Martin’s hands rub large circles across Jon’s back, and he’s whispering gentle words into Jon’s ear. Things about safe and okay and time and here.

By the time Jon feels thoroughly wrung dry, his cheeks are sticky and his head is throbbing and he’s desperately in need of a glass of water. He takes a few deep breaths, then carefully extracts himself from Martin’s arms. Martin lets him go easily, though his hands remain resting lightly on Jon’s elbows as if he can’t bear to let him go completely.

Jon thinks he knows the feeling.

Martin’s eyes are still closed, and Jon is hit with such a swell of affection he can hardly breathe around it. “Y-you can open your eyes,” he says, a bit sheepishly. Martin does, and if he’s affected by the state of Jon’s face, he doesn’t show any indication of it. “Sorry,” Jon mumbles, twisting his ring—now on his left middle finger instead of his right—around and around mindlessly. “I just…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Jon.” Martin squeezes Jon’s elbows gently. “I understand. Any time you need me to look away, I will. Okay? I just…” He takes a breath. “I’ll always be here. F-for you when you need me.”

If Jon weren’t thoroughly out of tears, that would make his eyes water. Instead, he nods and offers a small, weak smile. “I know. Thank you, Martin. It… just. Thank you.”

Step seven: fall asleep safe against Martin’s side in the bed that he insists is big enough for two, face pressed into Martin’s neck once again and hands curled loosely in Martin’s sleep shirt.

He’s so drained by the time they’re there, so wrung-out and empty and relaxed, that he manages to do so almost immediately. He thinks he hears Martin murmur, “Sleep well, love,” as he drifts off. But it disappears into the fuzzy border between sleep and wakefulness, slipping from Jon’s mind entirely as he fades to black.

[timextoxhajima]

Nevertheless: Wishful Thinking [1]

[completed] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

synopsis: why would the college flirt want anything to do with the innocent heartbreaker? a [somewhat] nevertheless au featuring tbz's eric son young jae

genre [per chapter]: suggestive material, mentions of alcohol, SMUT *this series is a smut series so* please don't read if you're uncomfy. if you're underaged and you still wanna read, i'm not stopping you. i don't care because that's your responsibility to know what's fiction and what's not.

word count: 2.8k, half of which is probably filth

taglist: @from-xero

{this is a work of fiction}

"i'm sorry, i just... i just don't see you that way."

the boy tries his hardest not to choke (or sob) as he lowers his head, the bouquet of flowers in his hands crinkling when he brings it down to his side.

he huffs, using his tongue to poke the inner sides of his cheeks as his grimace pulls out into a smirk.

you look at him with utmost guilt, fingers awkwardly intertwined with one another as you scan the distraught on his face.

"so..." he slowly nods, looking up from the floor. "not even the most popular person on campus can win you over, huh?"

the label strikes a chord in you.

honestly, you were just waiting for him to say those words. you hadn't expected the campus star boy to confess to you tonight, much less at his own graduation party.

he was two years your senior and frankly way out of your league - leaving you with absolutely no clue how he came about to develop feelings for you.

you had wondered if he was merely capitalising on your growing reputation as the 'innocent heartbreaker'.

the pretty, new, freshman who just couldn't seem to stop heads from turning.

one of those heads was his.

wooseok scoffs, obviously unhappy and dissatisfied with your response.

how dare the pretty freshman reject the hottest boy on campus?

"okay," wooseok nods, still holding out the flowers to you. "at least take the flowers, would you?"

grimly picking the golden-wrapped roses from him, you scan his eyes, glossed with a layer of tears as his nose sours.

"wooseok-"

"no, don't," he interrupts you, sucking in a deep breath as he puffs out his chest. the yelling from outside his bedroom door calls the both of your attention.

"the party's still going on until morning, are you staying?"

with a light shake of your head, you hug the flowers close to your chest. your heart slows down, calming from the fact that he had brought you in here just to confess and not something else you were afraid of.

the guilt sinks in when you realise you didn't trust wooseok all that much.

"okay, well..." he clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. the silver shine off the school's logo on the varsity jacket glimmers under the room's ceiling light. "at least stay until we finish the first bottle of vodka? we have games later."

"oh, wooseok, i can't-"

"come on," he reaches forward and grabs your hands, his hands hot and warm. probably from the adrenaline he had to give himself to make this feat. "the first bottle."

you look up from his fingers and at his face, his fringe covering his eyes and casting sharp-angled shadows all over his lids.

your lips part, but before you can even utter a sound, he hops right in and exclaims with a grin on his face. "great! i'll see you around and come find me when you're leaving, okay?"

the smile lines extend from the sides of his nose and down to his lips, the shadow lines on his cheeks shifting as he turns on his heels, hands sliding off yours.

"i'll-" he points to his door, already reaching for the handle. "yeah. bye."

wooseok pulls the door open for him to exit, and right before he can shut the door behind him, his eyes come between the gap to take one last look at you.

the door clicks shut after he moves off first, and you're left with the roses in your arms, standing in the middle of his room, having just rejected the most sought-after bachelor in the school.

looking down at the roses once more, your finger-pads rub against the velvet petals, heart aching for him.

the neon lights in his room were casting a bright blue hue all over the walls and the carpeted ground, trophies for baseball and customised bats decorating almost every corner.

you turn to his bed, thinking of leaving the flowers on the cushion and leaving quietly through his window.

but your train of thought violently snapped into two when the party outside yells, followed by the loud thunking of the bass throughout the house.

the flowers are a reminder of how shit of a person you are.

you didn't ask to be a heartbreaker.

people tend to think you find joy in rejecting the brave ones who get their feelings across but you don't. not at all.

carefully laying the bouquet of flowers back onto his bed, you pull the door of his room open and step out into the hallway, the music blasting like everyone was deaf and hard of hearing.

the crowd in the living room comes into view when you start walking down the stairs - everybody jumping on beat to the likes of superbass and people yelling the all-time classic rap.

your knuckles whiten from gripping onto the wooden railings, unable to return yourself to the party when you've done broken the heart of the host himself.

so you turn on your heels, deciding to return to his room and crawl out through his window - only to be met by someone else.

"party's downstairs."

if you were the innocent heartbreaker...

then eric son was the vicious one - the male, sluttier equivalent of you.

"oh, well... party's not for me," you offer a tiny smile, slightly embarrassed to be caught making a u-turn.

eric tilts his head to the side, holding out an arm and resting it on the wooden railings. you lower your head, taking a step to your left in a bid to walk past him.

but you're stopped yet again by his arm reaching out, palm pressing flat into the concrete as he looks down at you.

you don't realise your fists are clenched (and sweating) until you rub them onto your dress.

"look, eric- i- i had a bad day and i just-"

"so walk out the front door," he raises a single brow, taking a step down and removing his hand off the wooden railing.

your feet fumble around each other in a bid not to topple down the stairs. turning to face you, he forces you to step back to maintain the safe distance between you.

"i don't want to make a scene-" the bad habit of picking your nails returns when your back hits the wall, and eric's standing an uncomfortable distance from you now.

"oh," he lifts his free hand and mirrors the other, keeping your neck between his forearms. but you are the scene. you can't just... leave."

a flustered chuckle runs through your throat as you lean your head back against the wall. "i don't have the time for this."

"make time for me," eric cocks his head to the side and glances down near the bottom of your face. "you can tell me about your bad day."

"i think i'll be fine on my own, thank you," carefully squatting and trying to shrink out from the wall-eric sandwich, your brows furrow as you shift.

but eric son buckles his arm and halves the distance he has between your faces, the sudden surge forcing you back upright.

now his breath is hot on your jaw and you turn away from him, lips pursed into a thin, tight line.

"the 'innocent heartbreaker'," he gently hums, fingers reaching up to play with the curled locks fallen around your upper arms. the fleeting brushes of his skin across yours draw out chills, and a harsh inhale twitches your facial expressions to his liking. "i can see why boys would fall for this."

with your eyes still glued to the party downstairs, you part your lips, wanting to explain yourself.

then eric, with the weight of feathers, reaches up to your chin and tilts it towards him.

his lips are parted as he slides his tongue across his teeth. he sighs softly, eyes travelling from yours to your lips and back up.

by now, you can feel his breath on your philtrum.

"you're pretty," he whispers, almost against your lips.

and your stomach plummets when he pulls away completely, the cool air rushing in to replace the bodily heat.

without breaking eye contact, even for a single second, eric pushes himself off the wall. lips drawn out into a wide smile, he adjusts his jacket and runs his hand through his hair.

"but not that pretty."

you don't realise your heart's racing until you feel your chest heaving, unknowingly panting from the unruly interaction the vicious heartbreaker has just provided you.

the world finally seeps back into view and into complete perfect audio, the music finally rumbling through you again when your eyes trail after eric, walking into the crowd jumping in the living room.

the taste of iron seeps out from the inside of your lips, and you dart your tongue across the mark that your teeth have left on your flesh.

clearing your throat and shaking the thought of eric out of your head, you turn back up the steps and head back into wooseok's bedroom.

the blue hues of the room start to sink into your consciousness again, the yellow shade of the bouquet wrap looking more like green under the lighting.

you take a moment to fester - over wooseok, over your reputation, over eric.

college just started and here you were, feeling guilty over something that wasn't even your fault.

the final decision comes to rest on your fingers in the form of pulling wooseok's window open, carefully lifting your feet and crawling under the glass.

now, troublemaker was playing, muffled but definitely loud enough to be heard at least 3 houses down the road. you climb onto the roof of his garage, eyes scanning to cars parked outside and along the road.

you stride to the side where you know wooseok had a wooden plating attached to one of the walls, fake vines intertwined between the planks.

it's a relief when your feet meet the concrete ground, and nobody was in sight - until you back up into someone's chest and you turn to find eric, again.

"what in the world-"

he cuts you off by grabbing your waist, slotting his lips between yours and holding your chin to align your faces.

you were nearly bought into it, but the consciousness seeps back into you and you rip your face off his, palms one his chest with his hands still on your waist.

"what do you think you're doing?"

"i could ask you the same thing."

"you already know I'm leaving."

"you can't leave just yet."

"why the hell not?"

"because I'm not done with you."

with a low huff, he hoists you up onto his hips, lips crashing onto yours as he walks you backwards, your shoulder blades hitting the wall where you had climbed down from.

there's a gentle rattle when he keeps you up against the wooden planks, his palms riding the skirt of your dress up and over your hips.

his fingers slide under the material of your underwear hugging your pelvis, hot skin gripping onto the flesh of your rear.

then you hear a tear amongst the mess he's making on your lips, and the material of your underwear loosens.

"what the-"

"shh," he smirks, now turning his head into your neck to nip on your jaw. your chest heaves from the sensitivity, the fluttering sensation of his lips on your neck drilling chills all through you. "make a sound and everyone will know you couldn't say no to me."

conscience returns to you for a split second.

"eric- we can't-"

before you can finish your sentence, eric drags the thin material out from under you and dangles it before you, his eyes clouded and dark.

the darkened patch of material on your underwear washes your face in pink and heat.

"you were saying?"

your stomach plummets, and you now register the coolness on your core. eric smiles, rolling up the material to shove it into his pocket.

"eric-" your fingers dig into his left forearm as they return to the wall by your head, his right carefully undoing his belt.

the clink of the metal followed by the zipper coming undone forms a knot in your stomach already, then his fingers coming to spread your neediness all over you forces a sharp whimper up your lungs.

"I've done nothing..." he shakes his head, sliding a single finger up and down your core. "and you are so wet."

he lifts his finger from under your skirt, his fingers glistening under the sharp, fluorescent lighting.

your hooded lids are just about tearing with the overwhelming ache that's throbbing through you, and he makes it worse by running his tongue all over his finger.

eric's pride swells when a whine escapes your throat, and he presses himself into you, chest against yours with his hands digging into your thighs. your arms circle around his shoulders, pulling him closer for a deep, slow kiss.

he prods against you, the throbbing ache spiking when his manhood rubs against your core. groaning into the kiss, your entire being squirms between him and the wall with the muffled music still blasting from the living room.

he doesn't bother to wait for you before he finds his manhood and aligns it with your entrance, gently prodding before sliding himself in like it was meant to be.

he buries himself inside you by holding your thighs around his hips even tighter, drawing a low and prolonged moan from your lips.

eric pulls away, pressing his forehead into yours to let you breathe. but he finds some kind of sadistic pleasure when he pulls his hips away, only to slam right back in, earning a sharp yelp from you.

"go any louder, princess, and i won't be the only one enjoying this."

he grins to himself, licking his lips before diving into your neck and picking at all the right spots. every kiss and nibble earned him a moan or a mewl and it ruins your pride over and over to know that you had just broken someone's heart tonight.

yet you were outside that someone's house, letting eric rail you like he owned you.

your fingers claw and grip at his shirt as you feel your back jerk and rock against the wooden plank. with every thrust he offers you, he sounds like he's laughing and panting at the same time, the hot breath on your neck making you writhe in a guilty pleasure.

he offers a few slower thrusts before grabbing your chin to look at him, eyes slightly fucked out and your thighs tired from keeping your body locked to his.

slowly pulling out and sliding back in, he takes the time to revel in the way your brows furrow and your lips fall apart, your curled hair now a mess around your chest and shoulders.

"that's it, princess," he leans into your ear and coos. "tell me how good that feels."

unable to form a coherent word in your head, you whine in response, pulling his face to yours and planting your lips onto his with every ounce of energy left in you.

his hands fumble under your skirt and find your sensitivity, pressing his thumb flat onto you. the pressure jerks you upwards and he takes the opportunity to reposition himself, changing the angle ever so slightly.

by some miracle, the tip of him buried inside you finds the magic spot, and when he picks up his pace, the knot starts to find you in eternal bliss.

eric pulls away again, huffing as he thrusts himself into you, fingers flicking and abusing you as if your legs weren't already shaking and convulsing around his hips.

"good girl," his breath is heavy on your jaw as he plants a few wet kisses there, his pants bringing you to some newer heights. your vision starts to fade into white with a few more thrusts and his fingers dig into your thighs when your lower body starts to spasm.

muscles flexing, your entire body squirms and trembles as you meet your high.

then eric hurriedly pulls out, the hot fluid dribbling all over the ground under you.

while you come down from your high, eric's strained grunts rumble through his torso under your arms. the vein that popped out on his neck was still there, and your senses only allow enough for you to focus on eric now.

he bites on his bottom lip and pushes his hair back with a deep inhale. he turns to you, eyes wide open and clear.

"not such an innocent princess now, are you?"

[whump-a-la-mode]

Hi! First of all, your writing is ASTOUNDING. I adore how you characterize. Secondly, I have a prompt idea:

A Villain who is falling in love with a Hero, but won’t admit it to themself. They stop being able to effectively fight Hero because they don’t want to hurt them. But Supervillain notices, so they capture Hero and use them to lure Villain in.

-Wicky

🥺🥺🥺 Thank you so very much! You just made my day. I thank you for the compliment and the prompt! I sure hope I did it justice, and I hope you enjoy!

CW//Injuries, threats, implied torture

Villain’s world spun as their skull cracked against the rough concrete of the roof. Opening their eyes, their field of vision was filled with only an array of stars.

Everything hurt.

They were convinced, in that moment, that there was not an inch of their flesh that was left unbruised, not a rib left unfractured. Breathing on its own was an ordeal, an ordeal that they endured only out of pure necessity.

Pain rippled through the stocks of jelly they had once called limbs as the villain scrambled first to hands and knees, and finally to their feet, even as unsteady as they were. They could do nothing but gasp as they faced down their opponent.

There was something in Hero’s eyes. Something that even their nemesis, their sworn, life-long foe could not quite name. It was not quite sympathy, no, but it was not quite pity, either. Something inbetween, perhaps, with only the slightest garnishing of regret.

“Come on, Villain.” It was with a pleading tone that the hero spoke, as though attempting to coax a frightened cat down from the top branches of a Redwood tree. “Just stand down! You can’t win this. We have you surrounded. No harm will come to you- No more harm.”

Yet, the villain only shook their head.

For any outsider, the matchup would have looked more like a massacre, waiting to happen. Villain themself was perhaps not the picture of musculature, but what villain was? No, they may not have been the strongest. But everyone knew what power they held in their palms, the lightning they could unleash at will. Enough to topple the building upon which they stood. Enough to topple the whole city, perhaps. The city had yet to so much as see their full potential.

But it was their potential that the villain now refused to use.

Hero, on the other hand, was... well, they weren’t much. As strong as they were, as clever, as smart, superstrength could only do one so much good. Villain could have destroyed them in passing, with the snap of a finger!

Why wasn’t the hero in the nearest emergency room? Even Villain themself wasn’t entirely sure.

“I’m not giving up, asshole!” They snarled, balling their hands to fists. It would be so easy. So very simple to send a torrent of lightning forth, to shock Hero within an inch of their life. Hell, Villain used their powers to make popcorn on the weekends!

But, they couldn’t. They couldn’t imagine Hero, the poor thing, the pitiful little fool, fallen to the ground. The very thought of using their powers against their opponent made them feel sick.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Hero spoke, eyes wide and glimmering with that same mix of sympathy and regret.

“Too bad.”

And, with that, the rooftop once more became a battleground. Villain surged forward, met in the center by their nemesis. A blow to the side of their head sent them stumbling.

They couldn’t go on like this, they knew as their vision clouded once more with stars. Another hit and they would be unconscious, in the custody of the so-called good guys. They couldn’t do that.

They had two choices.

Three. Three choices.

The first? To take the hit. To bite the bullet, to find themself behind bars.

The second? To hurt Hero. To wipe that oh-so-innocent quiver from their lips. To destroy-

No. They had two options. That wasn’t even on the table. Villain could be beaten, or they could flee.

It was with a shivering gasp that they chose the second.

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Sidekick placed down their fork with a resounding clack. In the silent room, the sound resembled the ring of a gong.

“Are you absolutely certain you’re alright?” They asked with a quirked brow. With the day turning to evening, they had left their sidekick’s uniform behind, replaced now with a casual set of garments. After all, the restaurant at which they were eating was far from fancy. That wasn’t the type of villain that their mentor was.

“Of course I’m alright. Do I look like some kind of ailing senior citizen?” Villain muttered under their breath as they looked over in displeasure at their sidekick. For someone so young, they certainly had a mouth.

“Not now. But on the battlefield last night-”

“I’m fine. I’m up and walking, aren’t I?”

“It’s not about that.” Sidekick shook their head. “It was in the battle. You could’ve taken out Hero easy-”

“Keep your voice down, we’re in public.”

“Sorry.” They lowered their tone. “But, I’ve seen you take Hero out dozens of times. Recently, though, you’ve been all over the place. You can’t even land a single hit! I’m worried. You’ve lost your edge. Up on that rooftop, it was like you were somewhere else entirely.”

Villain had been somewhere else entirely, not that they would ever dare to admit it. They had been lost, hopelessly lost- Lost in the eyes of their damn nemesis.

“I just wasn’t on the ball. Everyone has off days.” They grumbled, turning their embarrassed gaze away.

“Everyone has off days. But you’ve been having an off month! Don’t think I haven’t noticed that it’s just them. Just Hero.”

“They’re getting better.”

“So are you.”

“Really, I’m fine.”

Sidekick reached across the table, placing their palm upon the back of their mentor’s hand, which had unconsciously been balled into a fist.

“You nearly got captured, last night. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Villain. If you’re sick, if something’s wrong, anything at all, you need to tell me.”

Villain suddenly spotted something very interesting on their shoes, and kept their gaze fixed there.

“It’s stupid.”

“Are you sick? Everyone gets sick sometimes, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Not sick.”

“Then what?”

Villain gritted their teeth.

“Lovesick.”

Sidekick withdrew their hand in shock.

“What?”

“Look, it’s stupid! I don’t know. I shouldn’t be feeling that way about a hero, but- They’re a good person, I swear it. They want to help, and they’re kind, and I just can’t bear the thought of hurting them. What if I changed them? What if I hurt them, and that was what made them lose hope, lose faith? Then that’d be on my shoulders!”

“You’re saying...” Sidekick’s jaw was still ajar in shock. “You’re saying that you can’t fight Hero, because you’re in love with them?”

Villain looked up with a sigh.

“To put it shortly, I suppose.”

The both of them were shocked as a figure appeared next to their table. A sharply-dressed figure with a notepad.

“Are you two ready to order?”

“Yes, my apologies.” Villain cleared their throat. They and their sidekick presented their orders, which the waiter scrawled down with a series of understanding nods.

It was not until that particular waiter disappeared from the dining room that they slipped out of their disguise, and dialed a number into their phone.

“Hey, Boss? You might wanna hear about this.”

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To say Villain was in a bad mood would have been an understatement.

The injuries covering every last inch of their body, too, ached with every step they took. Bruises and beatings rippled, forcing them nearly to limp. Yet, they forced their gait to remain normal, even if it meant pain.

They couldn’t call attention to themself. Not when they were in civilian clothes like this, and not when they were on the streets. Still, they kept their head low and their sweatshirt hoodie up as they went along. No need to stick out in the crowd.

This was the only solace they ever got, after all. When some got frustrated, they would go for a drive in the night. But their vehicle was distinctive enough that that wasn’t an option for the villain.

Instead? They walked, moving along with the crowd as though they were a single fish in a school. Usually, this helped them calm down. Now, however, every step they took only made their thoughts spin more wildly.

First, it was Hero. Hero and their stupid eyes. Then it was Sidekick. It wasn’t that Sidekick had confronted them that made them so worried, it was that they’d noticed at all.

That meant that other people out there might spot their weakness. Might use it as an advantage. Who would it be, though? Hero themself? Or, even-

A gasp rippled through the crowd around them in a wave. Voices shouted and fingers pointed, all in the same direction. Villain wiggled their way out of the crowd in order to see what had caused such fuss.

A billboard. An electronic billboard.

An electronic billboard that no longer housed an advertisement for the latest cellphone or insurance scam. No. Upon the massive thing, multiple stories in height, surely, was broadcasted a video.

“Good evening, and I do apologize for interrupting. But I just had to get my friend’s attention.”

Villain’s breath caught in their throat. They would know that voice even if they had to pick it out of a crowd of thousands.

Most would have expected that two people so similar as Villain and Supervillain would get along, but the reality was just the opposite. Villain couldn’t call themself a good guy, no, but they had ethics. Morals. Real aims to work towards, rather than burning the city down and laughing among the flames.

Supervillain, on the other hand? There was a reason that they were so feared. Their goals were far grander than Villain’s.

To say that they had never been very good friends would be an understatement.

And, now? Now they were enemies. The video projected upon that billboard made that fact certain.

Supervillain themself was not visible in frame-- Perhaps that was lucky for Villain. Seeing that stupid face would have certainly goaded them into destroying the projection outright. Instead, the video displayed a room.

A concrete room, with a chair in the center. A chair that was far from empty.

It was always Hero’s eyes that they could not help but get lost in. Now, that wasn’t a factor. Not when the hero was so tightly blindfolded. Their soothing, calming voice, too, had been eliminated-- the cloth gag in their mouth was already soaked-through with spittle.

Tied to the chair, bound, gagged, and blinded, sat Hero.

“Now, I don’t want a ransom. No, no. I only want to see a dear friend of mine. And it has been oh, so hard to track them down.

So, Villain, dear?”

They shivered at the sound of their name. Their name.

“How about you come to my base, and pick up your little friend, here. Or else, I might just have to do something drastic.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

For six hours, Villain did not move.

As soon as the broadcast had left the billboard, it had repeated itself upon every news channel that gave half a crap about the metropolis. National news, even international, with subtitles in two dozen languages telling of Supervillain’s threat.

They’d found out. Of course they’d found out.

Villain knew they  should have been furious. They should have strangled Supervillain, strangled Hero, strangled themself! After all, this was all their fault. Falling for a hero, how could they have possibly been so stupid?

Now, they stared. Hands balled to fists in their lap as yet another newscaster explained the same events, over and over again.

“Boss?” Sidekick’s voice was soft, nothing like their usual, nosy self. They sat in a chair behind their mentor, who was seated criss-cross on the floor.

There was no answer.

“Boss... What are you going to do?”

“I can’t leave them.”

“Leave who?”

“Leave Hero. You know what Supervillain is like! They’ll destroy them. Destroy the last good hero in the city.”

“You didn’t want to hurt them.”

“And I don’t want to see them hurt, either.”

“I know you don’t. But it’s all Supervillain has over you. You can just... Leave them, right? It’s not like Hero has any real power over you.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I have to.”

“You don’t!”

Villain stood.

“Yes, I do.” They spun around, stalking towards the room that held their costume. “And I need to wipe that damn smile off Supervillain’s face.”

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

The Exiled Queen (short story)

Badgercloud paused outside the nursery. His ears pricked at the sound of someone shouting, then a moment later his mate, Blackdawn, was practically thrown out of the den. Badgercloud stared in shock at her, then looked at their medicine cat, Minnowberry. 

Badgercloud didn’t know what to do, but Blackdawn was his mate, so he bared his teeth at the silver, spitting cat and blocked his way to his target.

Minnowberry’s eyes cleared. He frowned sadly and straightened, although his fur still bristled with anger. 

“Are you okay?” Badgercloud asked his mate as he licked her cheek. 

“What queen is okay with this kind of treatment?” Blackdawn demanded furiously.

“You can hardly call yourself a queen!” Minnowberry snarled back.

The commotion had gotten the attention of their Clanmates, and before Badgercloud could step in again, Puddlefrost, the deputy, raced over. “What is going on?” he asked calmly. Then, lowering his voice, he added, “Shadowclan warriors are staying in our camp, or have you forgotten? Do you want Riverclan to be known as the Clan where medicine cats and queens fight each other?”

Two Shadowclan warriors had been attacked by a fox while attempting to steal prey from Riverclan. Heronstar had been kind enough to let them heal in Riverclan’s camp, stating that the attack had been punishment enough, and that it was good– two Shadowclan cats getting attacked were better than two Riverclan cats.

Minnowberry raised his voice. “Let them hear! Let everyone hear that Blackdawn has been poisoning her own kit!”

Gasps erupted from all sides of the crowd. Badgercloud hardly heard them, paying too much attention to the ringing in his ears. He couldn’t have heard that right. 

Puddlefrost stuttered in his shock. “Poisoning?”

Heronstar pushed his way through. “Is Lilykit alright?”

“More than fine without her mother,” Minnowberry fumed. “She will be alright alone for now.” His gaze swept sympathetically to Badgercloud. “But if you want to be with her right now, she may need you.”

“Hold on,” another warrior, Webbranch, broke in. “How do we know he wasn’t part of this, too?”

Heronstar flashed the young warrior a stern look. “Before we start making wild accusations, I want to know what exactly is happening.” He turned around and padded over to the willow tree stump. He leaped atop it, and began speaking. There was no reason to announce the meeting, everyone was already gathering.

The wind buffeted Badgercloud’s fur, as if it wanted to carry him over to his mate and shield her from the angry stars of their Clanmates. But.. if it was true? Should he even allow himself to believe the possibility?

Most importantly, he needed to see his daughter, to assure himself that she really was safe. But he needed to hear Blackdawn’s defense.

Blackdawn had clamped her jaws shut, looking around in mingled surprise and anger.

“Minnowberry,” Heronstar began, “what led you to announce such an accusation against one of our Clanmates?”

Minnowberry stood tall. “I saw it myself. She was placing some strange plants into a mouse. I was curious, so I watched, hidden. Then she gave it to Lilykit.”

Outrage roared through the Clan. Heronstar held his tail out for silence. “Did you recognize the plants?”

Minnowberry shook his head. “No plant I’ve seen like it grows in Riverclan territory. Twolegplace, maybe.”

“It’s herbs!” Blackdawn called suddenly, her voice cracking. “I just want my daughter to get better!”

“That makes sense.”

“What mother would poison her own kit?”

“I don’t know, Minnowberry was really angry.”

“He overreacted.”

“Minnowberry doesn’t overreact.”

“It’s a dumb excuse. Of course it was poison!”

“Blackdawn’s a horrible excuse for a mother!”

“Maybe this is all a big misunderstanding.”

“What about Badgercloud?”

“Silence!” Heronstar boomed. He turned his head to the two Shadowclan warriors, who had been watching in silent bewilderment. “The ‘herb’ may grow in marshland. Would either of you two be able to provide us with assistance if it could be described?”

One of them ducked their head. “All of our plants grow well within our border. There hasn’t been rain for days. It’s not likely Blackberry would get so far without leaving a trace.”

“‘Ow bout t’is?” Minnowberry padded through the crowd. Badgercloud hadn’t notice him leave. Was he always so blurry?

A mouse hung from his jaws. He stopped in front of Blackdawn and placed the creature by her paws. “If this is as harmless as you claim it to be, eat it.”

Blackdawn hesitated, then scoffed. “Ridiculous! I don’t need to eat something just to prove that I wouldn’t hurt my own kit!”

“Eat it!” someone snapped.

“Gobble it, honey.”

“If Blackdawn won’t eat it, how horrible must it be for Lilykit!”

“Poor thing.”

“Maybe she was trying to put the poor scrap out of her misery.”

“Or Blackdawn’s misery! Maybe she grew tired of having to care for a sick kit.”

“That can’t be! It’s so horrible!”

Heronstar’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Blackdawn, I order you to eat the mouse.”

Blackdawn held his gaze, but seemed uncomfortable around the unsheathed claws all around her, clearly ready to flay her pelt. “No. I refuse to perform such a ridiculous task.”

“Is that your admission that–”

“How could you?” Badgercloud spoke out. Silence followed, and when he realized that he had said anything at all, he went on. “Why would you poison our daughter? Why-what would-how could you do that to her? She loves you!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Blackdawn hissed. “You of all cats should have my back!”

“No. You’re alone in this.” Slateshade, Blackdawn’s mother, padded gracefully through the crowd, holding her head high as though the eyes they carried weren’t wide with horror. “Look at me and tell me you didn’t do this.”

Blackdawn stared back, as though shocked that her mother could even believe it for a second.

“Tell me! Tell me that you weren’t trying to kill your own kit!”

“The herbs are only meant to make her a little sick–” a paw flashed through the air before she could finish. Blackdawn yowled in pain as Slateshade’s claws raked her muzzle. 

“Enough!” Heronstar howled.

Puddlefrost hurried forward to step between the two. Slateshade rose on her hind legs and looked over him, teeth bared. “Leave us! Leave us all! I never want to see you again! I never want to hear you again! Go away, and stay away from us! You are not my daughter any longer, and you’ll never touch that kit again!”

“Go!”

“Run away!”

“Worthless flea-pelt!”

“Crowfood-eater!”

“Make her eat the mouse!”

“Run off and die as the rogue you are!”

Blackdawn whirled around, eyes round. Then she looked up at Heronstar, but he shook his head. “Go before we force you to leave. From this day on, you are no longer a Riverclan warrior. If anyone sees you on Riverclan territory by sunrise tomorrow, they have permission to chase you out, and kill you if necessary.”

Blackdawn looked around. Her jaws opened for a moment, as if ready to protest. Then she ducked her head and began to pad toward the camp entrance. She stopped and twirled around, gaze searching until they landed on Badgercloud. 

“Come with me,” she begged. “My love, I don’t know if I can make it on my own.”

Badgercloud could only stare for what felt like nine eternities. Then, his feet digging into the sand so harshly they bled, his pelt rippling, his ears flattened, he managed to breathe out, “then die somewhere comfortable.”

========================================

--I imagine Minnowberry is like a Jayfeather. He’s really mean and sarcastic, but will rip you a new one if you hurt a child.

--I imagine Slateshade as some elegant tall rich lady.

--Added the Shadowclan warriors for extra drama. Being exposed in front of your Clan? How about your Clan and two warriors that would surely carry the news?

--The Shadowclan warriors definitely joined in the shouting.

--Badgercloud was surveyed for a while, only allowed with Lilykit so long as someone watched him, but eventually he could be with her on his own.

--Riverclan didn’t know at first if it was continuous poisoning or if Minnowberry just caught her at the right time and Blackdawn was trying to kill Lilykit. When Blackdawn had been gone for a while and Lilykit was instantly getting better, they then figured that it had been going on for a long time.

[twiceinadream]

“Make me yours.”

Requested: Yup

Request: shy! Alphas dahyun and tzuyu mating reader for the first time. Like there shy until she just begs them to take her and something jus flips?

a/u: Hey, y’all, I’m back! I’m so sorry I was gone for so long, writer’s block and life haven’t really been my friends for the past seven weeks, but I finally managed to finish a fic! I hope you enjoy it and my slow return back to posting. Also thank you so much for 3,000k+ followers, I love you guys!

Category: NSFW and Fluff

Word Count: 2.8k

Clouds began to crowd the sky as the morning light was blocked by the downpour that had seemed to manifest out of thin air, the streets made slick with rain as early commuters combated with the elements. But it also created a peaceful atmosphere for you and your girlfriends as the light tapping of the rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows gradually roused you from the depths of sleep, a loud yawn erupted from your lips as your eyes fluttered open.

The scent of the two Alphas snuggled on either side of you filling your senses as you reveled in the moment, enjoying the feel of their bodies against yours until it seemed like you began to burn up. Your skin felt clammy as sweat began to bead along your hairline, the feel of fire felt like it was beginning to claim the pit of your stomach when an overwhelming sense of urgency coursed through your veins, ‘You were in heat.’

The comforter covering your bodies felt suffocating as you pressed your thighs together in an effort to stop the wetness from sleeping out on the bed, while you did your best to weasel away from the women clinging to you. Holding your breath as you snaked your way to the edge of the mattress so you could make a bolt to the en-suite, locking the door behind you as your legs finally gave out from under you and helplessly slid onto the floor.

Your underwear was completely soaked in your slick as you barely had enough strength to peel them off you before discarding them on the bathroom floor. The feel of the tile under your heated skin did wonders to relieve the burn you felt as one of your hands began sliding it’s way down to the burning between your legs. You shyly toyed with your slit as your fingertips dipped shallowly into your center, running your fingers through the wetness but stopping before you could properly pay attention to your clit as more of your essence began spilling out. Drenching your hand in wetness as you finally gave in and plunged into your depths. Your walls immediately tightened around the sudden intrusion as a guttural moan released itself from deep within your chest, your hand pistoned itself in and out of your entrance as you could feel your first release building up inside of you. The cool in your stomach growing taught as you pulled your fingers out from inside and moved up to attack your clit.

Your fingers frantically flicking, rubbing, and circling the straining bundle of nerves as your eyes remain squeezed shut, your breathing beyond labored as you balled your fist against the tile. Your body bracing itself as it froze for a fraction of a second before releasing all the tension it had stored within itself.

Streams of pent up arousal came shooting out of you as you continued to focus all your energy onto your clit as your peak took you to heights you never thought imaginable. You were becoming acutely aware of the screams echoing off the bathroom walls that you finally recognized as your own as your orgasm finally died down. Slight jerks wracked your body as your hand fell to the side, a content smile forming on your lips as the aftershocks of your orgasm thrummed throughout your body. A contented sigh falling from your lips as you rested peacefully against the bathroom door, until a knock sounded cr behind it.

“Y..Y/N? Are you okay?” Your blood ran cold as Dahyun’s voice sounded from behind the door.

“Mm hmm.” You hummed, “Everything’s fine!” You tried to sound more put together than you felt to mask the fact you were in heat and surrounded by your two, unmated girlfriends.

“No you’re not.” It was Tzuyu this time. “We can smell you from underneath the door.”

‘Well, shit.’ You mused to yourself as you slowly began to stand up, ‘That didn’t work.’ You sighed, knowing it was impossible to put off the inevitable, “Okay, fine. I’m coming out.”

To say you were nervous would be a gigantic understatement as you braced yourself to face your girlfriends. Exhaling slowly as you pushed the door open to find the two Alphas you had left in bed this morning staring at you, “Morning.”

Dahyun and Tzuyu deadpanned as they stood up straighter, your scent finally hitting them in full force as they took in your appearance. From the flush of your cheeks to the clenching of your thighs, “You’re in heat.”

It was your turn to deadpan as you looked at Tzuyu, “No shit, Sherlock.”

Dahyun suppressed a laugh as she tried not to look at the stunned disbelief on the taller Alpha’s face, “What Tzumong meant to say was, ‘Would you like some help with it?’.”

You giggled slightly, “Depends.” A coy smile grew on your face as you palmed the Alpha’s bulges through their boxers, enjoying the way their alpha-hoods swelled under your touch. Their scents combined into a dominant musk that made your mind spin and your core clench. “What do you have to offer?”

-

Tzuyu huffed a laugh and sat on the bed beside you, reaching her hand between your legs to rub at your swollen, slick clit to ease the need that your heat would be bringing without someone inside you. Dahyun quickly pulled her shirt and bra over her head, tossing them both to the floor and eased her boxers the rest of the way down her legs. She watched with a smile on her face as Tzuyu teased you and pressed her own erection up against you, grinding to work you up even more.

Dahyun climbed back onto the bed, laying down beside you as her cock strained against the cold air of the room, slipping her hand down to press two fingers inside of you. Tzuyu pulled her own hand away, drawing out a desperate groan from you as she did so. She undressed quickly, her clothes ending up on a pile on the floor next to Dahyun’s. Her hand found your clit again as she laid down beside you like Dahyun had done.

“What do you want us to do to you, baby? You’re already so wet for us.”

You struggled to find the words to answer that question, your mind torn between how good both of their hands felt on you but also the desire and the need for more. Tzuyu chuckled when she didn’t get a response to her question, her eyes flicking up to meet Dahyun’s.

“Then I guess it’s up to us. Isn’t it, Y/N-ah?” Tzuyu ran her tongue over your lips eliciting a groan at all the possibilities of what was to come at the hands of your Alphas.

Dahyun couldn’t suppress her smile as she felt her length pulse, “Sounds good to me, Tzu.” Both of the girls took their time to feel you up as they each made their way to some part of you. Dahyun moved in front of you to place lingering kisses along your chest making you squirm against her wandering lips while Tzuyu busied herself with placing open mouthed kisses on the base of your neck and up to your jaw as you continued to pant under their ministrations.

The slick between your legs was practically smeared along your thighs and probably soaking into the bed sheets by now with how turned on you were. The fire of your heat burned so hot in your lower belly that you felt like it was going to consume you from the inside out if the Alphas surrounding you didn’t do something quick.

A desperate whine left your throat as you rocked your hips backwards to grind against Tzuyu, her hardness digging into your ass when you finally decided that now was finally the time.

You were finally going to ask them to be your mates.

A shuddering breath fell from your lips as sweat dripped down your face, a look of determination in your eyes as you called both of your girlfriend’s attentions. Causing them to momentarily stop what they were doing to face you, “I’m ready.”

The sudden confession surprised them both as Dahyun looked at you with concern, “Are you sure?”

You appreciated her worry but you could barely think of anything other than the two of them plowing you into the mattress as you nodded, “Make me yours.”

A wide smile broke out onto both of their faces as they placed a kiss on opposite sides of your cheeks, Tzuyu nuzzling into your hair as she wrapped her arms around your waist, “And we’ll make you ours.”

The both of them helped you roll onto your side, having you face Dahyun. Tzuyu’s hands helped to support your thighs to keep them spread for Dahyun as she brought the head of her cock to your already dripping cunt. She chose to tease you at first, not pressing inside but instead rubbing slow, steady circles with it, enjoying the way your entrance fluttered the more you got worked up. Sliding her alpha-hood between your folds to lube up her length a little more before she got ready to push into you for the first time, not bothering to add any additional lubrication other than your guy’s combined wetness as you were practically soaking.

Tzuyu snaked one hand up to palm at your breasts, tugging and pinching a nipple between her fingers, causing your hips to jerk forward towards Dahyun. When she finally pushed forward, sliding the tip of her cock inside of you after she felt you had enough teasing. Your breath catching in your throat as she slowly began pushing into you, your walls squeezing down on her at the unfamiliar stretch as you gritted your teeth a little at the pain. Your eyes squeezed shut as Tzuyu whispered words of encouragement into your ear as she continued to toy with your breasts, doing her best to make the small amount of pain you were experiencing turn to pleasure as soon as possible.

Your body relaxed when Dahyun had finally bottomed out inside of you, she waited patiently for you to adjust to her size when you nodded, “You can move.”

She grunted in response as she pulled out so that only the head of her cock remained inside of you, before carefully thrusting back inside of you causing you to cry out in relief as you were filled up again, the stretch of Dahyun’s length starting to finally feel pleasant. You tilted your head back to rest against Tzuyu’s chest, panting loudly as Dahyun began thrusting.

She took over Tzuyu’s hand that had been supporting your thigh, as she brought your leg to hook around her hip instead. Tzuyu continued to palm at your breast with one hand, moving her now free hand to your ass, using her finger to tease at your other hole. A needy and desperate whimper escaped your lips as Tzuyu’s finger prodded and threatened to press inside.

“So eager.” The taller Alpha teased with a chuckle before standing up, heading to their bedside table.

You let out a whine, Dahyun’s cock was inside you just like you wanted - needed - but her hips stopped moving. You needed more and you needed it now. Dahyun shushed your whines, pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder before switching to nipping at the skin, enjoying the breathy moans you gave in response.

The bed dipped as Tzuyu found her spot behind you again except this time with a bottle of lube in hand. Tzuyu popped the cap, squeezing it into the palm of her hand with a wet noise before tossing the bottle aside. With one hand she began to ease her fingers inside your hole, starting with just one digit but quickly moving to two with the desperate noises she was making.

Dahyun waited patiently, wanting so much to just begin thrusting with how amazing it felt to be inside of you, your walls clenching tightly around her but she knew she had to wait for Tzuyu and it would be worth it. Tzuyu worked her way up to three fingers, enjoying the way you stretched for her before finally pulling away, earning yet another desperate whimper from deep within your chest. She used the rest of the lube to slick up her own cock as she pressed the head of it against your hole, pausing for just a moment before pressing inside.

You clung to Dahyun’s shoulders, fingernails digging in harshly as you wailed with pleasure, feeling both of your holes be filled up just like you’d been impatiently waiting for. There was a pause when Tzuyu bottomed out, the two alphas giving you a moment to adjust before Dahyun gave the first thrust. Your fingernails dragging down Dahyun’s back with a loud moan as Tzuyu thrusted in as soon as Dahyun was drawing back, the two of them alternating their thrusts into you.

“More! Please, please more!” You gasped, your heart racing and mind dizzy as your heat fully took hold and demanded even more from them.

Both Dahyun and Tzuyu were more than willing to oblige. Dahyun moved one hand up to pinch at one of your nipples, while Tzuyu busied her mouth with sucking dark hickeys into the muscle of your shoulders. They both began to thrust into you harder, enjoying the loud moans that you were letting out. You squirmed between them, not to get away from the pleasure but seeking out anything else they could give you.

“How does it feel, Jagi?” Dahyun asked breathlessly, punctuating her words with a teasing press of her newly formed knot against your aching entrance, “I bet you’ve been dreaming of this moment. Tzumong and me filling you to the brim as you lose control”

Tzuyu leaned in, murmuring against your ear as she joined in on the teasing, “You’re so spoiled, Y/N-ah. Having two Alphas taking care of your heat.”

“Fuck! Just…knot me.” You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut as their teasing made the coil in your belly tighten.

Dahyun used one hand to grip your hip to push her knot inside first, doing so with a rough snap of her own hips followed by a delighted sigh. It had entered with a loud, slick pop. Your inner walls instantly clenched tightly around it. By the noises you were making, both Dahyun and Tzuyu could tell that you were so close to your peak, so Tzuyu followed Dahyun’s lead, pushing her knot inside your ass with a forceful thrust.

Causing you to cry out as you clenched hard on the two cocks inside you, viciously dragging your fingernails down Dahyun’s back as you felt both of your girlfriends release inside of you. Filling you up with their cum as they grunted and groaned against you, both of them sharing the same thought as they simultaneously sank their teeth into both sides of your neck.

Mating you.

Claiming you.

Their bites were the final straw as you were thrown over the edge, a high pitched scream escaped from your throat as you felt all the tension building inside of your body finally find its release. White filled your vision as every part of you spasmed, helpless to the onslaught of pure pleasure that made every nerve in your body stand on end. Before your high began to taper off as you fell bonelessly against Tzuyu.

The Alpha snaked her arm around your waist, pulling you as close as possible to her, palm rubbing and pressing against your stomach. A weak groan escaped from you at how full you felt before Tzuyu stopped, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Before propping herself up on one elbow, watching as Dahyun began to card her fingers through your hair, a goofy smile on her face as she trailed a finger down to the fresh bite on the right side of your neck. Her mark.

Both of their knots had shrunk enough inside of you for them to pull out but they continued to lie there, not moving.

That was until Tzuyu began to laugh from behind you, jostling you and Dahyun slightly as she calmed with a sigh, “I can’t believe we did it. We’re mates.”

The word felt strange but familiar all at the same time as you pushed the Alphas back slightly so that they were no longer inside of you, allowing you to lie on your back so that you could see the both of them properly, “Took us long enough.”

A chuckle also came from Dahyun as she linked her fingers with Tzuyu’s as their hands rested against your stomach, “At least we did. I guess that finally makes you our Omega now, doesn’t it Y/N.”

You couldn’t suppress the smile growing on your face as you took their interlocked hands that were resting on your belly and brought them to your lips, kissing them both. “And I guess that makes you two my Alphas.”

The two smiled as they cuddled into either side of you, “Yes, yes it does.”

[ererokii]

I came running when I saw your requests were open! Okay, this is pure angst so bare with me. How about the reader dying in all the chaos when Eren first attacked marley? She was Jean's best friend and so when they were in the airship he carried her corpse inside, and Eren sees her and Jean is like she died l, and its all your fault. You could make her die in battle or she could take the bullet for Sasha, its up to you! Im just curious of how Eren would behave... Thank you so much baby🥺 remember to take care and if you dont wanna write this there's no problem!!♡♡♡

WC: 1.1k

Warnings: character death, blood mentions, some violence, some spoilers for season four, unedited. Italics is flash back

“She’s dead. You killed her.”

It’s silent; enough to hear a pin drop. Jaws are dropped, mouths parted as they stare in shock.

Jean stands there, a body limp in his arms, a tear trickling down his face and onto the floor. “She’s dead, Eren.”

Even sits there, staring at him through brown tresses that cover the majority of his face. His brother, Zeke beside him, stares at Jean with a raised eyebrow, absolutely no empathy for him.

“You..you killed her.”

It seems that victory couldn’t even protect everyone in that ship. After you and Jean had aboarded and left someone out there to watch, you were immediately engulfed into a hug by him.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” he mutters, burying his head in the crook of your neck, arms practically squeezing the life out of you. In normal circumstances you would have laughed, pushed his face away from yours and told him he stunk.

But this was different.

Your arms loop under his own, head pressed against his chest plate. “I’m glad you’re alive too.”

Arms wrapped around your torso from behind, hair tickling your nape as the person let out a shaky breath.

“Y/N, I can’t thank you enough for being there when I shot at the Cart,” Sasha spoke quietly. “I was a bit scared if I’m being honest.”

“I was there!” Jean interrupts, pulling away from you as his arms cross over his chest, averting his eyes elsewhere. “I didn’t get my thanks..”

“Who needs you when we have Y/N?” She grins, moving around to wrap an arm around your waist. “She’s all I need to back me up, isn’t that right?”

Eren’s eyes watch as blood trickles down Jean’s arm, seeping into the black sleeve of the uniform, making a small puddle on the floor. His breathing becomes uneasy, fingers clenching around the bench he was sitting on.

His superiors and comrades are unable to move; the sound of Armin’s gun falling to the floor as he rushes to Jean; said boy lowering the body to rest on the floor. Mikasa follows suit, falling onto her knees as she grabs the left hand, shivers running up and down her arms.

Cold.

“If you didn’t do this, she wouldn’t be dead. Tell me, why is she dead, Eren?!”

I don’t know, don’t ask me, Eren thinks, wishing he could say those exact words.

But he can’t; all he can do is stare with semi wide eyes. His arms are restrained by the rope the Scouts put on him, two recruits pointing their guns at him. Despite having him on their side, there was still a fear within them that he would do something else.

“Answer me!”

“This is our first victory for the new Eldian Empire! Our first battle, and many more to come!” A crowd of soldiers raised their fists in victory, screaming at the top of their lungs as they felt like rulers; the only ones that mattered.

“Another one,” you mutter, rubbing your arm, massaging a sensitive area from when you crashed into the roof when the Beast threw rubble. “Just how many more..and will Eren still be there..”

“We seem to always follow Eren in the end. I don’t think he would be going anywhere,” jean comments, standing beside you as everyone walks towards the middle of the ship.

“Hey isn’t he still out there?” Connie asks, looking over his shoulder, staring at the open sliding door. “Should we check?”

“He’s fine. I didn’t see anyone out there when I was there.”

That’s not enough to convince Connie, his eyes still trained on the silver door but decides to shake it off, facing forward.

Everything feels too surreal right now. It’s serene; too peaceful after a massacre of Liberio’s people. Smiles and laughter are shared, everyone reuniting with their buddies, thankful they can take another breath.

However, your stomach churns, looking around a couple times before reaching your hand out, grabbing hold of Jean’s pinkie. There’s a creaking noise coming from the floor board, catching your attention.

“Jean, did you hear that?”

“No. Hey guys quiet down!”

Sasha must have heard it as well as she glances over her shoulder, a body rolling inside of the ship, a gun held close to their chest.

It happens all too slow. The child raises the gun, brown eyes full of anger stare Sasha down, her finger curling around the trigger. Her teeth are gritted as her brown strands stick to her face, small lacerations and dirt scratching at her visage.

“Sasha!”

Your body seems to move on it’s own, one foot in front of the other as your hands collide with her chest, applying force. She stares at you with warm yet wide eyes; body staggering backwards.

Jean’s words wrack every crevice of Erens mind; his voice increasing in volume.

She’s dead because of you. You killed her!

Eren’s mouth suddenly feels dry, tongue peeking out as he licks his lower lip, chewing on the inside of cheek as he exhales loudly, lowering his head in shame, afraid of the consequences.

“Did she have any last words.”

Regretting his choice of speech, Eren’s lower lips quivers, shoulders shaking slightly. With everyone’s eyes on him, he feels as if they’re staring into his soul, silently judging his choices (as some verbally let him know).

His heart is heavy as a noise leaves his mouth, nowhere near to a laugh, but not even close to a cry of sorrow. He feels like screaming until his throat is raw— to lock himself in a confined spot and to never be seen for the rest of his days on this hell on earth.

“If only you hadn’t gotten the Survey Corps involved with this, Y/N would still be alive, and would be able to see your sorry ass tomorrow in your jail cell. Maybe then she would be able to hold your hand, wouldn’t she.”

Mediterranean eyes that hold tears, glance over at your body once more. Your eyes are closed, cheeks suddenly hollowed. There’s a bandage wrapped around your torso, blood seeping through the white and drying as seconds pass.

Your whole body is relaxed , a trail of red stained on the corner of your lips.

Even with the recent tragic events, Eren can’t help but relax when he casts his gaze on your face. Something within him says that you wouldn’t blame him for the cause of your death, even if everyone else would.

But he can’t forgive himself.

“J-Jean,” you whisper, clutching weakly at his arm. “E..Eren..I want to see him..”

And all you wanted was to see him one last time— ,to spend your last breaths and tell him he wasn’t a monster.

He was just like you.

Human.

taglist: @sleepysnk @jaegerbombb @reddriot @kaqinq @kingtamakimurder @tamasoft @byougen @spike-this-ass @crimsonbows-and-arrows @thicmitten @eremiie @shisoaya @bakuhoesworld @sweetdanibear @jeanbabygirl @katsuhera @erenstars @novvabeam @basket-flower-chick @theycallmeleaf1 @simpingfor2dguys @murmikaa @izrers @panicatthe-crybaby (add yourself to the taglist HERE )

[0mrs-evans0]

𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬... 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞

Warnings: smut +18, sexual content, fingering, f x f, lesbian sex, cunnilingus, sex in public, cheating

+18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Words: 1,8k

Summary: Your best friend helps you detach yourself from reality.

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Enjoy the reading!

You were so tired of faking that everything is alright. Your relationship fell apart with each passing day. It wasn't the same as it used to be. Once you both loved each other, now you were together because it was much easier that way. Pretend you still feel something for him every day. Your life has become monotonous.

All the hours spent together looked the same. Nothing has changed. Well, maybe apart from the feeling you once had. You didn't feel anything for Bruce anymore. Just sad indifference. Pretending to be a happy couple in front of people was not easy. Just the thought of having to grab his hand made you disgusted. You didn't even sleep in one bed.

You weren't even sure what you were doing this for. You didn't care about him. Perhaps the thought that you would admit your mistake to your parents, who did not support the relationship from the beginning.

That evening you made an appointment with Natasha for a couple of drinks. You had a day off from work so you didn't want to stay home because you knew Bruce would be there. You didn't have to spend time with him unless it was necessary.

You started the preparations with a hot bath. You needed to relax, for a long time now your whole body was terribly tense. You poured your beloved chocolate bubble bath into the water. It was your favorite fragrance. You shake everything with your hand to make foam. You took off all your unnecessary clothing.

You stared at your naked reflection in the mirror for a moment. What happened to this confident young woman? Everything has changed since you started dating Bruce. You didn't feel so attractive anymore. You don't even remember the last time he praised you, what your body looks like. You wanted to see yourself as goddesses. You deserve it. You have decided that tonight will change your life. You will love yourself and your curves again.

You carefully put one foot in the bathtub, making sure the temperature is right. The water was hot. Only that could help soothe your sore muscles. You get immersed in the water. You don't remember the last time you were so relaxed. The light from the candles gave you a blissful feeling of peace. You reached for a glass of wine you put on the edge of the tub.

After an hour you stand on the bathroom tiles. You shudder at the feeling of their coldness, wrapped your body in a fluffy white towel, and brushed your teeth. Then did some facial treatments. The next step was to lubricate the body. For today, you've chosen a balm with a slightly chocolate-strawberry aroma.

Completely refreshed, you returned to the bedroom and then to the dressing room. From the cupboard, you pulled out new baby pink lace underwear. For a moment you wondered what to wear for tonight. You've chosen a short, satin dress that you haven't had the chance to test yet. Looking in the mirror you marveled at how well it fits all your curves. You looked really sexy. You finally felt as beautiful as one time.

You put on more makeup than usual. Now, your eyes were shimmering with the glitter you used. The lips looked really tempting in that blood-red lipstick. The confidence emanated from your posture, and that was it all about. The highlighter made you look like a celebrity.

You packed the phone and keys in a small purse. Finally, you were ready to leave. Without even looking at the couch where your "boyfriend" was sitting, you made your way to the door.

You got into the yellow taxi and after a while, you stood in front of the "Inferno" club illuminated by red neon lights. You wrote to Natasha, she was already inside.

Without waiting for anything else, you entered the club and immediately went to the bar next to which your friend was standing. "Hi!" As soon as Nat noticed you, she stepped off the barstool and hugged you. "You look so beautiful in that dress, honey!"

You smiled slightly at her praise. Bruce probably wouldn't even notice your little change. You ordered yourselves a drink, sitting at the bar all the time, laughing and talking. You don't even remember the last time you had so much fun. Banner restricted all of your life areas. You finally felt free. "That's my favorite song!" Romanoff tried to shout over the loud music. "You have to go dancing with me!"

Without waiting for your reply, she pulled your hand and led you out onto the crowded dance floor. Honestly, you didn't want to dance, but you didn't want to say "no" to her either.

You don't even know at what point you started rubbing against each other. The feeling of her body against yours was heavenly. Natasha, as if reading your mind, turned to look at you. You felt her hands on your hips. Your lips started a fight for domination. Her hand began to wander down your dress. She tugged its end gently.

Your whole body stiffened as Romanoff touched your smooth pussy. She didn't care if you were still on the dance floor full of people where someone might notice it at any moment. "God!" She moaned into your ear. "You're so wet for me. When was the last time someone touched you the way I do?" "I don't remember." Your cheeks turned red in the embarrassment. They resembled the color of a ripe tomato. Natasha did not expect such honesty.

She laughed a little, which made you worse embarrassed. Without asking any more questions, she took her hand out from your panties and licked her wet fingers provocatively.

After a while, you both ended up in a bathroom. Natasha pushed you onto the dark tiles. She smiled as she noticed the goosebumps on your skin. You couldn't help it that your own friend turned you on.

You had never thought of her that way before. "Tell me, sweetheart..." Her lips were on your neck. More shivers passed you as Natasha left bite marks on your sensitive skin. "Do you want me to ruin that pretty body of yours?" "Y-yes." You stuttered. "Yes, what?" She smiled maliciously.

"Yes, please." You said quietly. "You have to be louder. I want everyone in this fucking club to hear how thirsty you are for me. "Please fuck me!" You practically screamed. "If you are asking so nicely." She smiled seeing what state she brought you to. Just at that moment, you felt her fingers inside you.

You groaned out loud at a feeling you've never had before. You were not used to such delicate hands, but to be honest you liked what Natasha did to your body much more than men did.

Her fingers skimming along your slick lower lips. You couldn't help but keep out loud moans and gasps. Her free hand slid against the side of your face straight to the mouth. You sucked her finger at which Romanoff snarled loudly.

She had dreamed about this moment for so long. Now that she finally had you at her disposal, she couldn't get enough of your beautiful face. Your moans made Natasha want you even more. She has long suspected you're not straight. Tonight she found out the hard way.

Seeing her watching you fiercely, you pulled Natasha into a careless kiss. Her lips were soft and juicy. It was a nice change from the dry ones you've always been in contact with.

She cupped your jaw and titled your head back. She wanted to remember this view for the rest of her life. You were canting your hips for more. Natasha's fingers coated in your arousal. She was so close to your clit. She moved her thumb so she could circle it.

You were squirming at the pleasure she gave you. Your lips didn't part, you both wanted more. Suddenly she knelt down in front of you, tore your soaked panties to shreds, and made her way to your inner thighs. The feeling of her lips against your body was indescribable. You grabbed the strands of her hair with trembling hands. You weren't worried about her hairstyle, which was ruined at the moment. You had to hold on to the wall, you knew you could fall at any moment, and you were already very close to it.

Her tongue on your pussy was incredible. You knew this one time would not be enough. Natasha made you addicted to her touch and the pleasure it carried.

You were like a junkie, missing the right dose for months. Your friend was like a drug and you wanted more with every second. You would give anything to feel like this all the time. You were high. "I'm gonna cum." You moaned. "Cum, baby." She said with her lips still on your sensitive area. "Cum for me!"

"Everything fine there?" You heard a knock on the bathroom door and a concerned woman's voice. You got scared a little, but you didn't want Nat to stop. "Yeah! Everything is fine!" At the same moment you came with a loud groan.

Natasha laughed, which sent shivers down your body. "Did he ever make you so wet?" She asked with a mocking smile. Even though she had wanted you for a long time, playing with a girl of the would-be boyfriend was satisfying, to say the least. Romanoff knew she got you into a state you never knew before. Natasha made a beast out of you.

You came home on shaky legs. You still got chills at what you did with Nat. She made you addicted to herself. You wanted more and more.

When you entered the apartment, you noticed that Bruce was still sitting on the couch in the living room. Hearing the door open, he glanced towards you. "How was your night with Nat?" Bruce asked. He noticed the smudged lipstick you had all over your chin. "It was..." You have been wondering for a moment. "Intensive."

Just remembering it, wetness floated down your naked thighs.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

wordless, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: A library is full of words and quiet. Jeon Jungkook liked to go to the public library a lot. It turns out, so do you. And that’s how it begins, from passing glances, to words on a screen, to Jungkook now sitting shirtless in his bedroom, heart racing as he presses the record button.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; smut (fem reader, filming of nudity and m-masturbation, semi-public dry humping); fluff; non-idol!BTS; the definition of “well that escalated quickly” but also not? lol; shy!Jungkook

hello again, @gowayyeonjun, ;)

–

He stared at the black screen, reflecting his nervous expression.

His hand shot out and flipped it down. His phone case faced upwards, a clear case with a carrot graphic on the bottom against the matte black of his smartphone. A reference to his childhood nickname because of his ever-so-slightly too large front teeth.

He took a deep breath and flipped his phone back up, leaning it against his windowsill.

“Am I really going to do this?” he asked his own reflection, who did nothing but repeat his question back to him.

He raised his hand, dropped it. Raised it again, chewing on his lip. Leaned forward and pressed his finger to his phone screen, unlocking it. Then he pulled up the camera app. Before, he had been staring at his reflection in the black screen, but now his face was in full color, curly dark hair over one eye since it was freshly washed, his tan chest bare, gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. Black tattoos on his right arm on full display, brown eyes wide and slightly terrified.

If you told Jeon Jungkook six months ago that he was about to film himself masturbating, he would have told you that you were fucking crazy.

He breathed out tensely, puffing his cheeks.

It was all your fault.

If he hadn’t seen you, he wouldn’t be doing this.

-

Jungkook liked to read and he liked to go to the public library. He knew libraries were becoming obsolete, but Jungkook loved libraries because they were quiet, they were full of books, and nobody tried to talk to him. That was it, really. He was a shy person and he really didn’t know what to do when someone approached him and tried to chat him up. When Jungkook was in front of a crowd doing public speaking, he was fine. But one-on-one interactions freaked him out. He was bad at talking and connecting with people on a personal level.

It didn’t really help that a lot of people thought he was attractive.

Jungkook didn’t think he was ugly, but he didn’t really think he was that crazy special either. He was just a guy and he was just trying to go about his everyday life without having a crowd of giggling girls following him for half a block trying to get his number.

That’s why Jungkook liked libraries. People didn’t talk at libraries. They were supposed to be quiet. He could be calm here. No one was going to try to pick him up at a library.

And then he saw you.

You were browsing the shelves, pulling a book out and reading the back. You had five in your arms already, and here was number six. You tilted your head, opening it up with one hand, reading the introduction. Jungkook could see how deft your fingers were with that single action. You were wearing a short-sleeved white crop top and high-waisted baggy black jeans with colorful patches on them. They looked sewn on, as if you had done it yourself.

He stared at you through the bookshelves.

You had the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. Lips that looked so soft they seemed unreal. Hair that cascaded down your shoulders, a little messy and not quite done. For some reason, you holding that book was such a beautiful action that he couldn’t look away, staring at your one hand spreading open the pages, tongue tucked in your cheek as you considered it. You nodded to yourself and began to walk out the aisle.

His eyes followed you.

From then on, Jungkook noticed you every time you appeared. Always holding over five books, returning them and getting more. Usually in a crop top and high-waisted jeans. Sometimes with a black denim jacket if it was chilly at night. Jungkook was at the library all the time and it seemed like so were you. He didn’t try to talk to you, but he did always stare at you, watching your movements. Jungkook was unaware that this was how a lot of people saw him and probably the reason why so many people tried to talk to him and ask for his number.

He wanted to ask you for your number, but he was too shy.

One time, you were reading and walking. This particular time, Jungkook hadn’t noticed you until it was too late and you bumped into him. He could smell you suddenly, the scent of peaches and honey. It must have been your perfume. You looked up to him and bowed apologetically, wordless.

His ears burned hot and his jaw trembled, almost blurting out an apology.

You turned away, continuing your reading.

Peaches and honey.

Jungkook wanted to say something to you. He really did. For three months, he tried to muster up the courage to say something. But you weren’t supposed to talk in a library. And what was he supposed to say? He didn’t know you. He wasn’t sure if you had anything in common other than books. You read lots of things. Crime thrillers. Sci-fi. Fantasy. Autobiographies. He noticed you never went into the romance section though.

He wondered why that was.

The next time Jungkook interacted with you, he had been reaching for a title at the front. The library put the newest releases here and one of the covers had caught his eye. And all of a sudden, your hand was reaching out too and his fingers touched yours.

You jerked your hand back, bowing apologetically, moving away.

He wanted to run after you and tell you that you could have it, but you strode into the library quickly and then you were gone, crop top and all. Jungkook stared at his hand, remembering that brief moment of your fingertips brushing against his skin, peaches and honey filling his nose as you neared.

The weeks dragged on.

It was getting colder and you wore the denim jacket a lot now. Sometimes you wore a fuzzy cropped sweater. One time, it was pink and tight, molding to your breasts. Your black jeans were tight too, shaped to your perfect ass and thighs. Plump and juicy.

They would look nice in his hands.

He walked past you on purpose that time. A little close, so he could smell the peaches and honey.

That time, Jungkook had gone home with an armful of books, dumped them on his bed, then dumped himself on the bed, shoving his pants down and stroking himself to climax, the scent of peaches and honey haunting him.

Another time, you were sitting on the ground, thighs spread, on your knees. A tall pile of ten books, tapping your cheek with one finger as your other hand shuffled through them, apparently trying to decide which ones to check out. Jungkook’s eyes went wide. He was watching you above the books, a full shelf between you and him. From this angle, he was looking down at you.

Staring down your V-neck white sweater, at the swell of your breasts, a silver necklace trapped between them. He only had a good view because he was looking at you from above. You reached between your tits and plucked the pendant out from your cleavage, a silver feather.

Jungkook had never gotten hard at the fucking library before, but his cock swelled and tented in his sweatpants instantly.

He couldn’t function, watching you on your knees, curve of your breasts on full display. Finally, you seemed to decide and got up, sighing softly as you put some of the books back. You moved out of the aisle, hoisting the ones you had chosen. Jungkook jerked his head away, realizing he was staring at you too much. And it was creepy, so he should stop.

Once he was home, he couldn’t and didn’t need to stop himself. He still remembered the peach and honey perfume. He wanted that peach and honey to cling to his clothes, stay on his sheets, invade his nose. Wanted your skin on his, wanted your body on top of him.

It got quite cold at some point, and you wore cropped hoodies now, the front tucked into tight black jeans. Still checking out books at the local library, a fuzzy pink bag strapped to your back with a cute bunny character on it.

Had that much time passed? Jungkook couldn’t believe it.

He still remembered the peaches and honey. He tried not to stare at you too much, because he knew it was getting too creepy and, now, he was jacking off to memories of your eyes and lips, thinking about that one time your fingertips brushed his skin.

He seemed frozen at the shelf, zoning out, contemplating if he should look up or not. Then the peaches and honey were right beside him. He could smell it, see your black sneakers with the pink laces. They matched your bag.

Your fingertips brushed against his right hand, plucking out the book beside it.

Jungkook started and whipped his head up, long black hair covering one of his shaking brown eyes.

You jumped a little as well, not expecting his reaction. Of course, you didn’t. He tried to calm his nervousness. Just open your mouth, Jungkook, he scolded himself. Apologize for scaring her.

You were holding your phone in one hand. It had a black case with a grinning smiley face with devil horns. You tucked the book in the crook of your arm and swiped at your phone, and then turned the screen to face him.

Sorry.

It was in your notes app.

He stared at the word. Then looked back up at you. You nodded, pointing to the screen.

He lowered his hand and fumbled for his phone, hastily typing into it and turning it around to show you.

No, it’s my fault. I’m sorry.

You smiled at him.

Jungkook thought he was going to die.

You typed quickly and flashed the screen at him.

I’m using my phone because we shouldn’t talk in a library.

Jungkook typed fast too to give you his reply.

That makes a lot of sense. You’re smart.

You beamed at him. Jungkook thought he was ascending to heaven. You typed eagerly, as if you couldn’t wait to tell him what next.

I see you at the library all the time. What’s your name?

Jungkook was pretty sure he was dead and in heaven already, seeing that response. You noticed him. Did you notice him as much as he noticed you? His fingers shook as he typed his answer.

Jeon Jungkook.

His lower lip trembled slightly as he added one more question.

What’s yours?

For some reason, these face-to-face text conversations did not bother him as much as a real chat. After that, you two exchanged small talk like this. Usually just a greeting in text before going on your way. You didn’t ask him for his number, not even to send texts. You always used the notes app, always in person, and it was short and sweet.

One day, he found some bravery somehow.

Jungkook was a very shy person. His fingers were shaking so much that he dropped his phone. You had bent down to pick it up, reading the question he wanted to ask.

I want to hear your voice.

You tilted your head, holding his phone out. He bit his lip and took it, placing it against his chest, somewhat ashamed for asking. Your hand suddenly appeared, your phone in his vision.

Why?

He lifted his head, looking at you. You shrugged, as if to add, does it matter? He typed slowly, inhaling deeply as he turned his phone around.

I’m curious.

Your eyes flickered down, reading it. You were close to him. He could smell the peaches and honey of your perfume. Wearing a cropped purple sweater with tight dark blue jeans and purple sneakers with white laces. The same pink fuzzy bag with the bunny character.

You leaned forward and Jungkook’s eyes widened, suddenly feeling your breath on his ear. Soft, warm exhales. His entire body shivered and tingled. His cock jerked his sweatpants, thankfully black and baggy enough that hopefully you wouldn’t notice. His breathing shallowed, wafting against your neck.

From this angle, he could see your phone in your hand with the little devil emote on the case.

You pulled back, blinking slowly. A small smile formed on your lips.

His cock swelled. That was not an innocent smile.

You lifted your phone.

Next time, I’ll have something for you.

The next time, you held your phone out to his. There was an app called QuickShare that allowed your phones to exchange files. You both pressed the button and Jungkook waited as the file downloaded. You held up your earbuds and pointed to him, as if to ask, do you have headphones?

Jungkook nodded, fishing out his earbuds and tucking them in his ears.

The file finished downloading and Jungkook held up his phone.

You smiled at him and gestured to him to play it.

Jungkook turned his phone back around and played it. It was a video file, but the screen was black as it the file began. Then your voice invaded his ears.

“Hello, Jeon Jungkook.”

His heart beat fast, finally hearing your voice after all this time.

“You asked to hear my voice, so here it is. Do you like it?”

He jerked his head up and looked at you, nodding quickly. You smiled at him.

“I hope you do.” A small, pretty laugh. Jungkook liked that little laugh a lot. “I guess it’s been kind of weird only speaking through text at the library, hasn’t it?” Jungkook made eye contact with you. “But it’s been nice too. I’ve enjoyed it a lot.” Your smile was becoming less and less innocent. Not mean, but a little teasing now. “I think you’re really cute.” He felt his cheeks flush hotly. “Why do you always wear sweatpants, Jungkook?” His brows furrowed. You pointed down to his phone. He lowered his eyes.

The black screen was changing. There was rustling, and the phone was lifted.

A bed.

A bed with dark gray sheets and a black blanket with stars wrapped around you. You smiled down at the camera. Jungkook’s eyes widened. Your lips opened, speaking softly, but clearly.

“You shouldn’t wear sweatpants, Jungkook. It doesn’t hide your erections very well.”

The blanket fell down your shoulders and Jungkook nearly dropped his phone. His cock instantly swelled. He jerked his head up from his phone, to your arched eyebrow and smirk, then back to his phone.

Staring at your naked body, tits out and nipples hard. Thighs pressed together, hands resting on them.

You tilted your head at the camera, giving him a similar expression to the one you had right now. He gawked, unable to look away.

“I wonder if you’re hard now, Jungkook,” the you in the video murmured. He was. Oh, fuck, he was. “Is it me?” Yes. It was you. Fuck. “I tried to see by getting close to you and breathing on your ear last time. You got hard because of it. I think.” He did. Fuck. He did. “I wonder why.”

You spread your legs and Jungkook gasped, staring at the space between your thighs, your glistening pussy barely visible. You leaned forward, breasts hanging down as you neared the camera, a small, smug smile on your lips.

“I wonder,” you whispered to the camera. “How do you feel about this, Jungkook?”

You flicked your phone with a finger, turning the screen to black again. Jungkook thought it was over. But there were still a few seconds left. Then all of a sudden, your moan filled his ears, breathy and erotic.

“Jungkoooooook….”

The video ended.

Holy shit.

Oh my God.

What just happened?

Oh my God.

Peaches and honey. All of a sudden, peaches and honey, close to him. Your body. Your currently clothed body, but he knew what you looked like naked now. I know what you look like naked! Jungkook backed up and you followed, all the way until his back hit the bookshelf. He made a small squeak, but your hand suddenly came up, finger pressed against his lips. His eyes rose, locking with yours.

You shook your head, placing your other hand by your lips and making a gesture to zip them.

You were touching him.

Oh my God.

You were touching him.

Your other hand lowered from your mouth. Lowered. Hovered over his hips. Waited. His eyes stared into yours. You removed your finger from his lips. Seemed to think better of it. Backed up a little. But his hand shot out, grabbing yours and pressing it to his crotch.

You studied him carefully. Jungkook sunk his teeth into his lower lip and chewed slowly. He didn’t know if this was right, but you showed him your naked body! You filmed it. And gave him the video file. You must know. You must know what you’re doing to him.

He lifted his hips a little into your hand, pressing his stiff length into your palm. Your fingers curled around it slowly, one by one. Not speaking. Wordless. He reached up to the strings of your black hoodie and played with them, breathing quietly but heavily, opening his mouth. You lifted your other hand and pressed your fingertip to your lips. He nodded.

Jungkook began to roll his hips into your palm. You didn’t move away. In fact, you held firm, maintaining your solid grip on his hard dick through his gray sweatpants. In the fucking library. He was humping your fucking hand in the library after you gave him a video of your naked body.

His eyes drifted down to your phone sticking out of the center pocket of your hoodie. The matter black case with the smiley face with devil horns. Jungkook looked back up. You seemed amused. Suddenly, your hand seemed to press back, meeting his hips every time he ascended, adding more friction. His shaking fingers pressed play on the video again and your voice filled his ears, speaking to him once again. Saying his name. Having your one-sided conversation. You rubbed him through his sweatpants in the back aisle of the library and he was getting close, close, your voice teasing him, but your current self completely silent, only giving him that slight smile.

Holy shit, Jungkook was going to explode in his underwear like a teenager.

You leaned in as the video moaned in his ears and he almost moaned, the sound dying in his throat as you hovered over him. You tilted your head, curving around his. Your hand stopped around his cock, squeezing him tight.

Thank God.

He was seconds away from completely embarrassing himself.

You reached up and took one of his earbuds out of his ear, your warm breathing tickling his earlobe. Lowered your hand and placed the earbud in his, tucking it safely before removing your hand from his sweatpants. Jungkook shuddered, gasping your name involuntarily. The first word he had ever spoken to you in person. The scent of peach and honey lingered around his nose.

Your murmured one word into his ear.

The first word you had ever spoken to him in person.

“Jungkook.”

His name.

You backed up, smiling gently. Backed up, turning away, leaving him there in the back of the library, clutching his phone, underwear soaked with pre-cum, now in possession of a video of you, naked.

-

Now Jungkook was in his bedroom.

Camera app open.

You didn’t ask for a video. You didn’t ask for anything, actually. You just gave, so he wanted to give you something back. Jungkook wasn’t the kind of guy to only give a little. He gave a lot. He always did. That was how he was. He knew what he wanted to do. He knew what he was going to do.

This has to be the craziest thing I’ve ever done.

Six months ago, if you told Jeon Jungkook that he was about to film himself jacking off to give said video to a young woman he met at the public library who had only said one fucking word to him the whole time they saw each other in person, the one fucking word being his name, Jungkook would have told you that you were insane and needed to see a doctor.

He reached over and pressed record.

Unlike you, Jungkook didn’t start off with a black screen. He started off with his face and bare torso, part of his gray sweatpants showing. Sitting on the edge of his bed, even remembering things like picking out his nicer black sheets and making sure he had picked up after himself. He wore the lighter gray sweatpants so his body would stand out amongst the black. The obvious center of attention. Jungkook nervously ran a hand through his long black hair, curly from the shower earlier. Lifted his dark brown eyes to stare straight into the camera. Pink lips quivering as he spoke your name.

“Hey.”

A small anxious smile that he couldn’t help.

“Ah… If you think this is weird, you can delete this right now and not watch it…” Jungkook swallowed, dropping his hand. He inhaled a long breath, trying to calm his nerves. “But… I…”

He looked straight into the camera, not at his reflection.

“I replay your video all the time.”

His heart was racing in his chest. He could feel it galloping like a damn racehorse.

“I can’t help it.”

The images came back, memorized now, but the reason he had replayed it all those times before was to hear your voice, over and over, saying his name. Moaning his name at the very end.

“What do you do after?” Jungkook breathed your name, softly, letting it fall from his lips. Said it again, forming the syllables with desire. “I’m so curious. Will you tell me sometime?” There was no way Jungkook could say this shit at the fucking library. But this wasn’t the library. This was his bedroom. He didn’t have to give this to you.

But he was going to.

“Will you show me, sometime?” Thump. “I’d love to watch.”

His fingers began to trail down his chest. Jungkook wasn’t actively thinking about it. He was imagining you listening, knowing his voice would fill your ears, his voice now smokey with lust and desire, several octaves lower than his usual tone. He couldn’t help it.

“Will you let me watch?”

His eyes shifted to the screen, watching his fingertips brush the waistband of his gray sweatpants, slipping under. He had prepared, practiced earlier, knowing the composition was correct. Making sure you would be able to see. He pushed them down, past his v-line. Thump. Licked his lips, stared into the camera again.

“Will you let me touch?” Jungkook breathed, black strands shadowing his left eye, lashes lowering as he pulled his hard cock out of his sweatpants.

His heart ricocheted in his chest. He wrapped his hand around it, moaning softly, feeling his hot, taut skin. Stroked slowly, staring into the lens. Jungkook already knew what he looked like. Muscles on his right arm rippling, black tattoos dancing on his tan skin. The lust built up inside him like a storm, ramping up and up, and he was swept up by the winds, tipping his head back a little as he stroked himself, whimpering out your name.

“Do you know how good you smell?” Jungkook panted out. “You smell like peaches and honey. It must be your perfume. It’s so nice. I wish I could smell it more. I wish I could stand next to you and breathe it in.” He was rambling, but it was genuine, so he didn’t try to stop himself. He didn’t want this to seem fake. He didn’t want you to think he was trying to play you. “I want it all over my clothes. I want it on my skin, your peaches and honey.”

Faster, harder, pre-cum leaking out and dripping down, adding to the pleasure every time his fingers closed around the throbbing head. His left hand reached back to support himself as he leaned back, staring at the camera with half-lidded eyes, his toned chest shuddering, sweatpants halfway down his thighs, his right hand furiously jacking himself off.

“I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable,” Jungkook gasped out, eyelids fluttering. “But I can’t help it. I really want you. It’s not fair how pretty you are.” He exhaled hard, heart beating fast. “And you gave me that video. All I wanted was to hear your voice.”

He threw his head back, nearing the end.

“You let me see your body.” His words were becoming moans, breathless with longing. “You let me see so much. You want me to want you.”

Jungkook lowered his head, catching himself in the phone screen, black hair all over his face, mouth open, his sharp jawline tense with his approaching climax.

“And I do. Fuck, I want you so fucking bad.”

His eyes shifted to the lens.

“And I’m going to cum. Thinking about you.”

Jungkook sucked in a breath and gasped out your name, his cock jerking in his hand, shooting white strings down his fingers, splattering onto his sweatpants, creating a pool of white. He had made sure to wait a couple days to let it build up so he could give you a good show. His orgasm spilled out of him, his torso quivering, enveloped with pleasure riding through him in waves. Slowly, he smeared it up and down his length, heightening the ecstasy. His chest was trembling, slowly coming down. Jungkook took his own cum and rubbed it on the sensitive head, whimpering softly at the spikes of pleasure it caused.

His lips formed your name once again, a low moan.

Held up his right hand, covered in his cum.

Reached over with his left and stopped the recording.

-

Jungkook had to wait a while to give it to you.

Holidays and all that. Then he got busy with work, but eventually he was back at the public library again, looking for you. The sinful video was saved on his phone, in a locked folder, buried in his photo gallery of family photos and pictures with his friends.

He looked for you, couldn’t find you.

Until one day Jungkook spied you at the check-in counter, handing the librarian your books. You had maybe ten or twelve, and the librarian checked them in one by one, having small talk with you. You seemed familiar with them. Of course, you were. You read so much. Not many people visited the library as often as you. Maybe himself.

You were wearing baggy black jeans with colorful sewn on patches, as if you had done it yourself. A cropped white puffer jacket to keep you warm. You nodded and smiled at the librarian before turning around to go into the main part of the library. A loose black crop-top with the slightest sliver of midriff showing, instantly reminding Jungkook of what you looked like without clothes on.

Your eyes found his.

You smiled at him.

Jungkook nearly dropped his phone. He probably looked ridiculous, wearing light gray sweatpants and a white hoodie, hood pulled up with his black hair sticking out of the sides. But he wore the gray sweatpants on purpose. At least, every time he came to the library.

He held up his phone with shaking hands.

You began to walk, but not quite towards him. Your eyes shifted and he followed, a little distance behind, slowly realizing where you were going. The same place you two were when you gave him the first video. The back of the library, where the older encyclopedias were. No one went there. The first time, Jungkook didn’t even think about it when you gestured him there to give him the video.

Now, he understood why.

He turned the corner and you were standing at the end of the aisle, next to the wall. Waved at him kindly. There was no way anyone could suspect you gave him a video of your naked body after saying a single word to him in person. Jungkook began to walk towards you, step by step. He didn’t have to give you the video. He had filmed another one of just his voice having an awkward one-sided conversation with himself.

You pulled out your phone with the little devil emote on the case.

Took out your earbuds, tucked them in your cute ears.

That smile, turning slightly less innocent now as Jungkook neared.

He held up his phone, pointing to the QuickShare app. You nodded, loaded it up. He stopped right in front of you and pressed the ‘send file’ button. Not the video of only his voice. The other one. His heart was beating fast, so fast. It began to download. The percentage ticking up. Thirty. Fifty. Eighty.

He felt a tap on his forearm.

Jungkook jerked his head up, staring into your eyes.

You gave him a concerned look, tilting your head. Wordlessly asking, are you okay?

He chewed on his lip and nodded slowly. Took another step towards you so he could smell it. The peaches and honey, wafting all over you, the sweet perfume. Now you two were close, so close. You smiled and patted his arm once again, reassuringly. You did not seem bothered by the closeness.

The file finished downloading.

Jungkook reached over to your phone and touched the screen. You tipped your hand to let him access the video file from the top menu. Your eyebrows shot up as you saw the beginning frame of the video, him shirtless. Jungkook swallowed hard next to you.

Pressed play.

He didn’t watch. Couldn’t really. He had re-watched it already, over and over, wondering if it was okay. Too little? Too much? Too forward? Too crazy? Jungkook stared at the top of your head, chewing his lip raw with anxiousness. Oh, shit, what if you ran and never spoke to him again? What If you thought he was super creepy? He shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have given you that video. What was he thinking?

He felt you lean against his chest, breathing shallowly, your free hand gripping his white hoodie.

Jungkook’s eyes widened, finally looking down. You were watching him masturbate, not looking away, pressing yourself against his chest. His cock swelled at your closeness and the embarrassment of seeing himself come undone in that tiny screen in your hands, clutching your phone tightly.

You pressed your body against his, harder, and his hands automatically came up to hold your elbows, steadying you. He planted his feet so he wouldn’t tip over. Your hips touched his. Oh fuck. The front of your jeans rolled into the crotch of his sweatpants.

Oh, fuck.

Jungkook sucked in a breath as you began to dry hump him in the fucking public library, watching a video of him jacking off that he willingly gave you, your soft gasps against his chest, eyes glued to the screen, peaches and honey invading his nose. He didn’t make a sound, holding you close, his hard cock rubbing against the inside of his underwear, a patch of wetness forming as you provided the friction.

You lifted the phone slightly so it was at his shoulder, next to his head, eyes still on the screen, your breath suddenly on his neck and it took everything in Jungkook not to moan, because your breath was so warm and erotic, a feathery whimper gracing his ears as you watched him orgasm.

The video ended.

Your eyes shifted to his face.

Pupils dilated, soaked with lust.

You kissed him.

Full, on the mouth, those soft, soft lips pressed to his, inhaling him deeply. He had worn his nice cologne today, a mix of musky woods and sea breeze, and maybe you’d notice, maybe you’d want it too, on your clothes and on your skin. It seemed like it, the way you pressed against him so urgently, nestling yourself in his arms.

He drowned in the kiss, a kiss of peaches and honey.

You backed up, but only a centimeter, eyes slowly opening. He gazed into your eyes. He probably had the same expression. Uninhibited desire and longing.

“Do you… want to go somewhere that’s not the fucking library so we can talk?” you whispered against his lips quietly. Your tone was heavy with lust.

He did. Preferably somewhere with a bed.

“Yeah…”

You lowered your phone, the little devil smiling at him before it disappeared in your pocket.

Jungkook grabbed your hand. Held it tight. Took one step, then another, with you.

You smiled at him.

Not so innocent.

--

masterpost

[imaslutforremusandsirius]

JEALOUS SIRIUS

Jealous

Oohhh I have one, hope you enjoy

Warning: 18+

---

You don‘t remember how it happend, but one second you were downing shots and the next you found yourself on a table, smack dab in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, dancing. Not just dancing, but grinding your hips against Lilys, your front pressed against Marys back.

The crowd around you was cheering you on, everyone going crazy, horny prats trying to look under your black leather skirt. By now you were sure that everyone had seen your red lacy panties, but you couldn‘t bring yourself to care. There was not even space for air left between you and your girls, your mind in a haze, blood hot in your veins and the only sound you heard over the bass of the speakers was your own heartbeat, thumping in your chest.

Sirius returned with Remus and James, laughing and playfull shoving each other until the other boys jaws dropped. Confused Sirius turned to look at their direction as well and immediately regretted ever letting you join the party. Not that you would have listend, but still.

He was frozen with shock for a few seconds, before he pulled himself together.

„Oh no you don‘t little girl“, he muttered through gritted teeth, pulling his hair into a bun, as he strode in your direction.

Hot white rage burned in his blood, his eyes blazing with anger when he saw just how many people were touching your bare legs and hands, touching what was his to touch. Your skirt was so short, ridden up from all the dancing, that he could see your underwear even from a safe distance.

Sirius lost it when someone slapped your ass, grabbing the asshole by his shoulder and ripped him to the floor. Ringed fingers punched his face before Remus toon over, dragging the guy to the entrace to teach him a lesson. Remus is protective over his friends, and right now his anger issues came in handy. James had already pulled Lily and Mary down, dragging both of them to their dorms to make sure they were safe. You were still dancing, on your own now, a dazed smile on your face and squealed loudly when you saw Sirius, making grabby hands at him.

„Siri, dance with me!“

Sirius cracked his neck, moving in your direction and grabbing you by your hands to pull youon the ground. When he saw that you couldn‘t hold yourself upright, he took his leather jacket off and bound it around your waist to cover your ass. After that he picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder and stomped towards his dorm, fucking pissed.

Bursting through the door he barked out an „Out!“ and the boys hesitated. James gave his friend a calculating look, before his asked him, voice unsure.

„Pads, you‘re really angry right now maybe we should stay-“

„James“, Sirius sneered after he put you on his bed, turning around to glare at his friend. „Get the fuck out right now and never tell me what to do with my girl ever again.“

Sighing James gathered his stuff and followed the other boys, locking the door behind him.

Turning towards you Sirius grabbed your hair and pulled you up, face only centimeters away from yours

„Care to tell me what the fuck that little performance was, little girl?“

You might be intoxicated, but you weren‘t exactly drunk. You still understood the gravity of the situation, which is why you jut put your bottom lip, eyes tearing up, ready to beg for forgiveness.

Sirius’ glare only intensified, as he let out a disbelieving chuckle.

„You really thought that you could dance like a whore and get out of trouble by crying?“

Leaning incloser he spoke harshly, „You should know by now that I don‘t care about your fucking tears. Get the fuck up. You want to be a whore, fine by me, I‘ll treat you like one.“

He stripped off your clothes as he spoke, pulling his pants down only enough to pull his cock out.

You tried to speak but he covered your mouth with his hand, the other one securing your arms behind your back. He slammed you against the wall, cock forcing its way into your wet cunt, not giving you time to adjust. He fucked your in a merciless pace, your head banging against the cold wall with every thrust. He wasn‘t fucking you, he was teaching you a damn lesson.

„Did you enjoy it? Was it fucking worth it? To put yourself on display for the entire house to see?“

His own words riled him up even more as he thought of all the people who had seen you in that state.

Growling he pulled out, picking you up by your thighs to slam you back against the wall again, the position allowing him to slipn in deeper. You were screaming with every thrust, holding onto his shoulders for dear life, his cock grazing your sweet spot with every push.

„You probably wanted them to fuck you like this, didn‘t you? To slam you against the wall and fuck your slutty cunt? Huh?“

You babbled nonsense, whimpering when he bit your lower lip hard to shut you up.

„I don‘t want to hear it bitch.“

He pulled out again, forcing you on your hands and knees, hand keeping your face pressed against the matress.

„I have news for you little girl. This. pussy. is. mine.“ He fucked into you with every word, hands gripping at your ass and hips, leaving hand shaped bruises all over.

„You belong to me. Body and heart and soul.“

Turning you around he pushed your legs against your chest, slamming back in again with his cock, holding in his groans. With one last hard thrust he came inside of you in hot spurts, so much cum that it leaked out, running down your slit.

He pulled out, four fingers slamming into your cunt, the other one rubbing your clit fast. You started to shake, legs quivering as you mewled and trashed around. With one last thrust of his fingers you came with a deafening shriek, legs clenching around his forearms.

„You better not forget this little girl. Don‘t make me fuck you infront of them. Because I fucking will.“

Taking his cigarette pack he tucked himself in, slamming the door shut as he left.

You tried to calm your breathing, legs still shaking with the force of your orgasm. You felt the cum leak out of your cunt and bit back a smile.

God, was he hot like this.

[pedros-mustache]

convenience

summary: he was within arm’s reach. that’s all.

warnings: suggestions of harassment, alcohol consumption, language, innuendo

a/n: no thoughts, frankie morales and his broad shoulders only. poorly edited so forgive any mistakes you find. i’ll go back and fix soon.

you rarely come to the bar alone. tonight is an anomaly.

grabbing drinks after a long work week is more enjoyable with friends by your side, and you frequent this particular watering hole what feels like every friday but can’t be more than twice a month. life is busy for you and what friends remain from your college days. babies and partners and jobs—it keeps everyone running to and fro like chickens with their heads cut off. (for you, of course, it’s just the job that’s got you strung out. no husband, no babies. that shouldn’t matter, but sometimes it does.) still, despite hectic schedules, there’s a standing date a few times a month: friday, eight o’clock, the booth with the cracked-plastic seat coverings in the far right corner.

you like the noisy atmosphere of this place, and it’s easy to lose a few hours while gossiping over cheap margaritas, a whitney houston song thumping over the tinny loudspeakers. the air smells like cigarette smoke—that’s your only qualm—but the drinks are cheap, the food is passable, and it’s a chance to let loose and really enjoy yourself after a five days of business boredom. 

of course, that’s what “the hot bird” is like most of the time. today is different. today is tuesday, it’s six-thirty, and you really shouldn’t be here alone.

you twirl the thin plastic straw around your drink and risk a glance over your shoulder. there’s a guy in your regular booth—red-faced with alcohol, tie loosened, dress shirt two sizes too big. you know he’s staring at you because you can feel his eyes on your back, your hips, your ass; he’s anything but discreet. his stare hurts like a healing sunburn: itchy, uncomfortable, hard to ignore. even from across the bar, his focus is unyielding, and you doubt he’s one to be easily dissuaded, not with the rabble-rousing friends at his booth, jostling drinks and shoulders alike. you imagine he’s biding his time, waiting for you to feel comfortable so he can strike. which is exactly what you need after being passed up for promotion (again): a drunk asshole bent on making your shitty day worse just for the hell of it.

the bartender—josh—says your name and sets a cocktail down on the counter in front of you. “here,” he says. he jerks his chin forward, indicating the back of the room. “it’s from the guy in the back.”

“oh god.” you resist the urge to look over your shoulder again. the muscles in your neck twitch, scream at you to turn and appraise the self-satisfied smirk on this guy’s face, but you hold still. you are nothing if not resolute in your determination to mind your on business, wallow in self pity, and get home without much of a fuss. “what the fuck is this thing?”

josh cringes. “it’s a b-52, our least popular drink.”

“it looks like spilled motor oil and congealed grease had a baby.”

to your right, in the barstool two over from yours, there’s a snort of amusement. your eyes snap to the side, but don’t register the other patron before josh is tapping your wrist. you hold your breath, stomach clenching at the conciliatory look on his face.

“don’t look now. i think he’s coming over.”

“of course he is,” you mutter, dropping your forehead to your palm. fuck, you really do not want to cry right now, but tears prick the corners of your eyes anyway. traitorous bastards. it’s been a long day, and you aren’t sure you have the mental fortitude to tactfully tell some guy to piss off without causing a scene or bursting into a blubbering mess.

“i can tell him—”

a smooth, unflustered voice cuts josh off mid-sentence. “no, let me.” 

a half-filled pint of beer and a plastic basket of fries slide across the counter, and then a man, shoulders broad and trucker cap pulled low, drops to the stool beside you. you gape at him, jaw hanging. the guy from two stools over—eavesdropper.

“unless,” he continues. “you want to tell him to fuck off yourself. i’m sure you can—you look like a capable woman—but i know men and sometimes...” he trails off, but you catch his drift well enough. you know men too, and the men who frequent this bar are often of the seedier variety.

except maybe not this guy... he seems nice enough, willing to lend a hand, and after the day you’ve had, you’ll take any help you can get. plus he’s easy on the eye, and it’s been awhile since anyone with such a handsome face paid you any mind.

you twist slightly in your stool, turning your body to face him. you open your mouth to offer your name, but he beats you to it, sliding his hand over the low, curved back of your stool. his presence—so masculine yet so gentle—crowds you, and you fight the urge to suck in a sharp breath. mouth hovering over your ear, he lowers his voice, and his opposite hand, long fingers splayed outwards, settles on the counter. you’re boxed in, an arm on either side of your body, but, strangely, it feels... good, safe even.

“i’m frankie,” he says. “just follow my lead, and we’ll both be out of your hair in no time.”

you turn your face to meet frankie’s eyes. he’s so near you can feel his breath on your cheeks, could kiss his plush lips if you dared. his smile, small but encouraging, eases the clench in your stomach. your gaze drifts from his warm, brown eyes to the thumb-sized spot on his chin absent the fine layer of scruff otherwise covering his jaw. god, he’s handsome.

“uh—excuse me? i couldn’t help but notice you ignored the drink i sent over.” the man from the back of the room leans against the counter, his gaze tight on your face, elbows poised casually on the bar. his voice belies none of the uncertainty he should probably feel when confronted with your obvious disinterest and frankie’s breadth. “picked my favorite for a sweet thing like you.”

gritting your teeth, you turn your head. “thanks, but i don’t think—” your resolve wavers when the man’s fat lips spread into a grin. shit, he likes this doesn’t he—how uncomfortable you are? he reminds you of richard, the guy who got the promotion you deserve: smarmy and entirely too good at weaseling. your stomach sours.

“you can’t turn me down until you at least take a sip of the thing.” reaching over his chest, the man picks up the cocktail. the three distinct layers jostle in the small shot glass.

perhaps he sees the fine sheen of tears that rush to your eyes or perhaps it’s just to make a point, but frankie’s hand drops to your thigh. the warmth of his palm filters through the mesh of your tights. without thinking, you twine your fingers through his and squeeze. 

“she said no, man.” 

for the first time, your would-be-suitor’s stare slides to focus on frankie. he arches a thin eyebrow. there’s no mistaking the way his chest inflates as frankie straightens his spine. “yeah? and who are you?”

frankie speaks without hesitation. “her boyfriend.” 

the man huffs, incredulous. “well, you didn’t claim her before now so i’m just taking my shot. free pick, ya know? first come first serve.”

frankie slides from the stool to standing. he’s near the same height as the other man, but there’s something about the clench in his jaw and the way his fingers tighten around yours and the way he moves to grip your shoulder than has you leaning into him despite the anger rolling off him in sharp waves. your shoulder pushes against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, and you hold your breath.

“say that again and i’ll crack your skull open on the counter.”

the man blinks, stunned, then laughs. it’s a harsh, nervous bark. his eyes flit to the back of the room then return to frankie. “you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. what are you? some macho man?” 

“no—retired special forces. i can and i will make your life a living hell if you don’t crawl back into the hole you came from. leave my lady alone.”

“shit.” the man shakes his head before tossing the rejected cocktail down his throat with a cringe. “ain’t fucking worth it anyway.” he slams the glass down on the counter and, heeding frankie’s advice, returns to sulk in the back booth, tail tucked between his legs.

frankie waits until the asshole is sat snug in his booth before returning to his stool. he pops a now-cold fry in his mouth then tags a long swig of his beer. you watch him and decide you’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly in your entire life. 

“thank you,” you breathe. “i—fuck, i didn’t realize you’d be so... intimidating.” 

frankie shrugs, eats another fry. he avoids your eye. “hate to see you treated like that. least i can do.” 

you hum in approval, tracing the curve of his nose with your gaze. “i got passed up for a promotion today,” you offer. “put me in a real tailspin. i don’t normally go out in the middle of the week.”

fry dangling between his pointer finger and thumb, frankie finally returns his eyes to yours. “i’m sorry to hear that. if it makes you feel any better, i got stood up. i don’t normally go out in the middle of the week either.”

“guess we’re just a couple of losers then.” when frankie’s eyebrow lifts, you visibly cringe. you grab his forearm and squeeze your eyes shut. “no, wait—that’s not what i meant. i meant that... in the grand scheme of things, we aren’t... i mean...” squinting, you risk a peek at him. “shit, i’m sorry.”

after a moment, frankie smiles—and your heart leaps to your throat. he motions to josh at the other end of the bar. “what drink do you like?” he asks. “we can make it a real date, if you want? you know, to keep up appearances.” 

“a real date?”

he nods. “yeah. i’m not big on fate and shit like that, but... well, maybe i’m big on fate tonight.” his eyes roam your face, and you wonder if he’s drinking you in, memorizing your features. unlike before, his stare is kind, appreciative, reverent. your cheeks heat under his gaze, but you don’t look away.

the corner of your mouth pulls into a grin. “okay.” you smile at josh when he appears. “i like mojitos.” 

“really?” at your nod, frankie’s smile widens. “me too.” 

you reach for a fry in his basket. “must be fate then,” you say with a shrug.

“yeah.” his hand falls to your thigh again, squeezing the flesh around your knee. you look from his hand to his face, and anything you once thought shitty about the day turns rosy with possibility. “must be fate.”

.

.

.

taglist:

@ezramando @frannyzooey @spvce-cowboy @writings-of-a-hufflepuff @sofsoftheloaf @salome-c @aphr0d1te5 @anu-simps @softermina @spideysimpossiblegirl @mummifymecaptain @sleep-tight1 @thewayofthemandalorian @greeneyedblondie44 @darthpapi @salome-c @just-another-fangirl-22 @stevie75

if your handle is crossed out, tumblr would not let me tag your blog.

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

Trust Me -- Part 2

02/06/2021: Wow, uh, wow. This one got me. Almost started crying at the cheesy ending. I will cringe at it in precisely two months from now. Thank you guys SO much for all the positive feedback of PART 1, it really helped me finish this part. Without you guys, this would have been still sitting in my drafts. There's lowkey a bit of pressure in this actually being GOOD, so I'm sitting here with a bit of Imposter SyndromeTM and crossing everything I can cross that you guys like it. I can't tell whether I went overboard or not, though... I guess that's for you guys to tell me lmao.

Also, these commas can be pried from my very cold, extremely dead, fingers.

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! For the first time in almost ever, I'm a bit very nervous to post this -- I hope you enjoy it!!

Tagging: @marshmallow--3 // @yourlocalfrenchie // @rahdaleigh // @sofiewithat /// @iceboundstar // @mythandmagik // @itseivwhore // @pink-polarfox // @missbenzayb // @ct-5445 // @timbreavery // @dacian-assassin // @thepalaceofmelanie // @asilverraven // @huntheimpossible // @eclectic--assassin // @thehistorynut19 // @ta-ka-shi-ma // @roki3chocoa // @fandomsfanman // @le-nottibianche // @bandit-brunsmeier // @starmoji1 // @spocktheestallion // @salty-thembo // @missingfrye // @xdeimos // If you want to be tagged, let me know!!

Warnings: Lots of swearing, a bit of graphic violence, implicit mention of sexual assault (I hope it's not a spoiler to say that this does not actually happen, but the idea is used as manipulation. It's not done well, but I'm blaming that on the character being a horrible liar, instead of me sucking at write arseholes), implied character death.

Pairing: Edward Kenway x F!Reader

Assassin's Creed Mobile Masterlist

Red Dead Redemption 2 Mobile Masterlist

The neighbouring ship was chaotic. The opponents were drunk on victory, so slipping through unnoticed was easy. The hard part was going to be staying undercover until you could free Edward and the rest of the crew without anyone falling casualty. “Strip them of their weapons and take them to the brig!” You heard the Quartermaster yell. Thinking quickly, you moved to Edward; if you knew where his weapons were, escaping could be much easier. People were already pulling out his pistols and cutlasses, fortunately dumping them in your arms. Looking around, you pulled away to hide them in an inconspicuous barrel for later.

You weren’t planning on staying long.

Quickly rejoining the group, you took hold of one of your crew members -- you recognised him as one named Jonah -- at the back of the crowd, keeping your face covered lest they accidentally reveal your identity. You kept your eye on Edward’s tense shoulders the entire time, heading below deck and to the rows of cells at the end of the ship.

As you gently pushed Jonah into the cell, someone slammed the door shut, chucking the ring of keys your way. “Lock ‘em up.” Swallowing, you nodded, feeling uncomfortable under their gaze while turning the key in the lock. Taking them out of your hands, a mop and bucket was shoved in its place. “You’re on cleaning duty, starting upstairs; let’s go.” With one last glance, your eyes scoured for Edward before they all disappeared from view.

----------

Edward

There was this crushing anxiety he just couldn’t shake. It rendered him almost motionless, crouched in the corner of the cell, picking at his sleeves. There was a commotion heading towards them; he was in for company he was not in the mood for.

Heavy footsteps gave away the visitor. “We searched your boat.” His crew parted to clear a view as Charles Marlowe relaxed against the cell bars. “We found your woman.”

Edward’s eyes snapped to Marlowe’s as he clenched his jaw, almost daring him to say more.

With a chuckle and a disgusting grin, he brought out a small knife to clean. “Don’t you want to know where she is?”

“I expect you’d would tell me regardless.”

“I would advise against winding me up, Kenway. I could always take my anger out on her instead.”

It took a second for Edward’s arms to fly through the bars, constricting around Marlowe’s throat. “What have you done with her?”

Although cold metal pressed against his jaw, he didn’t ease up.

“She’s waiting for me very nicely... in my cabin.”

Edward didn’t have to think very hard to infer his meaning.

“I’ll kill you if you touch her. I’ll kill you.” Growling, he held impossibly tighter, for if he was here, he wasn’t there.

“With your actions come consequences, Kenway. And you might not be the one paying for them.”

A dilemma came to mind: delay him to keep him away from you, or risk the consequences of his revenge?

Somewhat luckily, he didn’t need to choose.

Before Edward could comprehend that he loosened his grip, Marlowe slipped out of his grasp. The distraught Captain pressed himself against the bars, anger drenching his expression as he heaved out breaths. His captor laughed. “You’re very good at empty threats, Kenway.”

“It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.” His cold tone streaked through the crew, setting hairs on end. They had never heard their Captain like this before; so angry, so dangerous.

It terrified them.

“That remains to be seen. In the meantime…” With a mocking whistling tune, Marlowe spun on his heels and began to walk away.

“Come back here, bilge rat!” He pulled harshly against the cell door. “Don’t you dare touch her!”

“Then you better stay in line.”

As he disappeared from view, Edward’s emotions overwhelmed him, frustrated tears coming to his eyes. He turned to a solid wall, slamming the side of his fist against it and yelled.

Fear, anger, guilt, and grief echoed around the brig.

Collapsing against the wood, he hid his face in his hands, aiming to either calm himself or hide his inevitable breakdown.

----------

Y/N

“Finish up downstairs.” Nodding affirmatively, you picked up the mop bucket and eagerly headed beneath deck, having to consciously slow down to avoid suspicion. You were glad you were disguised in the uniform of Marlowe’s crew instead of the rags of the common sailors aboard; it would’ve made the job much harder than it had to be.

Keeping a level head, you walked past the cell holding your family and placed the mop bucket against the wall, scanning the deck.

Empty.

Sighing in relief, you realised that you were alone with your crew at last. As you pulled the covering off of your face, you shushed frantically, the cell almost erupting into cheers. You gestured for them to part, eyeing Edward, almost balled up in the corner of the cell. “Hey, Ed,” you whispered, watching as his head snapped up to you, eyes widening.

Scrambling up, he strode to the bars in a second, reaching through the gaps to hold you. “Thank Christ…” he exhaled in relief, bringing your forehead to his lips between the bars. You pulled away after a few moments, sharing relieved glances. “Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?” he asked, eyes scanning you for any sign of injuries.

“No, no, I’m okay. Are you alright? Did we lose anyone?”

“I’m... fine; I haven’t done a head count yet.”

You didn’t reply, watching as Jonah came up to tap Edward on the shoulder. “Capt’n?”

He turned around, withdrawing his hands as Ryan came into view. “I can’t find my da’.” His voice was barely stable, cheeks stained with tear tracks. For a second, you both exchanged sorrowful glances.

Edward crouched down, ruffling his hair. “He’ll be around, lad. We just have to find him. Maybe he’s escaped and is planning his own rescue mission for us.”

Ryan nodded, wanting to believe him. Meanwhile, Edward stood and brought Jonah close, leaning to whisper in his ear. He withdrew, a willing but uncertain look on his face. Both retreated back into the small crowd.

“What did you tell him?” you asked.

“...That he has to look after Ryan now.”

You squeezed your eyes shut to stave off tears. “Shit.”

His fingers gently grazed your cheek. “Are you sure you’re alright? Does Marlowe know you’re here?”

Frowning, you shook your head. “I wouldn’t have thought so; if he did, I’d be stuck in there with you.”

His expression was nearly unreadable, but you could sense his anxiety. “I saw him come from here a few moments ago. What was he saying?”

“He…” Pausing for a moment, Edward swallowed. “Just Templar bullshit.”

You scoffed at the notion. “Of course he did. Look, I know how to get out of this.”

“I’ll take anything at this point.” Although his tone was sarcastic, you could tell that for the first time, he didn’t know what to do.

“He needs to die.”

Edward froze, brows narrowing, realising your intention. “No, Y/N, no.”

“‘No’ was an option in Nassau, but we don’t have that choice--”

“No, there must be another way -- “

“There is no other way! This is our only chance--”

“Are you hearing me?! He--”

“Do you understand the situation we’re in?!”

“No, Y/N, please--”

“All it takes is--”

“Just LISTEN to me!” He hissed through gritted teeth, grasping your arm to give it a sharp shake to stop you talking over him. The shock threw you into silence. Lowering his voice, he continued. “If you make so much as one mistake, he won’t just kill you; he’ll make you wish you were dead. Please, please, don’t do this.”

You were stunned. You’ve never seen him so adamant about staying your blade. The desperation in his tone threw you off; you’ve never heard him this serious -- this frantic -- before.

Edward grabbed one of your hands in both of his, bringing your knuckles to rest against his lips. “I love you… with everything I have; I can’t lose you. Not if I can help it,” he murmured, closing his eyes. Your heart broke as you watched a tear escape, trailing down his skin.

“Okay, okay.” You rarely saw Edward cry, and when you did, it was usually due to either drinking or laughing. He took a small, shuddering breath, trying to compose himself.

“We wait for Adé. Then we’ll think about Marlowe.”

“Alright, okay. Hey...” you caressed his jaw. “I’m okay. We’ll be okay. Trust me.”

You heard ruckus above the deck. “Someone’s coming.” Both of you broke away like shrapnel, Edward sitting himself on the floor while you mopped, facing the wall.

And that was how things were.

----------

A couple of weeks had passed since the crew was abducted from the Jackdaw. Everyone had been forced to labour on the deck, doing various jobs, from scrubbing floors to adjusting sails to everything in between. Adé was nowhere to be seen; whether he was hidden on deck and still strategising, or God forbid, something worse, you didn’t know.

A few didn’t make it.

Keeping your identity hidden was becoming increasingly difficult as time went on, of both being a woman and lover of the imprisoned Captain. You had, however, been able to gather intel of Marlowe from the crew that despised him. Each day further validated your belief that this man would be much better off dead; the crew have no loyalty except out of fear, and you could work with that.

You understood Edward’s fear, but it would be selfish of you to stand back and not do anything, watching as almost everyone on the ship suffered; if you did nothing, you would regret it for the rest of your days.

One particular morning was extremely hot, extremely dry, and extremely labour intensive. You were almost halfway through your journey, and you knew you were running out of time. Something had to happen, and soon, or you would never make it to the end of the year.

----------

Edward

After the first week, the crew joined the common sailors around the ship, performing average labour over hours. There was barely time to rest, eat, or drink; he could tell that this was wearing him down more than any form of torture.

The sun’s rays beat down on the nape of his neck as midday approached. Orders were to scrub the floor. He had a brush in his hand the size of a polishing brush, sharing a bucket with four other members of his crew. Each time he made eye contact with one of them, he’d give them a reassuring look; they’d all get out of this, he just needed a plan.

Doors were haphazardly flung open, Marlowe revealing himself from his cabin, followed by an entourage of his closest crew. They clumsily made their way across the ship, bumping into those scrubbing the deck, only to send them a look as if it was their fault in the first place.

One of them knocked over a bucket of water, spilling the liquid across the wood. Edward looked up to observe the situation. It belonged to his crew, including Jonah and Ryan. Marlowe stopped, his stare set on the ones kneeling, completely ignoring the real culprit. “You.” He crooked his finger towards Ryan. “Get up.”

With a petrified look on his face, Ryan stumbled to his feet, shaking like a leaf. “It wasn’t--”

Marlowe put his hand up, a warning to shut up. “It was your bucket, was it not?”

“Y-Yes, but--”

“So it was your responsibility, correct?”

“W-Well--”

“It’s a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question, boy.”

“... Yes, sir.”

Marlowe turned to call to his second in command. “Get the cat.”

Edward’s heart stopped. By now, the ship had dropped to complete silence. They wouldn’t… he was only a boy. Marlowe was sadistic, but he wouldn’t be that evil, would he?

Before he could stop himself, Edward found himself standing protectively in front of Ryan. The child gripped onto his sleeve as he was pushed behind his Captain by the arm. “Why don’t you give a punishment to someone who deserves it?”

Marlowe held a neutral expression. “You’re right…” With a wave of his hand, arms snaked themselves around Edward’s, pulling him away from the others, restraining his movements.

Edward’s eyes flitted to Ryan for a split second; he was pulled to sit beside Jonah before he gained any more unwanted attention. Marlowe came to stand in front of him, unpinning his cape from around his shoulders. It fell into someone’s arms, who carried it away. Although his limbs were pulled harshly behind him, he held his head high, a hard expression in his eyes.

Undoing his cuffs, Marlowe smirked. “I believe you deserve twenty, in place of that boy…” Without warning, a fist came into contact with Edward’s sternum. If it weren’t for the arms holding him upright, the force would have sent his knees buckling. As he regained his breath, he glared at Marlowe. “Another twenty is in order for disobedience…” Another strike winded him again, this one seemingly worse than before. Keeled over, hair blocking his vision, he almost didn’t notice Marlowe leaning into his ear. “Then, about as many as I deem fit…”

Standing up straight, he shook out his hand. “Get him ready.”

Edward stumbled as he was half-dragged across the deck to the main mast. His chest and face collided with the post, the wood almost burning his skin. His arms were pulled taut above his head, rope quickly entwining itself around his wrists. He gave them an experimental tug, his heart skipping a beat when he found not even an inch of give.

Oh, fuck.

Hands gripped the back of his shirt, swiftly tearing it open. His muscles tensed as the sunlight hit his skin. Closing his eyes, he steeled himself with a breath.

The first strike licked his skin, the force shoving him against the post, ripping open stripes of flesh. Pain shot across his back. Biting a back a groan, Edward clenched his jaw. Sweat trailed down his temples, arms straining against the ropes.

Resting his forehead against the post, he prepared for the next lash.

But the strike never came.

----------

Y/N

Ooh, boy.

You were shocked at yourself for a moment, your hand firmly wrapped around Marlowe’s extended wrist, the cat of nine tails trickling Edward’s blood onto the back of your hand.

“I demand satisfaction.”

Gasps and muttering littered the crowd, and you kept to yourself the true realisation of what you’ve done.

You’ve challenged Marlowe to a duel.

“Don’t…” Edward looked over his shoulder, voice loud enough for only you to hear.

You spared him a side glance, urging him to quiet down.

Instead of the expected anger, Marlowe chuckled. “Alright; who demands it?”

You pulled off your face covering and hat, the sun hitting the skin on your face fully for the first time in two weeks. “Naturally, me.”

He hummed darkly, eyes narrowing with recognition. “Naturally.” He began to unsheathe his sword.

“I thought you were a man of tradition; are pistols not your forte?” You raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

After a prolonged glance, metal clicked back into its leather hold. “You really don’t know what you’re getting into, my dear.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“... Let’s get this over with.”

Your heart pounded. This was such a stupid move.

But it was also your only move.

Hiding your own fear, you held eye contact with Marlowe. With trembling fingers, you drew your own pistol, gifted to you by Edward from your last birthday. It was very much your lucky charm, and you hoped it wouldn’t fail you now.

“Ten paces, on my count.” You had no idea who the voice belonged to, nor did you have the current emotional capacity to care. Pulling the hammer down on your pistol, you turned your back to Marlowe. A blank was fired, the echoing shot a signal to start moving.

1…

2…

3...

It was almost deadly quiet.

4…

5…

6…

This was stupid, this was a bad idea. You won’t make it.

7…

8--

An unexpected shot rang out. You dropped to the floor, a pain beginning to blossom in your side.

“NO!”

Marlowe had cheated. Internally, you scoffed. Of course he did.

Although it stung, you were surprised at how bearable the pain was, given you just got shot.

Or did you?

You lay still, partly in shock and partly to plan what to do next.

“What are you all looking at? Get back to work!”

“Y/N? Y/N/N!” You heard Edward’s voice crack. “You cheating bastard!”

“Now, now, Kenway. Don’t forget the position you’re in.”

Floorboards creaked as someone approached. Pistol miraculously still in hand, you waited for as long as possible. Just a little longer....

A shadow shaded your face from the sun. Without thinking, you turned, aimed, and shot.

Marlowe stared back, glassy eyed, blood trickling down his nose.

A moment later, he collapsed.

No one dared to move, choosing to stare at the body in front of them, not quite believing that he was dead.

The monster of a man was dead.

After the adrenaline ebbed away, you sighed heavily. “Glad that’s over.” A hand came into view, offering assistance to stand up. You locked eyes with someone who should have made himself known a long time ago. “Adé!” Accepting the help, you smirked. “Great timing.”

You quickly moved to Edward to begin untying the knots around his wrists. “What the fuck were you thinking?!” he exclaimed, exertion clear in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for worrying you--”

“Worrying me?” One wrist freed, he deftly moved to the other. “When I saw you lying there, I felt as if I had died!”

You sighed. “I needed to do something, lest you became more bone than back.”

“That was the most stupid plan I’ve ever seen in my life.” His hands free, he paid no heed to his own wounds and immediately tried to inspect yours. “You were so irresponsible--”

Bringing his face to yours, you stopped him talking with a kiss.

He diffused immediately, finally processing that you were in front of him, alive, and Marlowe was the one dead on the floor. Melting into you, the tension in his muscles dissipated, replaced only with relief. He broke apart from you, burying his face in your neck, his arms wrapped around you tightly.

“If the plan worked, it couldn’t have been that stupid,” you remarked.

“I’m so sorry.” His words were mumbled into your shoulder.

“You were looking out for me; I would have done the same if the roles were reversed.” You hugged him back, recoiling when he suddenly flinched in pain. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

“Shall we just accept each other’s apologies and call it a day?”

You laughed. “That would be good.”

Turning to the hands on deck, you raised your pistol in the air. “It’s over, lads! We can go home!”

You held your side, the pain greatly subsided under the amount of other emotions you were feeling; joy, relief, but also grief. Not for Marlowe, but for the ones that didn’t see this day.

You made a vow there and then; a vow to live your life the way they would have lived.

With joyful, carefree fun.

With the ability to live in the moment.

With gratitude for what you still have that they lost: For some, love, and for others, life.

[lxvislxdy]

Shotgun Kisses pt.2 | Bakugou K.

Links: Bakugou x stoner!reader au & Shotgun Kisses (Read these first!!)

Notes: Firstly, I want to thank you all for the positive feedback my work has been receiving! I’m extremely thankful for ya’ll!! I also want to apologize for the delay in my posting; I’ve been traveling this week, and on top of that, dealing with the gas shortage on the east coast (it’s been HELL). But hopefully things will start picking up again soon! As always, my requests are open, so feel free to send in your requests or questions!

Summary: After apologizing to you, Bakugou is still struggling to get over his mistrust of your coworker, Shinsou. When you invite Shinsou to hang with everyone, Bakugou thinks it will be his final straw. That is, until Shinsou makes a move on someone unexpected. And suddenly, everything makes much more sense, and Bakugou looks completely oblivious. 

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Warning(s): 18+!! drug use, language (if you are underage, this fic is not for you!)

Bakugou was trying. 

He really, really was. 

He trusted you, and he hated fighting with you (especially when it was his fault, and he had to apologize), but damnit, that purple haired bastard wasn’t making it easy on him. Still, Bakugou was making an effort, and that meant he was visiting you at work, even though Shinsou was there, too. 

“Hello,” Shinsou drawled, a lazy, but definitely teasing, grin spread across his lips. He was leaned up against the counter, half of his purple hair tied back in a knot at the back of his head. “How can I help you?”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes, taking a deep breath in like Kirishima had taught him. His hands were wound into fists, shoved into his jacket pockets. “Just my regular.”

Shinsou hummed in response, turning to shout over his shoulder, “Y/n! Your loverboy is here!”

Bakugou grit his teeth, willing himself not to snap back at him. Technically, he wasn’t wrong. But he hated the teasing lilt to the other man’s voice. 

As per usual, his anger melted away - mostly - when you popped your head around the corner, from the storage room, smiling brightly. “’Suki!”

As much as Bakugou hated your job, you did look cute in your apron, and he was admittedly fond of the free coffee. 

You bounced over to him, definitely hyped up on too much caffeine, and wrapped your arms around him. “Hi.” You said, looking up at him. 

He squeezed you against him, pulling you in for a kiss, to your surprise. Normally, Bakugou was hesitant when it came to PDA. Of course, the cafe was almost empty, and it wasn’t much of a secret that Bakugou was turning up the heat in front of Shinsou. 

“You want your usual?” You ask sweetly, when he pulls away, dopey grin on your face. 

Shinsou, who had slipped away during the kiss, calls over his shoulder, “Already on it!”

“Try not to spit in it.” Bakugou says, lowly. 

Shinsou lets out a low chuckle, “I’ll try to contain myself.”

Apparently, this banter is friendly enough, because you laugh along with him. 

“You mind if I take my break now, ‘Toshi?”

Bakugou swallows down the burst of jealousy at the nickname, fists tightening in his pocket. 

“Yeah, no problem,” Shinsou tells you, as he sets the coffee down on the counter. “There you go. One coffee, hazelnut cream, no sugar. Extra bitter, just like you.”

Bakugou sneers at him, snatching the coffee from the counter and grabbing your hand to pull you along behind him. The two of you end up in the alleyway behind the shop, sneaking through the ‘employees only’ door. Bakugou sips the coffee, wishing it wasn’t so good. But damn, if Shinsou didn’t know his coffee. As far as Bakugou was concerned, that was the only thing the guy was good at. (Of course, he didn’t really know him that well, at all).

“You’re very broody today.” You say softly, looking over at him from where you leaned against the brick wall. “Something on your mind?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, sipping his coffee again. “M’fine. Just... tired, that’s all.”

You hum, fumbling with one of your bracelets. You gaze up at him, grinning, “Do I need to call Kirishima to get it out of you?”

“Tch,” He scoffed, marching over to where you stood and leaning down over you. “Smartass.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. You both taste like coffee, and Bakugou recognizes the faint, bitter taste of marijuana on your tongue too. He pulls away, raising a brow. 

“What, rolling up before work, you delinquent?”

You giggled, shoving his shoulder playfully, though it’s not enough to move him away from you. “Maybe. Gonna rat me out?”

“Hm,” His lips barely brush against yours, bumping his nose against yours. “I’m sure you could convince me not to.”

“Yeah? That easy, hm?” You say, leaning forward to kiss him again, but he pulls just out of your reach. You pout, and he laughs lowly. 

“I never said it would be easy.” He answers, smirking. 

You feel your breath hitch again, and his lips are back on yours. 

“Mm, Kats, love you, but I need to get back to work.” You mumble in between kisses.

Bakugou nips your bottom lip, but concedes, pulling away with a sigh. “Sure I can’t keep you occupied just a little while longer?”

“And people say I’m the bad influence.” You tease, laughing. “Sorry, babe. Can’t. Besides, I know you’re supposed to be getting lunch with the guys, and I’m not gonna be responsible for making you late.”

“Screw ‘em.” He says, planting another kiss on the corner of your mouth. 

You smile up at him, shaking your head. “What am I gonna do with you, Bakgou Katsuki?”

“Keep me, I hope.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but it came out much more serious than he’d meant. Thankfully, you don’t press him on it.

“Yeah, and what’s in it for me?” You tease, poking his stomach. You stretch up on your tiptoes to place another kiss on his jaw, voice softer than before, “I’m here till you don’t want me, Katsuki.”

Bakugou kisses the top of your head, “That’ll never happen.”

You turn to go back inside, stopping in the doorway to look back at him. “You coming to Sero and Denki’s tonight?”

“We’ll see.” Bakugou grunts.

“Mhm,” You grin. “I’ll see you there, then. Bye, Kats!”

...

By the time Bakugou shows up, he’s the last one there. Even Jirou, infamous for showing up fashionably late to their hangouts, was already inside, sitting with you and Mina on the floor. The three of you were deep in conversation, clearly already more than buzzed - your giggles and half-lidded eyes gave you away.

Bakugou felt the tug of a smile on his lips, watching you. He was glad the day was over. Finally, he could just relax.

And thats when he saw him.

Shinsou Hitoshi was sitting on the couch, leaning over a wide-eyed Denki to get the lighter off the table. 

Bakugou tried. He was trying. But even still, his hands shook with anger. 

Kirishima met his gaze, shaking his head, and he didn’t have to speak out loud for Bakugou to hear his usual, ‘Breathe, man. Everything’s fine. Deep breaths. It’s not worth it.’

“Bakugou!” Mina shrieked, “You made it! I told you he’d be here, Sero, you owe me $5!”

Bakugou scowled. “You bet against me?”

Sero shrugs sheepishly. 

You grin up at him from your spot by the girls, and Bakugou quickly crossed the room to sit by your side, ignoring the intruder on the couch. As he took a seat, he pulled you close to lean against his shoulder, and you instinctively reached for his hand without stopping your conversation.

“C’mon, Jirou, you should invite Yoamomo next time!” You were saying, “How will you ever get to know her if you don’t talk to her?”

Jirou, uncharacteristically flustered, shook her head. “No way. Absolutely not. Momo doesn’t seem the type to... ya know, any of this. We aren’t really her crowd.”

“So? She likes you doesn’t she?” Mina offers, puffing smoke.

Jirou’s cheeks turn a brighter shade of pink, and she slouches down more. “I dunno... Pass it here, Min.”

“I’m sure we could behave ourselves enough for a night.” You tease, grinning, “We could have a movie night! Totally sober, if that’s what you’re worried about, Kyo.”

A loud groan cuts into their conversation, from across the room, “Yeah, speak for yourself.” Denki says.

“As if you could get through a movie night totally sober, y/n.” Sero snickers. 

“Hey!” You shout back, sticking your tongue out at him. 

“He might have a point, man,” Shinsou cuts in. He’d been so quiet, Bakugou had almost forgotten he was there. Of course, his luck ran out. “Y/n can’t even make it through a shift sober.”

The room erupts into laughter, though Bakugou stays quiet, rolling his eyes. 

“Not true!” You say, blushing as you lower your voice, “You weren’t supposed to know about that.”

Shinsou’s laugh is apparently contagious, as he says, “Are you kidding?!” He breaks into an eerily accurate impression of you, “Hey, man, what can I get for ya? Aw, totally, nice choice! Have you tried the muffins, man, they’re sooo good.”

You burry your head in your hands as everyone joins in on the joke, leaning back into Bakugou to hide. “Fuck you, dude! Fuck you!”

“Holy shit!” Denki and Sero are gasping for breath, “How are you so good at that, man?” 

Shinsou grins slyly, reminding Bakugou of the cheshire cat (another reason he doesn’t trust the asshole). “Hey, a man can’t give away all his secrets, huh?”

Bakugou tightens his hold around your waist, mouth downturned into an unhappy scowl. 

“I think a movie night would be nice,” Kirishima changes the subject, and Bakugou sends him a small smile in thanks. “I’m sure we’d all like to meet Momo, and if she’s as sweet as you say she is, she’ll totally go for it!”

“Yeah,” Mina says, wrapping an arm lazily around Jirou, “Besides, you’re a total catch, babe! She’ll love you!”

“Thanks guys,” Jirou responds quietly, passing the joint to you. “I’ll think about it.”

You take a few drags, offering to Bakugou, who shakes his head. You don’t push it, blowing the smoke away from the two of you. 

“Man, and here I was, thinking you might finally relax some, Bakugou.” Shinsou comments.

Across the room, Denki has slouched against the other man’s shoulder, his feet propped up in Sero’s lap. 

“The fuck did you say?” Bakugou snaps, glaring. 

Shinsou chuckles, “Relax, dude, I’m kidding.”

“Yeah?” Bakugou growls, snatching the joint from between your fingers. “Fucking whatever.”

He takes a long drag, face red as he resists the urge to cough out of spite. Shinsou raises a brow, mouth twitching into a smirk. His fingers are in Denki’s hair, scratching lightly at his head, and the blonde looks like he could fall asleep any minute, a sleepy smile on his face. Bakugou feels an odd surge of jealousy, and frustration. These are his friends. You’re his girl. What the fuck is this guy playing at?

As Bakugou goes quiet, eyebrows furrowed and face drawn into a fierce scowl, and shoot Shinsou a look. He sighs, rolling his eyes, but silently agrees to lay off. 

“You okay?” You ask, leaning back and placing a light kiss on Bakugou’s jaw.

He yanks you into his lap with a huff, pouting. 

It takes everything in you not to giggle at him when he’s like this (it’s cute, okay?) but you knew that would only irritate him more. 

“’Suki.” You coo, quiet so no one else can hear you, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He mutters, frown deepening. 

“But-”

“I said it’s nothing, y/n.”

You sigh, giving up and leaning back against his chest. Why did he have to be so stubborn? 

Besides, you aren’t stupid. You know he’s unhappy because Shinsou is here. And, by all means, Shinsou is being an asshole. But he’s your friend, and a really good friend (only a friend). You just want the two to get along, and you want to show your boyfriend that he has nothing to worry about! But, as per usual, both boys are being... difficult, to say the least.

After a few minutes it becomes clear that Bakugou’s mood isn’t going to improve, so you go back to your conversation with Mina and Jirou, absentmindedly rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. Eventually, he starts to relax, but remains quiet. He’s too stubborn to admit that you know how to calm him down, after all. And, besides, he can’t risk the guys telling him he’s going ‘soft’ (his words, not yours).

As your high reaches its peak, you forget about the exchange almost completely. You’ve moved to lay your head in Bakugou’s lap, staring up at him. You reach for his hand, bringing it to rest on your head and he rolls his eyes, fingers gently scratching your scalp. You smile up at him lazily, blowing him a kiss. 

With his hands in your hair, you feel yourself begin to drift off, the conversations around you fading into a low buzz in the background. 

Suddenly, Bakugou’s hands stop.

“Kats,” You whine, one eye cracking open to see what was wrong.

Bakugou’s mouth is agape, brows raised, and face red.

“Kats? You okay?” 

He doesn’t answer, and you follow his gaze to the couch, where Denki has climbed into Shinsou’s lap. The blonde’s fingers are threaded into his hair, Shinsou’s firmly gripping his waist, and they’re kissing. You sit up, a laugh bubbling in your throat.

“See, bubs?” You plant a small, teasing kiss to his lips. “Told ya you have nothing to worry about.”

[sweeterthansammy]

ROGERS || Steve Rogers

Hockey player!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader; The reader is Steve’s girlfriend.

Summary: Steve’s team loses the game and the reader assures him that he’ll always be her #1.

Genre: Smut

Written in third person point of view.

Warnings: Oral (male receiving), face-fucking, deep-throating, unprotected sex, subtle praise kink, innuendos to overstimulation, & mild language

Word count: 1.7k+

A/N: This is so vanilla...I hate it 😃

The clock ticked, each passing second raising a wave of nervousness upon the players and the audience. The crowd roared, cheering on for their home team as they fought over the puck. Watching from the sidelines, Y/N bounced on her two feet, wincing as her boyfriend butt shoulders with a mid-fielder of the opposition.

Further fighting over the puck, Steve looked up for a moment, smoothly gliding over the ice before passing to another teammate - only to have it stolen. Y/N could only see the way his lips curved, sputtering out the word ‘no’ over and over. It was now her turn to call Steve’s name and shout ‘no’ repeatedly as he sped over to reclaim the puck.

“Steve!” she yelled out once more as he collided straight into the other team’s member.

The buzzer went off, the puck landing in that of the competitor’s goal.

“Fuck,” she muttered, watching as Steve did the same, except shouting rather than mumbling.

Steve wasn’t one to get riled up easily but when it came to something he prioritized - Y/N and hockey - he could be capable of some quite destructive things.

Though he and his team had lost, he couldn’t walk away a sore loser, congratulating them on the win before hitting the showers. Y/N knew it was best to give him some time to cool off afterward. Not only did spending some time away help them ease their minds a bit, but it allowed her to get ready for the long night awaiting them.

Victory sex was amazing, beyond amazing, actually. But sex after he’d just lost was indescribable. If it were a casual game, Steve would need less than fifteen minutes to cool off, but considering that this was the playoffs, it took around an hour. He and his team radiated sorrow, all trying to uplift each other.

“You did your best, man,” Bucky encouraged him, patting his back on his way to the showers himself.

Steve gave a lopsided smile, wanting to do nothing but practice for hours following their next season. Giving himself mental affirmations, he was able to cool off a bit, running his hands through his hair as water trickled down his face.

Back at their shared apartment, Y/N had gotten herself nice and comfy in a lacy red lingerie set, Steve’s hockey jersey stopping just above her buttcheeks. Her hair had been damp, just coming out of the shower herself.

She smelt of sugar and a subtleness of vanilla, a scent ready to fill her boy’s nostrils and engulf him in her warmth. She’d prepared a glass of whiskey on the rocks for him, stealing a sip for herself to add to the fire already swirling in her lower abdomen.

She jumped to meet the door, setting down the book she had been previously reading once dogearing the last read page. The faint chatter of Steve’s voice evolved to something above indoor level, Y/N swinging the door open to reveal him walking down the corridor. He looked up, eyes skimming over her body.

“Yeah, we’ll definitely do better next season.”

He could feel an instant strain in his pants, pupils dilating ten times bigger as he watched her lean against the doorway.

“Got it, coach.”

He walked the remainder of the distance to their apartment, large hand raising heat to the surface of her skin as his hand laid on her waist despite its frigid febricity. She could hear Stark blabbering, most likely pissed at the fact that they spent half a year preparing for this big game.

Y/N only giggled, allowing Steve to swipe her off of her feet and carry her straight to their bedroom once he’d locked the door.

He sandwiched his phone between his cheek and his shoulder, continuing to speak to his coach as he motioned for Y/N to lay on the bed. She looked gorgeous laying there, damp hair splayed about, red lace peeking from under his jersey.

Oh my god. My fucking jersey-

“Steve,” she whined, knees bumping each other as they swayed back and forth.

“Sh,” he quietly hushed her, his left hand pushing her legs apart before running down the inner parts of her thighs.

His hands dropped to the red lace covering her heat, middle and ring fingers pushing the fabric aside before easing up her folds. She shuddered at the feeling, his icy fingers fingertips finding a warm spot between her walls. He simply smiled, flashing her a load of his pearly whites as she squirmed only with the touch of his fingers.

“Fuck,” she murmured, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth as his fingers grazed against her sweet spot.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” he quickly spoke up, swatting Y/N’s hand from her face as she bit down on her index finger. “Kitten, I’d think that you could keep quiet without having anything in your mouth. Maybe my expectations were too high of you.”

The thought of his cock being stuffed down her throat to keep herself silent was far too pleasant. As he watched her stand up briefly, his hand held her forearm, snaking around her waist once her front was pressed to his.

Their lips melting into one another, tongues fighting and teeth clashing. Her hands grasped onto his roots, arms wrapping around his neck as his hips rolled into hers.

“Take everything off besides the jersey,” he mumbled, his grip around her waist tightening as her hands dropped down to the bulge in his pants.

She slid her hand below his joggers, scratching at the skin of his abdomen and his pelvis before slipping into his boxers. She opened her eyes, pulling away from his puffy pink lips before dropping to her knees. Her hands were everywhere all at once, making his head grow dizzy as she slid his bottoms down to his ankles.

“You’re gonna be fuckin’ death of me,” he grumbled, watching the way her lips perfectly wrapped around his cock, her jaw widening more and more as she made her way down his length.

His hand held onto the back of her head, unleashing a quiet groan as she got her hands into the mix. He quickly moved his phone from his ear.

“Shit,” he muttered, his head lazing backward as continued to swirl her tongue around his head, her mouth leaving thick coats of saliva along his cock. “Y-yeah, I’m fine. Just stubbed my toe.”

She couldn’t help the airy laugh that escaped from deep within her chest. She gagged on his cock as he jutted his hips forward, hitting the back of her throat.

Saliva pooled at the sides of her mouth as he continued to fuck her face. She swallowed around him, eliciting yet another groan from him, his fingers getting lost in her hair as he forced her to take more and more of him with the assistance of her hands.

Hot tears escaped the corners of her eyes as he continued with the violent pace of his hips bucking into her mouth. She looked up at him, watching the way he bit onto the hem of his t-shirt. She somehow felt as if more saliva began to drip dribble down her chin.

She could feel everything tensing in his body as he grew closer to his climax, from his jaw down to his thighs. One set of her nails slipped from around his cock, scratching at the skin of his thighs. He looked down at her, going ballistic at the sight of her sitting so obediently in front of him.

With one more grapple of her hand to his balls, hot spurts of cum painted her throat. She pulled off of him, lips wet and slippery, still attached to him through a string of saliva.

She stood to her feet, nails grazing at his fair torso as she immediately attached her lips to his again. He pulled away for a second, hands making a quick work of her underwear that were still on.

“Hey Tony, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He wasted no time in pressing the red button to hang up on his coach. She easily removed her bra from beneath the jersey, throwing it aside.

“Wore your favorite set but it seems like you’d much rather see me in your jersey,” she feigned a pout, looking at him with bright, ogling eyes that screamed, “fuck me.”

“Just wanted to see my name on your back, kitten. That’s all.”

God, it was the hottest thing ever. He had her laid on her chest, knees supporting her backside as he came right up behind her.

“You look so fucking good in my jersey, baby,” he hummed, grunting when she threw her hips back at him.

His tip was eased into her, her walls aching for more as they clenched around nothing.

“Steve, just fuck me already,” she grumbled, hands scrambling at his that rested on either side of her head.

Her lower tummy swirled, arousal flooding her body as Steve rocked his hips forward, setting a sinful pace for his girl. She moaned aloud, the sound of skin slapping and Steve’s vulgar groans soon sending her over edge. She didn’t think his pace could get any faster, but as he swept her hair to the side and held onto her shoulder, she cried out as every inch of him sunk into her, leaving quickly once more.

His hand snuck below the fabric that covered her bare breasts, fingers jerking at her nipples. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, the letters of his name repped proudly across her back. His fingers tugged at her jaw, his other arm supporting her as he raised her back to meet his chest. Her lips melted into his, tongue swirling into his mouth as she could feel herself coming undone.

“Fuck, I love you,” he muttered, spinning her onto the back as if she were a feather.

He hoisted her legs above his shoulders, basking in the way she clenched around him, eyebrows furrowing as she saw stars.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised. “Cum for me, kitten.”

She did exactly that, coming down from her high with a cry as he continued to gently rock his hips into hers. She breathed heavily as he thrust once more, filling her with his seed. He looked at her exhausted figure, laying a soft kiss on her knee, down her thighs, and right above her cunt.

“Steve-”

“We’ve got a long night ahead of ourselves, doll.”

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