#When To Call A Locksmith

[egberts]

the plumber locked himself out of his van and had to call a locksmith ☠️

[kivaember]

bc zoids was my first ever mecha obsession it only makes sense to smoosh zoids and ac6 together and im thinking of the types of zoids the ac6 characters would pilot...

C4-621: HOUNDSOLDIER

It suits 621 bc this is a mass-produced ZOID but is a solid performer... ALSO DOG REFERENCE. I did look at the bird Zoids but none of them really matched 621 really... I wanted to stick to a ZOID that was deemed 'basic' in terms of like, it's a dime a dozen, just to fit with LOADER 4.

RUSTY: COMMAND WOLF

Aside from the wolf motif, Command Wolf fits Rusty because it's a very adaptable and decent ZOID. You can easily switch out its armament, and it's one of the fastest land-based ZOIDs around. Also, again, wolf motif. Rusty would pilot the SHIT out of this and put a symbolic muzzle on it too why not

FREUD: GATLING FOX

Listen. I just like the look of this thing and Freud would definitely pilot it. Mortars launched from its tail? Giant fuck off gatling cannon its spine? Dual cannons on its shoulders? Sure yeah why not.

IGUAZU: DOUBLE SWORDER

There are slim pickings for insect ZOIDs but this one is definitely Iguazu, if only bc it has the mandibles like the ants in his design but is also a beetle... also he could be that fucker that'd have a land-based ZOID that could also fly like a little bitch or stick to ceilings.

MICHIGAN: DREI PANTHER

I honestly did think about going for the bull ZOIDs or something, but in the end he's Liger tail, and while the drei panther ain't a liger, I think it suits him well enough with the dakka dakka and the great spinning shields of death. Hell on four legs indeed.

AYRE: RAINBOW JERK

This is the only pretty bird ZOID that doesn't stand like it doesn't have knees, and Ayre deserves to have a pretty ZOID okay.

WALTER: XENO REX

Since dinosaur ZOIDs are a Pretty Big Deal with HAL itself is basically a C-Weapon, I went with Xeno Rex just to reflect that. Also t-rexes are cool.

ALLMIND: GENO BREAKER

I wouldn't mind ALLMIND picking me up in her giant t-rex robot pincers like i'm a bug tbh

[subtle-as-an-earthquake]

so funny story, i did a pub quiz today, and during the break the quiz master came up to me and was like "where were you last time??" and i was like ??! because i don't know this man and this was my first time at this particular pub quiz, so i was like "umm idk why?" and he said "because we had a question about arctic monkeys last week and no one knew the answer!" so again, i was like ?? until i remembered i was wearing an arctic monkeys shirt lol.

so then i asked him what the question was, and it was just 'guess the intro' and it was do i wanna know?? and no one knew???? what the heck. so i told him even my mum knows that one and he was like "i know right??" so i said "okay well clearly this town needs to be educated so you should do an entirely arctic monkeys themed pub quiz sometime" and he said "maybe i will" and i think he was joking but obviously i am now going to email them about it every week until it happens

[dhampir-dyke]

The universe literally never lets things work out for me without kicking and screaming and putting up a fight.

[nerdpoe]

Danny is about to be kidnapped in Gotham This is not a good time.

He's studying for the SAT, he's already been kidnapped by Vlad like, four times that week and it was a fucking Tuesday, he forgot his wallet at his new apartment, locked himself out of said new apartment (he could phase through the door but that wasn't the point), he's just been informed that the grant he applied for was denied so he needs to ask his mom and dad for college funds when he'd already told them he had it covered, and just...it was shit.

It had been shit. The entire week had been awful and annoying and he was ready to either murder everyone on the planet or go find a corner to cry in for the next three days.

So when the band of wild goons working for whatever villain of the week pulled up and tried to kidnap him, he snapped.

He used them to vent.

Shouted about how terrible his day had been, how terrible his week had been, how he'd already been kidnapped by his creepy godfather who was way too into him, how college funding was shit and the grant system was rigged, and how he'd have to call a locksmith or break down the door to his own apartment if he wanted to go to bed-all of it. He unloaded all of his frustration.

The goons actually backed off.

One of them gave him an awkward side hug and told him it'd get better.

Danny wasn't paying attention to his surrounding. He doesn't realize that the whole thing was livestreamed.

So when he gets home to his apartment later that day, his door is opened for him by the vigilante Spoiler before he can even turn intangible.

She brought over BatBurger and kidnapped Bruce Wayne, Gotham's bumbling Prince, to talk about college grants.

[aajjks]

tw/ hórny èx bf, tôngúè fückïng, orál sèx (fèm!rècíèvïng) ovèrstïmulúlátïôn, hè ís à crèèp, nôncôn, èxplïcït ând nsfw thèmès.

It’s hard to break up with someone like him because he doesn’t get the hint- it’s been barely 6 days and he finds himself right in front of your door.

Really horny. And quite frankly messed up.

He bangs on your door- at first he’s gentle, but then he finds himself losing his patience when you don’t open up after a few bangs at your door, even with the bell It’s not working.

He just might have to be a little bit more aggressive with it. See now, he doesn’t like being aggressive with you. He knows that you hate this side of him. That’s why you broke up with him in the first place.

It’s not really a break up to him though because you’re just trying to break and he thinks that this break has lasted way longer than it should have in the first place. So he takes deep breath, and he starts banging at it like a maniac.

“Yn! YN OPEN UP!” But you don’t. You’re really trying to test his patience and then you try to lecture him on his aggressive nature.

His pupils are dilated at this point, he’s feeling so crazy right now, it’s aching and his pants, and he has missed you like crazy-staring at your pictures is not enough anymore. Not at all.

It’s your fault, you know.

It’s your fault that you’re so beautiful and that you have his heart in your hands… he closes his eyes for a moment, and then he takes out the spare keys he had to your apartment-of course, you don’t know about them, but he had a locksmith make them for him.

Without any rational thinking- he unlocks your apartment with ease.

And soon the familiar scent of your home hits him and your ex boyfriend finds himself relaxing, his head feels a little better now. “Yn!~~~” he calls out your name with affection but you still don’t respond.

Weird.

So he decides to check if you’re home. He really hopes that you are because he needs to talk to you and… a lot of other other things.

First to fall of course it’s gonna be your bedroom, his feet, take him to the familiar room so easily, because he remembers every single room in your home, like the back of his hand.

And to his surprise? He hears the shower running. A Cheshire Cat smile spreads across his lips. But before he can think anything else, the shower drops sounds come to a halt.

Oh, so you must be done..

He waits- by sitting on your bed and waiting for you to come out, and he doesn’t have to wait long, so he unzips his pants, creepy? He doesn’t give a fuck.

He needs to fuck you and get you back. He has everything you ever want. Quite frankly, you can be ungrateful. Anyone would kill to be in your place… but too bad he wants you.

And there you are, in all your wet glory-with a towel loosely wrapped around your body, you gasp, expected, in surprised to see him, he smirks.

Your eyes widen and you open your mouth to scream at him, he doesn’t mind you can because he’s missed your voice a lot.

“Hi baby.” He greets you. Licking his lips, because he feels himself getting harder when he stares at your soaked, freshly washed body.

You look so sexy like this I can’t help but remember all the times he would fuck you senselessly in the shower or sometimes when you were done with it.

You’re just so irresistible. You get him so horny for no reason at all. It’s your fault and now you’re going to have to help him out.

“W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” You finally say something to him, even though you’re screaming at him like a maniac, he doesn’t mind.

“I can’t help it baby you know I love you and I can’t live without you-and I’m so horny right now.” He licks his lips again, getting up from your bed to walk towards you.

He needs to touch you right now.

“I told you you couldn’t break up with me but you thought you could.. so I just wanted to give you a little break, but I think it has lasted enough now I need you back.” He groans. You smell so good even his muscles are pulsing.

His eyes are you like a predator and You should know that you cannot escape.

He is way too strong for you.

“Come on now- look at me? I’m so fucking hard because I was thinking about you- and look at you.. fuck…” he breathes out, taking you by your waist.. but then he gets another idea.

So instead of holding you, he drops to his knees.

This is gonna get you so weak for him.

“Let me eat your pussy. Missed it so much.” He looks into your eyes when he grabs your legs. You barely manage to hold onto your towel, which was about to fall. And something switches in your eyes.

You have missed him too.

He smiles. “I bet you missed me too. Fuck- baby let me have a taste please- I’m doing this to make it up to you. I know I pissed you off, so let me make it up.” He breathes, slowly, removing the towel and he starts to tease you by rubbing his hands over to your clit.

You whimper, you’ve always been so weak for him.

He knows you need him-equally as bad as he needs you. And he’s going to make you realize it tonight. He leans his face closer to your cunt, and you grab his wide shoulders for support.

“Oh look at you baby- you’ve already started to get wet.” He coos, pressing a kiss to your thigh, and then his kisses get closer to your heat, “f-fuck. You’re so fucking bad for this.” You moan out. He knows that you’re trying to reject him still even though he knows what your heart and body really want.

Him.

“I know yn.. but fuck- you’re my bad habit.” He replies before he takes one of his fingers out of your pussy and he smashes his mouth into it- his tongue starting to eat you out.

“Nghhh fuck.” You moan as he starts to tease you again with his teeth- he’s so messy right now, all sloppy as he pushes his tongue in deeper and deeper.

That’s how you like it.

His mind is in a frenzy because the noises you’re making are purely sinful- your towel gals to the ground and your back arches.

He won’t let you fall.

He will make you cum in his tongue.

“Ugh fuck..” he groans as he eagerly laps at your juices, you’re giving him so much.

And he knows you’re already going to cum.

“A-Agh fuck don’t stop- don’t fuckin stop.” You command him and grab on his locks- that arouses him anymore- you taste so fuckin good.

He can kill anyone for you.

“O-Oh fuck- baby cum on my tongue- you can do it.” He praises you- his hands on your ass as he squeezes it, you pull on his hair.

His teeth graze your clit.

“Should I fuckin bite? Since you’re so *pants* fuckin mean to me? Nah.. I love you..” he barely manages to speak because you’re suffocating him and you’re going to cum.

“You can *pants* only cum if you come back to *pants* m-me.”

BNHA- hawks, aizawa, bakugo, deku

JJK- gojo, geto, toji, sukuna

[ohnoproblems]

CAPTAIN MISURN — "This is the one." The captain lapses into customary silence. Interrogations are *your* job, lieutenant.

CHILCHUCK — "Make it quick, yeah?" The half-foot is several drinks deep, an adventurer's preferred state. "I don't make a habit of talking to Canaries."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — I'll have what he's having.

CHILCHUCK — He waits like a pin for your first raking pass.

- "What do you know about necromancy?"

- "I've heard you're organizing adventurers. You can't do that, it tarnishes the divine authority of Her Ethereal Majesty's glorious Elven nation!"

- "I've heard you're organizing adventurers. Do you not trust market forces to set a fair price for sneakthievery?"

- "I've heard you're organizing adventurers. It's a good start, but when do you behead the governor and let the streets run with the blood of shopkeeps and other petty-bourgeois pigs?"

- "I need to gather my party." [Leave.]

YOU — "What do you know about necromancy?"

CHILCHUCK — "Necromancy? You mean the forbidden arts? Dark magic? Officer, why in the hell would I know *anything* about that?"

DRAMA [Challenging: Success] — My liege. 'Tis not just spirits on his breath. Smell it: the savory scent of a *lie.*

EMPATHY [Legendary: Success] — There's a sorrow he's trying to hide.

- "Seems like a useful skill to pick up."

- "She's gone, isn't she?"

- "Let's talk about something else."

YOU — "She's gone, isn't she?"

CHILCHUCK — "What are you…?" His eyes widen - it's just a flicker. He shakes it away. "What are you saying, officer?"

EMPATHY — It's there. Deep in there.

- Wait, how do I know this?

- "I said she's *gone,* isn't she?"

- "Nothing. Never mind."

YOU — Wait, how do I know this?

INLAND EMPIRE — You ask from the bottom of a hole. You already know this.

EMPATHY — A pain you've borne for an age of men, alone. It's there, fresh, in the tiny mirrors of his eyes. He feels it, too.

- "I said she's *gone,* isn't she?"

- "She's gone… and she took the kids."

- "Nothing. Never mind."

YOU — "She's gone… and she took the kids."

CHILCHUCK — He scowls. "You know what? Officer, this interview is over. Any further questions will have to go through a guild representative."

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] — His hands shake around the stein. A liability for a locksmith.

AUTHORITY — Bingo.

New task: Call her.

[puckinghischier]

Hat Trick

Nico Hischier x fem!reader, Jack Hughes x platonic!reader, Luke Hughes x platonic!reader

summary: part 4 of the locksmith series! reader attends her first ever devil’s hockey game, and leaves a few pucks richer than when she came

notes: y’all i think this is my favorite part of this lil series so far. i literally wrote this in one sitting. i’m so happy with how it turned out. i hope you are too!! happy reading!! 🫶🏼

[6k]

part 1, part 2, part 3

~

You’ve been to a lot of Hughes centered hockey games in your life. You’ve been to watch both Quinn and Luke play during their time in Michigan, and you’ve been to watch several of Jack’s minor league games when you were teenagers.

Though somehow, despite how long you’ve been intertwined with the hockey breathing family, you had never been to a professional game. You talked about making a trip to Vancouver with your family at some point to watch Quinn, but it never worked out with your school schedule. You wanted to come watch Jack with the Devils a few times, too, but the plans always fell through.

You wish you’d tried harder right about now, because walking into the Prudential center, red and black everywhere you look, you’re a little overwhelmed.

Jack had told you exactly where to go and who to call if you got lost, but getting there wasn’t the issue. You finally having your car with you helped with that, considering it was delivered just yesterday. The company that you hired to haul your car to you had gotten the date of your move wrong, so you had been depending on Jack and Luke for rides anywhere outside of walking distance.

Today, though, they were needed at the rink far earlier than you would’ve been allowed in. And, in true superstitious hockey player fashion, they claim they can’t ride to the rink together for home games because the last time they did they lost the game. So, you were extremely excited when you got the call that your car had just been parked outside of the apartment complex the day before.

You had found the arena just fine, leaving your car with the valet Jack had told you to go to. You had gone to the entrance designated for friends and family of the players, flashing the locker room pass Jack had given you, and even managed to find your way to the public areas of the arena by yourself.

The issue you had run in to stems from the fact that not only had you never attended an NHL game before, but you had never attended an NHL game alone.

Even though you blended in with the crowd outwardly, donning a devil’s jersey like everyone else, you were way out of your element. Usually at the boys’ games you had Ellen and Jim with you, or your own parents. They always made you feel like you belonged a little more, because they would explain certain fan behavior to you.

You knew all you had to do was simply sit and watch the game, but with the energy being so chaotic leading to the rivalry game, you knew that the fans were going to be absolutely buzzing. People were walking past you, jumping in front of you for high-fives and fist bumps, yelling “GO DEVS!” before walking away like nothing had ever happened. You didn’t miss the occasional dirty look from anyone in a blue Rangers jersey, either.

When you had first made your way to the foyer area at the front of the arena, you had already seen security having to separate a Devils fan and a Rangers fan. They had been screaming at one another over something that you were couldn’t make out when the Rangers fan slammed his fist into the Devils fan’s cheek.

The scene made you a little apprehensive about how the game was going to go. You knew this was one of the biggest rivalries that existed in the hockey world, and you had read that the Rangers had a tendency to play extremely physical, so you were nervous for all of the Devils players you were growing fond of.

You eventually make your way to your seat, but not before going full fan mode and buying a foam finger at one of the many merchandise stands you passed on your way. You thought Jack and Luke would get a kick out of it, figuring you’d need all the help you could get after they see what you’re wearing.

You kept your promise to Nico, currently sporting the number 13 on your back. You felt a little silly, honestly. You had never not worn a Hughes jersey to a hockey game before; you always wore the jersey of whatever brother you were watching, even if you had to buy one. But the conversation you had with Nico a few nights prior kept paying on a loop in your mind. The promise of a hat trick was too tempting to miss out on. Plus, even if he didn’t get a hatty, you knew you’d have the chance to make him do anything you wanted him to.

As you walk down the stairs towards your seat, foam finger on display proudly, you take in the pure atmosphere of the place. The arena looked huge from where you stood, lights dimmed and a red shadow cast over everything in sight. Not many people had made their way into the seating area yet, but there were a few fans bunched around the glass, waiting for the players to come out and start their warm ups.

You were pleasantly surprised when you found your seat free of any bodies, being able to settle in and wait for the arrival of the players on the ice. As the minutes ticked by, a few people made their way to your area, smiles and chants of ‘go Devils!’ once again filling the air around you.

You could see why people enjoyed coming to games so much. The sense of community was so strong in this building. Everyone was here to support the same cause, one goal in mind: a Devils win. You started to survey all the signs that fans had brought, setting them up against the glass for the players to see. Some of them had clever saying or riddles on them, some simply reading “puck?” with their favorite player’s number on it.

You also noted how many people were wearing Jack and Luke’s last name on their back. Even as you were driving up to the arena, you noticed the large presence of 86’s and 43’s surrounding you. It was odd, really, to see how many people were supporting your boys. It made your heart swell with pride, a little bit. To physically see the amount of people that believe in them the way you always have was enough to sell you on attending every Devils game from here until the end of time.

The newfound knowledge also further calmed your nerves surrounding your decision of wearing Nico’s jersey tonight. You had seen plenty of number 13’s floating around in the crowd, too, but Jack and Luke clearly had no lack of fan support.

The sound of pucks hitting the ice is what broke your attention from observing the people around you. You instantly clocked Luke’s curls, finding Jack not far from where Luke had settled on the ice. You looked around, trying to find a familiar head of brown hair you hadn’t seen nearly enough. Was he not warming up today? Was he okay? Did Luke actually hurt him the other day and he wasn’t playing today?

You don’t remember either of your roommates mentioning that their captain was hurt. That’s something they would’ve mentioned at least once, right? You continue to scan the ice for any sign of the Swiss man you couldn’t get off of your mind, not paying attention when Jack started skating in your direction. A loud bang on the glass in front of you was what finally broke your investigation.

“You’re here!” Jack yells through the glass at you, ignoring all the shouts of his name from the people standing around you.

“I told you I wasn’t going to miss it!” you shouted back, wondering if he could even hear you in the noisy environment.

Movement behind Jack caught your eye, Luke making his way over to stand next to his brother, causing an entirely new wave of sound to erupt around you.

“Bouy! You made it!” Luke shares his brother’s surprise, eyes flitting down to the jersey you’re wearing, noticing the black C that neither his nor Jack’s jersey had.

“Did you guys really have no faith I would show up tonight? Am I that bad of a friend?” you ask them, wondering why they thought you would be a no-show.

“Know it isn’t your scene, is all,” Jack shouts back, shrugging his shoulders, smile on his face.

“Uh-uh, it is now. Look, I even bought a foam finger! I’m legit, now!” you wave your newest Devils merch around.

They both shake their heads and laugh, your eyes wandering to the ice behind them once again.

“Who ya looking for, huh?” Luke is the one to notice they no longer held your attention, turning his head to look at his teammates warming up behind them.

“Oh, no one. Just, taking it all in,” you try to recover. Luke simply looks at you, the moment he caught you staring at Nico in your living room in the back of his mind.

“It’s awesome, right? I’m telling you, you’ll be wanting to come to every home game by the end of the night. There’s nothing like a Devils home game,” Jack tells you, oblivious to Luke’s implications moments ago.

Jack must have decided it was time to acknowledge some of the fans around you, skating off after he finishes his statement.

“He’ll be out in a minute, just so you know. Got hung up in a pre-game interview,” Luke’s muffled voice travels through the glass.

“Huh? Who? What’re you talking about?” you look at him, confusion taking over your features.

Luke deadpans at you, basically telling you to cut the bullshit. “You know who, Y/N.”

“Really, don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m here for you and Jack, remember?” you remind him.

“Yeah? Then why do you have Cap’s jersey on?” Luke questions, raising an eyebrow at you.

Your head shoots down to look at the jersey you were wearing, cheeks turning red. You had almost forgotten you were even wearing it, too distracted by the atmosphere around you.

“Don’t think you’re getting away with that, by the way. He’ll be getting an earful once he gets out here, don’t you worry. And god help him when Jack finally notices. Might be the first time a player gets a penalty against his own teammate,” Luke continues, looking over to where Jack is chucking pucks over the ice a few feet away.

“It was Nico’s idea. Said he wanted to mess with you guys, is all. Then said if I wore it he would score a hat trick, and if he didn’t he owed me a favor of my choosing. Figured it’d be fun to mess with him and make him do some outrageous task. You know I never miss the opportunity to get under yours and Jack’s skin, either. Couldn’t resist the offer,” you confess.

Luke rolls his eyes, not wanting to call bullshit out here in the open like this, deciding to save the rest of the conversation for when you get home tonight.

You were going to respond, try to further plead your case, when you see a blur of red jump onto the ice from over near the Devils’ bench. Any attention you had granted to Luke was gone, watching a much anticipated head of hair flopping around as Nico does a few circles on the ice. You watch him wave to a few fans around the glass, conversing with a few of his teammates as he made his way around the ice.

Luke watches you follow Nico’s figure glide around on the ice, laughing to himself at how you were just trying to convince him you weren’t looking for anyone.

“I think I’ve proved my point,” you barely hear as Luke starts to skate away, noticing his captain skating over towards your section of the glass.

You’ve tuned out the shouts of Nico’s name around you as he makes eye contact with you, skating towards you with a smile.

“Hey! You’re here!” he winks at you, parroting Jack and Luke’s words. “And I see you chose the right jersey!” he lets his eyes fall to the jersey swallowing your body, eyes a bit bright than they were a few seconds ago.

“Why did no one think I was going to show up?” you huff out, throwing your arms up, foam finger still attached to your hand.

“Jack and Luke were convinced you’d bail because of your aversion to hockey crowds. But I see you’ve made yourself right at home,” he chuckles, nodding towards the foam finger.

“Well, yeah. Had to make myself official, y’know?” you give the foam accessory a small wave.

Nico laughs, sliding his feet back and forth in short strokes, planting his stick on the ice for stability.

“You ready to score that hat trick you promised, Cap?” you shout to him, crossing your arms in a challenging stance.

“Never been more ready in my life, Bouy,” Nico smirks.

“If you keep using that nickname I won’t be so nice in choosing a favor for you to do when you don’t score your hatty,” you threaten, hating that Jack introduced the nickname to Nico in the first place.

“Oh, I’m gonna score that hatty,” he moves closer to the glass, making sure you can hear him. “My good luck charm did exactly what I asked her to do, so I’d say my chances are pretty solid.”

You’re so focused on Nico’s words that you completely miss Jack making his way back over to your area, slapping Nico on the back once he reaches his destination.

“Hey, Cap! ‘Bout time you made it out here. Was starting to wonder if someone was going to have to come and save you.”

Nico removes his eyes from your flushed face, turning to chat with Jack as you’re left speechless.

You miss the rest of their conversation, too caught up in Nico calling you his good luck charm. You were entering very dangerous territory, here. Every conversation you have with the man bringing you farther and farther into a rabbit hole you might not be able to climb back out of.

On top of being stunned, you’re also confused. You’ve overheard Luke and Jack talk about Nico’s interactions with women. The amount of times they’ve poked fun at his obliviousness to women’s advances not forgotten. Or the way they claim he’s too focused on his career to think about anything other than hockey. You remember one story Jack told of Nico completely misreading a conversation with a woman at the bar, begging Jack to take him home after he all but ran away from the woman, claiming a stomach ache when she tried to coax him into an uber.

So, what was different about you? He clearly had no issues with casually sliding in comments that, although you try to convince yourself otherwise, are naturally flirtatious in their nature. When you let your eyes wander you notice Luke watching the interaction. He follows the way Nico’s gaze flicks over to you every few seconds, even though he’s in the middle of a conversation with Jack. Luke meets your eyes and gives you look you can’t decipher.

“Y/N, what the fuck are you wearing?” you hear Jack’s voice, snapping your head to look at his face, his eyes focused on the black C on the upper left side of the jersey you’re wearing.

“A…jersey?” you answer apprehensively.

“Yeah, I can see that. But why do you have on Neeks’ jersey, specifically?” He asks you, but looks at the player standing next to him.

“Guess she decided the better jersey wasn’t even in the Hughes family at all,” Nico references the argument Jack and Luke were having days prior.

Jack looks back at you, expecting an explanation from you. You open your mouth a few times to answer, but the reasoning of ‘I just wore it to get under your skin’ doesn’t seem appropriate when you can see the underlying anger on his face.

“You know what, I don’t have time for this. I need to actually warm up, but this conversation isn’t over,” Jack shoots to two of you a glare before skating away, huffing like a little kid.

“I knew he would get mad!” you point an accusing (foam) finger at Nico.

“Don’t worry, he’ll get over it. It’s just one game.”

“Well I’ll let you handle this then, mr. nonchalant. It was your idea, it’s your bomb to diffuse,” you wipe your hands of the situation.

“Gladly,” Nico flashes you a smile. “By the way, heads up,” he warns you before chucking a puck over the glass, watching it land on the ground beside you. You bend over to pick it up, noticing the writing on the back.

You read the sribble of “hatty” followed by the date and Nico’s signature in silver marker, looking up to see him skating off with a wink.

———————————————————————————

After you watched Jack throw his fit about you wearing Nico’s jersey from afar, earning nothing but a laugh from the jersey owner himself, they both skated away from each other to start actually warming up for the game ahead. You noticed Jack kept glaring at Nico, shoulder checking him a few times for good measure. Jack wouldn’t even look over at you, earning a pout from you when you made eye contact with Luke, begging him to do something to make Jack love you again.

Luke just shrugged at you as if to say “told you so,” choosing to focus on his warm ups instead. As the players left the ice to prepare for puck drop, you watched Jack finally look over to you, sporting a glare and giving a shake of his head before he disappeared from your view.

Even after the game started, you could still feel Jack’s pouting from where you sat. He was hesitant to pass the puck to Nico, costing them a few chances at goals. You cursed him every time, worried that this would’ve happened. You don’t know what was said, but during one of the tv timeouts, Nico skated over to Jack and all you could see was a finger poking out to jab Jack in the chest. Jack’s face grew more and more unimpressed as the conversation went on, but ultimately Jack nodded and skated off, rolling his eyes when he looked over to you.

For the rest of the period, you noticed Jack was better about passing the puck, no longer alienating Nico from his plays. He was still mad, though. You could see it in his body language and how he was playing rougher than he normally does. As soon as the first period was over, you were out of your seat and making your way down to the locker rooms. You flashed your pass and waited patiently after you asked someone to go fetch Jack for you, claiming it was an emergency.

Jack comes walking out of the locker room into the hallway, towel around his neck, jersey left behind.

“Okay, get it all out now, or so help me god I’ll jump onto that ice and beat some sense into you,” you tell him, wanting him to get all of his anger out of his system.

“You always wear one of our jersey’s, Y/N. Always. This is your first time watching me and Luke in a professional game, and you’re wearing someone else’s jersey?” Jack asks you, a small bit of hurt showing on his face.

“Jack, it was a joke. A last minute plan between the two of us. We thought it’d be funny since you and Luke were arguing about it,” you tell him, feeling a little bad that he genuinely seems hurt. “Plus, I didn’t really want to choose between you and Luke. It was hard. I had all three jerseys laying on my bed earlier, and I just couldn’t choose between the two of you.”

“I still don’t like that you wore someone else’s jersey,” Jack grumbles.

“It’s just one game, Jack, it’ll be fine. I promise this isn’t going to become a habit,” you assure him, reaching up to ruffle his hair, regretting your decision when you feel how sweaty it is.

“You sure about that?” Jack asks you, catching you off guard.

“What?”

“Oh c’mon, Y/N,” Jack starts, dropping his arms to his sides. “Don’t act like you haven’t been staring at him the whole game.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you feel your cheeks heating.

“You can’t lie to me, remember? Know you too well,” he tells you, reminding you he’s always been able to tell when you’re caught in a lie.

“I mean…maybe I’ve been watching him. So what? He’s your friend, Jack. Not to mention our neighbor and the only teammate of yours I really know,” you try to justify.

“Bullshit. You’re into him.”

“No, I’m not!” you say too quickly, your voice going up in pitch, causing you to clear your throat. The sudden change in conversation came out of nowhere, causing your brain to short circuit.

“Oh yeah? Then why do you ask about him every time Luke and I mention practice, or our jobs in general? Why do you always ask us if Nico made it home when we get home from practice? Or when you spent basically the whole night talking to him at the bar your first night here?” Jack asks you, waiting for your answers.

“I- I don’t ask about him that much,” you say, trying to retrace your conversations with Jack and Luke. Maybe you do ask about him more than you thought. “And I spent the night at the bar being shuffled around from table to table, which you did!” you remind him, having felt like you were speed dating, but platonically.

“When I came to get you to leave you were completely alone with him in a dark corner of the bar,” Jack throws back at you.

“He came and found me. I was on the phone with my mom and he decided to come check on me. I had nothing to do with that,” you defend.

Jack still doesn’t look convinced, crossing his arms once again, tilting his head towards you. “Listen, I’m not trying to start an argument. You know how I feel about having a thing for my teammates. But, out of all the guys on the team, I guess you could’ve done worse.”

You open your mouth to respond, trying to defend yourself once again, but Jack interrupts you before you can get a word out.

“Listen, none of this is really important right now. We can talk about it when I’m not in the middle of a game, but I still don’t really like that you wore his jersey instead of mine or Luke’s,” he circles back to the original conversation. “I mean, you’ve known him for like, two weeks. Joke or not. You know what people think when you wear someone’s jersey, right?”

“It’s not like that, I swear. And it’s not like I’m the only one here wearing his jersey, Jack,” you tell him.

“I know, but I’m just telling you to be careful. Nico’s a good guy, but he’s also a professional hockey player. He’s going to have…admirers. And once they see that you’re actually close to the team and his jersey is the one you’re sporting, things could get messy,” Jack warns you.

You stood there for a few moments, trying to figure out how the conversation even led to what it is. You know Jack is just trying to watch out for you, but he’s jumping to conclusions way too soon. It’s one game, and no one even knows who you are. Plus, it’s a harmless joke. It’s not like you’re wearing his jersey for any other reason.

“Thanks, Jack, really. But I assure you, I only wore it because he suggested it. He wanted to pick fun at you and Luke, that’s it. I’m sure he’ll tell the same story if asked about it,” you reiterated, trying to reassure him.

“Wait, he asked you to wear his jersey?”Jack asks you, surprise in his eyes.

“Yeah, he asked me to wear it to poke fun at the two of you. Then told me he’d score a hat trick if I agreed to wear it, so I did. Thought it’d be fun to see,” you shrugged, not seeing the big deal.

“So, he wanted you to wear his jersey and he promised to score a hatty if you did?” You nod at Jack’s echo of your words.

Jack stares at you, looking like he wants to say something but decides against it. The look on his face has you wondering if he knows something you don’t. You decided to let it go, though, and shoo him back into the locker room.

“Alright, talk over. Go back in there and get ready, you have some Rags to beat!” you push him away from you. You hear him laugh as you walk away, thinking about the conversation the whole way back to your seat.

———————————————————————————

Shit. He actually did it. He scored a fucking hat trick. The crowd goes absolutely wild when Nico’s shot sails straight into the goal as the buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the game. You jump up from your seat, screaming as loud as you can with the crowd around you. You bang against the glass, cheering for Nico as he celebrates with his teammates.

Once he breaks away from the group hug, he skates right over to you, pointing a gloved finger in your direction. You flash him a huge smile, not even caring that you lost whatever bet – if you could even call it that – you had going on with Nico. You were too high on the atmosphere. The goal causing the Devils to win in the last second, ego a little inflated at the thought that you could’ve contributed to it.

After the players left the ice and the crowd started to disperse a bit, you slowly made your way back down to the locker room, having been told to wait there after the game by Jack. You took in the sight of the happy fans milling about the arena, soaking in the energy for a little bit longer. You didn’t realize just how much you were soaking it in until you realized the time, figuring the guys would be changed and ready to go any minute.

 As you were walking down the hallway to where other friends and family of the team gathered, you felt a harsh contact with your shoulder. It flung your body back, nearly making you lose your balance until you caught yourself at the last second.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you,” you said, knowing it wasn’t your fault, but apologizing anyways.

“Obviously,” you heard a deep voice say, a man in a blue Rangers jersey standing across from you, rolling his eyes.

“Well, no need to be rude about it. You bumped in to me, y’know,” you grumbled out, a little pissed as the man’s response after you apologized first.

“Watch it, bitch. Just cause your shitshow of a team won tonight doesn’t mean you’re truly better than us. Just wait till next game. We’ll smoke your asses,” he spits out at you, letting you smell the alcohol on his hot breath.

“What the hell does the game have to do with you bumping in to me? The two are completely unrelated,” you question, stepping back and scrunching your nose at the foul smell.

“Keep talking, bitch, and I’ll show you just how bad we can beat the Devils asses,” the man steps forward, stumbling a bit before correcting himself.

“Alright, chill out. It’s just a game, buddy,” you back up against the wall next to you, trying to put some distance between you and him.

“God, why do you puck bunnies never shut the fuck up? I literally told you to stop talking, what part of that don’t you understand?” he backs you up even further, not leaving much room for you to make an escape.

“Technically you told me to keep talking,” you say before you can think better of it.

The man basically growls at you raising his hand back. To do what, you never find out, because a voice brings him back to reality, making him seem to remember he’s in public.

“I suggest you drop your hand and step away.”

The man’s head whips around, looking behind him. Once he steps back from you slightly, you make your escape, removing yourself from the wall.

You see Nico standing a few feet away from you, a grey suit on his body, his hair covered by a cream color beanie.

“Oh, how convenient. Captain to the rescue,” the guy slurs, turning his body to fully face Nico.

“Do I need to call security or are you going to be smart and get the fuck out of my arena?” Nico spits, surprising you with his harshness.

“Whatever. I’m going. Don’t be so dramatic. The puck bunny started it, anyways,” the man waves you off, stumbling away without a glance back.

Nico watches him walk away, stepping towards you the second the man is out of view.

“Are you okay? Did he do anything to you? Do I need to go get security?” He fires off questions, concern present in his brown eyes.

“No, I’m fine. He bumped into me then started spewing some bullshit about the game. I asked him how the two were related and he just kept talking about how he was gonna show me how ‘we can really beat the Devils asses’,” you put up air quotes.

“Are you sure?” his eyes continue to look you up and down, darting across your face to check for any sign showing you weren’t okay.

“Really, it’s fine. He didn’t do anything. Thank you, though. For scaring him away,” you assure him, causing him to relax.

“Of course. Seems to be a pattern, after all. Me running to your rescue,” he references your previous encounters. Letting you into your apartment, getting the bartender’s attention so you could order a drink that same night, his help when you were making dinner just a few nights ago. He really did always show up when you needed help.

You look up at him with a smile. “My very own knight in shining armor.”

He bows dramatically. “M’lady.”

You laugh at the action, causing Nico to join in.

“So I guess I owe you a congratulations, huh?” you ask after your laughter dies down.

Nico beams at you, pulling a stack of three pucks out of the bag slung over his shoulder, the tape they’re held together by reading ‘hat trick”. He holds them out towards you, signaling you to grab them.

“Here, they’re yours. You’re the reason I got them, after all,” he tells you, placing the pucks into your hand.

“I don’t think I had anything to do with it,” you look at your hand before looking back up at Nico.

“Sure you did. I told you if you wore the jersey I’d score one. And you did. And then I scored three goals. I told you, you’re my goodluck charm,” he smiles at you, shrugging like a hat trick was no big deal.

You roll your eyes at him, trying to fight a smile. “Sure, whatever you say, Cap.”

He chuckles at your sarcasm, shaking his head at you.

“Guess I need to pocket that ridiculous favor I had in mind, then,” you tell him, toying with the pucks, thinking about how he gave you four different ones tonight.

“I’m sure you can save it for future use. Think you’ll be able to cash it in sooner than you think,” he tells you, a confused look on your face.

“You won, though. I wore the jersey, you scored three goals. That was the whole thing,” you remind him, not knowing where he was going with his statement.

“You never asked me what I got if I did score a hatty.”

You were taken aback by his words, not realizing that was part of the deal. “Okay…well, what do you get, then?”

“You have to do me a favor,” he tells you, grin on his face.

You furrow your brows, confused. “I thought the whole point of my end of the deal was because I already did you a favor?”

“You did. But now I get to ask you for another one,” he rocks back on his heels, way too giddy about the situation.

You look at him, a little scared at what he has planned. He just continues to look at you, his shit-eating grin still extremely present.

“Okay…what is it?” you ask him, getting impatient.

“Oh, I’m not telling you yet. I’ll cash it in when I’m ready,” He replies, amused at the unamused look on your face.

“Seriously? You’re not going to tell me what cruel fate you’re subjecting me to?”

You hear the voices of Jack and Luke echoing through the hallway on the other end of the room. You turn your head away from Nico, watching the two brothers make their way towards you, lost in their own conversation.

“All in due time, dear Bouy,” Nico says, taking a step back from you.

Your distaste for the nickname shows on your face, causing Nico’s eyes to twinkle, loving how mad you get over the silly name he still hasn’t learned the origin of.

“Whatever. Keep it to yourself, then. I don’t care,” you lie.

“Have a good night. See you soon,” Nico says with a wink, turning to walk in the direction of Jack and Luke, giving them a wave as he passes them. Both of them look up and notice you standing where he just came from, turning to look at each other with raised eyebrows.

You look down at the pucks in your hand once more, looking at the emblem on top noting what game and date they were from. When you look at the bottom of the last puck, you catch a streak of silver reflecting off of the fluorescent lights in the hallway. Turning it completely upside down, you make out the 9 digits of a phone number scribbled along the bottom, matching the handwriting of the words and signature on the first puck Nico gave you that night.

“Hey, ready to go? We’re starving. Luke wants waffles so we’re going to meet a few of the guys at a diner not far from the apartment, you want go?” Jack asks as the two approach you.

You don’t respond, too stuck on the fact that Nico gave you his phone number on the bottom of his hat trick pucks. You’re impressed at how smooth it was, but also freaking out and trying not to jump to conclusions. It’s just a phone number. It could mean nothing. Maybe he just wanted you to have it because you’re neighbors? Or because you’re so close with Jack and Luke. Maybe he wanted you to have it for emergencies.

“Hello, earth to Y/N. You good?” Luke snaps you out of your trance. You bring the pucks down to press the bottom against your leg, hiding the phone number from your roommates.

“What? Yeah. I’m fine. Great. Perfect.”

“Okay…” Jack trails off, giving you a suspicious look. “So, yes or no to the waffles?”

“Oh my god, yes. The answer to waffles is always yes,” you say excitedly.

“Okay then, let’s go. Some of the guys are already there. I’ll drive,” Jack laughs at you, walking towards the exit leading to where the players park.

“Shotgun!” Luke yells out, turning back to see your reaction to the competition that was so fierce when you were kids.

Your mind is once again on the pucks in your hands, and the player that gave them to you. You look at the numbers again, deciding the boys were far enough ahead for you to safely sneak a peek, wanting to make sure they were actually there and you weren’t seeing things. Your earlier conversation with Jack making its way back to the front of your mind, wondering if maybe Jack’s concern is relevant.

Luke just smiles and shakes his head, remembering watching his captain frantically ask around for a sharpie in the locker room, writing something on the exact set of pucks you now have in your hands before bolting from the room like a man on a mission.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Too big to care

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in BOSTON with Randall "XKCD" Munroe (Apr 11), then PROVIDENCE (Apr 12), and beyond!

Remember the first time you used Google search? It was like magic. After years of progressively worsening search quality from Altavista and Yahoo, Google was literally stunning, a gateway to the very best things on the internet.

Today, Google has a 90% search market-share. They got it the hard way: they cheated. Google spends tens of billions of dollars on payola in order to ensure that they are the default search engine behind every search box you encounter on every device, every service and every website:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

Not coincidentally, Google's search is getting progressively, monotonically worse. It is a cesspool of botshit, spam, scams, and nonsense. Important resources that I never bothered to bookmark because I could find them with a quick Google search no longer show up in the first ten screens of results:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Even after all that payola, Google is still absurdly profitable. They have so much money, they were able to do a $80 billion stock buyback. Just a few months later, Google fired 12,000 skilled technical workers. Essentially, Google is saying that they don't need to spend money on quality, because we're all locked into using Google search. It's cheaper to buy the default search box everywhere in the world than it is to make a product that is so good that even if we tried another search engine, we'd still prefer Google.

This is enshittification. Google is shifting value away from end users (searchers) and business customers (advertisers, publishers and merchants) to itself:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/05/the-map-is-not-the-territory/#apor-locksmith

And here's the thing: there are search engines out there that are so good that if you just try them, you'll get that same feeling you got the first time you tried Google.

When I was in Tucson last month on my book-tour for my new novel The Bezzle, I crashed with my pals Patrick and Teresa Nielsen Hayden. I've know them since I was a teenager (Patrick is my editor).

We were sitting in his living room on our laptops – just like old times! – and Patrick asked me if I'd tried Kagi, a new search-engine.

Teresa chimed in, extolling the advanced search features, the "lenses" that surfaced specific kinds of resources on the web.

I hadn't even heard of Kagi, but the Nielsen Haydens are among the most effective researchers I know – both in their professional editorial lives and in their many obsessive hobbies. If it was good enough for them…

I tried it. It was magic.

No, seriously. All those things Google couldn't find anymore? Top of the search pile. Queries that generated pages of spam in Google results? Fucking pristine on Kagi – the right answers, over and over again.

That was before I started playing with Kagi's lenses and other bells and whistles, which elevated the search experience from "magic" to sorcerous.

The catch is that Kagi costs money – after 100 queries, they want you to cough up $10/month ($14 for a couple or $20 for a family with up to six accounts, and some kid-specific features):

https://kagi.com/settings?p=billing_plan&plan=family

I immediately bought a family plan. I've been using it for a month. I've basically stopped using Google search altogether.

Kagi just let me get a lot more done, and I assumed that they were some kind of wildly capitalized startup that was running their own crawl and and their own data-centers. But this morning, I read Jason Koebler's 404 Media report on his own experiences using it:

https://www.404media.co/friendship-ended-with-google-now-kagi-is-my-best-friend/

Koebler's piece contained a key detail that I'd somehow missed:

When you search on Kagi, the service makes a series of “anonymized API calls to traditional search indexes like Google, Yandex, Mojeek, and Brave,” as well as a handful of other specialized search engines, Wikimedia Commons, Flickr, etc. Kagi then combines this with its own web index and news index (for news searches) to build the results pages that you see. So, essentially, you are getting some mix of Google search results combined with results from other indexes.

In other words: Kagi is a heavily customized, anonymized front-end to Google.

The implications of this are stunning. It means that Google's enshittified search-results are a choice. Those ad-strewn, sub-Altavista, spam-drowned search pages are a feature, not a bug. Google prefers those results to Kagi, because Google makes more money out of shit than they would out of delivering a good product:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/4/2/24117976/best-printer-2024-home-use-office-use-labels-school-homework

No wonder Google spends a whole-ass Twitter every year to make sure you never try a rival search engine. Bottom line: they ran the numbers and figured out their most profitable course of action is to enshittify their flagship product and bribe their "competitors" like Apple and Samsung so that you never try another search engine and have another one of those magic moments that sent all those Jeeves-askin' Yahooers to Google a quarter-century ago.

One of my favorite TV comedy bits is Lily Tomlin as Ernestine the AT&T operator; Tomlin would do these pitches for the Bell System and end every ad with "We don't care. We don't have to. We're the phone company":

https://snltranscripts.jt.org/76/76aphonecompany.phtml

Speaking of TV comedy: this week saw FTC chair Lina Khan appear on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. It was amazing:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaDTiWaYfcM

The coverage of Khan's appearance has focused on Stewart's revelation that when he was doing a show on Apple TV, the company prohibited him from interviewing her (presumably because of her hostility to tech monopolies):

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/apple-got-caught-censoring-its-own

But for me, the big moment came when Khan described tech monopolists as "too big to care."

What a phrase!

Since the subprime crisis, we're all familiar with businesses being "too big to fail" and "too big to jail." But "too big to care?" Oof, that got me right in the feels.

Because that's what it feels like to use enshittified Google. That's what it feels like to discover that Kagi – the good search engine – is mostly Google with the weights adjusted to serve users, not shareholders.

Google used to care. They cared because they were worried about competitors and regulators. They cared because their workers made them care:

https://www.vox.com/future-perfect/2019/4/4/18295933/google-cancels-ai-ethics-board

Google doesn't care anymore. They don't have to. They're the search company.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

[mockerycrow]

could we get “here, you can sleep in my shirt” with neighbor!ghost after the reader gets locked out of her apartment in a thunderstorm maybe? i’m horrible w coming up w ideas but have been EATING UP your works lately!

Downpour (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist - crow’s mega masterlist

“Here, you can sleep in my shirt.”

A/N: LOOOOKKKKKK i usually keep prompts for events and this one got sent in after i ended the celebration, but i had to do it!!! i also apologize this took so long. i also made this gn, i know you used she/her pronouns but i finished this when i realized 🫠 i’m sorry!

[WARNINGS: none, tension perhaps!]

THE ENTIRE DAY, it had been raining nonstop. The humidity was raising by the hour, making everything sticky and somehow even more wet than it was before. You’d try to wipe your hands dry from the rain, but it’s like you were just spreading the water droplets around, the air so humid as it never gave the water a chance to dry up on its own. It didn’t help that your entire day went to shit, too. Your car ended up breaking down and you missed the bus by just a few minutes, making you late for work. You ended up missing the bud on the way back as well, forcing you to walk to work in the rain, and walk back home in the rain.

Lucky you, your boss wasn’t as mad as you expected them to be.

You shudder as your soaking wet clothes stick to your skin, making your way up a few flights of stairs to your apartment floor. You had goosebumps lining your arms under your soaked shirt, your shoulders uncontrollably shaking as you walked down the hall, tracking wet droplets onto the carpet that probably hasn’t been cleaned in a few years, but has one of those designs that hide the dirt and grime. You hiss quietly in an attempt to distract yourself, your hands patting your pockets for your keys. You grab them and pull them out and you insert the key into the key hole and you turn—but the damn metal breaks, your key successfully snapping in half. Your jaw genuinely drops as you stand there for a moment, a tense, “Are you fucking kidding me?” spilling from your lips.

It’s too late to call the building manager to come along and help you, and it’s definitely too late to call a locksmith of some sort. You know none of your friends or family are awake by this point, either. You curse quietly as you bend at your knees and pitifully attempt to wiggle the broken part of the key out of the deadbolt, you even try to turn the key by lining up the base of the key to the shaft—but of course, it doesn’t work. You’re so focused on your door that you don’t notice your neighbor across the hall has opened his door, watching you in silence for a moment. “Today of all days.” You angrily mutter, pathetically kicking the bottom of your apartment door, as if it’ll magically swing open for your convenience. You hear someone clear their throat and you jolt because it’s late, and you didn’t expect anyone to be around.

You turn around and blink when you meet eyes with your neighbor—Simon. He’s standing in the doorway, one hand grasping his door, the other leaning on the doorframe on the side. He’s a big man—tall and muscular, shoulders broad and wide, torso following and tapering off near his waist. His arms were big too, and no doubt his legs are the same. He has a strong jaw with little stubble, his hair a shabby blonde, paired with some dark brown eyes that certainly tell a story. He had a bunch of noticeable scars, but you weren’t one to ask about that sort of thing. You know he has a tattoo sleeve, but you’ve never been close enough to know the details of said tattoo sleeve. The thing that surprised you the most, though, is that he’s home in the first place. You knew that he worked in the military, although he was pretty private about everything concerning himself so you didn’t know details. During your small interactions, you’ve managed to become friends.

“Hi.” You say sheepishly, coddling your keys in your hand. Simon’s eyes roam your body from head to toe before his lips curl into the most subtle smile. “Got caught in the rain, hm?” He rasps out, tilting his head ever so slightly to the right. You nod and almost with comedic timing, you begin to shiver again. “Seems you’ve broken your key, too.” Simon adds unhelpfully, moving his hand from the doorframe. You huff and rub your upper arms in an attempt to somehow keep warm whilst dripping water all over the hallway carpet. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.” You reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm. Simon huffs, the sound nearing a chuckle as he speaks up. “It’s lieutenant, actually.”

Your eyebrows raise for a moment because Simon actually shared something slightly personal with you—his rank in whatever branch of the military he’s in. “Well.. Lieutenant Obvious,” You begin, your voice coming out as a gentle tremble as the cold hallway isn’t doing you any favors. “It’s nice to see you home safe.” Simon clicks his tongue against the inner of his cheek, his eyes boring into your figure without responding. He seems hesitant, his posture stiff as he scans your face and your body language. Simon makes eye contact with you once again, the air thick with tension until he makes his decision; he slowly opens the door wider and steps out of the way, wordlessly gesturing you to come inside.

You try to hide your total and utter surprise, but it doesn’t last long as you quickly tread into his apartment, seeking warmth. You couldn’t say that you didn’t try to imagine what the inside of his apartment looked like—he always came over to yours. His apartment is fairly blank, but in its own way; it’s homey. Comfortable. It’s one hundred percent Simon. There isn’t really any photos of himself nor his family. There’s a couple of paintings that he’s bought over the years, definitely symbolizing different things you don’t know about him. There’s a couple pairs of shoes on a rack near the front door—some running shoes, a pair of working boots, and a pair of shoes that obviously haven’t been worn in years, judging by the layer of dust covering the toes of the shoes. Otherwise, from what you can judge from standing near his living room, you can tell he keeps everything neat and clean.

You hear the front door shut and lock behind you, and you hear his heavy footsteps begin to approach. “You should get warm. I’ll grab ya a towel. Take a shower, yeah?” His voice is low and nearly rumbling in your own chest as Simon approaches you, and you turn to look at him. He presses his lips into a thin line as he makes eye contact with you again, his eyelids naturally lidded. “I’ll throw your wet clothes in the wash for you in the mornin’.”

You nod and don’t bother to question anything at that time, your skin covered in harsh goosebumps, your clothes no where near the point of drying. “Where’s your bathroom?” Your voice is a bit meek as you speak, the coldness of the water is beginning to get to you. Simon walks over to a clothes basket near the couch, speaking as he does so. “Down the hall, middle door on the left. Door should be open.” You don’t waste any time and you quickly get yourself to his bathroom. You close the door behind you and your hand finds the light switch, flipping it on. His bathroom is a decent size—which is surprising for the size of the apartment. You don’t feel incredibly cramped, which makes sense for Simon.

You peel the soaked clothing off of you and they land on the floor with a gross slopping sound, causing you to wince. You decide to wring the remaining water out of your clothes into the bathtub before putting them in a pile on the bathroom floor, as Simon doesn’t have a clothes hamper in there. You put your phone on the sink counter, and luckily you managed to keep it dry. Being stripped from your sopping clothes, your skin is cold to the touch, but you begin to feel yourself naturally warm up. You draw back his shower curtains and manage to figure out how to operate his shower—you always found other peoples bathtubs and showers to be puzzles to use. You turn the knob a couple of times and feel the water that’s splattering down from the shower head into the tub, and you step into the tub after you deem the temperature the right one.

You close the shower curtain and you huddle yourself under the water that’s beating down onto you—it nearly burns as it’s running against your cold skin, but you grind your teeth and bare it because in reality, it isn’t that hot. You’re just incredibly chilly. You make sure to put your head under the stream of water too, and you’re enjoying the warmth so much you jolt when you hear Simon’s knocking at the bathroom door. Before you can answer, you hear the door open—but just a smidge. “I ‘ave a towel for you here,” Simon announces, raising his volume a bit so you can hear him over the water. “I’ll hang it on the towel rack.”

You shout a quick thank you over the water, hear him shuffle for a moment and then the bathroom door closing with a swift click. You appreciate his offer of comfort, while also respecting your privacy in such a vulnerable space. You make sure to take your time in the shower; allowing yourself to bask in the warmth coming from his pipes, the water running over your shoulders and down your torso, replacing any sense of coldness you’d earned by getting stuck in that rain. Eventually though, you decide it’s time to get out. You sigh and turn off the water, and you open the shower curtain and lean over to grab the towel. You shake the water off of your feet before stepping onto the bath mat in front of the tub and you get to work drying yourself.

Simon eventually knocks on the door again and opens it, but just enough for him to shove his hand through the crevice. In his grip is a shirt and some sweatpants with drawstrings. “Here you can sleep in my shirt. Your stuff is in the dryer.” His voice is low and muffled, and you smile a bit to yourself as you quickly snatch up the clothes. “Thank you, Simon.” You say with a soft tone, examining the clothes in curiosity. “Of’course,” Simon begins. “I got you set up on the couch, too. You’re welcome to my refrigerator as well.” Your eyebrows raise in surprise because this is such a drastic difference than a few months ago—probably a year ago by now. “Thank you..” You can’t help but repeat yourself, gratitude lacing your voice. He responds with a simple grunt before closing the bathroom door again.

You dry yourself off completely and you slip the shirt on, as well as the sweatpants. You tighten and tie the drawstrings if you need to, and despite these clothes being clean, they smell like Simon one hundred percent. You don’t complain, though; he smells kind of like freshly raked soil mixed with bourbon, as well as something you don’t quite recognize, but you guess is gunpowder. It’s comforting. It’s a main reason why you know Simon is home half the time; if the hallway smells like him, just a bit.

You find your heart skipping a beat and you can’t get the dopey smile off of your face as you hang the damp towel up on the towel rack, unable to stop thinking about Simon’s sudden kindness. You feel kind of special, from him letting you into his apartment all of a sudden. You take a deep breath in the bathroom mirror before opening the bathroom door, preparing yourself mentally on your neighbors couch; the neighbor you admittedly don’t know too well and probably shouldn’t trust so easily, but you do anyway. And it seems like he’s beginning to trust you, too.

[blueparadis]

╰┈➤ LOCKSMITH ✦ RIN ITOSHI. 

⟣ ──┈ · · · + synopsis ➢ At an after-party of a match when Rin comes to know that you are looking for a suitable candidate to pop your cherry, he decides to help solely because he needs to blow off some steam too.

+

⟣ ──┈ · · · + cw ➣ soccer player!pleasure-dom!rin itoshi x ceo!sub!female!reader, little angst, flirting, obsessive and toxic tendencies, éxplicit smut { s/d dynamics, s/m dynamics, foreplay, nipple stimulation, m→f oral acts. overstimulation, orgasm control, orgasm denial ( 3 times sorta pain play), f!ngering, cunnilingus.} aftercare; 2,1k word count. | blog navigation + koct’23 masterlist. |

“Need help?” Rin asks as your hands keep fidgeting with the buckle of his belt. His knees were wide apart from each other as much as possible to provide you the space you require to sit in between his legs in the W-position on the carpet floor. The air conditioner is on but still, it is getting blamed for not doing its job properly.

“Oh.Right.” he drawled. “I haven't asked you,” His arm extended to chin-up your face. “Your name,”  He did not even have to lean forward to touch you. “What’s your name?” Your hands were still resting on his inner thigh, eyelids blinking slowly yet with pressure, forming creases in your forehead. Rin was right. You should not have had so many drinks, especially when you are about to get laid. “C’mon, you know mine already,” he added running his thumb over your tightly sealed lips.

“Cherry,” you muttered and at the very next moment, a teeth-flashing grin spread from ear to ear across his face. Rin leaned forward, dipping his face halfway. A throaty chuckle escaped from his mouth before it asked the same question again. “Alright. Cherry, what's your real name?” There are still some inches between his lips and yours but the night lighting of the room makes him seem closer; jocking down a bit further he whispered.“What’s the name I should moan when I'm inside you?”

You licked your dry lips feeling the proximity of his face unbearable. “I have. many,” you started off with a tiny smile as his hands slowly moved underneath your cheeks tickling you, rubbing your cheeks, playing with your hair strands. “Umm...but you can call me— pretty, angel, princess. . .” You uncurled your finger from a fist, one by one as you kept going on. Unlike your ex-boyfriend and vapid hook-ups, he is actually attentive or at least has the decency to be or maybe he is just another hot guy taking pity on you. He pauses you by grabbing your palm in his, lowering it to meet your gaze but you do not look up at him. Instead, a short-lived gasp leaves your mouth, eyebrows jump, and eyes widen at how his hands wrapped around yours perfectly. 

Your lips remain parted from each other, eyes still lingering on his hands, fingers that are gradually filling the gaps in between yours Rin regrets his decision. He regrets not dragging you out of the bar sooner. Shit! You are so wasted. How long have you been drinking while sitting at the lonely corner of the bar? Maybe long before he showed up. If he did not get bored with his own match after-party you would have been too wasted to go home or come to your room in this multiplex. 

Whatever little time he spent with you at the bar, you had complained to him how your ex-boyfriend treated you and dumped you a week ago. A perfect candidate to hit. According to him, one night stands should always be like an open and a shut case, even better when no past details regarding either of the party are shared, or pitied upon. But when you mentioned ex-boyfriend and a certain familiar name, Isagi Yoichi in the same sentence with tears in your eyes and trembling lips Rin was too tempted to give up the little birdie he caught in his cage of charms. 

He should have walked away and let you down humbly instead of dragging you to the room. Still, he is glad that you already have a room booked here, otherwise, he would have to take you elsewhere. He never takes a girl to his reserved room, either he hits a pub or a bar if he has to blow off some steam. Truth be told, he is not a good guy, not good enough not to take advantage of drunk girls.He has never done it before, but he has thought of doing it. And in his defense, it was you who kept — damn it! Why is he thinking like a horny teenager?

Rin tucks a few of your hair strands behind your cold earlobes. He notices a heart-shaped pendant with a keyhole in between your collarbones. Damn! Isagi did quite a number on you. The key locket that he saw hanging from Isagi's pocket a few weeks ago must be yours.

“Y/N.” You blurt out peering at him. Your lyre of a voice borrowed in his mind making him arch his head, lips following the lead suggesting he registered your answer. But you were not done yet. “Y/N. . .” 

“Y/N Mikage.”

Another brick in the wall. He is utterly fucked. Not only you are the ex-girlfriend of his rival player but also sister to Reo; Reo Mikage. He had a feeling he saw that pretty face of yours somewhere. He remembers it now, clear as a day. You are the CEO of Mikage Corporation given Reo has zero interest in becoming one. He even remembers being an ambassador for the sportswear and accessories your company has for four months. Damn! The world really is such a small place, isn't it? 

Lost in his reverie of thoughts, Rin disentangled his hand from yours weighing his probable decisions. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I knew you’d back out.” you blurt out. “Most people do.” 

That's not it. You are wrong.

Rin wants this, he is sure of it; maybe more than you but the stimulus fueling such intentions is not of a saint. Rin stands up grabbing you by the arm, pulling you up. It is abrupt, and not in his control. He is not sure who is more drunk at this point. You do not struggle to stand up but the dizziness accelerates. He enquired, “Most people do, huh?” He knows Isagi did not. “Why do you think so… why did you think I'd back out?” 

His hands were at work. One hand at your back while the other unbuttons your shirt. He is keeping you distracted, and busy. He is not entirely invested in what you think, what you say, and what your reasons are right now. He only knows that he has the right piece of a puzzle to complete and relish the victory for as long as he lives. In the playground, Isagi might be a threat to his existence but right now, he is one. “Wish I knew.” you murmur under your breath as he unzips your pencil skirt and drops them on the floor. 

Pushing you onto the soft mattress on the bed he basks in the view in front of him: You sprawled out on the bed, shirt unbuttoned from the bottom to top except the collar button just to keep the ribbon intact. He did not remove your lacy tights. Rin is not the type of guy who would small-talk before doing the deed but right now as he stares at your face in this pale night light he wishes he had something to say. 

“I'm on pills. But if you don't trust me.” You pointed at the drawer. “Feel free to use.” God! Isagi is such a sleaze for making you take pills, especially when you are a virgin. 

“I don't need one.” Rin huskily exclaims as he sits by the edge of the bed, placing a pillow underneath your head. 

“Woah. You trust me now?” You mockingly mutter watching him run a finger through the turtle neck collar. You look at the A.C. it's at 20°C. 

Rin dips his index finger through the elastic of your panty, running his finger from one end to the other of your waist. “What are you doing?” your voice slurred, skin covered with goosebumps.

“Time to see how much you trust me.” Rin remarks with a small smirk before dipping his head in between your legs peppering kisses, sucking in between, and placing open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs. You squirm and buck your hips wanting to feel more whatever he is making you feel. He holds your hips, firmly this time, to make you stay still as he wets your entrance by lapping his tongue over the cloth. The stockings are still on, and so are your shirt and lacy bra.

He is no foreigner to a virgin body but seeing your panty getting wet, dripping with juices increases his urge to explore you more. He knows you are close. But he does not want you to cum, not like this. He wants to see your face when he makes you cum, so that he can tell Isagi how beautiful and hot you looked while screaming his name as he gives you the best orgasm.

Getting up he sits by your waist before sliding his hand into your panty, cupping your vagina. It is wet, leaking with juices. He wished he could have put his cock into your juicy warm hole but he restrained himself; one at a time. Two fingers went inside you at ease. As he starts to finger you slowly, intensely your hands arch above your head to grip the sheets. He quickened his pace and the wet noises became louder. You try to look at him but with the mix of alcohol and second approaching high, you could barely make eye contact for five seconds. 

All you do is clench the sheets. He jocks down, pausing his ministrations to suckle onto your nipples, bite it and that too over the cloth; running his tongue over your cleavage tasting the salt of your skin. Your white bra is soaked with his saliva around your nipples. You wish he could have done it without any clothing on but the least he does is to pull out your boobs out of the bra. Your nipples are pebbled and with the cool of the A.C goosebumps can be seen. You start to buck up your hips because of the prolonged pain in between your legs that keeps increasing with his slow, strong, and sensual strokes.

“No. Don't.” Rin almost snarls as your hips move. You try to but your body still resists. He takes his fingers out of your vagina holding your cheeks, his thumb barely touching your lips. “do you trust me?” you nod instantly conveying to him that you do. He smiles inwardly at your petty obedience while you can smell yourself on his hand. It is nasty you think but when he pushes his middle and ring finger into your mouth, you lick them clean. Rin smiles at your desperation. It makes him hard. It makes him wanna fuck you till you pass out. 

“more than your ex?”He adds. You do not nod. You do not look away. You might be a virgin but you have known the most sincere eyes of a man in your lifetime and trampled upon them just because of one stupid love. “Right now. I trust you. I don't know about tomorrow” You pant and huff as he pinches your clit, and plays with it. You are half naked, and so is this guy, Rin yet you feel so seen. God! How badly he wants to kiss you and taste you properly! How did Isagi let go of an angel like you?

You struggle to keep up the eye contact as his fingers pick up the pace again. You arch and squirm as he continues but he is not fond of the look on your face now. You are still struggling, still halfway about this idea of one-night stand. Rin puts his palm over your eyes as he moves his finger up and down, rough and vigorously making you moan and arch like a bow as you reach high. 

Rin pulls out his hands out of your panty. He still has his hand over your eyes as you calm down from the high, You ask him “Will I see you when I wake up?” removing his hand. 

“Yes. Of course.” He lies. He says you will because, by the time he is long gone, you will not remember much of him in that heavily intoxicated state. He lies because, by the time his lie reaches your brain, you will be too exhausted to remain awake. 

As you toss and turn around the bed, he goes to the bathroom. By the time he is out, you are already asleep. He leaves your room by locking it from inside. As he leaves the elevator he spots your P.A. He walks past him and then takes a U-turn to inform him to look after you in the morning. What a mess he is in! Stupid hormones.

He leaves for his hotel texting Isagi, “Thank you for leaving yn...” his finger pauses before it hits send. He diverted his thought into another twisted curve. What if? What if he can have you more than this? What if he can make Isagi see what kind of gem he lost? You are a gem. He is not wrong about that. The stakes are high — reputation, lust, rage, and repentance but it is worth a try if it is you, yn mikage.

@tteokdoroki @orchid3a @seirinz @semisgroupie @saenora

[vanderilnde]

Thinking about neighbour/butcher!Simon who gets a call from you during the working day. He’s a bit dazed because he’d just been thinking about you as he saws through bone but now you were calling.

Because you’d left a very important folder in your apartment and you were wondering maaaaybe if he could bring it down to your office? Only if it was no bother?

He was more than happy to, and he turned up outside the boardroom really quickly. Mask pulled up and folder in hand as you rushed to the other side of the glass to retrieve it.

Your coworkers were a little startled at the hulking great man covered in (what they sincerely hoped wasn’t) blood and the way your eyes lit up and you smiled up at him like he didn’t look and move like a 70s slasher villain.

You were simply grateful that he’d taken the time to help you, you’d cleanly forgotten that you hadn’t even told him where you kept the spare key nor that the folder would be in your bedroom.

the last sentence….. my ears perked up my tail perked up my jowls are excessively salivating

he probably tells his boss that the missus (who isn’t his missus yet) needs something back home to excuse himself. he feels like a pampered mutt because it’s unwritten confirmation that she needs him - why hadn’t she asked any other man? exactly. and you best believe his corrections are fickle when Trouble’s coworkers ask all wide-eyed and preening if he’s her boyfriend. he just outright nods because, even if she doesn’t know it yet, he is. and back at her flat, of course, he capitalized off whatever he learned during his stint as a locksmith to jiggle her door open (there were teethmarks of a previous forced entry scuffed around the lock and Simon shook his head - she really should be more careful. anyone could get in). he takes his sweet time looking for the folder. looks for her panties first, sniffs the lip of an orange juice carton to see if he can smell her lips. maybe swipes her shampoo bottle so he can hold it to his nose like an opiate later on while he’s jerking off.

[casuallyimagining]

Two Hours || myg

otter hybrid yoongi x female reader

Summary: Your neighbor invites you to a work picnic that he's nervous to attend. You promise to only stay for two hours. Word Count: 2,870 Genre: slice of life, fake dating, friends to ???, fluff Warnings: none

Notes: Thank you to @park-jimin-isnt-real for the moodboard above, and to @rec-me-bts for the moodboard below that I used in the teaser. I had so much trouble deciding which one to use where. Also many many thanks to @oddinary4bts and @madbutgloriouspond for beta-ing this for me and for their endless sympathies while I basically had an existential crisis in their dms. Thank you for not telling me I am annoying 💙

The elevator dings and you step onto your floor. Your arm stings from carrying the grocery bags from the garage–they aren’t particularly full, but it’s just heavy enough and just long enough to get your out of shape muscles angry at you. The closer you get to your apartment, the more you notice a banging noise. And when you finally round the corner, you see its source.

Your across-the-hall neighbor, Yoongi, stands outside of his own apartment rattling his door angrily.

“Stuck again?” you ask, fishing out your keys with your free hand.

Yoongi grunts, the small ears on the top of his head pressing into his hair in frustration. Silently, he takes the bags out of your hand while you open your door. 

“You should call the landlord again,” you tell him. He follows you inside as if it’s natural. Which, really, it is. This is the fourth time this month his door has jammed, effectively locking him out of his home until a locksmith showed up.

“I’d fix it myself if he’d let me.” He sets the bags on your counter and starts to hand you items. Strawberries, a bottle of coffee creamer, cucumbers and celery. He picks up a box of frozen fish sticks and flips it around to read. “You know this stuff is garbage, right?”

You ignore his commentary on your groceries. “You know Krolmeir’s never going to let you fix it. He’d have to lower your rent.”

He hums, and you can hear the underlying ‘jackass’ in the tone. 

“Do you want me to call him?” you asked. Krolmeir–your landlord–likes you way more than he seems to like Yoongi. You’re almost positive you can guess why. But you aren’t afraid to use his skeeviness to your advantage.

“I called him just before you showed up.”

“And he said…?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Yoongi imitates Krolmeir’s voice–a high-pitched nasally whine more than anything. He rolls his eyes. “So he’ll be here sometime between five minutes from now and next Tuesday.”

You hum sympathetically. “Hang out here until he comes? I’ll make dinner.”

“Are you making fish sticks?”

“Thought about it.” His face scrunches up in disgust, a massive frown parts his lips, revealing his longer than human canine teeth. You laugh and roll your eyes. “I was actually just going to order something. Want to get sushi?”

His eyes light up, but when he speaks, his tone doesn’t match how excited he looks. “Whatever you want to do. I’m the one crashing your evening.”

You wave him off. He should know by now that he’s not imposing. You’ve been neighbors for a few years now. You’d started off just going grocery shopping together–it’s easier to carry groceries when there are two of you–and quickly progressed to taking refuge in each other’s apartments when something went wrong in your own. First, it had been your air conditioning crapping out that had driven you to Yoongi’s apartment to avoid the late-summer heat. Then, his oven stopped working, and he’d hidden in your living room while the landlord and the handyman made the repairs. Back and forth until a friendship had formed.

The sushi arrives and you settle in together on your couch. You prop your door open so that you can hear if the landlord arrives. He takes two bites of his sashimi before Yoongi hums urgently, causing you to pause the show you’d turned on for background noise.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says, and you can tell he’s suddenly nervous. “So we’re having a potluck picnic thing at work, and someone decided it would be a great idea to make it mandatory.”

“Gross.”

“Yeah. But I get a plus one, so I was wondering if maybe you’d go with me? Make it a little more tolerable?”

“You want me to go to your dumb company picnic with you?”

“Well, when you say it like that…” Nervously, he pokes at a grain of rice that had fallen off one of his nigiri.

“Sounds like it’s going to be not a lot of fun.”

“Yeah.”

You shrug. “I’m in.”

Yoongi is a ball of nerves as you shift into park. You’re definitely not the first ones here–there’s like ten other cars in the gravel lot, and you can see a large-ish group of people milling about the pavilion just up the hill. He alternates between patting his thigh and picking at the skin around his thumbnail. His ears press into his hair so far you can’t even see them. You know he doesn’t care for his coworkers, but you didn’t know it was this bad. Maybe it’s the crowd, or the fact that so many of his coworkers will be here. You aren’t sure, but you don’t like how affected he is.

You reach over and gently cover his hands with your own. He freezes. “Let’s make a game plan,” you say softly. He hums. “We’ll stay for how long? Two hours? An hour and a half?”

“Two I think. Since it’s mandatory.”

You nod. “Stay for two hours. We’ll talk to people, but if it starts to be too much, let me know.” 

For a moment, he’s quiet. But then, he nods. “Let’s do this.”

You carry the dessert Yoongi made–partially because you’re a little worried he might drop it from nerves–and he sticks by your side. He’s got one hand in his pocket, but he’s so close that the other brushes against you every few steps.

The closer you get, the more the people in the pavilion notice you. You watch as one by one, then a few at a time, they watch you approach. And suddenly, you understand why Yoongi’s uncomfortable. Eventually, someone comes scuttling toward you.

“Hi Yoongi!” she calls, waving enthusiastically as she approaches.

“Oh. Hey Liz.” He presses closer. “We uh… we brought tiramisu.”

The woman–Liz–takes the container out of your hands. You make a small noise of protest, but she’s already gone, back up the hill to the pavilion and everyone else.

“Yoongi and his girlfriend brought dessert,” you hear her announce.

“Oh, tiramisu? Nice!” someone else–you can’t see who–says.

“No way. I thought he was going to bring something fishy.” Someone else, you can see them and you make a note that you hate them, laughs. A few others chuckle, too, and you also hate them.

They’re still laughing when you get to the pavilion. You’re introduced to each of them by finding out what they brought, and honestly, you don’t remember most of their names. It’s David that made the comment about the fish, so you’re sure to memorize his name so you can hate him fully. David’s dating Yoongi’s manager, Marcus, who apparently brought chicken that is very good. There’s Alison, who brought naan, and Rabia who brought chutney to go with it. And Donghyun brought some sort of seven layer dip.

For the most part, none of them talk to you. It quickly becomes clear that these people aren’t friends. Certainly, they aren’t friends with Yoongi, but they aren’t friends at all. They talk to each other, but it’s clear that this is just another mandatory work thing for them, and they don’t want to be here. You’re honestly a little glad that they leave you alone. None of them seem particularly nice. Or interesting.

So you grab food. And you sit together at a table far away from where the rest of the group is lingering.

“One hour, 45 minutes to go,” Yoongi mumbles, and you snort in laughter, almost choking on the naan you’d just taken a bite of.

“Maybe it won’t be so-”

“Mind if I sit?” You’re interrupted by a bright voice, and when you look, Liz is standing beside Yoongi, holding a plate of food.

You look to Yoongi and he makes a face that says he really doesn’t want her to sit with you. But he says nothing, simply gestures to the other side of the table. Which, of course, she takes as an invitation to sit right beside him. He practically squeaks in distress and scoots slightly over so that there’s a bit of space between them.

“I have to be honest,” Liz begins, oblivious. “No one really expected you to bring anyone. We kind of all just assumed you were single, you know?” He hums, but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge what she’s saying. Briefly, you consider correcting her–you aren’t dating–but she continues before you can even consider a polite way to address the situation. “How long have you known each other? How’d you meet?”

“Years.” He doesn’t even look at her to answer her, his focus on pushing his food around on his plate. His current victim is the seven layer dip he’s stabbing with a tortilla chip.

“We’re neighbors,” you add, hoping that maybe if you answer her questions, she’ll shut up and leave you alone.

Liz nods enthusiastically. “That’s so cute! You guys are cute.”

“I’m going to grab a drink,” Yoongi announces suddenly, standing up. “Do you want anything?”

“Surprise me.”

He nods and leaves you alone with Liz. “I’m serious,” she laughs. “When we were all told we could bring a plus-one, I don’t think anyone expected Yoongi to bring someone. He’s usually so quiet around everyone at work.”

You’ve lost patience with her quickly. You aren’t quite sure what it is, but every time she opens her mouth to speak, it grates on your nerves. “Sometimes, he only talks when he thinks it’s worth his time.” You shrug and make eye contact with her. 

Her smile falters very briefly, but then she recovers and it’s like nothing changed. “He talks to me, though,” she continues, as if you’d said nothing. “Mostly about new album releases and stuff.” You work at a music store, you think. But you let her keep talking. “He knows so much about music. He played the piano for me once.”

You hum and say nothing, craning your neck so you can look around her to see where Yoongi’s gotten to. He’s at the end of the pavilion, distracted by Marcus, his manager.

“He’s really good,” Liz gushes. “Like, really good. He used to want to be a music teacher–did you know that? He told me-”

You tune her out. Of course, you know that he plays the piano. You’ve seen the brown upright that sits in his living room, never dusty because he plays it too much. You often hear the soft melodies that travel through the walls at night when he can’t sleep. He’d even told you about wanting to be a music teacher–a long-dead dream that he’d abandoned in his early 20s. You wish he hadn’t, he had the patience of a saint and he was one of the smartest people you knew. But you also understand how needlessly cruel the world can be sometimes.

Finally, Yoongi returns, balancing a plate and two bottles of beer. He sits one of the bottles in front of you and, with a flourish, places the plate between you. “Someone made hotteok,” he says gleefully, nudging a pancake in your direction. “They aren’t hot, but Marcus said they were really good.”

He picks one up, gives it a satisfied pat. A wide, gummy smile spreads across his lips and his eyes crinkle in delight. He pats the pancake again a few more times, before nudging the plate toward you. It’s got one more hotteok on it, and a scoop of the tiramisu trifle Yoongi’d made. 

Liz makes a noise of annoyance, and the look on her face says that she’s not happy she’s being ignored. But she plasters on a smile when Yoongi looks over at her.

“Oh. Liz,” he says softly, one hand still gently patting his hotteok. “I didn’t realize you were still here.”

Her face falls. “I was just leaving.”

She leaves her plate behind.

He watches after her, eyes wide as she goes to join the group currently surrounding a bluetooth speaker. It’s blasting some sort of 90s pop song–you assume they’ve got a playlist going on someone’s phone. 

“That was weird,” Yoongi says finally. “She’s normally really nice.”

You hum and lie. “Maybe she’s having a bad day.”

And as tactless as you think Liz is, you want to believe that’s true. You’ve heard plenty of stories of her, how she’s the only coworker that Yoongi actually likes, how she’s nice to him, how she actually seems to be interested in what he has to say. You don’t trust her, but you hope for Yoongi’s sake that she’s just off her game today. 

Maybe if he clarified that you weren’t dating, it would help.

He doesn’t make any effort to do that, though, not even when Rabia brings around a QR code for you to scan to add songs to the playlist they’ve got going.

“Thought maybe you and your girlfriend would want to add some songs,” she says, offering a small smile. She waits patiently while Yoongi scans the code on her phone, and then she disappears again, back to the group over by the speaker.

“She seems nice,” you say, watching as he types into his phone and picks a couple songs.

Yoongi shrugs. “I’ve met her like twice? She works nights.”

After a second, he hands you his phone, open to some music website you’ve never heard of. You carefully consider what you might want to add. The site doesn’t let you see what else is in the playlist, so you aren’t sure what songs Yoongi picked, let alone what the others have queued up. But you pick two of your favorites that you think would be fun and hand him his phone back.

Apparently, the playlist is on shuffle, because a few songs later, you recognize the opening beats of one of the songs you chose. Immediately, Yoongi perks up, his little ears on alert as he listens. It takes all of about three seconds for him to break into a grin. 

He’d introduced you to this band back when you first started grocery shopping together. You were driving, he was playing music on his phone. They were his favorite, a small hip-hop group made up of three dog hybrids. It wasn’t common for hybrids to make it in really any industry, so the fact that these guys did and their music was good? You couldn’t deny they had quickly become some of your favorite artists, too.

He sways a little with the music, his eyes closed. He looks content. You smile watching him, rest your chin on his hands. You’re happy you came, you determine.

Two hours fly faster than you thought they would. And when you point out that you’ve hit your promised limit and ask if Yoongi’s ready to go, he immediately nods. So you stand, say your goodbyes. His coworkers make a big deal of you leaving so soon. Liz tries to hug Yoongi before you leave, but he dodges her by grabbing another hotteok–though whether it was a purposeful deflection or just a happy accident, you aren’t sure.

He barely speaks until you’re in the car and halfway back to your apartment building. He shifts around in his seat, digging around in his pocket. He pulls out a rock–his favorite rock, you note–and rolls it around in his hand.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. “For coming with me. I uh… I’m sorry I didn’t tell them we weren’t dating.”

You frown, and when you slow to a stop at the next redlight, you turn to look at him. “You don’t have to apologize for that. If it made the situation even a little easier, it’s totally fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean, when am I going to see these people again?” The light turns green and you hit the gas. “Let them think whatever they want. You wanna come back in eight months and tell them we’re married? Go for it.”

“I-I don’t…”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

He nods. “I appreciate it.”

The car falls silent, the only sounds coming from the radio–Yoongi’s phone connected to the aux cord. He continues to toy with the rock, rubbing it between his fingers and tapping it against the armrest on the door. It takes only minutes to pull into the garage under your building, and even less to find a spot.

While you’re waiting for the elevator to return to the garage, he says your name so softly, you almost don’t hear it over the whirring of the cables and machinery.

“Here,” he says, reaching out and grabbing your hand. Carefully, he presses his rock into your palm.

You look at him, confused. “Yoongi, I…” He loves this rock. He’d never said exactly where he found it, but it’s a little round and very smooth, and you’ve seen him pat his pockets down on numerous occasions to make sure he has it with him.

“Take it. Please. I… As a thank you.” He doesn’t look at you, his face flushed a shade of light pink.

You nod and close your fingers around the rock. You’ll have to find somewhere nice to put it. And maybe, someday, you can find him a new one to replace it.

I'd love to know what you thought! I had been considering making this longer, but I thought leaving it open might be a little more fun. if you're interested, I may do a part two later? idk let me know if you're feeling a part two. thank you again to yav and jay for the moodboards. they're both so pretty.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Second Chances Are For Winners - Part 2

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

WC: 2k

TW: Swearing, mentions of blood, mentions of kidnapping, imprisonment, Criminal Minds General list of triggers apply here.

A/N: Howdy babes! I'm back in action (and in therapy!) so the will to write is stronger than ever. I am so excited that this is becoming a mini series since I loved the whole premise I had come up with last year. Pls enjoy part 2!

Part One

Last Week

“We have a White Male in his late thirties, breaking and entering into single women’s homes.” Hotch started, he put his hands in his pockets and continued talking. “ We know he used to be homeless, or transient, because of the manner in which he is gaining access to home.”

 Derek took over. “Pickpocketing. He snags the women’s keys, makes a copy for himself, and then breaks into their houses, condos, apartments.” 

Emily gestured to the board in the front of the room. There were several images, along with a map in front of the officers. “We know this because he leaves the set of keys on the kitchen table, along with the polaroid of the woman he’s kidnapped.” 

Derek spoke up. “He’s targeting women in their late twenties, with high paying jobs. We assume this is due to some kind of grievance where he believes he was wronged, and left him feeling powerless.” 

Hotch nodded at Derek. “Think promotions of jobs, priorities, breakups, divorces—something that would make this man feel as if he is no longer fulfilling the role of the head of the household.” 

 Derek leaned against the desk. “He takes his time with them. We know this because there’s been a body a week for the past three. We are assuming that he has a new victim considering the newest body was found yesterday. And we know that he picks up a body on Monday nights, and dumps them early Friday Mornings.”

“Look through reports from tonight and this morning about anyone missing. Even if it’s just a concerned call about someone not showing up to work, we need to know about it.” Emily held her hands in front of her as she spoke to the group. She gave a brief smile to the officers looking up at her. “Thank you.” 

As the room started to clear out, Derek looked over at Spencer, who was just staring at the board, deep in thought. “Earth to Reid. Hey.” 

Reid snapped out of whatever depths of his mind he was in, and looked up at Morgan. “Sorry, sorry. What.” 

“What? That’s it? Reid you just blanked out of that entire session. What is goin’ on with you man?” 

Spencer shook his head. “Sorry I-I, I’m not really…Sorry. It’s just..”

“Just what.” 

Emily nudged Derek with her elbow. “Be nice.” 

Derek rolled his eyes, and trudged away. 

“I know he didn’t mean anything by it, but I can’t stop thinking about the security cameras. How has he not been seen, anywhere. L-Like, for example, when he goes and makes the copies of the keys, all of the locksmiths in town have cameras everywhere because of safety reasons, right? And-and-and, even if he didn’t go there, and went to a Walmart outside of the city, or something, they all absolutely have cameras that work. So how has this guy not been seen by anyone?” 

Emily nodded while Spencer continued to rant. “And I can’t quite figure out how—” Spencer pushed out of his chair by the window and went up to the board. 

Across the center of one of the whiteboards was a timeline.. 

“It’s such a specific timeline—A-As if he can only operate on those certain days, like he’s limited to Mondays and Fridays, because part of his week is blocked off.”

“Or.” Emily chimed in, following his train of thought. “Something triggers him every weekend, like he sees her…whoever she is, every weekend. Maybe he works in a restaurant, or something.” 

“But why would she go into a restaurant where she knows he is?” 

“To taunt him?” Derek pipes up. “Bring a new man in, once a week, on a first date. Show him how much better she’s doing?” 

“And risk her safety? I don’t think so.” Emily scoffed and turned back to the board. 

Headaches have always been your least favorite part of waking up from being knocked out by chloroform. You had never been knocked out via towel and drug before, but whenever you would watch your favorite crime-related shows, you would think about how god awful that headache must be when you wake up. 

And you were right. It was a fucking bitch. 

Your vision had spots dancing across it as you let out a groan from being conscious for the first time in god knows how long. You were still in your pajamas and weren’t shivering, which meant that wherever you were, was warm enough to keep you alive. 

You tried to move your hands but found that that was over your head, chained to the wall. The chain connecting both of your wrists was pegged into the wall like you were in some old castle during the Medieval Ages. If you weren’t dying of thirst and hunger, you would have found the situation almost comical. 

Once you got used to the complete lack of sunlight, you were able to make out the rest of the room, which was decorated with splatter across the walls and floor. It was obviously not a choice in decor, and more of a mess someone wasn’t willing to clean up. There was an outline of what seemed like bars at the far end of the room, directly across from a small wooden staircase that had been built up against the wall. 

It was a cell. 

You had been stuck in a cell like one of those prisoners in Pirates of the Caribbean, and it was not as silly and fun as Disney World had made it out to be. 

You went to speak, with only a sharp intake of air, and only a cough could come out. Luckily for you, the cough had alerted whoever was upstairs that you were awake, meaning that the silhouette of a man appeared at the top of the stairs when the door opened. 

You were just hop[ping this was one of those stupid melatonin induced dreams where something bad would happen but then you would wake up and suddenly you were safe in bed. As the man’s footsteps echoed louder and louder as they trudged down the stairs, you realized you couldn’t wake up. 

“You’re up. Good.” 

Your back pressed against the wall as you recognized the voice from the man standing at the bars of the cell. 

“What. Y/n hasn’t texted you today?” JJ  elbowed Reid lightly as the two of them were sitting next to each other in the bullpen. 

Reid blinked and looked up at her. “How did you…” 

“You’ve been reading the same page for fifteen minutes. Either you’re really trying to analyze…something, or you haven’t actually read the page and something was bugging you.”

Spencer scoffed but put the file down. 

JJ gave his shoulder a little squeeze. She was about to say something when Garcia walked into the room, eyes wide, carrying a file. “New—we have to…” 

That was all the two agents could pick out of her sentences before Garcia was in Hotch’s office. 

“No rest for the wicked.” Emily called out to the two of them as all three made their way towards the meeting room. 

Eventually the team had all gathered in the conference room and Garcia was setting up the screen. 

“There’s been another body.”

The team sighed and nodded. This killer in DC has been evading them for a whole month now, that they knew of. It was becoming increasingly frustrating since the killer wasn’t rushing, wasn’t speeding up. They were still as meticulous as before. And right on schedule, a new body was discovered. Same markings as before, handcuffs on the wrists, and a quite gruesome death. 

“Still no fingerprints?”  

Garcia sighed and nodded. “Nothing.”

“I just don’t get how someone can be so meticulous, and stick to a schedule, and then….do something like that to a person.”

Spencer sighed and looked at the map Garcia had updated for him. “At least we have a slight geological profile. He’s picking houses all over DC, but then dumping the bodies in West End and Kalorama.”

Spencer pointed to the map. “He’s literally forming a route. Look. The bodies are placed almost like a trail. This newest body just connects the rest.” 

“He’s gearing up to someone. And whoever it is probably lives and works….” Spencer looked over at Garcia. 

Garcia’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh no. No no no no.” 

“What?” Emily looked between the two before looking over at Derek. 

“Spit it out baby girl, what’s going on.” 

“Uh…Y/n’s firm is in the West End, and she lives like a ten minute walk away in Kalorama…” She whispered. 

The whole team shifted their gaze to Spencer, who was frantically looking at all of the information over and over on the board, trying to find anything. 

“Just because she hasn’t texted you doesn;’t mean that she is the next victim of our killer guys, I mean come on. What are the odds of that.” Derek tried to talk Spencer out of whatever he had just induced for himself. 

Spencer shook his head and turned towards the team. “Who always has a strict schedule that they have to follow, even if it’s against their wishes. Court-mandated.” 

Derek was stunned into silence at the fact that Reid didn’t even bother giving him a pity statistic. 

Hotch spoke up. “She’s a lawyer right?” 

Spencer nodded. The team was not following where they were going with this. 

“Have any of her clients, or opposing councils given her grief recently? That you know of?” 

Spencer was about to shake his head but then remembered what you had told him last night. “S-She has this, uh, client, that doesn’t like the schedule he was ordered to by the court. And hasn’t left her alone now...for weeks…blowing up her phone…she told me about him last night, complaining that he hasn’t stopped calling her work phone and somehow even got her personal number…” 

“So you talked to her last night.” Derek crossed his arms. 

“She texted me saying she made it home b-because she fell asleep at her office and walked home…at two in the morning...” 

Hotch nodded and stood up. “We’re going to head down to the main station, and bring all new information with us. Clear?”

“I already sent it over to them electronically sir.” Garcia piped up. 

Hotch nodded. Everyone exited the room, but Hotch and Reid stayed back. When the last person had left, Hotch closed the door and looked at Reid. 

“I’m not going to tell you to sit this out. I know you, and I’d rather have you focused on the task at hand with us than trying to do your own investigating.You have emotional stakes in this Reid. And you know how that clouds judgment. Every single decision you make, you run by me. Clear?” 

Reid set his jaw and exhaled, but agreed to Hotch’s request. There would be more room for arguing when you were found safe and sound. 

Reid’s silence continued throughout the next twenty minutes and then in the car on the way to the station as well. Every single one of the agents could tell this case was going to be a lot more painful than initially believed. 

And Spencer was freaking the fuck out. All he could do was sit and stare out the window as the building passed, a sinking feeling in his gut that wherever you were, it wasn’t pretty. He just didn’t understand how he failed to miss the literal trail of bodies the killer had been leaving for you. Literal warning signs in front of you. And he let you walk home alone last night. 

It was his fault. He should have known better. 

Spencer had just found you again—he couldn’t stand to lose you a second time. 

_____________________________________________________________

Next Part

Also! Tags! It's so crazy to me that y'all actually want to be tagged in my work so I am seriously so grateful. <3

@sadroses98 @teddy-275 @teddy-275 @donttrustlove @donttrustlove

[tobesolonely]

harry brings y/n home a slice of strawberry shortcake from his boring business dinner, and he misses her a lot whenever she’s not around (bf!harry, 2.5k words)

warnings: smut

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Harry despises business dinners.

The incessant chatter of his manager and other industry folks was boring- the logistics side of his job always was- and whenever Y/N didn’t accompany him the time seemed to drag by insanely slow. He begged and begged for her to join him (even promised her they could leave the second it got to be too tiresome, he swore it) but he and Y/N both knew that wasn’t true. Harry’s attendance and opinion were much too important, almost non-negotiable, and he’d be among the last people to leave the dinner table. So, she declined (albeit very sweetly) to join him tonight. Harry promised to bring her back a slice of cake for dessert.

“Harry? You paying attention, man?” Jeff looks at Harry expectantly, along with three other bigwig people whose names he had already forgotten. He knew it was rude, but his mind was only half there whenever Y/N wasn’t around.

“What was tha’? Sorry mate,” Harry clears his throat and wraps his ringed hand around his glass, the condensation from his whiskey causing it to nearly escape his grip. He brings it up to his lips to take a small sip. “I’m a bit distracted.”

Jeff mumbles something under his breath about how he didn’t think he’d be so distracted if Y/N had joined them, but Harry chooses to ignore the comment and tune into what was happening so he didn’t embarrass himself in front of the people trying to make business deals with him anymore. He fakes interest like a pro, laughing whenever someone told a joke and good-naturedly throwing in a few of his own. His mother always taught him to be polite and engaged in his company, whether he wanted to be there or not.

When the last of the three important men at the table decide to call it a night Harry too pushed his chair back and stood from his seat at the head of the small rectangular table.

“I think ‘m gonna head home as well,” He slings his coat over his shoulder. “Gotta take Y/N this piece of cake I promised her, and all that.” Harry watches as Jeff stands and shrugs his own coat onto his shoulders.

“Just bring her next time, H,” Jeff shoots down the rest of his drink. “All you think about is her when she’s not around, anyway.”

Harry heats up in embarrassment at his manager’s observation but he knows it can’t be disputed. He sheepishly grins and promises to pay better attention at his next business dinner, but they both know that’s dependent on whether Y/N is at that one too.

His drive home is short and pleasant, filled with thoughts of Y/N and what she’s been doing all night to pass the time. She shared with him what she hoped to accomplish while he was out at dinner, but Harry also knew she had the tendency to scrap all her plans in favor of curling in front of the television to watch Forensic Files re-runs.

Harry jams the key in the door so roughly that for a moment he fears he won’t be able to get it out when it sticks a little bit. Luckily for him, it comes out after a few wiggles, and an embarrassing call to the locksmith is avoided.

”Yeah, hello? Could you come as soon as you can? I’ve gone and jammed my keys in the lock because I was too eager to see my girlfriend…”

“Harry? Is that you?”

Harry smiles to himself. She always asked the same question every time he came home as if it could be anyone else. As if it would be anyone else. “Yes, love,” he responds. “I didn’t forget your cake either. Fancy some?”

Y/N appears moments after his question is asked, eyes slightly drooping from the cat nap he’s sure he’s awoken her from. She’s dressed in his vintage ‘Jamaica’ tee and he’s pretty sure nothing else but a flimsy pair of panties, which makes his cock twitch just the slightest. He ignores it. She wraps her arms around his waist, pressing her chest flat against his in appreciation. He feels her inhale deeply and let out a quiet sigh of pleasure. She missed him just as much as he missed her.

“Thank you! Is this from the place that gives the huge slices?” She’s already unwrapping herself from around him and all but floating to the kitchen, she’s so excited to indulge in her piece of strawberry shortcake. “Share it with me, H? It’s not as good the next day so we need to finish it.”

Even though Harry is too full to take another bite of anything that wasn’t Y/N he immediately agrees, asking if she’d grab him a fork as well. She happily obliges and then leads the way to their comfy L-shaped sofa (which Y/N picked out, swearing it would be perfect for movie nights) snatching the remote off of the coffee table before sitting down.

“Tell me about your dinner. It went well?” Y/N stabs her fork into the spongy piece of cake and then brings it up to her mouth, moaning in delight. Harry watches as she closes her eyes, savoring the taste.

“As well as it could’ve gone without you,” Harry responds nonchalantly, stabbing his own fork into the dessert. Instead of bringing it up to his own mouth, he holds it up to hers. “I wish you were there. Always wish you were when you aren’t.”

Y/N looks at Harry owlishly as she opens her mouth for him. After swallowing, she speaks. “I thought we were supposed to be sharing.”

“We are.”

“It doesn’t count as sharing if you’re just feeding me! I’m still the only one eating it, H!”

Harry hears the amusement in her voice, sees the sparkle in her big, beautiful eyes, and knows she isn’t truly upset with him. Still, he relents and takes a piece for himself before trying to give his girlfriend another one.

“And what did you do tonight?” he nudges his nose against her cheek, reveling in the squeal she lets escape her mouth. “Get anything done on that to-do list you were tellin’ me about?”

“I did,” Y/N sets her fork down in the container of cake and rests her hands on Harry’s shoulder, flinging herself over him so she’s comfortably situated in his lap. Once comfortable, she holds her hand out expectantly. Harry chuckles to himself before placing the container of cake back in her grasp. “I caught up on emails and took a bath. Oh, also called your mom and mine - they both say hello…”

Harry smiles at this. “That’s nice, love,” his hands began to roam the expanse of her thighs, nails digging into the plush, exposed skin. “I’m glad you had a good night. Sorry I had to leave you.”

“I forgive you. Its been made even better by this cake - thanks for remembering.”

They sit in silence like that for a while. Harry gives more bites to Y/N than he gives to himself and by the time the dessert is finished, he couldn’t even say he managed to get even a little piece of strawberry for himself.

Y/N leans forward, bum lifting slightly off Harry’s lap to set the empty container on the coffee table. She turns her neck slightly once re-situated on him, and Harry hums at the sweet taste of cream and strawberries on her tongue. She always tasted so good. They fall into a comfortable silence as the tv plays softly in the background while they make out, the narrator of Forensic Files recounting a tale of how just one red fiber led to the killer’s arrest.

“Cozy enough?” Harry’s question breaks the silence.

“Quite,” Y/N squirms slightly. “Your lap is very comfortable.”

“Well, while I do enjoy looking at the back of your head, I’d much rather see your face.”

“I’m watching Forensic Files.”

While Harry can’t see her face, he can hear the joking tone in Y/N’s voice and proceeds with placing his large palms on her hips. He lifts her pliant body slightly off his lap and re-situates her so she’s straddling him instead of facing forward.

“Much better,” he places a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Now I can see your pretty face.”

“Welllll, now I can’t see what we’re watching.”

“I can tell you what happens.”

Y/N lets out a quiet laugh at this, moving her body so she’s no longer straddling him but has all her weight on one thigh. She wiggles ever so slightly and Harry smirks to himself at the motion, knowing she purposely planted herself like this because the pressure felt good against her little clit (which surely had to be swollen by now).

“Something tells me you’re not really gonna pay any attention, H,” she lowers her head into the crook of his neck. “That’s okay with me.”

Harry loosely rests his hands around the curve of her waist. “Been thinkin’ about you all night, my love,” he allows her to capture his lips in a clumsy kiss, teeth clacking together in her haste. “Been thinkin’ about you, and how much I love you- love making you cum.” His girlfriend laughs at that.

“This is our thing,” she tells him breathlessly, lips pressed against his as she ruts against his thigh. “This always ends up happenin’ when we watch true crime…”

Harry wants to tell her that this only happens when he’s with her, never gets this horny watching true crime television with anyone except her! Y/N’s the only person in the world who can make her feel this way.

“This will always be our thing, will it?” Harry tickles her side and swoons at the sound of her high-pitched giggles. “Jus’ us, cake, and movies?”

Y/N presses a kiss to the dimple on the right side of his face. “Always–– it’s my favorite pastime.”

Harry gives his love a toothy grin before he continues to help her get off on his thigh. He begins to feel her wetness through his dressy pants, the only thing separating her cunt from the fabric covering his thigh being her thin, cotton panties. He really just wants to lap at her cunt most of all, just wants to suck on her clit until she's tangling her hands in his curls and begging him not to stop. But she's determined to get off this way - he can see it in the look on her face. Besides, it's quite fun to watch Y/N come undone on her own accord. He loved when she flat-out used him for her own pleasure. He steadies her out when her movements start to become frantic and she's not getting the right amount of pressure she needs on her clit to come.

Her orgasm washes over her very abruptly--Harry thinks it even takes her a little by surprise. “Can’t forget orgasms, can I?” Y/N looks up at Harry with big, fucked out eyes, waiting for him to clarify. “I said I like it when it’s just us, cake, and movies. Forgot to add in how much I like making you cum, too.”

Y/N grows bashful at this and while Harry would usually apologize for being so vulgar, he means it with every fiber of his being. He's never heard prettier sounds, tasted anyone better, fucked anyone tighter. She was perfect and sweet and all his.

Harry’s not done with her though - not even close! They were really only just getting started. He lifts her off his lap and lays her back on the couch, pulling the meager piece of fabric separating him from her wet cunt off her body. He places his palms flat on the surface of her inner thigh and spreads her legs open, dropping to his knees in front of her. Harry immediately attaches his mouth to her cunt, sucking harshly as he makes eye contact with his girlfriend. She looks down at him with that look that Harry’s so fond over and he nearly loses it.

He begins kneading at her plush ass while his face is buried in her mound, taking note of how she trembles when the tip of his nose nudges against her clit. His tongue travels down to her puckered hole before moving back up to her bundle of nerves, over and over until Y/N grabs at his head and just holds him in place, sick of his teasing.

“S’nice, doll? You deserve this, Y/N,” Harry’s mouth is glistening with her arousal as he briefly pauses his movements to speak to her. “Deserve to feel good and let daddy give you orgasms after I left you here alone all night for a boring business dinner. Least I can do, hmm?”

He doesn’t give her a chance to answer before he’s burying his head into her cunt once more, eating her out like a starved man. She hardly has time to warn Harry that her second orgasm is about to wash over her but she doesn’t have to; he could feel the way her muscles contracted against his tongue as he licked her through it, not letting up even when she locked her thighs around his head.

“One more?”

He’s already undoing the buckle to his pants as he asks this, the familiar clanking sound sending shivers down Y/N’s spine. She’s not sure what she did to deserve three orgasms from her boyfriend tonight, but she figures she must’ve been a very, very good girl for him lately.

“Yes, please,” Y/N lifts her shift up so her boobs are on full display for Harry, not missing the way his eyes hungrily take in the sight of her. “Need one more- need your cock so bad-”

“Shhhh…” Harry slides in swiftly as he shushes her, resting his weight atop her so he was more comfortable. “There, there. ‘M gonna give it to you, pretty girl. I always do, yeah?”

Harry watches as her mouth gapes open with every push of himself inside her. He reaches down in between them to swipe his thumb across her clit as he’s thrusting into her to not only double her pleasure but get her there with him because he was already embarrassingly close but he hated finishing before his girl did. He picks up speed, bending her leg and holding it in his right hand as he grips her tits with his left.

“Rub y’clit for me,” he mutters, thrusts growing sloppy. “Go ahead and rub it.”

Y/N immediately complies and is spasming on Harry’s cock no more than 20 short seconds later, followed by his loud moans as he stills inside her. A warm, fuzzy feeling immediately floods Harry and suddenly all is well again. Never mind the fact Y/N wasn't at his silly business dinner tonight because she was here with him now and that was the most important thing, really.

Harry gently slides out of her and reaches for her discarded underwear, ignoring her protests when he uses it to clean up what spilled out of her before tossing it back on the floor. He'll pick it up later.

"Love you, H...I'll go to your next boring dinner. Promise."

[touyasdoll]

Day 26 Bonus: Stuckage

pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x f!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: stuckage kink, reader gets stuck in a window & it has nothing to do with weight or size or whatever and everything to do with Kats being unable to help himself when you find yourself trapped, praise kink, mild degradation, light teasing, unprotected sex, creampie, exhibitionism sorta, daddy kink, nicknames used: princess, baby, & sweetheart, uhh if I missed any lemme know politely pls <3

notes: so..yeah. here’s another Kinktober post. even though it’s August lmao. maybe I’ll finish these by November ajdhdhs I’m sorry. these are all literally sitting in my drafts fully formatted, so I'm not changing them 😂

“Hey, babe?” You call in your sweetest voice to Katsuki, who is not-so-patiently waiting for you to retrieve the set of keys that you were so sure were right here in your bag.

“Yes, baby?” His tone borders on mocking as he stands there with his arms crossed, leaning against the car that he was hoping would’ve been open by now.

“What would you say if—hypothetically—the keys weren’t in my bag aaand I already locked the door on the way outta the house?”

“I would say that’d probably make you look like a pretty big asshole, considering that you swore they were in your bag. Hypothetically,” he adds with a shrug. 

“Yeah..s’pose it would, huh?” You frown and stick your bottom lip out in a pout to answer the heavy sigh that falls from your lover’s lips. 

“You’re not allowed to be in charge of the keys anymore,” he grumbles while strolling back over towards the door to lift up the plant where your spare key should be, but it isn’t there. 

“We, uh..took that in to make an extra copy to give to your parents,” you gently remind him, physically feeling the frustration radiating off of Katsuki. 

He closes his eyes and splays his hand over his face to pinch his temples, dragging his digits together as he rubs them over his eyes. 

“And both of those keys are still sitting on my fuckin’ desk where I left ‘em.” He heaves a sigh and looks at you, shrugging against as his hands settle on his hips. “Whaddya wanna do? Should we call a locksmith?”

“Is this all it takes to put you in full blown dad mode?” You giggle, unable to help yourself as you take in his stance and all too serious demeanor, not that your boyfriend was much of the carefree type anyway. He narrows his eyes, rolling them while his mouth moves in a mocking gesture. 

“It’s daddy to you, princess,” he teases, not-so-lightly swatting your behind and making you yelp as he strolls past you and starts walking around to the side of the house. 

“Hey, wait! Where ya goin’?” You call after him as you scurry along. 

“M’gonna check the back door. Maybe we left it open,” he explains with a shrug. It was doubtful, but worth a shot. 

“Fuck,” he curses, trying the obviously locked back door one more time like it might make a difference. It doesn’t. He tousles his hair and goes to head back to the front of the house. “Locksmith it is, I guess.”

“Wait!” You bounce a little on your feet and he turns around to hear your bright idea. “What about a window? I bet the one in the kitchen is still unlocked. I can climb through it.”

“That could work.” He nods and pivots to head further into the backyard, making his way over to the aforementioned window with you on his heels. 

He grabs the bottom and lifts up and, much to his relief, you were right about it being unlocked. He pushes the window up plenty high enough for you to crawl through and onto the counter that sits below it inside. 

“Alright, c’mere, baby.” He curls his fingers, gesturing for you to come closer before he bends his knee and taps the outside of his thigh. “Grab the sill and step on my leg. I’ll help boost you up.”

You nod and step in front of the window, placing both hands on the windowsill and putting your foot up on his knee to help propel yourself up and through the window. Everything’s going according to plan. Until you lose your footing on his leg trying to give yourself enough of a push to crawl through. That awful feeling of falling washes over you for half a second before his strong hands find your hips, keeping you from falling backwards onto your ass when your feet touch the ground again. 

“Motherfucker,” you sigh, closing your eyes as you take a moment and a breath to collect yourself. “Okay, let—ahh!” 

You’re cut off by the sound of the window closing. Again, thanks to his heroic reflexes and reaction time, you’re spared from injury as he catches the window before it hits you. You breathe a massive sigh of relief, practically wilting in the window, which now you can no longer simply slip back out of. 

“Babe, can you lift it back up, please?” 

“I’m trying,” he mutters. 

“What?”

“I said I’m trying,” he repeats, sounding frustrated, though you know it isn’t aimed at you. It’s aimed at the window that suddenly won’t budge an inch. “Damn thing’s fuckin’ jammed,” he gripes, heaving a sigh before his hands are on you, soothingly rubbing your back. “Are you okay, baby?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you reassure him. “I’m fine I just,” you sigh. “Don’t know what to do now. Who the hell do we call for this? I’m not letting the fire department find me this way,” you state as you shake your head and briefly imagine what an interesting interaction that might make for. 

“I’m not either,” he scoffs, his eyes being drawn to your backside, which he had to admit looked especially great with you in this position. 

“Try opening it again. Maybe you loosened it,” you suggest, turning your head to try and look over your shoulder at him, but the angle is rather awkward with how you’re trapped. 

He tilts his head thoughtfully. It couldn’t hurt to try, but it certainly felt pretty well stuck. He leans over you and places his hands beneath the window again, trying in vain to lift it while his crotch presses right up against your backside.

“Are you really getting hard right now?” You can’t help but giggle, wiggling your ass against the bulge that you can feel growing in his pants. 

“You’re bent over in front of me,” he mutters, grunting as he attempts again to shove the window upwards. “And looking pretty vulnerable, I might point out,” he adds with a smirk as he relents his attempts and instead runs his hands along your sides. “How the fuck am I not s’posed to be hard right now?”

His hands seize your hips, bringing you flush against him while he grinds his hips forward, You close your eyes and let out a quiet groan, feeling a pulse between your thighs.

“You wouldn’t take advantage of me in a position like this, would you?” You ask in a sultry tone, no doubt implying that you sincerely hoped that he just might. 

“I wouldn’t say that, princess. You know how much I like seizing opportunities and this one seems too good to pass up.”

“Katsuki,” you whine his name, knowing full well that it makes all the blood in his body redirect to his dick. 

“Fuck, baby,” he gruffs, already feeling his breathing shallow from the pure sense of need that you can still feel pressing into your backside. ���You want it that bad, huh? Want me to take you just like this, where any of our nosy fuckin’ neighbors could peek over and see me drillin’ ya?”

“Yes, baby. Don’t just want it. I need it, daddy. Please,” you insist, writhing as much as you can in your compromised position. 

“Shit,” he huffs the curse as he bunches your dress up over your hips, only pulling his hips away from your to appreciate the view. 

He hooks a finger underneath the waistband of your panties and tugs, letting it snap back against your skin while his other palm takes a greedy handful of your ass. 

“Still can’t fuckin’ believe someone as hot as you puts up with me,” he snorts, delivering a swift smack to your cheek before he soothes the ache with his palm. 

“I could say the same,” you reply, shaking your ass and grinning when you hear him groan at the sight, but you’re growing impatient, so you poke at him a little. “Have you even got your dick out yet? I want you so bad, baby..”

“Patience, princess. M’gonna take care of ya. Lemme just look at’cha for a second, yeah?” Both of his hands grope your behind before he hooks his fingers into the crotch of your panties and pulls them aside. “Wanna appreciate all this before I ruin ya.”

His thumb parts your folds and you shiver, juices gushing onto his digit as he snickers. 

“That worked up already, huh? Guess ya really do need me.”

You don’t need to see him to know he’s wearing his signature smug grin. His thumb finds your clit and he begins drawing it in slow circles, making you clutch to the wall inside the house. 

“I do, I do. Please, daddy,” you whine, rocking your hips to chase the friction he offers you. 

It’s gone a second later, but you hear the jingle of his belt coming undone and clench in anticipation while he frees his leaking cock. 

“All this beggin’ sounds real good, baby. Gimme a little more and then you can have this,” he promises, letting you feel his rock hard erection as the head teases through your lips. 

“Please,” you blurt the plea out, instantly complying in order to get what you need. What you crave. “I’ll do anything, baby. Want you inside me. Need you to fuck me. Want you to ruin me, daddy. Take this pussy. S’all yours. Always all yours.”

“Such an overachiever. S’what I love about you, princess,” he chuckles, giving you no notice before he lines up and bottoms out in a single thrust, stuffing you full with his impressive length. 

“Fuck!” 

You claw at the drywall beneath your fingers, pressing your hands to the surface to hang on as he begins to thrust, showing little mercy to your drooling cunt. 

“Goddamn you feel good. You’re really into this, aren’tcha? Like being stuck and lettin’ me use your pussy like I wanna?”

“Y-yeah. Oh fuck, yeah, daddy. U-use me. Oh my God, don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.”

You’re babbling now, too far gone already with the way his cock moves inside you, deliciously dragging along your walls as the tip finds that special, velvety spot inside you and starts knocking into it over and over and over again. 

“M’not gonna stop, sweetheart. Not ‘til you’re creamin’ on my cock. You ain’t gonna last long, are ya? Fuckin’ squeezing me so tight already. Shit.”

“Mm-mm. N-no. Feels too—haa—s’too good, baby.”

And he’s right, of course. That white hot heat burns in your belly, searing you from the inside out as it builds and spreads, spiraling out of control as he continues to snap his hips, offering you no mercy now as you rocket towards your orgasm. 

It hits you like a freight train, making you scream as you slump over the sill of the window, simply trying to hang onto the structure as your cries echo around the empty kitchen. You don’t even notice the way that the window seems heavier on your spine now. 

“Good girl,” he grunts, breathing labored from his efforts as he keeps it up, sprinting towards his own undoing. “So fuckin’ good. Pussy’s too fuckin’ good, baby.”

He doesn’t even falter when he finds his release. If anything, he moves faster, willfully pummeling your poor, abused cunt as he fills you to the brim until the mixture of your essences begin to seep out as your own name falls from his lips, ringing in your ears through the haze you find yourself floating through. He looks down, entranced by the vision of his cum being pulled from and pushed inside of your again and again.

“Fuck,” he pants, sweat dripping from his brow and landing on your exposed lower back. He watches the bead trail along your heated skin to mingle with the rest of the fluids joined between your bodies. 

A whimper is all that you can manage as he withdraws himself and leans over you, a decisively more gentle touch skimming along your sides before he begins rubbing your back and feathering kisses along your spine. 

“You okay, baby?” His tone is as soft as his touch as he restores your modesty, dipping down to return your panties to their rightful place before he reaches for the hem your dress and pulls it back down. 

“Mhm,’ you hum, blissfully content as you continue coming down from your soaring high. 

“Good.” He continues rubbing your back, working up to your shoulders when his hand nudges the window and he realizes that it’s finally budged. “Well, shit,” he chuckles, reaching over you to lift the window up, freeing you from your entrapment. 

“Hmm?” You feel the pressure lift off of your back and step back from the window, shaking your head as a smile graces your features. “Well, I guess that works out.”

“Think you still have the strength to crawl through?” He grins, a little smug and a lot handsome as he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as he rubs your arm. 

“Gimme a minute.” You laugh quietly, closing your eyes as you wind your arms around his and rest your head upon his broad chest, nuzzling into the fabric of his shirt to inhale his cologne. 

“Take all the time you need, princess. I’m good right here,” he murmurs into your hair as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

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