#bad. how easy it is to be knocked down like this by a stupid post and how frightened and hopeless and small i feel. like wtf. and i know i s

[pepprs]

omg i was feeling better for like 2 hrs but then i saw a post on here that is like maybe the worst thing ive read all day. and now i am feeling despair again

[chaosmagicss]

drunk words... (wanda maximoff x reader)

synopsis: you have a bad habit of calling wanda when you’ve been drinking. wanda, who you’re pretty sure you’re in love with. wanda, who you’re pretty sure is in love with you, too.

warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of alcohol, getting shot, swearing

words: 4.5k

a/n: i haven’t posted a proper fic in forever and feel bad about it so i figured why not post this thing that has been hiding in my drafts forever!

It takes ten seconds for the headache to hit, and you groan heavily as you roll onto your stomach, burying your face into a pillow that smells distinctly of…

“Good morning, sunshine.”

You lift your head just long enough just to find Wanda at the end of the bed, an amused smile on her lips. You grumble in response, dropping your head back down and closing your eyes, wishing Wanda didn’t have to have her blinds open.

“This is the third time you’ve drunk-called me this week,” Wanda says, and you can feel your face go hot, so you hide it further against the pillow. You feel the bed dip beside you, and then a gentle hand lands on your back. The soothing way she rubs along your spine is enough to make your eyelids flutter. “Sit up and have some water, please, love.”

Your chest warms at the pet-name, and slowly, you do as you’re told. You take the offered painkillers without hesitation, all too aware of the throbbing in your skull, and down the whole glass of water in one go.

“M’sorry,” you mumble, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand as you reach to set the glass back down on the bedside table. You struggle to meet her eyes; she’s watching you with that intense, knowing look. “Did I, uh, say anything embarrassing?”

Wanda blinks, then averts her gaze. “Nothing you haven’t said before,” she replies, with this weird inflection that makes your chest ache with guilt. Your fingers twitch with the effort of not reaching for her. There’s a long, heavy silence, and you fumble to fill it, mouth opening and closing uselessly. Wanda takes a sharp breath suddenly, shoots you a tight lipped smile. “So, you had a good night?”

You swallow thickly, feeling a little bit like this is a trap. A handful of responses sit at the tip of your tongue.

Would’ve been better if you were there.

Too many snobs.

It was okay once I got home, to you.

“I…” You take another breath, try for an easy-going smile. “I’m never drinking tequila again.”

Wanda smiles a little, just one corner of her mouth curling up, but it seems genuine, and it relaxes the tightness in your chest almost immediately.

-

“I just—” You fumble with your keycard, cursing softly when the reader beeps in protest. “Shit, hold on.”

“Y/N?” Wanda’s voice crackles over the phone, and you mutter a little bitch at the keycard when it finally works and allows you to shoulder the door open.

“Sorry,” you mumble when Wanda says your name again. “Stupid keycard wasn’ working.”

“Oh,” Wanda says softly. “Are you home, now?”

You hum an affirmative. “‘m almost there,” you tell her. You step into the elevator, tripping over nothing as you do so, stumbling into the back wall, letting out a giggle at the impact. “Almost ate shit,” you grin, and there’s a small breath of laughter that has your insides warming, your own dopey grin pulling at your mouth as you rest your back against the wall. “Y’have a pretty laugh, Wanda.”

“Y/N.” It’s almost a warning, but your drunken brain ignores it.

“Got a pretty everything,” you continue, and when the elevator dings you step out, feet already headed in the direction of Wanda’s room. “Pretty eyes. Pretty hair. Pretty accent. Pretty smile, pretty lips.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, but you hardly register it as you come to a stop in front of Wanda’s door. It opens only a moment after you knock, and you hear the call drop out as Wanda comes into view.

How she looks as pretty as she does with a clean face and her hair thrown up in a lazy updo, you have no idea. She’s wearing old sweatpants that have a little hole ripped above the knee and a too-big shirt that you’re almost certain is yours, and she’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

The words spill out of you before you can stop them. “I’m sorry I’m not good enough for you.”

Wanda blinks, brows furrowing in confusion, but she reaches for you nonetheless. She takes your hand in hers and pulls you into the room, slowly enough that you won’t trip over your own feet. You sink into her, however, wrap your arms around her waist and burrow into the curve of her neck, a heavy feeling on your heart.

She hugs you back, arms wrapping tightly around your back. “What d’you mean?” she asks softly. You take a shuddery breath as you nuzzle further into her.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper. “And so smart and so kind. And I keep - I keep hurting you. I don’t deserve you.”

Wanda takes a breath, and is quiet for a long moment. Your eyes flutter shut, and you think you could probably fall asleep in her hold. But then Wanda shifts, gently urging you to lean back. You lean into her touch when she cups your face, sighing shakily.

“Y/N,” she murmurs. You find her eyes, and she chews her bottom lip for a few seconds before she gives up on words and instead leans up to press gentle pecks to your skin; your cheeks, your eyelids, your forehead, and finally the corner of your mouth. You lean into the touch with another soft exhale, and your brain doesn’t really catch up with the fact that you’re turning your head until you feel the soft press of her lips against yours.

The kiss is soft and chaste, Wanda’s fingers pressing delicately into your jaw. She tastes like toothpaste and peach chapstick and something that’s distinctly Wanda, and you can’t get enough of it. Your hands find her hips, and you pull her closer as you kiss her again, your lips moving against hers more surely. But when Wanda nips at your bottom lip and earns a soft groan from you, she pulls back, like she’s just realised what’s happened.

She steps away from you like she’s been burned, and your head reels at the sudden loss of contact.

“Wanda,” you start, eyes flickering to her face, but any and all words die in your throat when you meet her gaze. She’s got one arm crossed over her tummy and the other reaching towards her face, fingers pressed against her lips as she stares at you with wide eyes. You swallow thickly. “I—”

“Y/N, you’re - you’re drunk,” she cuts in.

You shake your head and take a hesitant step closer. Wanda shifts a little, but doesn’t step back, and you take that as a good sign.

“Not that drunk,” you reply. “I - I know what I’m doing.”

Wanda’s lips twist as she watches you step forward again, face pulled together in an apprehensive expression. Her breath hitches when you touch her, gently gripping her forearms and running your thumbs soothingly along her skin. You can see the gears turning in her head as her eyes flit around your face, lingering noticeably on your mouth.

She swallows thickly, then inhales sharply. “It’s late,” she says, voice strained. “We should get to bed.”

“Wanda—”

She steps back. “Please just - please go to bed, Y/N,” she practically begs, and your heart twists when she steps around you. “I’m gonna go get a glass of water.”

“Okay,” you choke out, and then the door slams shut.

For a few moments you stand in silence, the quiet of the room deafening. Then with an exhausted, resigned sigh, you tug off your shoes and collapse into the bed, making sure to stick to the side that Wanda doesn’t sleep on.

-

When you wake the next morning, Wanda is nowhere to be found. Last night’s events come back to you in a rush, and you let out a loud, frustrated groan, your chest tightening. You reach for her side of the bed to find it cold, and your brain whirls with thoughts: did she even sleep in here at all last night?

You don’t see her all day, and by the time dinner rolls around, you’re practically bursting with anxiety. There’s a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach; there’s something wrong, and it’s eating you up inside. You want to talk to her about last night. You need to talk to her about it. Need to make her understand that she makes your heart feel like it’s going to leap right out of your chest every time she so much as smiles at you.

You have the plan to pull her aside at dinner and tell her as much, until you finally spot her.

Your feet freeze in place when your eyes meet, heart thumping harder against your ribcage. There’s a few seconds where the two of you just look at each other, but then Wanda blinks and pulls in a breath and looks away, giving Vision a smile before she leaves the room, plate in hand.

And, okay, ouch.

Your heart settles in that pit of your stomach, your whole chest aching. You find yourself frozen until Sam calls out for you, looking a little concerned at your lack of movement. You swallow thickly, blink away the tears threatening to burn at your eyes and offer up a smile, shrugging and muttering a, “Sorry, zoned out for a second.”

You’re so focused on keeping it together that you don’t notice Natasha’s eyes flickering between you and Wanda’s empty seat, a knowing look on her face.

-

The mission, for lack of better words, goes to shit.

If you weren’t so damn proud, you would’ve told Steve that you should sit this one out. That you were too distracted by Wanda’s ongoing silent treatment to focus on anything Avengers related.

But still, you find yourself undercover in some nightclub in Vegas, all too aware of the mob boss that might be sitting in the VIP area. Your eyes scan the crowd again as you sip at your drink, and you catch sight of Wanda talking to someone who’s leaning in just a little too close. You can tell from here that she’s uncomfortable; her shoulders are squared and her jaw tight, her fingers curled into fists as she probably fights the urge to fling him across the room.

And you know, you know you shouldn’t even think about going over to help her. You’re meant to be seperate guests, total strangers, to avoid anyone putting two and two together; all a precaution Natasha has made very clear not to overstep.

The probably important chatter between Steve and Nat isn’t sticking in your brain, your eyes focused in on Wanda and the asshole that just won’t leave her alone. You very clearly watch her say No before she turns away, taking a sip of her drink, but then the guy reaches over and slides his hand down her back, settling on her ass.

Your feet are moving before you can think better of it, gliding through the crowd with only one goal in mind. You watch Wanda shove him off hard enough that he stumbles, drawing too much attention to herself. The second you reach them, grabbing the front of the man’s shirt and pinning him roughly to the edge of the bar, ready to give him a piece of your mind, a man goes flying over the railing to the second floor.

“We’ve been made!” You hear in your earpiece, and you catch Wanda’s eyes. “Silva’s right-hand is making a run for it!”

There’s an echo of gunfire from upstairs, and immediately, every person in the club is legging it towards the closest exit. You scan the club to try and spot the right-hand in question, and find him running down the stairs, three guards on him.

“I’m on the right-hand!” you say, and both Wanda and Natasha’s yells of protest fall on deaf ears. For the following ten minutes, your body is running purely on adrenaline. You chase down the right-hand man, taking out the guards that try and stop you on the way. Your lungs are burning for air and your legs are starting to ache, but you’re so close. The man makes a fatal mistake; hesitating between taking a left or a right, and it’s enough for you to grab him. You tackle him around the waist, sending you both down a flight of stairs and effectively stopping you from keeping your hold on him.

He scrambles to his feet once you reach the bottom, but as you push to your feet to follow after him, two consecutive shots ring out.

You topple immediately, your momentum gone in an instant. You feel a burning pinch in your shoulder and another against your side, both feelings settling into a horrible burning sensation, and you yelp a little when you try to push to your feet, eyes still focused on the retreating form of the right-hand.

“Fuck,” you mutter, rolling onto your back. You hiss, pressing a hand to the ache in your side and finding warm blood. You know you’ll be fine; you’ll be healed within the hour, but healing powers or not, being shot fucking sucks. “Fuck.”

“Y/N?” You groan heavily, dropping onto your back, your head spinning. You close your eyes tightly, begging your body to pull itself together. A cool hand covers your own, prying your own fingers away from the wound, and you open your eyes just long enough to find Wanda’s face. “Shit. Y/N’s been shot.”

“Twice,” you croak out.

“Bring her back to the quinjet,” Natasha says, a little out of her breath. “I’ll be there soon, I’m almost done in here.”

“Fucking damn it, Y/N,” you hear her muttering as she pulls you to your feet, ignoring the way you shout in pain. “Idiot. You idiot.“

The words burst out of you before you can put a handle on them. “Sorry, princess, next time I’ll ask them very nicely not to shoot me.”

“Shut up,” Wanda grumbles. “Hold on as tight as you can.”

You grunt in response, gripping onto whatever part of her you can as she takes off. You slip a little, but Wanda’s grip tightens, and before you know it, Steve is lifting you onto the table in the middle of the quinjet and getting to work on your bullet wounds.

You can tell they’re already healing; that weird chilling feeling is settling in. You should probably be a little more focused on getting it to work a little quicker, but you’re locked on the way Wanda seems annoyed with you.

Sure, it’s not ideal, but at least she’s actually looking at you instead of pretending you don’t exist. You don’t look away from her as she paces back and forth until you hear Steve calling your name.

Blinking, you turn your head to look at him as he pulls you to sit up, mindful of your already healing wounds.

“What happened?” he asks again.

You open your mouth to respond, but you’re cut off by a sharp, “She almost got herself killed, that’s what happened.”

You scoff a disbelieving laugh as your head whirls around to face Wanda, who’s now shooting daggers at you with her arms crossed over her chest, jaw jutted out in determination.

“Are you serious? I almost had him!”

“We’ll have another chance, and it wasn’t worth getting shot over!” she snaps, volume raising.

Steve’s voice cuts in, “Guys, let’s calm down—”

“And with that guy at the bar? I didn’t need your help. I’m not some damsel—!”

“He touched you—!”

“I had it handled! You could have blown our cover—”

“Well, I didn’t, did I?”

“But you could have,” Wanda snarls.

“What the hell is going on in here?” You both stop at the sound of Natasha’s voice.

Both you and Wanda open your mouth to speak, but you beat her to it. “Wanda’s being a brat.”

Wanda rolls her eyes. “Y/N thinks she’s allergic to following a plan.”

“Oh, like you’ve never—!”

“That’s enough!” Once again, both of you are silenced, but this time it’s by Steve’s booming voice. He points a finger at Wanda. “You go cool down—” His finger jabs at you next, “and you stay there and be quiet. Let yourself heal.”

You groan in protest, but carefully lay back down, eyes flicking to Wanda’s retreating form. Natasha shoots you a look even as she hands you a bottle of water, but you just look up at the ceiling before closing your eyes and focus on letting your powers do their job.

-

“Hey, I need you to come help me with something.”

You look up from your phone to find Natasha, and frown a little. “What d’ya need me for?” you ask around a mouthful of apple.

She sighs shortly. “Would you just come with me? Please?”

Swallowing your bite of fruit and throwing the rest of it in the bin, you push to stand and trail after her. She slows her feet to let you in front of her as she comes to a stop at a random door you honestly have never been inside of, a hand on your back. In hindsight, that should have been your first red flag.

When Nat presses at your back, you don’t move, looking to her sceptically. “Is this, like, your murder room?”

She gives you a pointed look. “Just go inside, would you?”

With a heavy sigh, you do as you're told, reaching for the handle and shouldering it open.

You come to an abrupt stop when the door opens to reveal Steve and Wanda in the room, and Natasha pushes a little at your back. After a few moments of mutually panicked eye contact with the girl sitting on the bed, you tear your eyes away. You spin and try to step past Natasha, but she steps in your way, raising her eyebrows pointedly.

“Nat, please—”

“Inside,” she cuts in, pushing firmly enough that you stumble into the room. You huff, deciding it’s not worth trying to escape. “You two are staying in here until you sort out whatever it is that’s going on.”

“There’s nothing—”

“We’re not—”

“That’s final,” Natasha interrupts again, voice rising over both yours and Wanda’s protests and rendering the both of you quiet. Crossing your arms over your chest, you sigh, eyes flicking to Steve when he squeezes Wanda’s shoulder encouragingly before moving towards you.

“Talk it out,” Steve says with a firm nod. “It always helps.”

“Yes, mom,” you mock, scuffing your shoe against the floor. Natasha reaches over to pinch your arm, and you step away from her with an affronted Ow!

A heavy silence settles over you and Wanda when Steve and Nat leave the room, door locking shut behind them. Wanda’s gaze remains forward, glued to the wall, but you can tell she knows your eyes are on her. Your mind is reeling, a hundred different conversation openers flying through your head, but you can’t manage to get any of them to leave your mouth.

You clear your throat, the first sound in the room since the door closed, and Wanda leaps into action. She pushes to stand, and you hold your breath in anticipation. But she doesn’t so much as glance at you when she breezes past you, beelining for the door.

You fumble for a moment. “Wanda, wait—”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” she says sharply before you can get another word out. She tugs at the door, but when she tries to use her powers to unlock it, it simply locks again. She tugs harder to no avail. “FRIDAY, let me out.”

“You’re not authorised to unlock this door,” the AI replies smoothly.

Wanda sighs, thumping her head against the door in defeat. Her back is still turned to you.

“I want to talk about it,” you say. Her actions pause, body tensing. “Can we? Please?”

She takes a breath, then whirls around to look at you, crossing her arms over her chest and shooting you an expectant look. You falter, eyes darting away from her face as you struggle to come up with words.

“I’m - Look, I’m sorry if what… I didn’t mean to…”

“You shouldn’t have kissed me,” she says shortly. Your eyes leap back to her face, heart sinking. “You had no right to. It was unfair, and mean.”

“Wanda, I…”

It seems as if the floodgates have opened, because she steps forward, eyes narrowing in a way that has you wanting to tuck tail and run. “Are my feelings a joke to you?”

“No, of course not—”

“You think it’s funny that you have me at your beck and call, and I get nothing in return, except for when you’ve been drinking?”

Her voice wobbles, and you watch her eyes fill up with tears. “Wanda—”

“It’s been three months of you telling me all these lovely things just to fucking forget them by the next morning, and now you tell me you think I’m too good for you and that you don’t deserve me, and then you fucking kiss me! And of course, you remember that!”

She’s in your space now, shoving an offensive finger at your chest, angry tears slipping out over her cheeks.

“And then you go on that stupid mission and act like an idiot and almost get yourself killed for no fucking reason!”

You swallow hard, blinking back the burning in your eyes. “Wanda,” you say softly, and she chokes on a sob, shaking her head roughly.

“No,” she says, fists thumping solidly against your shoulders, again and again. “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.”

“Hey, hey.” You catch her hands, and she fights you when you start to pull her into a hug until she all but collapses, falling into a fit of sobs and choked out curses. You just wrap her up, smoothing a hand along her spine as she clutches at the back of your shirt.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur among her repeated comments of you’re an asshole and fuck you and i hate you. “I know, I’m an asshole. I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

Her hands curl into the back of your shirt as she gives up on cussing you out, burying her face in your shoulder and letting out sob after sob until they’ve dwindled down into sniffles and shaky breaths.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against her hair, and she exhales again, shifting her face against your shoulder to nuzzle into your neck. “I know it wasn’t fair how I was treating you.”

“Then why…” she croaks out. She doesn’t finish the question, but you hear it loud and clear. Why did you keep doing it?

“I don’t - I don’t know,” you murmur. “I don’t know, but I’m so sorry.”

She sniffles, lets out a shaky sigh, and pulls back to look at you. You lift your hands to her face, cupping her jaw and wiping away any tears still lingering on her skin. Her breath hitches as she leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. Even with tear stained cheeks flushed from crying, she’s the single most beautiful thing you’ve ever lain your eyes on.

“It’s hard to breathe when I look at you, you know,” you murmur. Her eyes open, brows pulling together as her gaze finds yours, and your heart rate doubles. “You just—” You swallow thickly, thumb pressing delicately into her lips for a moment. “You’re so perfect.“

Wanda bites into her bottom lip, eye-line dropping to your mouth for long enough that it makes your knees weak. They flicker back up, eyes searching yours for something. With a shaky sigh, you grab one of her hands, and her face twitches in confusion as you lift it to your sternum and press her palm flat against your beating heart. Her face shifts again, softens a little, as she feels the racing thrum of your heart against her hand.

“That’s what you do to me,” you whisper. Her gaze lifts to yours again, those piercing green eyes constricting your chest further. “And I was so scared of it. I know that’s not an excuse, but I don’t - please don’t doubt that my feelings for you are real. I hate that I hurt you and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that’s what it takes.” Wanda blinks, her eyes watching you closely. “And I, I understand if you don’t - I get it if I screwed everything up, but I just - I need you to know… I’m so sick of trying to pretend I don’t feel the way I do. I - I’m sick of being—”

Her hand fists into your shirt and all of a sudden she’s tugging you roughly and her lips are crashing onto yours. It hurts a little, and your teeth knock together, but when you cup the back of Wanda’s head and take control of the kiss, slowing it down so you can really savour the feeling, you feel like you’re floating.

Her lips are so soft against yours, a stark contrast to the desperate way she’s clinging onto you, and when you squeeze her hip in an attempt to get her to relax a little, she sighs against your mouth. The rest of the world falls away, all of your senses honed in on the woman currently in arms, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You really aren’t sure how long you stand in the middle of that spare room, Wanda’s lips on yours, but when you break away, chest heaving as Wanda leans her forehead against yours, her breath coming out in quick little pants against your lips, you find yourself wanting to sink right back into her. Oxygen be damned.

“You’re so stupid,” she whispers.

“I know.”

“And you’re an asshole.”

“I know.”

She nudges forward, nose bumping against yours, her fingers release her death grip on your shirt and flatten, smoothing over your shoulders, up the side of your neck to settle on your jaw.

“I love you,” she breathes out.

Your breath catches, heart flipping at the words. You try and fail to come up with something intelligent to say, your whole body thrumming. Eventually, you give up, leaning in to kiss her again. Her fingernails press into your jawline as she lets you kiss her, a small, satisfied hum escaping her at the softness of it.

When you pull back, you pepper kisses around her face, along her jaw until she sinks into you, arms wrapping tight around your neck as you hold her around the waist. You nuzzle into her hair, breathing in the comforting smell of her shampoo, your heart pounding inside your chest.

“I love you, too,” you murmur. You exhale roughly. “Jesus. I love you.”

After a few moments, she leans back. She’s smiling when you find her eyes, her thumbs stroking over your cheeks.

“Go out with me,” you say. “Please? This Friday. Let me make everything up to you.”

She bites into her lip, her smile turning just the slightest bit towards mischievous. “Keep kissing me, and I’ll think about it.”

With an elated laugh, you do exactly that.

[minkkumaz]

hi omg your riwoo fic... TEARS WERE SHED... if you're open to requests can i request an angst sungho fic (with fluffy ending though) HSJSHSH thank u

TALK TO THE WALL

fighting with sungho was tiring, and it's not something you normally do. when things get a little hard to handle, maybe you just need to step out and see what happens in the morning.

PAIRING park sungho x fem!reader WC 0.6k TAGS established relationship. angst. fluff. fighting. yelling. making up. OMI NOTE omg hi anonn i hope this was good for you. whenever i think of angst with happy ending i always think of couples fighting LOL

maybe you understood the true meaning of eternity, as you had been arguing with sungho for the past hour or two. it didn’t end, and his words continued to cut you deep, leaving a gash of things he didn’t know could come out of his mouth.

it was silly really, couldn’t you understand that he was busy? so why did it feel like he was ignoring you on purpose? you wondered if the spark between the two of you finally became dull like a burnt out match. 

the louder he got, the quieter he became. to be honest, you had stopped listening. 

“why can’t you just listen to me, y/n! i’m tired, i can’t deal with this right now.” he shouted at your shaky figure.

“i didn’t ask you to deal with shit, sungho! i haven’t seen you in so fucking long is it so wrong to ask for some time with you?” you cry out.

“i just can’t keep dedicating my world to you y/n, i need time for myself too.” 

“but it’s been months. when was the last time we went on a date? when was the last time we cuddled? fuck i even forgot what it felt like to kiss you. don’t you understand how frustrating that is?” 

“god this is so stupid. you were never this clingy what the hell happened?” he groaned, running a hand through his sleek black hair, still a bit messy from his long day.

“oh, so now i’m clingy? is that what i get for missing my stupid boyfriend?” you choke out, wiping tears with your already wet sleeve.

“don’t make me feel like the bad guy, y/n.”

“i’m not trying to make you feel anything except for maybe a little sympathy for how i’m feeling.” you bit the flesh inside your cheek.

“you just don’t get it, do you?” he scoffed.

“talk to a fucking wall, sungho.” you storm off into your shared room, making sure to lock the door behind you. anything he said to you while you turned away from him didn’t settle in your head. 

more tears fell down your flushed cheeks as you snuck into the covers, muffling your sobs with the white sheet. things weren’t always like this, in fact, they were never like this. you didn’t want to imagine your everyday life without seeing his handsome face. 

sleep came easy as you felt numb. no knock on the door, no sign of life outside of your bedroom. you wondered if he left you and you’d come out to an empty apartment. 

the next morning you woke up with a raging headache, and the light from your blinds illuminating your post cry glow. sungho’s smell already began to disappear from the pillows after one night, this stung your heart a little.

rubbing your puffy eyes, you slowly got up from your bed and trudged to the door. there was something blocking light on the otherside, but you were surprised to see sungho fall backwards upon opening. he shot awake, looking around before meeting you.

“baby why are you sleeping at the door? don’t you have practice?” you muttered.

“i told jaehyun i wouldn’t make it today. we’re not supposed to go to bed angry, my love. i didn’t want to leave you alone..”

“so we can continue our argument? no thanks.” you tried to push his body out of the doorframe but he wouldn’t move, instead standing to meet you.

“i don’t like it when we argue, y/n. i was out of line and should’ve took a second to consider things from your perspective.” he takes his hands up to your swollen face, frowning as you furrow your eyebrows.

“i just missed you, a lot.”

“you deserve so much, and i’m sorry i haven’t been able to give that to you recently. let me make it up to you today, pretty.” he kisses your forehead before pulling you into a hug.  “love you, sung. please let’s talk and not yell next time.” you sigh at the familiar scent embracing you once again.

“never in a million years would i yell at you again.”

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[jihyocentric]

for mina's day! will work on mina requests in the weekend :)

-

the first time mina asked her to do that, jihyo couldn't believe what she heard.

she knew mina worked with the internet and that she went live in certain days of the week. they had agreed on respecting the time of the day that mina had to work, and jihyo would use that time to study, so the both of them had a great deal.

jihyo couldn't knock at mina's door or make any loud noises — not that jihyo was the type of roommate to do such things, but mina still had to talk to her about it, only so to make sure she wouldn't be interrupted. on the other hand, mina would give jihyo a treat for being a good roommate. she didn't have to, but she insisted, and jihyo couldn't refuse them.

but jihyo never once asked mina about her work. she didn't know which platform she used to go on lives, or which type of content mina did, and she wasn't all that eager to know, too busy with her own personal stuff. so when mina asked for her help, to take some pictures of her, jihyo would never have imagined that that was mina's work.

"you... y-you sell these pictures?" jihyo mumbles, cheeks becoming warm, and she feels stupid for her own reaction. "i'm s-sorry, not that it's a problem... it's not! i just... i just-" she all but stutters, unable to look at mina in the eye, too embarrassed.

"didn't you know?" mina coos, playing with the belt of her robe. she hasn't known jihyo in a long time, but the months that she's been her roommate made her realize that jihyo is incredibly easy to mess with. "i thought you would've guessed by now."

jihyo swallows thickly, not wanting to look at her, not when mina wore a robe that could be either covering her bare self or something even worse. she wanted to help mina, however. and for that, she would have to look.

"the lives..." jihyo starts, but never finishes, playing with her own fingers nervously.

"it's exactly what you're thinking," mina laughs softly, sitting next to jihyo. she sighs when she notices how tense jihyo is, rubbing her roommate's back to give her some sort of comfort. "if you don't want to, you don't have to. i just needed someone to get good angles for me, and you're good at taking pictures."

jihyo feels nervous with mina that close, touching her even if subtly, mina's bare thigh showing when she crosses her leg. jihyo's pants get suddenly tight and she feels bad for feeling that way towards mina, her friend, but it's like mina is doing everything intentionally, wanting to get that reaction from jihyo.

"i want to help." jihyo answers, finally looking at mina. for two seconds only, but it was already progress. "where do you want to take them?"

after the first time, mina kept asking for jihyo's help whenever she had to post more pictures. all jihyo had to do was following mina's instructions, which consisted of 1) taking pictures from her chin down, never showing the face, 2) getting good lighting and angles, and 3) ...

"you need to come closer to me. being too far away and zooming in is not good." mina tells her the third essential rule, and jihyo looks up, her eyes visible while the camera covered the rest of her face. mina laughs, knowing jihyo was shy again, but she doesn't give her any comfort. it was funnier when jihyo was embarrassed anyway.

"i'm sorry," jihyo mumbles, getting closer to her. she brings the chair a few inches away from the bed, closer than before, where mina sat wearing a new set of lingerie. jihyo tries not to focus on mina's body, forcing herself to think that mina wasn't all that.

but it doesn't work, of course not, that lie wasn't believable at all, not when jihyo was still hard in her pants after short minutes taking pictures of her. of mina, her disturbing clothes and naughty poses that made jihyo cruelly aroused.

even after knowing the type of streams mina did, jihyo never looked for it. she could if she wanted, all she had to do was get a monthly subscription and she'd have access to the pictures she took of mina, videos that jihyo didn't even want to think about and, of course, her streams.

but jihyo never did. it was bad enough that she sometimes jerked off to her roommate, despite trying hard to think about something that wasn't mina when she had her cock in her hand, but all she could think of was her roommate posing for her, with a smile that wasn't captured by the camera due to the first rule, but jihyo saw it.

she always did, and she always came thinking about it.

"that's much better," mina says when jihyo shows her the pictures she took. "i knew i could count on you. what do you want for your treat today?"

the color of jihyo's cheeks deepen into a crimson red hue when mina pats her head softly, thanking her. she looks at mina, and thinks if she should ask for dinner or something else, something she's been craving for.

jihyo settles for the dinner.

when mina is not home is when jihyo usually takes care of her needs.

she's always careful, closing the door of her room, knowing mina won't be back for a couple of hours, so she usually relaxes completely and does what she has to do before mina is back.

that day was unusual, though, and not only did mina's classes get canceled short minutes after she left the dorm, but jihyo decided to relieve herself in the shower, leaving the door open.

mina thinks of leaving her alone, at first, knowing jihyo would be mortified if she got caught jerking off. she couldn't even touch jihyo without her sweating and stuttering, so watching her masturbating sounded like something that could be a potential death cause.

but mina can't help it, not when she finds out about how big jihyo is, and how she's blushing when she touches herself, even when she's alone. or supposed to be.

mina has no other option than to join her, she really doesn't. she had watched enough, she would never be able to unsee jihyo touching herself, and jihyo was guilty of making her wet. therefore, it was now jihyo's problem to deal with.

"m-mina!" jihyo yells, almost tripping on her feet when mina joins her in the shower, already out of her clothes. she covers her eyes, not wanting to look at mina or be disrespectful, but her hardened cock pokes mina's tummy and she squeals again, taking a step backwards. "w-what are you doing here!"

"relax." mina laughs, following jihyo, not letting her escape. "my classes got canceled, so i came back. did you have fun in the meanwhile?" she teases, taking jihyo's hands away from her face, making jihyo look at her.

"why did you... why are you..." jihyo mutters, trying to come up with a proper sentence, but mina being that close, and naked, made her nervous to the point that she couldn't.

"what do you want to say?" mina smiles slyly, touching jihyo's shoulder, brushing her arm all the way down to her wrist. "can i touch you?"

jihyo nods at her question so quickly that mina laughs, fondling jihyo's cock as she leans in, preventing jihyo from talking with a kiss. jihyo can barely process what's happening but she accepts mina's touches, letting mina deepen the kiss, moaning against her mouth with every stroke on her cock.

mina avoids the tip, giving sharp, short strokes along the base that make jihyo whine, failing to respond to the kiss when it becomes too much, and then she's spilling all over mina's hand. she comes quickly, coating mina's palm with cum, breaking the kiss to catch her breath, and it's embarrassing that she didn't last at least five minutes.

"oh you really wanted that, didn't you?" mina coos, letting the water wash away jihyo's cum. jihyo peers into the steam of the shower's hot water to see mina staring at her. "don't be shy. now that i've helped you, do you mind helping me?"

jihyo hadn't even gone down and she was hardening again at mina's request. she never thought mina would ever want her, but there was mina, turning her back to jihyo, supporting herself on the wall, waiting for her to touch her.

"are you sure?" jihyo asks touching mina's waist regardless and slotting her cock between mina's thighs. "do you really want-"

"just fuck me already!" mina tells her firmly, and jihyo pushes her cock in, feeling both intimidated by mina and eager to be inside.

she takes off quickly, determined to please mina. jihyo whines as she buries herself inside, feeling the warm walls clamping around her cock deliciously, squeezing her so tight that she couldn't help but really bury herself all the way in, seeking for more of the feeling.

her fingers find mina's nipples, twitching them as she pounds into her quickly, letting mina know that despite the odds, she was capable of making her feel good. mina steadies herself on the wall, crying out with every buck of jihyo's into her, rubbing her own clit as jihyo stretched her up, body growing taut when she nears the edge.

"d-don't stop, i'm going to..." mina whimpers, unable to last enough to finish her sentence. she lets out a raw cry when she comes, spilling cum all over jihyo's shaft, gasping when jihyo hilts and fills her up, holding her waist tightly as she humps her ass.

when jihyo realizes what she's done it's too late, pulling out too quick, making mina moan in sensitiveness.

"i'm sorry!" jihyo pants, apologizing when mina is already leaking with her cum. "d-didn't mean to!"

"it's fine," mina sighs, turning her body so she could face jihyo. "but you'll have to pay me back for this."

jihyo gulps when mina smiles devilishly. "h-how?"

"how about you join me on live tonight?" mina suggests, jihyo freezes.

[a-big-mess-of-a-person]

Hello, my name is Big Mess of a Person, and here is some reasons I think I'm autistic.

If you have autism, please skim this? (Or read it in massive depth if you want) and please just let me know what you think. I really want more opinions.

Notes, before we get into it

- All of this is speculation. These are all things that I have noticed that some of my autistic friends do, that I also do

-While I don't have an autism diagnosis, I am diagnosed with ADHD, and it is very severe. I know they share a few traits so I have really just convinced myself it's my ADHD and nothing else. I am at a point where I want other people's opinions

- I am aware that having just a few of these traits does not mean I am autistic. I am making this post to mainly ask autistic people what they think. I want more opinions before I talk to my parents about it (my dad will not be super willing to get me tested)

- I know that if I do have autism, it is not very severe. I know it's easy to say that we would've known if it was 'bad' enough but it would not surprise me if we missed this for 16 years. My ADHD hit us straight in the face for 14 years and no one had any idea until we talked to my doctor

Alright, time to type it all out (yay.)

1. If people touch or move my things, it is very possible I will break down in one of two ways depending on how I'm feeling that day. I will either want to scream or break down and weep. Example(s)

- My grandfather came over this weekend while I went to his house. He stayed in my room. (As much as I love him, I did not want him in my room, I asked if we could offer him my sister's room (she's away at college) but he chose my room and he was helping us so I had to deal with it) He knocked over two of my Monster High dolls, and he put them back where they went, but just seeing them messed with and not how I put them made me want to cry. This combined with everything else that was going on made me have what I think was a meltdown. (You will get more context to last night as we go on)

- Despite us changing the sheets, just seeing my bed not how I have it made me also want to cry. It didn't feel like it was my bed anymore. We fixed it, but my room doesn't feel like my room. This is a stupid way to put it, but it's accurate, the vibe is off. It's not the vibe of my bedroom. So it doesn't feel like my room. I wanted to cry (spoiler alert, I did cry)

- This combines #1 and #2, #2 already had a lot of examples so im putting it here. My hands have been really dry recently and so I got this moisturizer. I forgot to bring it to my grandma's so my hands have been extremely dry and cracky which makes me want to die within itself, but that's not the point right now. Because we are redoing the bathroom, my hand moisturizer has been moved to an unknown location so I had to use one that has the wrong texture, feeling and smell.

2. I have very bad texture/smell/feeling(?) problems. The word is sensory. It's like an hour after I first wrote this. The word I was looking for is sensory. Example(s)

- I am a known sock hater and it's because they sometimes feel loose around my ankles. Anything loose around my ankles makes me want to scream and cry all at the same time. This has been true my entire life. It's why I don't wear certain shoes, or certain pants. If there is anything near my ankles it has to be an even pressure, or nothing at all

- Anything on my hands that is not meant to be there makes my blood boil. I need to wash it off as soon as possible. Even unsolicited water makes me feel like this. My hands can't be wet (or anything else) without me wanting them to be or else I lose my mind

- Anything on the bottoms of my feet (like dust, dirt, random shit on the floor) makes me feel very uncomfortable and I want to cry. An example from last night is the dust that covers my bathroom floor right now because we are redoing it. There is construction dust covering my floors (every damn room in the house) and the idea of walking into my bedroom with my feet covered in this dust made me freak out. I was nearly in tears. I was so upset that I froze. I couldn't move or speak or anything without wanting to cry even more. I had to walk back into the bathroom and get a wet cloth then walk on the sides of my feet till I could sit on the edge of my bed, then I wiped my feet off. Now, if I have to leave my bed or couch, I am putting my slippers on. There's a lot more that I'm not typing, that I think is necessary, but it would be so much more and I'm not good at typing so it probably wouldn't make sense anyway

- Right now my scalp makes me want to scream. Because of the bathroom being redone right now, we can't shower. (part of the reason I went to my grandmas house) I showered before I came home yesterday but I used the wrong shampoo and conditioner, so my hair looks like shit. I needed to go to school today so I woke up and dry shampooed it so I didn't look like a greasy mess. Normally I can deal with the texture being wrong, and the horrible smell that bubbles around me all day, and the cloudy look it gives me hair, but after everything else I could not do it today and so I started crying, which is why I am even typing this right now, because I'm not going to school today. So it was for nothing and now my hair feels bad and I still cant shower and I am probably gonna have to do it again tomorrow or use the sink to shampoo and condition my hair

3. I go into stretches where I am almost completely non verbal. If I am overwhelmed or anything I can go into stretches where I don't speak, or interact with anyone. People touching me makes me feel worse and it's hard to tell them to stop without yelling or seeming mad. It makes me feel really shitty because it's not always their fault, but I snap at them anyway. I am often very shaky during this and it's hard for me to use my arms and legs to move or hold things. I don't have any specific examples right now, but I will add them if I find some (It's really just as I typed it though)

4. This one I'm a bit unsure if this is autism, or just me being weird, but I am very good with sympathy, and I lack empathy. I can very well feel bad for someone, feel sorry for them, and i often give people the benefit of a doubt when I don't know their situation, but I don't feel bad for that long? I don't feel it with them. This doesn't mean I think they shouldn't feel that way, I understand why they do, I just don't feel that way. I think I need some examples to explain this one so, Example(s)

- Let's say someone is in a car ahead of me. They are driving slow and maybe not doing everything they should be. While my mom who's driving gets slightly annoyed and huffy, I think "what if they are a new driver? I know what it's like to be a new driver and I know I wouldn't be doing it on purpose" then I am ok being behind a slower car (this is one side of the coin)

- Lets say my friend got into an argument with her dad last night. She tells me how it makes her feel. While I am sorry that she got into an argument, and I do feel bad, it's not taking up any of my mental space. I will understand if she is off, but I don't feel any level of "feeling what she's feeling" even though I am very familiar with getting into upsetting arguments with my own dad.

- This is very similar to the last but still different so I'm giving it a category. Let's say my friend tells me about something bad that happened in their life. I don't think about it all the time. It doesn't affect me in any way. Though if I were to tell my friend about the same thing she acts like it affects her personally

This friend I am talking about is a very sympathetic and empathetic person, so maybe I just don't relate to it like she does and it makes me feel like something is wrong with me even though we are just different. I think the gist is, I don't understand that type of feeling well. Even if I have experience in the situation, I don't relate it and hold onto it. I may make the connection, but then that's it. While I feel bad for them, and understand why they may be acting different, it doesn't affect me or bother me. It takes up no space in my head. It's not that I don't care, but it just doesn't stick in my mind. I am really unsure if this is autism or not? I know having autism messes with perceiving feelings and emotions from others so I'm putting this just in case. Speaking of perceiving feelings and emotions from others, that moves us to #5!

5. This may be a normie thing that I just don't know is a normie thing but better be safe than sorry. I am hyper aware of how other people in the room feel. I know autism can include not reading the room well but I've heard that it can also be reading the room REALLY well. Example(s)

- I can walk into a room and understand how everyone is feeling. I am really good at reading body language and listening to tone of voice. If this is something that could be autism, I think it is part of the reason it has taken this long for anyone to realize I might have it. I am good at reading body language and tone of voice, so I am good at using it to portray how I feel (and to cover up how I feel). I am constantly changing how I say things and changing my hang gestures and the way I am holding myself to portray the emotions I want people to read.

I have no idea if that is autism, but I think it could be. So here, have it, I guess

6. I know a lot of people with autism fidget, and this is similar? I don't know what it's called (if it even has a name) but when an autistic person will like, express a big emotion through body language. Like, jumping when excited, or shaking hands when nervous. That thing? I don't know what it's called and I hate describing it in a way that makes it seem minimal and I feel like the description I just gave definitely makes it seem minimal. I'm not trying to do that, I just don't know what it's called. Anyway, here's what I mean? Example(s)

- I will shake my hands when I am nervous. I shake them like I'm trying to get water off of them

- I crack my knuckles under high pressure situations or when I'm nervous

- If I get really excited I will usually jump or kinda run in place?

I feel like the way I am describing this one is off somehow. I don't know how, but from my perspective I feel like I'm objectifying this? I don't know if I am. But I'm honestly not trying to do this I just don't know how else to type it. It's a sensory thing, I know that, I just don't know how to explain it? I'm gonna move on from this.

Ok, this is all of the reason I can think of right now. I'm sure there's more, and I will update this as needed. It's taken me like two hours to type all this out, so I'm done for now.

If anyone actually reads this and has feedback thank you. I appreciate it. I hope I didn't do anything that is considered bad to do. I'm not trying to. I'm not normally on this side of Tumblr. I don't even know if "this side" exists!

I'm gonna use tags to try and get people to see this, so, sorry if I use the wrong tags. I don't know what the correct ones would be. Sorry if the tags are weird. I want people to see this. I really need advice and other opinions. I'm not trying to self diagnose with the tags, I just want people to see this.

Sorry if I'm acting weird in this. I feel very bad right now. I don't feel like my normal self probably because of everything that happened last night. (I didn't cover even half of it)

Ok, done for now. I will reblog with new thoughts as they arrive.

[youngbloodtg109]

Losing A Bet (Patreon Post)

My roommate and I were both pretty lonely. Our girlfriends broke up with us and I haven’t tried dating since. He tried but nothing seemed to stick. When X-Change came out, he seemed to love the idea.

He bought a pack of basics and showed it to me. “It’s a simple coin toss. Loser has to take one of these and be my date for the evening,” he said, a grin on his face. I reluctantly agreed and picked tails. He flipped the coin and chuckled as he showed me the result.

Heads. Of course it had to be heads. “Well, a deal‘s a deal. I guess I’ll be your date for the evening,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Good. I picked out some clothes for you. You may want to take that basic now. The sun‘s going down and I have a reservation for the both of us,” he said with a wink before walking out. “What an ass,” I thought to myself.

I sighed before getting out of bed and grabbing a pill and moving to the living room. I took a deep breath before swallowing and getting dressed. My new body was beautiful. I honestly didn’t expect it to work. My new body seemed so alien but natural at the same time. After staring at my new body for a few minutes, I remembered the bet and knocked on my roommate’s door. The look on his face was priceless. His jaw was on the floor as he saw how beautiful I was.

“I...I can’t believe you actually did it. You look absolutely stunning,” he stammered. I blushed and giggled at how nervous he was around me. Maybe being a chick for the night wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Are you ready for our date?” I asked. “Oh! Uhh...yes. We have a reservation at Asiago’s,” he said. Asiago’s was the fanciest restaurant in our town. I didn’t expect to him to take this date so seriously!

The date was absolutely fantastic. My roommate was such a gentleman and I think I started to develop feelings for him. He was so handsome and funny. He didn’t even seem to mind when I accidentally called him “babe”. I think he actually liked it.

After finishing our meal and leaving, I was a bit tipsy. Apparently, my female form wasn’t adjusted to wine yet and I was stumbling slightly as we made our way back to his car. My vision was slightly blurred but I could still see his eyes. “Hey handsome,” I said to him, slightly slurring my words. He smiled and pulled me in for a kiss. It was magical. Tingles shot throughout my body as our lips met and we held each other tightly.

One thing led to another and we were racing home, our hands intertwined. That one kiss sent me into a frenzy. I needed him now. My new pussy was on fire and I could tell that he was hard as a rock under his pants.

As soon as we got home, he carried me back to his bedroom and made love to me all night long. It was absolutely perfect. His cock was made for my pussy, it absolutely fit like a glove. We made love until the early morning and fell asleep in each other’s arms. I completely forgot that I was on a basic until we woke up and I was in my male body again. I immediately took another basic and went back to his bed.

I ended up taking a basic every day. My roommate is my boyfriend now and I couldn’t be happier. He’s loving, he’s smart, he’s funny, and he’s an excellent lay. We decided to skip the Xtra-Strength and jumped onto the Plus. Living as a woman isn’t easy, but with the help of my boyfriend I have nothing to fear.

The bet was absolutely stupid but I’m glad I lost. I found the love of my life and I just know he’s going to propose soon, especially since my recent pregnancy test came back positive.

Hello all! Youngblood here. This was my first ever Patreon post! For 2023, I want to add my old stories onto here, Blogspot, and Tumblr so that pictures and gifs can finally be added. I hope you enjoy and I love you all!

[bbutterflies]

Happy halfway through @ninovember! Chemistry with him is still updating daily over on ao3, but day 16's chapter is one of my favorites, if not my absolute favorite, and it mostly works as a standalone so I wanted to share it here.

I'll be posting daily on ao3 for the rest of the month! There's a lot of super cute fluff in store 💕

Read chapter 16 (Love song) below the cut

The practice rooms in the music building were a nice place to study, Nino had realized. It was quiet, and no one ever bothered him, and he could spread his stuff out across the floor and get comfortable. Especially when he stayed late, like he did today, and it meant he wasn’t hogging the rooms. He was pretty sure he was the only one here right now, so he didn’t feel bad sitting on the floor and working on his chemistry homework.

(He was resisting the urge to text Adrien for help, because he knew he’d instantly get distracted.

His phone was across the room, silenced.

Unfortunately.

He’d much, much rather be talking to Adrien than doing chemistry homework. Or just about anything else.)

He spent a lot of time with Adrien as it was. They found time to spend together most days, even if it was just lunch or walking to class together. When Adrien didn’t have to work, they’d do dinner or Nino would stay over, but Adrien was so busy it didn’t always happen. Which was fine, obviously, and Nino would be more than happy with any time he got, but he would also be happy to spend every moment of every day with him.

Adrien was just so easy to be with. Even in public when Nino had to keep his distance, he’d still rather be with Adrien than anywhere else. He loved his smile, and his stupid laugh, and how focused he got when he studied, and all of his terrible jokes. He loved kissing him but he loved just falling asleep watching TV together just as much. He was maybe in love with him, but definitely at least falling for him, and he wasn’t worried about that. He knew something about Adrien was different than anyone else he’d ever met. Adrien felt like forever, and usually something so permanent would be terrifying – but Adrien was a comfort. The thought he’d always be around was soothing more than anything.

Nino could almost imagine a future that did always have Adrien, and he liked it.

He turned his attention back to his homework with a sigh. He probably would’ve been more productive if he’d just met up with Adrien. He was distracted just thinking about him, but if he were here, he’d keep them both on track. He was responsible like that, and Nino could never tell him no, so when he said he was actually going to work, they did work.

It was cute, if a little annoying when Nino just wanted to kiss him.

He heard a knock at the door to the practice room and glanced up in time to see it open. It was Adrien, like he’d heard Nino’s thoughts, and Nino was thrilled to see him. “Hey! What are you doing here?”

Adrien shrugged as he came inside, shutting the door behind him. “I missed you. Thought I might find you here. Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not.” Nino was happy to have the company.

Adrien sat down next to him, leaning against his shoulder. “What are you working on?”

“Our stupid chemistry homework, believe it or not,” Nino said. “I’ve been at it for a while.”

Adrien looked over his notes. “You’re missing a bond on that carbon.” He took Nino’s pencil and corrected his drawing. “And then you’ll have the right number of electrons on the nitrogen. That should make things easier.”

“This is why I shouldn’t do this without you.”

“Dating me just for my chemistry knowledge?” Adrien teased.

Nino laughed, bumping his shoulder. “It’s one great perk.”

Adrien hummed, looking around the room. His eyes landed on the piano, situated in the corner of the room. “I didn’t know they had pianos down here.”

“Yeah, some of the practice rooms have them.”

Adrien stood up and walked over to it. He ran his fingers lightly across the keys, not hard enough to play any notes. “Do they keep this tuned?” he asked as he sat down in front of the piano.

“I think so. Do you play?”

“A little.” Adrien’s hands rested over the keys. “Come sit with me?”

Nino was happy to ignore his homework. He set his things aside and squeezed onto the bench next to him, and then Adrien played.

It wasn’t anything Nino recognized. It started off slow, a little simple, a few basic chords under an easy melody. Adrien’s hands danced over the keys. It was clear this was something he was familiar with, something he’d done a lot, by how easily he played. He was smiling as the song built, adding onto the phrases until Nino almost couldn’t believe it was just one person playing.

It was beautiful. It was perfect. Adrien was, obviously, an expert. He didn’t miss a single note as he played, and he didn’t seem to be struggling at all. It looked easy. It sounded incredible.

Nino never wanted Adrien to stop playing. He could listen to his music and watch him at the piano for hours. Days, probably. He never knew Adrien could play the piano like this, and now that he’d found out, he was absolutely enamored. He’d have to invite Adrien to the music building more often.

Adrien’s song did inevitably come to an end, much to Nino’s dismay. They sat in silence for a second or two before Nino found his words again.  “You said you play a little. Liar,” he teased. “You’re amazing.”

“I don’t really play that much anymore,” Adrien said. “I did a lot when I was younger.”

“That was incredible. What song was that?”

Adrien shrugged. “Just… something. Just for you.”

“You… you just came up with that? Just now?” Nino asked in awe.

Adrien nodded like it was nothing, fingers grazing over the keys again. “Yeah. I used to like to do that.”

“Wow, Dri.”

Adrien glanced over at him again. “Dri?”

The nickname had just sort of slipped out, but Nino liked it for him. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah. Definitely. I liked it a lot.” Adrien smirked. “We make such a great pair. I write love songs for you, and you come up with cute nicknames for me.”

Nino would’ve laughed – he would’ve – but… “Love songs?” he asked.

“Yeah. If that’s okay,” Adrien said softly. “It… it was. A love song, I mean.”

Oh.

A love song could mean a lot of things. It was too early, really, for Nino to say it, but… he liked the idea of that. He liked the idea of really loving Adrien. So a love song was okay. It was definitely okay. It was more than okay.

“Play me another?” Nino asked.

Adrien smiled, and he did. He played for a while, flowing between songs Nino recognized and songs he didn’t. It was clear he’d had real training, classical training, from the songs he played, and it was clear he’d trained a lot from how easy it all seemed to be.

Nino was in awe, and it only made him like Adrien that much more.

Eventually Adrien did stop, his hands leaving the piano to wrap around Nino’s shoulders instead. Nino snaked his arms around Adrien’s waist. “This is way better than doing my homework.”

Adrien laughed, hugging Nino close. “I can’t believe I’m being the bad influence.”

“It’s so unlike you,” Nino mused.

“Well, if I am being a bad influence… want to come over to my place?”

“Absolutely.”

“But we have to finish our homework.”

Nino groaned, lifting his head to pout at Adrien. “That’s no fun. You’re so responsible.”

Adrien brought his hand to Nino’s cheek, cupping it gently. His hand was warm and soft against Nino’s skin. “But, beau,” he said softly, “I can’t be your hot tutor if you fail out of chemistry.”

Nino hummed, pretending to mull it over. “You make a good point.”

“Of course I do. And I really want to pass chemistry.”

“All this talk about chemistry is really killing the mood,” Nino whined.

“You don’t think chemistry is sexy?” Adrien asked.

“Ew. No.”

“What? Not even atomic orbitals?”

“No!” Nino said, trying to pull away from Adrien, but Adrien wrapped both arms around him again and held him close. Nino laughed as he tried to fight back. “Adrien!”

“Hmm, oh, what about chair conformations?”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Nino laughed, still trying to wiggle his way out of Adrien’s grasp.

“What? I’m clearly failing you as a tutor. We learned that last week.”

“Guess I need more lessons.”

“Clearly.” Adrien adjusted his grip on Nino, arms sliding lower, and Nino could barely process what was happening until Adrien stood up and had managed to wrangle Nino over his shoulder. Nino laughed, knowing he was helpless to fight now but trying to escape anyways.

“What are you doing?” Nino asked through his laughter.

“Taking you home,” Adrien said sternly, “to do homework.”

“No,” Nino whined, still struggling in Adrien’s arms. “That’s so boring.” He managed to (or, well, Adrien let him) wriggle down until he was settled in front of him, legs wrapped around Adrien’s hips and Adrien’s hands under his thighs to support him. Adrien was smirking back at him, teasing, and Nino really just wanted to kiss him for the rest of the night. “How’d you get so strong?” Nino asked as his hands settled on Adrien’s shoulders.

“I do this crazy thing called going to the gym,” Adrien said with his usual dangerous smirk. “What, you like it?”

“Yes,” Nino breathed, and he captured Adrien’s mouth in his before he could make another stupid joke.

Nino loved kissing Adrien, and he was pretty sure he’d never be able to get enough. It was different to kiss him like this, with Adrien holding him up, but he liked it. He was pretty sure he’d like anything if it came along with kissing him, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that.

“Hmm, I think you’re right,” Adrien murmured as he broke away.

“About?”

“We shouldn’t do homework tonight.”

Nino kissed him again – as thanks, and in celebration. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

“You made a very convincing argument. But, I don’t know if I’m totally convinced.”

“You’re such a dork,” Nino laughed. “You could just ask me to kiss you. You know I would.”

“This is more fun.”

It was more fun. Nino was happy to play along. “What’ll it take to convince you?”

“I don’t know,” Adrien said thoughtfully. “Maybe a lot.”

“Dork,” Nino teased, but he was leaning in to kiss him again.

[silviaflowers]

|| Oh, You're So Traumatized, It Makes Me Wanna Cry! || Slaughter Drone AU Fic ||

(Actual fic under the cut, this is to keep from clogging up my page and the tags lol) cross-posted to AO3 : Oh, You're So Traumatized, It Makes Me Wanna Cry! - [Archive of Our Own] CW for murder (obviously)

The air was cold. In fact, it was freezing. Not that Uzi could tell, of course. And neither could her pawn. Uzi sat on the shoulders of a disassembly drone, his name was Serial Designation N, though when his squad was alive, they called him N. N didn't get many chances to act of his own accord, though when Uzi walked outside of the landing pod alone to think (always bringing her precious railgun, the method she'd used to subdue this specific disassembly drone) he would sit and talk to himself. Well, he used to, until Uzi had caught him talking to himself and threatened him for it. Now he just thought.

"N, don't talk to yourself. It's stupid." Uzi had spat.

N's eyes hollowed into outlines, and he nodded. "Yes Uzi." He went silent after that.

Uzi walked over to the controls of the landing pod, lifting her wrench with an ability N had never figured out the name of. Obviously, he would never ask. A symbol- a hexagon with three lines coming out of it, triangles at the end of each line- always appeared to replace one of her eyes when she used it. N knew Uzi as a stoic teen and a rather short disassembly drone who would blow up at him if he said the wrong thing. He went along with it though, of course he did.

"Hey N, do you need oil?" Uzi absentmindedly asked.

"I- Uhm- I don't think so, Uzi." N kept his hands behind his back.

"Too bad, we're going to get more, I'm overheating."

"Okay Uzi." N nodded dutifully, an X flickering onto his screen. He kneeled so that Uzi could climb onto his back. Uzi held onto him as he exited the landing pod and flew into the air. He scouted the area for any stray worker drones, his eyes wandering to the large colony of worker drones that Uzi had been hiding in. Well, that's what Uzi told him, at least. Uzi's excuse for knowing so much about the colony, down to even having a grudge against their leader, Khan, was that she had been sent by JCJenson in Spaaaaace as a new type of drone: a Spy Drone. A disassembly drone made to look like a worker drone so that it could infiltrate the worker base.

Uzi never elaborated on her past in the worker base. N always assumed it must have been really bad. Never mind that now. He landed just outside of the base and Uzi began to bang on Door 1. She put on her best terrified worker impression.

"HELP! HELP! THE GIRL AND HER DRONE ARE AFTER ME! LET ME IN!" Uzi begged, gesturing to N. His mind went blank at the motion before his eyes hollowed out with recognition.

"Oh right!" He whispered before beginning to cackle.

The door began to open, and N snuck his claws into the gap. He snuck his tail into the fort to corrode the door mechanics, making it easy to pry the doors open.

Uzi pointed at the drones, grinning as she said, "Fetch, boy."

N nodded, diving after the fleeing drones. Their screams filled the air as he pinned one to the wall and he knocked the head off. He tossed the body at Uzi and pursued a new worker to drink the oil from himself.

"Don't hog it all, N!" She shouted as he tore into the body of some worker. A quiet voice in the back of his head wondered if he should feel guilty for this, but it was quickly crushed by what he'd been programmed to do and what Uzi had told him. Eventually, he grabbed a few bodies and exited the worker base, going back to Uzi. She relied on him for oil access, given that she didn't have the best handle on how to use her abilities for violence.

She wiped a few drops of oil from her mouth, "Great work, N."

N smiled and gave her two thumbs up. The remaining workers watched as the two walked away from the destruction they'd caused.

...Now to collect themselves.

[beautifulblooms]

The Bane of My Existence, and the Object of All My Desires - Eddie Munson x Male!Reader

Male!Reader, he/him used if mentioned, so I got a lot of good reviews on my angst fic I posted earlier called “I Bite My Tongue It’s a Bad Habit”, which will be linked below, this is a part two, it’s a happy ending this time I swear, HOWEVER, there will be a sad ending posted sometime tomorrow when I wake up and write it, I’m just too set on making this end sadly, this is specifically for @alexs-playground and @eddieverse for yelling at me in vc on discord, but here it is, I hope you all enjoy a happy ending to a sad beginning

CIS Women and Female Aligned people, please DNI, this story and all of my others are for non-binary, masculine aligned and male readers!

I Bite My Tongue It’s a Bad Habit (part 1)

I Bite My Tongue It’s a Bad Habit (sad ending/part 2)

Tags: @qthetherapist, @rlmt1

It had been at least three weeks since I left, driving as far as I could on the tank of gas I already had in my car. I made it a few counties outside of Hawkins, got a cheap motel for a few days before I decided to look into a place I could make mine. A few days after being in the motel I found a simple job working the cashier stand at a grocery store, good pay for an easy job. I didn’t even want to think about Eddie, let alone Steve, so I just did my stupid little job and didn’t think of Hawkins.

The only thing I needed was a couple important documents I had left back home, in the one place I never wanted to go back. 7 in the morning I grabbed the same bag I left that shithole with and began to drive down to the familiar place I once loved. It was about 3pm by the time I made it back to Hawkins, another 10 minutes and I was at my old house, door still wide open from when I ran out and left. Parking the car I took a couple of minutes to process what I needed to do and where to go, also taking some deep breaths to remind myself I only needed to grab a couple papers from the safe. I opened the car door and made my way inside, not even bothering to shut the door as I made my way up the stairs and to my bedroom where I was honestly scared by the person laying in my bed. Sure I expected someone to sleep in the house, but I didn’t expect him to be the one laying in my bed at 3:16 on a Saturday, not the reason I left this shit town.

Slowly trying to back out of my room I knocked the door with my shoulder, fuck fuck fuck fuck, shit I need to get out of here quickly. He shot up in an instant after I bumped the door, still obviously waking up but shocked to see me of all people standing in the door way.

“(y-y/n)? Is that really you? Fuck wh-where have you been I’ve was so worried, I-I thought you died.” He stood up from my bed and made his way over to me. I wanted to yell at him to get away, run, find a way out of this but I was frozen. Eddie just hugged me around my middle and cried into my shirt, mumbling things about how much he missed me. “Where did you go, why did you leave, are you okay?” Looking up at me he was blurry eyed, tears coursing down his cheeks, welled in his eyes, face red and puffy, looks like he’d been crying earlier too.

“I’m um, I’m fine, just needed to leave this town, I’m not staying here, just grabbing some legal stuff and I’m going back.” He was starting to cry harder at my words, and began to plead with me.

“But why? Why leave this town, leave everyone, leave me? Why do you have to go far away from me?” I couldn’t take it anymore and just broke away from his arms.

“Because it’s not far enough Eddie! There isn’t a single place on this planet where I can be far enough away from you, my parents raised me well and to be an honorable man. That honor is hanging by a thread and every moment I spent around you was making that worse and worse. You are the bane of my existence, Eddie Munson, and the object of all my attractions. I have loved you since we were in middle school and it hurt so much when I saw you and Steve holding hands, kissing, being together. So yes, I have to go that far away because if I have to spend another minute in a town with you and him together, that’s not a world I want to live in.”

He couldn’t even look at me without more tears welling up, new warm streaks making their way down his cheeks. He began to sob slowly, hair falling in front of his face as he leaned his head down. I didn’t feel bad about what I said, it was relieving to say what I needed to.

“Then…then why didn’t you tell me you did?” He looked back up at me, pleading with his eyes.

“I tried, I asked you on dates, bought you gifts, but you didn’t notice, you always thought it was just me being a great friend.” In that moment I saw him begin to think back to all the things we’d done together, all the things I’d bought for him, everything that involved me. And then he began to laugh, the sobs made it difficult for him but he was still laughing.

“What’s so funny about me confessing to you?” He focused on me again, wiping the tears from his eyes trying to calm his laughter.

“Because this means me and Steve breaking up was a good thing after all.” ….what? They broke up while I was gone? How, why, what? “I caught him kissing someone else at skull rock, we were supposed to meet for a date. I yelled at him and called things off, and I couldn’t think of what to do so I came here to see you, you always knew how to make me feel better. And when you weren’t here I broke down, I thought that I had driven away the one person who actually cared about me in this town. It hurt so much when you didn’t come back, I couldn’t find you, I asked around town. But no one knew where you were.” I just stood there and stared at him, he looked for me, missed me, tried to find me?

“I’m sorry I got too obsessed with Steve, I realized later that I was neglecting you, I shouldn’t have done that and I realized it way too late. I’m so sorry (y/n), can you give me another chance?” I was looking at the floor trying to process everything, he cared about me, he was actually sorry, I need to fix this. I looked up from the floor and slowly approached Eddie, bringing a hand up to rest on his cheek to which he leaned into my hold. Slowly leaning my head down towards him, I paused a mere inch from his lips.

“Do you want this just as much as I do?” He didn’t even respond with words, only pushed his lips the last inch and pulled me into a kiss. It was rough, passionate, but somehow just as soft and caring as I hoped it would be. He only pulled away for a couple seconds at a time, catching his breath before coming back to me and leaving me breathless once more with just his lips. Pulling away again he rested his forehead on my shoulder.

“Does that answer your question?”

[tj4shy]

A silly and short Dutch Van der Linde x shifter reader fic thing

Okay so this is basically just a first interaction with Dutch van Der Linde I would have once i manage to shift to RDR2, but i decided to post it here in case any shifters need motivation/inspiration for their first day I hope you enjoy it x please don't criticize my writing, english isn't my first language and this is my first time genuenly posting something on tumblr

I wake up and I am met with Dutch staring down at me, I am pretty dizzy and distorted, I prop myself up on my elbows but before i can regain my consciousness fully i get questioned by him “Who are you?” I mumble my real name “Tjaša”, the name is foreign to him and he catches only a bit “Ash?” I stare at Dutch in slight disbelief that he managed to butcher my name this bad, but I am too disoriented to correct him or just to bother correcting him “yeah, that”, he then offers me a hand so i can pull myself up from the laying position, I take it, while he pulls me up he says “the name’s Dutch Van der Linde” as I stand up, I regain back my consciousness fully and try to make it look like I made a mental note in my mind of his name despite knowing it beforehand.

As I take in my surroundings I realise where I actually am, the realisation hits me like a truck, but I remain calm, i feel my body with my hands and swat off any dirt on me, as I look down I see my old black zip up hoodie, red t-shirt and my gray sweatpants accompanied by my red socks and Sketchers. After taking in my surroundings and grounding myself Dutch speaks up again.

“What happened to you? Arthur says that he found you knocked out on the side of the road” oh. that. I remember my stupid story that I am meant to sell them and begin explaining “I- I dont remember, sir” its polite to use proper official terms is it not? “Where am I?” i contrast the politeness before, by interrupting him as he was about to say something “Horseshoe Overlook, a minute on horseback away from Valentine” this is my first time here, no way I would know where it is despite the fact that I visited this location in my favorite videogame many many times “I’m sorry, where?” Dutch now picks up on my foreign accent, he at first brushed it off as dizziness from being knocked out, but now realises that it is a part of who I am “America, young lady” I give him an unamused look “I figured that part out, sir… what year is it?” let him figure it out on his own, I think to myself, if he hasnt picked the fact up by looking at my clothes, surely he will get it now, right? “1899” he says pridefully, clearly missing my hints, so i just serve it to him on a plate “fuck… this cant be right” he finally gives me the awaited puzzle look “What do you mean by that?” okay, here we go, now is the time to sell him the absolutely insane story “I am not supposed to be here… sir, I- I am from the year 2024” okay I sent it fully, now lets see the reaction “Lady, I am afraid you hit your head a bit too harshly” oh boy, now the convincing begins “Sir, look at my clothes, do they not look foreign?” he checks me out for the first time ever, not that he wont be doing much of that later on “Foreign yes, but from another time no, impossible” okay hes not easy to convince, lets pull the plastic trick… I remove one of my shoes and point on the end of a shoelace “this is plastic… it hasn’t even been invented yet” he carefully inspects this curious material I called plastic… “I don’t recognize it, but I still don’t believe you” shit okay, now we gotta pull out the tags on my clothes “see here? it says that it was produced in the year 2023, which isnt my year cause I had this hoodie for a year, but still its from the future” okay this better be it… he gives me a puzzled look not being able to come up with a reasonable explanation for it, he does a double take and looks at me in disbelief “And how are you here then?” he bought it, yes, lets proceed “No idea, but I want to go home, sir” he briefly tries to find a way for me to time travel back, but is met with no success, he sighs as if this is going to be the toughest news of my life “Miss, I am afraid I have no idea” of course you don’t, I am a shifter dumbass, but oh well at least you feel sorry for me.

[duckduckquackity]

[ CW: joint popping, mentions of injury (not in depth) ]

Today was one of his worse days.

It was usually Quackity’s shoulder or knee that hurt. It wasn’t the greatest feeling but it was certainly bearable especially with how much he already had to rest.

Sometimes though it has to be ruined. Stubbornly that morning Quackity decided that he had to do something productive. He had to start contributing eventually. Bad probably wouldn’t care (likely quite the opposite) but Quackity did. How far behind everyone was he? How likely was he to get knocked down for being a weak target again?

It was supposed to be easy: establish a farm somewhere. A place where he and his kids could just get food and not steal from Bad, or Phil, or the Favela, or anywhere that had an exposed farm.. guilty habit. This wasn’t anything new, he’s built farms multiple times and could build a hundred more.

What he failed to keep in mind was his ankles. It started as a slightly annoying pain, the type of pain where you walk on it you can feel it hurt ever so slightly, but the type of pain that isn’t enough to make you say no to the days plans. It progressed over time and Quackity just did what he did best. Ignored it. He’s broken his wings lost his feathers and gotten stabbed more times than for some ankle pain to stop him.

Building a couple of fence posts not far out from where Tilín and him once lived, ignoring that maybe he wanted to rebuild it just because it was familiar and wrong at the same time, he leaned up against a freshly placed posts.

“Hijo de puta,” Quackity mumbled through gritted teeth, “tienes que estar bromeando.”

His ankle wouldn’t move. At any point he tried to move it even just to bend it the pain overwhelmed him. So from unlikely slightly inconvenient pain to now he couldn’t fucking move. Perfect. As if trying to drag himself away from Bad’s house and Bad himself was already a lot, he was now stuck outside near the place he got kidnapped currently trying to figure out what the hell to do with his ankle.

The frustration rattled through his system as he huffed and tried to bring himself down to his ankle. He was determined not to let it get to him even though he already begun to quack for help.

Ex-politic, ex.. something in a war he can’t remember, ex-survivalist in general, and yet somehow something fucked his ankle up enough to have him in a stupid situation.

The only thing he knows is when he gets back to Bad’s he is not going to leave their side unless Bd left, a more common occurrence, but it was fine. Worst case scenario Quackity hides to feel better.

By the time Quackity does get back he mentions nothing of what happened. Nothing about the difficulty popping his ankle back in place or how he began panicking because he swore he heard something. It was something that never happened.

Not that Quackity can ignore it that easily but for today the only thing left of his venture was the pain in his ankle and scrapped fence posts in his bag.

[ Son of a bitch,

you have to be joking. ]

[munsonsmullet]

This is my first time posting so take it easy on me 😬

Warnings: drunkenness, cheating boyfriend, alcohol consumption

I had been seeing Billy Hargrove for a couple weeks and tonight he took me to a party with him tonight and promptly ditched me in the living room. After a few drinks I realized I hadn’t seen him in a while so I started wandering the house until I could heard both male and female moans coming from behind a closed door. Recognizing the male sounds I opened the door to find billy bend over some busty blonde chick. I tearfully told him to never talk to me again and slammed the door. He never came out after me so I took that as him agreeing we were done. Once I got back to the kitchen I found a bottle of vodka and tipped it back taking several gulps, enjoying the burning as it ripped down my esophagus. I knew the trailer park wasn’t too far so I just started walking. I needed my best friend. I stumbled my way down the gravel road and into the trailer park looking for the familiar front porch. My legs felt a bit like jello as the liquor started to kick in. As I thumped heavily up the wooden steps I could hear Eddie’s guitar inside, softly playing a metal riff he’s been working on for a few weeks.

I knocked hard a few times and slumped to the porch floor as I heard the guitar pause and footsteps quickly approaching.

The door swung open and Eddie stepped out in a Metallica tshirt and some plaid pajama pants, hair a mess and guitar pick between his lips. He looked down quickly and took note of me sitting down and he quickly removed the pick from his mouth as his brows furrowed with concern.

“Hey, y/n what are you doin here at this time sweetheart?” He asked gently as he reached down to hurriedly pull me up and inside the trailer where it was warmer. “Is everything okay, what’s goin on?” He sat me down on his bed and knelt in front of me, one hand on my knee, one beside my hip on the bed.

I nodded slowly looking at the floor and ignoring his gaze knowing if I looked into his eyes the waterworks would start.

“So you know how I was kinda hangin out with B-billy, even t-though you told me it was a bad idea?” I stammered out drunkenly, on the verge of tears. His eyes rested on my quivering lower lip.

“Sweetheart did he hurt you?” He asked standing quickly and starting to inspect me for harm.

“He took me to this stupid party and ditched me then I found him fuckin some chick upstairs” I slurred out. “Then I got drunk.” I stated as the tears started flowing down my face.

“Oh hey, don’t-don’t cry. You came to the right place sweetheart, you’re safe. You’re okay” he spoke softly into my ear as he pulled me into his lap on his bed and embraced me, letting me cry it out.

After what seems like forever he grasped my shoulders and pulled me away from him a bit to look at my face. “How are you feeling?”

My head was swirling and all of a sudden so was my stomach. I covered my mouth with my hand and jumped out of Eddie’s lap and ran to the bathroom, not missing the panicked expression on his face as I did. I puked into the toilet and after a moment I felt a presence come into the bathroom as Eddie came and knelt beside me. He gently replaced my hands with his own and held my hair back for me, rubbing my back and placing chaste kisses on my shoulders, whispering sweet comforts to me as I calmed down from puking.

After I cleaned up a bit I noticed how cold and wet my clothes were. Eddie must have noticed earlier because when we got back to his room he had a clean shirt and pair of boxers ready for me.

“Can-can you help me?” I half whispered to him, staring into his brown eyes with my own and placing my hands gently against his chest. “I’m so heavy, my body feels too tired” I mumbled laying down on his bed and closing my eyes.

“Sweetheart, I will, but are you okay with me taking your clothes off for you?” He knows You we’re shitfaced and wanted to help but didn’t want you to feel awkward in the morning when you realized he had seen you naked because you got wasted.

You hum gently, “I’m more than okay with you being the one to take them off Ed’s” you slurred, “I think about you undressing me a lot” you said as your eyes closed and you felt very dreamy. He forced a chuckle “okay princess” he whispered as you fell sound asleep. He gently changed you into the dry clothes, trying not to pay attention to the way your nakedness made the pit of his stomach stir in a pleasurable way. Tried not to think about you confessing that you thought about him undressing you often as your pretty y/e/c eyes fluttered closed. It was just because you were drunk and sad. At least that’s what he told himself as he crawled in his bed beside you. He places a soft kiss on your forehead and leans back to lay his head on his pillow. You followed his movements in your sleep and crawled up so your head was on his chest, one leg Over his lap, one hand going up next to his neck to tangle in his hair. He didn’t know how things would go once you woke up in the morning but for now he was enjoying holding his best friend.

[wyuovvia]

— MEGUMI'S BABYSITTER!

Toji Fushiguro x Trans Male Y/N || Content Warnings: minor writing smut, nsfw, reposted off my old account (@ballsinyojaws2000), slowburn(?? is that what its called?), sex toys, rough sex, name calling, creampie, pregnancy talk, big dick toji, mating press, overstimulation(?), kid megumi :), subbot y/n & domtop toji, rest of writing under cut || Word Count: 2,085 || Followers When Posted: 29 ||Author's Note: raghhh i feel bad -^- anyway this is very very self-indulgent

ALBUM ENTRY!: Who knew that a babysitting gig could get you dicked down by a hot dilf! And since you're in college and don't have enough in your wallet, you could definitely use the money! Nothing bad is gonna happen though... right? WYOVVIA 2024!

“Fuck..” [y/n] doesn’t have enough money for groceries again. He could just ask his friends for money but he’s practically already in so much debt to them! Goddamnit, they were right. He needs to actually get a real job so he can pay for groceries instead of just fucking spending it on sex toys ‘n shit. 

[y/n] looks for jobs and then after a long time finds a somewhat easy job with an okay pay at least. A babysitting job. He accepts the job, surprisingly there’s no background check on someone who’s gonna watch your kid. [y/n] drives to the place and knocks on the door. Time for his first time ever babysitting. Hopefully this shit doesn’t fucking suck.

Toji opens the door. Holy fuckin’ hell… why was this dude hot? [y/n] blushes but Toji brushes it off as something stupid or weird. “You the babysitter?” [y/n] nods and tries to calm himself down a little bit. He hears Toji sigh and then Toji opens the door so [y/n] can come in. “Hurry up and get in the house. I gotta go somewhere.”

[y/n] quickly steps in so Toji doesn’t get upset. “Kids upstairs. His name is Megumi.” And then he… just fucking leaves??? What the hell? God, what a prick. Honestly. At least he’s hot… maybe [y/n] could get some dick from him if [y/n] behaves and is nice to him. Maybe some extra cash? Anything would be good really.

[y/n] shuts the door and actually looks at the inside of the house. Damn, this place is so fucking dirty. [y/n] sighs and goes upstairs to check on the kid. What was his name again? Megumi? Yeah, pretty sure it was Megumi. He left in such a fuckin’ hurry that it was hard to process that he was even there in the first place.

When [y/n] gets to what he thinks is the kid’s room, the door is open. Megumi is in the room. “Are you the babysitter that Toji hired?…” Toji? So that’s his name. Also, the fuck? This kid who looked only 8 or 9 years old is on a first-name basis with his dad? “Yeah, you hungry or somethin’?”

For the rest of the day [y/n] takes care of Megumi. Toji returns late at night. 11 PM, almost 12 AM. What the hell was he doing all day? [y/n] blushes at the sight of Toji and can’t help but look at him. Goddamnit… [y/n] looks away and is about to speak to him. “Hey-“ “You can leave now. Come back tomorrow, I need someone to watch Megumi again.” And as soon as [y/n] realizes it, he got kicked out. C'mon! [y/n] wanted to get his number or something at least! Sure, he is mostly doing this for the money and the hot fuckin' dad there but they still need some kind of conversation outside of the two seconds before Toji leaves and after [y/n] gets kicked out!

Whatever. He has tomorrow at least. This is probably only gonna last until Toji finds out about what [y/n] thinks about it. After that he'll probably just fire him or whatever and [y/n] will go back to how he was before.

The next day when [y/n] gets there, Toji isn’t even at the house! [y/n] wanted to see him again! [y/n] could clean the rest of the house. There’s nothing really better to do until Megumi says he’s hungry. Last time Megumi was asking [y/n] a bunch of questions. Things like ‘how old are you?’, ‘what’s your name?’, and all of that. He’s smarter than his dad at least. Toji just let [y/n] be the babysitter with no questions or anything and then just let [y/n] in his house and left.

When [y/n] is making Megumi breakfast Megumi walks up to him, probably to ask another question. Megumi’s face is cute. He looks like he’s trying to be serious and maybe intimidating when in reality he’s really small and his head can barely reach [y/n]’s mid torso.

“Are you here to steal anything?” Megumi says with a ‘serious’ face and his eyebrows furrowed. Jesus, this was like the ninth time this kid was asking [y/n] if he was here for any bad reason since he first got in the house yesterday. [y/n] sighs a little bit before answering him. “Yes, I swear I’m not here for anything…” “You promise?” “Promise…”

Megumi finally left [y/n] somewhat alone after that. He still asked [y/n] a ton of questions but Megumi kind of got rid of the questions about [y/n] being here for a bad reason. Wanting to see and spend time with the hot dad here wasn’t a bad reason, right?

[y/n] makes Megumi’s breakfast and gives it to him. The kid wasn’t picky with his food, at least that’s good. [y/n] even had to bring some food over from his house cause there wasn’t enough to make an actual, good meal. Damn, Toji as a dad sucks. But thinking of him as someone to sleep with? That was absolutely great. Lately Toji is all that [y/n] is thinking about. He can’t help it. Toji’s just so muscular and attractive that he’s constantly on [y/n]’s mind.

[y/n] goes around the house trying to figure out what other rooms there are to clean. He doesn’t wanna clean Megumi’s room right now because he doesn’t wanna bother him. He finds a room and opens the door. It’s bedroom with a king sized bed. Is this… Toji’s room? It’s pretty messy. There’s clothes on the floor and the blankets are scattered a bit. Would Toji get upset if he cleaned his room? Probably not… right?

[y/n] starts cleaning Toji’s room while wondering if Toji would get mad if he cleans it. [y/n] picks up the clothes and fixes the bedsheets. As [y/n] cleans, he finds some.. uh… interesting things. Specifically fleshlights and a few other toys. Right, Toji doesn’t have a wife or girlfriend that [y/n] knows of, so is Toji pent up? Does Toji go to clubs and places like that all day? Is that where he’s going? If so, [y/n] has no chance against the people that work there or go to places like that!

[y/n] needs to find a way to talk to Toji or someone else could get Toji’s attention! Maybe… What if [y/n] tells him that he saw the sex toys? Fuck no! That’s a bad idea! But what if [y/n] says that he can help Toji with problems like that instead of the sex toys? That might work… Or maybe [y/n] will just get fired after he says that. Oh well. Fuck it. He would rather take the chance to get dicked down instead of not taking the chance.

[y/n] cleans up the rest of the room and puts the toys back where they were. Hopefully Toji won’t notice he saw them right away?… When Toji gets home that day, the same thing happens that happened yesterday. But [y/n] has a plan. He has to risk it. He needs to risk it. He doesn’t want anything other than Toji. The worse that can happen is him getting fired and having to find another job. [y/n] can barely sleep that night. He’s thinking about what he’s gonna try to do tomorrow.

The next day goes how the rest of them went. [y/n] gets there, makes food for Megumi, and cleans the house. Today Megumi let [y/n] clean his room. It seems that Megumi trusts him a little bit more now.

When it’s time for [y/n] to leave, he talks to Toji before he gets casually shoved out. “H-Hey, uhm… I saw your.. sex toys in your room… Y’know.. y- you could use me instead…” Goddamnit! Why was he so nervous now?! It’s one thing to think about saying it but it’s completely different saying it right in front of Toji! He’s so much fucking bigger than [y/n]! Whatever. There’s no going back. What’s gonna happen? Is [y/n] getting fired or is he getting fucked?

Toji raises an eyebrow and looks down at [y/n]. He wasn’t expecting that. No way in hell. But [y/n] didn’t expect it to actually work! Next thing he knew he picked up [y/n] and brought him to his bedroom! He layed [y/n] down on the bed and quickly and roughly tore off [y/n]’s pants and underwear and looked at his wet, glistening cunt, and pretty ass with a butt plug with a gem on it. “God.. were you expecting to get fucked by me? Such a fuckin’ whore that you wanna bang the dad of the kid you’re babysitting?~”

Toji’s words just made [y/n] whine and get even more wet and made his face go red. Toji seems to notice and he grabbed [y/n]’s legs and pushes them up to [y/n]’s chest so Toji could get a better view at [y/n]’s ass, and then he spanks it. “M’gonna take that as a yes, slut?”

Toji pulls down his pants just enough for him to be able to pull his cock out. Holy fuck. There’s no way [y/n] can take that. Toji was too big. It was like a whole 8 inches- no. more than that. [y/n] wondered how it’ll fit. He can’t take that, right? There’s no way.

Toji sees [y/n] staring at his dick and his smirk gets wider. “You scared in how it’s gonna fit? Is it too big for you?~ You’re the one who wanted to be fucked so badly so you better take it like a good boy.” Toji then grabs his dick and lines his cockhead up with [y/n]’s dripping cunt. Toji then slams his length into [y/n] without warning. “F-Fuck!~ T-Toji!” [y/n]’s eyes start watering from how much he feels like he’s being stretched to the brim.

“C’mon. I know you can take it. You’ve probably had someone’s dick shoved up your pussy tons of times. Besides, you said I could use you. So I’m gonna do just that.~” Toji pulls out until only his tip is in, and then sinks back inside his cunt. “Fuck… you’re so tight… loosen up.”

[y/n] tries his best to relax but can’t due to Toji’s cock staring to fuck in and out of him roughly. “Mgh- mnn!- T-Toj- Ah!~ Toji! s’too much!~” “But you’re still moaning while being fucked like a prostitute~” Toji leans forward and grabs [y/n]’s thighs and presses them against his chest, letting Toji go even deeper into him. Toji speaks directly into his ear. “I’ve seen how you looked at me during the little time we’ve seen eachother.. you’re that desperate, huh?~ I’ve noticed how you’ve been feeding and taking care of Megumi- Fuck- Bet you wanna give him another sibling, huh?~”

The thought of them giving Megumi another sibling…- fuck- [y/n] could barely think straight. He’s already going dumb on Toji’s cock. [y/n] can’t even verbally respond due to how good he’s feeling. Every second he’s whimpering, moaning, whining, and every other thing too. [y/n] was already so close to cumming and Toji seems like he just started.

“Agh!- F-Fuuck! Toji!- m’gonna cum-“ “Already? The whore is already about to cum because of my cock? Go ahead, cum. But I’m not stopping until I’m done.” [y/n] cums on his cock and his legs tremble and shake slightly as his cunt clenches and unclenches around Toji. “Fuck- You’re so tight.. Might even wanna keep you… get you pregnant with my cum and give Megumi another sibling…”

[y/n] is so sensitive from his release, but Toji keeps going harder and faster. [y/n] is trembling and his eyes are rolling back while he moans loudly due to how hard Toji’s fucking him. Eventually he feels Toji’s cock twitch inside of him. “Fuck… m’gonna cum, pretty boy. You gonna take it? You better. M’gonna stuff you with my cum-“ Toji thrusts his cock a few more times and then goes in until their hips are right against eachother. Toji cums inside of him and [y/n] is so sensitive. He cums again from feeling Toji’s hot seed inside of him.

Few seconds later, Toji pulls out and watches as his cum drips from [y/n]’s cunt. “Damn… haven’t came that much in awhile.. M’gonna keep you and you’re gonna be a good boy and be a good daddy for Megumi, right?” [y/n]’s throat hurts from being so loud. He faintly nods and Toji smirks. “M’gonna clean up, stay here.” Toji leaves to get some tissues and [y/n] falls asleep before he comes back. Guess he’s staying the night.

[kiwisbell]

The Devil Right Beside Me: Chapter 1

Someone very stupid has put a price on your head. Three very dangerous men intend to keep it on your shoulders.

chapter 1 | chapter 2

my masterlist!

pairing: pero tovar/dave york/frankie morales x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

chapter tags/warnings: reverse harem, married fluff, wife-sharing, ex-military men, evil corporations, fingering, pero tovar is a munch, brief girl-on-girl slut shaming, frankie and dave are down bad for pero's wife, extremely protective pero/dave/frankie, biting, squirting, foursome activities (f/m/m/m)

word count: ~ 10.6k

read on ao3!

a/n: this is yet another fic from ao3 that i'm bringing to tumblr (i will post part two soon)! i hope you enjoy my loves 🫶 she's a filthy one xoxo

chapter one: killer instincts

Dave is slicing an apple with a knife when a wallet-sized image slides under his nose. 

He almost nicks his thumb when his eyes shift to the picture, lifting his feet off the desk and leaning in to examine your face a little closer. He’s always knocked a little askew by the brilliance of your smile; he feels like he needs to punch his heart back into place. You’re wearing the sweetest little white dress, your left hand shielding your eyes from the sun. A generous diamond ring shimmers on your finger. 

“What the fuck is this?”

Kovac blinks across the desk at Dave. “It’s a contract.”

“No. No, it’s not. This is an insult.” Dave glares at his colleague and slides the picture across the desk. 

Kovac pushes it back toward him. “It’s a good cut, Dave. It’d be easy, too. She’s just some chick.”

Dave’s ears are ringing. “How long?”

Kovac scratches his bushy beard. He’s a good killer with excellent trigger discipline. But he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what he’s done by placing this picture in front of Dave York.

“Went live a couple hours ago.”

That’s too long. Way too fucking long. 

There’s red mist clouding Dave’s vision. He white-knuckles the hilt of the knife. “I’m a fucking assassin, Kovac.” He scoffs at the picture. How could someone look at your pretty, smiling, sun-kissed face and want you dead? “I don't kill civilians.”

Kovac clearly doesn't give a fuck about your death. “You can get the job done. You know it; you’re the best out there.”

Dave is going to make him give a fuck. He brings the knife down into the table and splinters the wood. The handle jiggles back and forth. “I don't kill civilians,” he says, “and I will not kill this woman.”

Kovac, to his credit, isn't scared of a stab wound to the mahogany. “She's a fucking nobody, Dave. And nobody’s gonna miss her. Do you know how much they're offering?”

“You want me to repeat myself again?” Dave isn't known for patience. “Who put out the contract?”

“Orlov.” 

“I expect every single employee on my payroll to know that nobody accepts this contract or goes near this woman unless they want to find themselves out of a job and a goddamn life.” Dave rises to his feet, tucks the picture into his breast pocket, and doesn’t bother looking Kovac’s way as he bursts out of his office. He doesn’t even let himself breathe until he throws open the front doors of his home and squints in the sunshine. He presses two buttons on his cell phone and is grateful for the fact he doesn’t need to dial a number. He doesn’t think he could clear the red in his eyes for long enough.

“York,” answers a growling voice on the other end of the line. It’s a voice that’s coiled tight, poised to strike.

Dave’s jaw ticks. “You know.”

“Yes,” says Tovar. Dave can practically hear him grinding his teeth. “I know.”

“Is she with you?”

“At work.”

“Fuck.” Dave pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s been hours since the contract went live. “Someone could have—”

“¡Bastardo, me cago en tus muertos, que te jodan!” The unmistakable roar of Tovar’s Aston Martin DB11 is only suppressed by the equally unmistakable sound of his palm slamming hard against the steering wheel. “Callaté coño. She’s alive. She’s fine. Don’t fucking finish your sentence, amigo, or so help me—”

Dave slips into his Range Rover and hastily punches in the code for the garage. Pero has a volatile temper on the best of days and it’s a stark miracle how the mere sight of you can ease the tension he carries in his face, shoulders, back, everywhere. Take you away from him, however, and…

Oh, yes. Dave understands. 

Someone very, very stupid has laid a bet on the table. The winner takes the lucrative spoils, and all it costs is one pretty head for proof. It’s a good deal. 

If they have to toss every contender on a pile of kindling at your feet and light a match, so be it. You’ll look so beautiful up there on the pyre, flames dancing in your eyes.

THREE DAYS EARLIER

“Thanks for coming tonight, man. It means a lot to Frank, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.”

Pero Tovar grunts in response, hiding a smile in a swig of his bottle. Francisco Morales has plenty of friends, most of whom are sitting at their typical table in the corner of the bar. He certainly doesn’t need Pero to be here. Still, the beer is decent, and the company isn’t horrid. He’s got his eyes on the beautiful woman sitting with the men in the corner, singing “Happy Birthday” to Frankie with a pink cocktail held high in the air. 

Dave York watches the way Pero’s eyes soften a little at the sight of you. It’s a look meant for nobody else in the world. Pero Tovar hates the world, for Christ’s sake. Dave doesn’t know where he’d be if he never met you all those years ago. Maybe a little more surly than usual. Maybe a little more dead.

The horrendous rendition of the song ends with a loud cheer erupting throughout the bar as Frankie flushes crimson under his dirty cap. Pero and Dave lift their beer bottles in solidarity. His Delta buddies are shoving each other around in a rowdy, good-natured pissing match, which makes you roll your eyes. “One hell of a singing voice, hermosa,” says Frankie in your ear. 

“That’s all you’re getting until the next birthday, smartass.” You kiss him fondly on the cheek.

Frankie pats your hip as you shift off him to make your way across the bar. Dave turns to Pero. “You going through with that meeting tomorrow?”

“I have no reason not to, amigo.” Pero takes another drink, his eyes on you the whole time. One of Frankie’s friends, Will something-or-other, stops you for conversation, and you entertain him happily with a tale Pero cannot hear. “Orlov will meet me with me no matter whether I want to or not. This way, I decide the terms.”

Dave clicks his tongue. “You ever wonder why a mob boss wants to meet with you so badly?”

“I would hardly call him the boss of anything. He has no reason to pick a fight with me. What is there to lose?”

Sometimes, Dave wants to smack Pero upside the head for his arrogance. He hates himself so much it makes him go blind to the fact he has so many good things to live for. 

“You know damn well what you have to lose,” says Dave. 

“Pero.”

Your sweet voice could scrub thoughts of violence from the minds of the most malicious men. Pero is no different. He offers his hand to you only to tug you toward him. You land sideways in his lap with his rough hands sliding and squeezing up your thighs until they settle comfortably on your ass. 

You nearly drop your drink in his eagerness. “Greedy,” you whisper in his ear. 

He just nudges your cheek with his nose so he can kiss you. “Hmm. There will never be enough of you in this world to make it good enough.” 

“Just for that…” You pluck the maraschino cherry from your Tequila Sunrise and dangle it in front of Pero’s mouth. He chases it with his pouty lips until it’s between his teeth. You lean down, cupping his face in your palm, and kiss him. 

He would eat anything you tell him to, even those horrid candied cherries. But he passes it from his mouth to yours and takes advantage of your sweet parted lips, slipping his tongue along yours. He knows you like them best, anyway. 

Dave watches, his cock stiffening in his pants, taking a sip of bourbon to feel something light up in his nerves. Jesus, you're beautiful. You're the very vision of sunlight; you can make a man go blind with your shine. And you're a siren all the same, sultry and swaying in that black scrap of a dress, drawing every eye in the bar to your body only for them to find you’re perfectly happy where you are. 

Sometimes—most times—Dave doesn't understand how you fell in love with Pero Tovar. If he hadn't been friends with the pair of you since his, Frankie's, and Pero’s Army years, he would've laughed in the face of anyone who told him the infamous asshole Tovar managed to fall in love. With someone as beautiful as you, no less. 

But he is in love. It’s so sickeningly clear to anyone who looks your way. For one, he actually smiles when you look at him. It’s jarring to see Pero’s brutal scar scrunch up with his eyes when he gazes at you the way he does. Fuck. Dave understands. He knows Frankie does, too. It’s all you. It’s always been you. 

Frankie approaches Dave’s side and claps a hand on his shoulder. “Lovebirds over there won't let each other breathe long enough to give you the time of day, huh?”

Dave snorts. He certainly doesn't mind watching the way your body shifts and rolls subtly under your husband’s touch as he devours your mouth. “Why, you want in?” he asks Frankie. 

Frankie pouts. “Well, it's my fuckin’ birthday.”

When Pero finally lets you pull away from his mouth, you grin at Dave, looking a little dishevelled. Your pretty lips are swollen with the force of Pero’s kissing. “Hi, Dave. Enjoying the party?” you ask. 

“Always fun to see Frank get publicly humiliated in song form,” says Dave good-naturedly. Frankie tosses a muttered curse at him. “Are you having fun, pretty girl?”

“Very much so.” You nip at Pero’s jaw and earn a smack to the side of your thigh. 

Dave’s cock is growing insistently hard against his zipper. He looks to Pero, who nods imperceptibly. No one else would see it save for him and Frankie. They've all since perfected each other’s language. 

“Wanna come over here and show me how much fun you're having?”

Your eyes meet Pero's, and he gently pats your ass. You slip off the stool and stretch out your hand, which Dave takes eagerly. He pulls you close and wraps his arms around your waist until his hands rest just above your ass. Your nipples are visible through your little dress, piquing yet more interest from his cock. “Pretty,” he whispers, mostly to himself, indulging in the warmth of your body against his. 

You take a sip of your drink before you stand on your toes to kiss him. Dave can taste the sweetness of the Sunrise on your tongue and the intoxicating softness of your skin under his hands when you lift your arms up around his neck. His erection prods your belly and it makes you giggle into his mouth. Dave just takes the opportunity to slide his tongue against yours, asserting his need. 

Pero orders another beer and places his hand just above your ass at the same time Frankie lifts a hand to your face and gently brushes your hair behind your ear. You pull away from Dave, who pouts when he loses your mouth. Of course, he knows never to complain. Pero would put a broken bottle through Dave’s neck if he got greedy with you. 

“Is it a good party, Frank?” Your eyes are wide and vulnerable, seeking any indication of real discomfort in his eyes. You're so attentive and so damn sweet it makes Frankie’s chest ache. “Be honest.”

He squeezes your side. “Don't love being reminded how old I am—”

“Frank, you are not—”

“—but this is great, hermosa. I mean it.” He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and gives you a gentle shake. “You did great.”

You grin, happily inviting Frankie’s kiss. He's gentler than his friends. He likes to cup your face when he kisses you, his beard scratchy and his soft hair tickling your nose. Faint whoops bombard them from the corner of the bar as the Delta guys cheer you on. You break the kiss just to laugh, hiding your blush behind your hand. 

Pero tugs you back toward him and nuzzles his strong nose against your temple. “Star of the show,” he whispers, “mi estrellita. Such a beautiful girl.”

A higher-pitched voice to your left isn’t so encouraging. The pretty blonde woman has her eyes set on Frankie. “I hear it's your birthday. Mind if I buy you a drink?”

Frankie flushes a little with the attention, but he's polite as ever when he lets her down. “No, thanks,” he says, indicating his half-full bottle. “I’m set.”

“Aw, c’mon,” presses the woman, giving her best flirtatious smile. “I’m sure she's got enough on her hands.” Her eyes flick toward you impassively. 

Pero’s hand tightens on your hip when you frown. It's you who speaks up first. “He said no,” you remind the woman. “You should find somebody else.”

The woman turns to look at you, that fake smile still plastered on her face, and says, “Don’t you get enough attention, sweetie? I’m sure you can spare one.”

You blink, startled by her brashness. “Excuse me?”

“You had better leave,” comes Pero’s growling voice by your side. “Now.”

You take his hand instinctively and he brushes his thumb over your wedding and engagement rings. The intruder notices. “You like passing around your wife like she’s a trophy?”

Pero scowls, stepping around your body. Dave jumps between him and the woman as Frankie slaps his hand on Pero’s chest, restraining him. He would never harm a lady. But he’s certainly willing to give her a piece of his fucking mind for insinuating you’re a whore. “We’re all friends,” says Dave, keeping his tone even despite the heavy-set press of rage on his spine. He directs his attention toward the woman. “This is a big city. You’ll have to find someone else. Sorry.”

He is not sorry. Not when he caught a glimpse of the hurt look in your eye at her comment. But the woman seems to realise she needs to pick her battles, backing away and exiting the bar. Around the four of you, the party continues, the other patrons unaware of the thickening tension in the dimly-lit room. Pero’s hand is around your waist, squeezing in rhythmic pulses as if he’s kneading out his stress. Dave and Frankie can both see it: the feathering in his jaw, the squint of his eyes, the possessive grip he keeps on you. Neither of them are particularly cheery anymore, either. You’re the first to speak.

“What a… vindictive woman.” You shrug your shoulders and thread your fingers through your husband’s. “There’s still a party going on, you grumps.”

You drag Pero toward the bathrooms while Frankie and Dave rejoin the group, ordering more beers for the sake of it. This is Frankie’s night. One sour encounter won't spoil it. 

Pero shoves you up against the bathroom door once you've locked yourselves inside and sinks to his knees, shucking down your panties on the descent. “Pero,” you gasp, grinning as your head falls back against the door with a soft thunk. “So greedy.”

He’s always been a man who knows exactly what he wants and how to get it. It's why he roughly grabs your thigh and hoists it onto his shoulder, scrunching up the fabric above your hips. He allows himself to take in the sight of your glistening cunt in the dim bathroom, squeezing the flesh of your thighs as he tilts his head up to look into your darkening eyes. 

In moments like these, neither of you need to speak. You gently brush some of his short hair away from his face and trace the scar on his cheek. He eases his head between your thighs, kissing his way along the soft, ticklish flesh. You giggle and squirm, letting him indulge in your body because you know he's tense. The leather of his jacket rubs relentlessly against your thighs. Music and more poor, drunken renditions of “Happy Birthday” are muffled between you and the door. You wouldn't be able to hear them clearly either way. Your head is swimming with the climbing arousal, your ears ringing with need as you try not to rush your husband in his exploration of you. He needs this.

Two fingers slide languidly through your slick folds and part them to make way for the aching drag of his tongue. You moan softly, fighting the urge to shut your eyes. He likes it when you look at him while he's going down on you, because he's always looking up at you. Those eyes of his are an intimidation tactic: dark and hungry, they dare you to break away. For a moment, you imagine you can see the blood on those hands that knead your soft flesh. For a moment, you see the predator he refuses to let you see. It strikes flint upon rock in your core and you burn. 

“Please,” you whimper, looking down past your own heaving chest to his black eyes. 

His mouth is suctioned to you; he couldn't speak if he wanted to. He just hums, easing the vibrations through you until your eyes are rolling back into your head and language flees your tangible capabilities. 

Pero licks your clit, slathering his saliva all over your cunt like he owns it. But he does. He owns you, and he knows it. Intimate moments like these do well to make you remember it. Your husband is the only person in the world who can understand you this way, love you this way. 

He trusts Frankie and Dave to treat you like you deserve, but they will never have this: the lacing of your fingers through Pero’s over your belly, the glint of metal wedding bands under the illumination of the single pot light. You’re his wife. His job is to make you happy. His job is to keep you safe. 

He has never been a good man. Dave and Frankie can—and would happily—corroborate that fact. He’s done terrible things. He’s slept restlessly and woke up screaming. His scar still twinges when it rains. 

You like to bake. It helps you relax when your husband is out late, hunting. You can’t sleep without him, and God knows he needs you practically wrapped around him to get a decent six hours. It nearly scared him away all those years ago: how deeply you worried for him. He couldn’t live with himself knowing you made yourself sick with fright on those long nights and weekends away. Long before you asked him on that first date, Pero made a habit of creating examples of those who upset you. He hated being the one who made you frown. 

The thing about your smile, though, is that it can make a man forget his own name. It’s especially adept at making him forget all his selfless self-loathing in favour of selfishly chasing the feeling that smile gives him. 

“Pero!”

You threw open the door and flung yourself into his arms, beaming so fucking brightly that he could feel your smile buried in his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment, dropping all his training and his caution just to inhale the scent of you. 

“You’re okay,” you whispered, your voice breaking in a small cry. It punched him right in the chest. His breath shuddered out of him, his hands (stained with blood that was not his own; he couldn’t waste time scrubbing it away when he itched to see you so badly) pressing against your back and pulling you close. 

“I’m okay, amor. I’m all right.” He walked you both back inside your door and kicked it shut behind him. “Let me look at you.”

Your teary smile had all his tension fluttering away. It was all so fucking insignificant when he looked down at you and realised how rare it was to have someone love him this much. Pero cupped your face in his hands and frowned. “You’re tired, my love.”

“You’ve got blood on your hands,” you retorted. Pero huffed, undeterred by your whip-quick mouth. 

“It’s not mine.” 

“And you’re okay?” Your hands prodded him beneath his jacket, his shirt, giving him the distinct impression of a frisking. 

“I’m unharmed.” He pressed a kiss to your nose. “My beautiful girl. So worried for me.”

“You mock my misery, Pero Tovar.”

He swiped a small splotch of white powder from your nose. “This is how we’re choosing to stay awake now?”

You pushed him gently in the chest, but he just crowded you again, the need to be close trumping the temptation to tease. “It’s flour. I made cookies.”

Pero grinned. “You know, you shouldn’t open your door so carelessly.”

Your smile turned wicked—the sort of wicked that had his entire body humming for you. “But I’ve got a big, strong man to keep me safe.”

Pero growled playfully, nipping your jaw. You shrieked with laughter when he lifted you up onto the counter and kissed you hard. “Mi alma. You will always be safe with me. Siempre.”

You sigh happily as your husband lavishes his attention on your clit, licking and sucking with so much fervour and precision it isn’t surprising that your thighs are already shaking. “Pero,” you whisper, the word a prayer that hovers between two pairs of locked eyes. 

He makes you come with a few more gentle pulls of your clit between his lips, your cry hoarse and your chest heaving. Your eyes finally squeeze shut, your head falling back against the door, as Pero licks you through your orgasm like a cat after milk. He groans at the feeling of you soaking his chin, the vibrations making your hips buck uselessly against him. He’s strong. He holds you down easily.

“Come back to me, amor,” he urges, pressing warm, melty kisses all over your inner thighs and your belly. You blink open your teary eyes and rake your fingers through his hair, smiling fondly at your husband. 

“You okay?” you ask softly, your thumb tracing his taut jaw. He can get in his head sometimes, and the nasty woman in the bar made him mad. He doesn’t like it when people look at you the wrong way—he hates knowing he can’t always stop people from saying the wrong things. 

Pero rests his chin against your belly and looks up at you. “You are no whore,” he says fiercely.

“I know, baby.”

“You are my wife,” he continues, squeezing your hips. As he rises to his feet, Pero cradles the back of your head and smooths the fabric of your dress back down over your ass. “You are the most beautiful creature to ever walk this Earth, y eres la diosa a la que rezo todas las mañanas (and you are the goddess I pray to every morning).”

“Pero.” You press a kiss against the stubble on his jaw, making a path to his mouth. “She couldn’t hurt me. Nothing can hurt me. I’m with you, baby, and I’ll be in love with you no matter how many times some nobody tries to tell me I married an asshole.”

Pero huffs, burying his face in your neck as his arms wrap around your waist in a tight, uncompromising hug. “Te casaste con un pendejo (You did marry an asshole),” he grumbles.

You laugh, and the sound is an upper straight to his bloodstream. “And ten years later, I’m still happy as a clam.”

Alexander Orlov’s office is on the penthouse floor of Orlov Plaza. His father owned the building, as did his��father before. And all that corny bullshit. 

Pero punches the Close Door button on the elevator to ensure he doesn’t have to speak to another living soul on the ride up. And it’s a long ride. Muzak crackles in his ears and makes him grind his teeth. Everything about this perfectly polished building sets him on edge. There are stone gargoyles on the roof, for fuck’s sake. He isn’t an interior decorator—he lets you make every decision when it comes to your home—but he knows white marble and cracked stone don’t mix. It’s like walking a tightrope between two different centuries.

Sometimes, he misses the days before he went legitimate. Before he had a certain obligation to carry out business dealings with superficial handshakes and contracts. Before his old Army buddy Dave York approached him with an offer to put his skills to good use. 

Orlov’s assistant, some young kid wearing a too-big suit (probably a nephew), ushers Pero through a set of double doors into an obnoxious fucking office. One wall is entirely windows, allowing one to peer down onto the street and observe those in the lower tax brackets. The room is decorated with animal skins and too many globes and glass furniture. It’s not meant to be lived in. Pero thinks of his own home, with its many houseplants (you don’t let him look at them for too long because you’re convinced his frown will kill them), its pops of colour, and warm tones. You’re smarter than this man and Pero hasn’t even met him yet. 

But, then again, you’re better than most people. 

“Have a seat,” says the man standing at the windows, adjusting his watch on his wrist. A douchebag move, as you would call it. He’s wearing a nice suit, sure, but it’s the cold, faraway look in his eye that makes Pero itch. No good. A man whose smile does not reach his eyes. Never good. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet with you, Señor Tovar.” Orlov sits behind his desk, which is also obnoxiously large, and it is only then that Pero sits, too. “How was your trip?”

“Temperate,” says Pero, spinning the globe on the desk and stopping it over Spain. He doesn’t meet the other man’s eye. “I like your windows. Very… clear.”

Orlov smiles again, and it’s calculated. “With that small talk over, I suppose you’re wondering why I contacted you.”

“You want a contract,” says Pero. “If you believe I pondered the reason for your phone call for even a second, señor, you’d be mistaken. You should just tell me who you want dead and stop wasting our precious time. I’m sure we both have places we would rather be.”

Like at home, between his wife’s thighs. Sipping coffee and trading sleepy smiles. It’s too fucking early to be trading fake words with a mobster.

Orlov laces his fingers together and lets the façade fall. Now, Pero can see a businessman. “What I want, Mr. Tovar,” he says, “are your skills. Exclusively.”

Pero lifts a scarred brow. That, he can admit, is a surprise. “And why me? Surely there are more ideal options.”

“There are always more ideal options.” The slight is meant to sting, but it breezes past Pero. It's not like he's considering the offer, anyway. “But you are a capable man. And we can pay you well. You and your wife can live in luxury.”

Pero Tovar is an easy man to anger. It's something he has been trying to work on. Therapy is a no-go, but he meditates sometimes. It helps. Not nearly as many things can set him off nowadays. But some things still do. Unfailingly. 

Like, for example, the fact that Alexander Orlov knows about you, when Pero (with Dave’s help) does everything in his power to ensure very few people even know he's married.  

His ears are ringing, but Orlov keeps talking. “If you choose to sign our contract, we will pay you a handsome salary. We will give you benefits.” No retirement option, Pero guesses. “We will ensure you and your family can thrive.”

“We,” Pero echoes with a chuckle. “Who is we? You and your father? You and the little voices?”

Orlov’s steely eyes narrow minutely. “As I’m sure you know, I will take over my father’s business when he retires. I plan to expand his endeavours.”

“Ah, yes. Beyond stealing from the poor to give to the rich.” Pero checks his watch. You’ll be leaving for work now, and the potential for a lazy morning has been thoroughly wasted. He spins the globe again. “Very noble, amigo.”

“Have you considered how many pools my family have dipped our toes into?” Orlov leans over his desk and calmly stops the globe. “Have you considered how beneficial it would be to work for a company who can provide everything you need? I think you should consider it, Mr. Tovar. I think you should ask yourself if you truly want to live the rest of your life from contract to contract.”

“If I take your offer,” says Pero, “I will still be living contract-to-contract. Only, I will not be able to choose whether or not I agree to carry out a particular service. I value my freedom.”

Freedom is something he never used to have when he was with the Army. Now, as a mercenary, he picks and chooses his battles. Orlov smiles politely, though Pero sees a touch of venom in it. 

“With us,” he says, “we can protect you. We can offer you amnesty. We can ensure your wife is safe from any harm that may come to her.”

Pero’s eye twitches, and his old scar burns. It's a double-edged sword. Orlov is making it known how easily he can go after you. Decline, and we can do whatever we want to her. 

Pero Tovar does not respond well to threats. Especially not when they involve the one person he cannot live without. 

He can protect you himself. He's made it his life’s divine purpose. He cannot ensure your safety if he's under the thumb of a notorious gang. They'll use you as leverage with no remorse. 

Images flash on his eyelids, the same violent visions he used to see when he’d returned home: your pretty eyes filled with tears, your mouth trapped behind a meaty palm or a piece of duct tape, your limbs strapped to a chair. A cut on your face, because they always want to hurt you a little bit before they send the message. 

We have your wife. 

He cannot let it happen. He’ll die for you, certainly, but he’ll happily kill for you, too. And you will not be used like a pawn in a game you have no role in. 

Pero stands swiftly from the chair and plants his fingers on the desk, leering at Orlov. “I appreciate your offer, amigo, but I must respectfully decline.”

Orlov laces his fingers together, places them over his stomach, and leans back in his chair. That cold smile is back on his face. “Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Tovar. This has been enlightening.”

It's a deliberate choice of words, as is everything in this godforsaken world. Pero does not shake his hand before he leaves. 

Instead, he says, “You’re a sadistic bastard who thrives off suffering. I hope you manage to make your father proud. I’m sure he hopes the same.”

Alexander can hear Tovar call his wife the second he exits the office. “Buenos dias, amor,” he says, no longer the killer but the husband. “How was your drive? Lo siento, mi cielo, I wish I could have stayed for breakfast…”

The voice fades soon. Alexander chuckles, spinning the globe back around so he faces home. His nephew Ricky knocks on the door, and Alexander waves him inside. 

It was a good offer. Tovar should have taken it. Orlov, Inc. would have benefited from a strong worker like him. Most times, he takes contracts through York, and a couple freelance on the side. It pays well, judging from the looks of his house. Most of its curb appeal comes from his lovely wife, of course. 

She's a vision. No wonder Tovar keeps her under wraps—at least, to those without the resources to dig deeper. Alexander’s family has resources. And they tell him that you spend plenty of time with Tovar’s longtime Army friends, too. York is one of them. The other, a Morales who flies tourists around for a living. Dull. No wonder he used to snort powder. 

It's a shame not to have the talent of such a killer. But Tovar didn't understand that it was never a choice. 

“Ricky,” he answers. 

“He said no.”

“As I figured he would.” Ricky watches his uncle twirl a pen around his fingers. A generational habit: spinning things. 

“So… what, then?” asks Ricky. “You just let him go?”

“I let him go,” says Alexander. “But he decided to insult me, Ricky. I’m not in the habit of letting insults against my family slide.”

Alexander looks down at his computer screen. On it is Mrs. Tovar’s smiling face, squinting in the sunlight with that gleaming rock on her finger. “The contract will be live in an hour,” he tells his nephew, turning the screen around so he can see. 

“She's got a pretty face,” says Ricky. 

“Yes. It’s a real shame.”

Ricky starts when he sees how much her body is worth. “Three million is—”

“Pocket change, if it means Tovar will learn.”

“Learn what?”

“Learn not to slight me.” Alexander sneers. 

“You know there's no going back once the contract goes live,” says Ricky. “She’s his life.”

Alexander hums. “What happens when you take a man’s life, Ricky?”

“He… dies?”

“He loses.” Alexander turns the screen back toward him and admires Mrs. Tovar’s face once more. “He loses everything.”

NOW

“Irene?”

“Yes?” replies your assistant, her nose stuck in the pages of a romance novel as she hurries along beside you. 

“Is there something on my face?”

She doesn’t look up from her novel. “Beautiful as always, ma’am.”

“I just feel like…” Irene clearly isn’t listening, but you say it anyway. Maybe you aren’t crazy. Maybe others have noticed. “People are watching me.”

You pick up your pace a little bit as you walk through the lobby of Viva headquarters. Normally, you find your employees scurrying back and forth in a whirlwind to accomplish their tasks. As COO, it’s your job to make sure they don't spin out. But today feels different. 

There are loiterers in your lobby as usual, some waiting for an appointment in the cushy pink chairs and others taking advantage of the free coffee station. You don't recognise most of the clients in the lounge, but eyes keep sliding your way as if they're expecting you to bolt out of the building. Their gazes make you want to run. 

“Irene, do I have any meetings scheduled today?”

“No, ma’am.”

Something cloudy and dark rolls in your gut. An oncoming storm. 

Trust your instincts, my darling. 

“Please call my husband. Let him know I’ll be home early today. Tell him it’s vegetarian tonight.” 

Code for trouble . You don't look at Irene. Your eyes are on a swivel between all the people looking your way. You're cornered: a caged bird, peered in at by hungry cats. “Take the rest of the day off.”

Irene scampers off to make the call. You’ll pay her for her lost hours, of course. But—

If you feel you need to run, run. Your instincts are never wrong. 

And what if they are? you asked him one night. 

Then you're still safe, if not mildly paranoid. I like your head attached to your shoulders, mi amor. 

You back toward the elevator and punch in the parking garage before repeatedly pressing the Close Door button. There isn't another soul in the elevator with you, so you scramble for your keys on your lanyard. There's a switchblade in the desk in your office, but you're closer to the one in your car. If you aren't being paranoid, and you really are in danger, you need to get the hell out of this building. Down is better than up. 

But when the elevator doors slide open, you can only back farther into the car as a huge man wielding a handgun blocks your way out. 

“Ma’am,” he greets. It’s almost polite, almost pitiful. The gun in his meaty hand looks like a toy. He could kill you with a flick of his wrist, let alone a bullet. Fear is a tangible rope that slips around your throat and ties a knot at the nape of your neck.

“Hi,” you manage, your breaths coming in jagged. “I suppose someone wants me dead. Any chance you know who?”

The man shrugs his huge shoulders. “Last I heard, your husband made a bad business move.”

You lift your brows. The elevator doors stay open with his body blocking your only exit. “This is about the Orlov contract? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He doesn't answer, but it makes sense. Your husband refused to sign a contract that would sign away his skills to the Orlov mob’s poster boy, Alexander. It was the right choice, of course: Orlov would own his life. Sadistic bastard, you distinctly remember him calling Orlov. To his face. It was evidently a mistake. Now, it looks like they want to take a life in retribution. 

If you try to fight him off, he’ll kill you. Your husband has taught you many things about self-defence, but this man in front of you is twice your size. So, you wield the best bargaining chip you have: your husband’s wrath. 

“I could persuade him to forgive you, but if you kill me, nothing will stop him from extending the courtesy to you.”

It's bland and it's only half-true. Pero will track this man down and murder him just for threatening your life. But your only chance is to offer an out. 

The man shrugs. “I’ll take my chances. Three million can buy me a nice hideaway.”

Your mouth goes dry. 

Three million fucking dollars?

“That's…” You swallow thickly. “That's a lot of money.”

“Yeah,” says the man. “You seem like a nice lady. I’m sorry, for what it's worth.”

“I appreciate your apology,” you tell him, “but I can promise you: it will not be worth it.”

He just lifts the gun to your head. “I’ll be quick about it.”

The man collapses to the ground at the same time you lift your arms over your head to protect yourself from the imminent blow. Someone has come to claim the prize instead. Someone else will take a knife to your throat. If they fail, someone else will aim the barrel of a gun between your eyes. It won’t end until you’re dead. It won’t—

“Hey, hey, look at me. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

The gunshot never comes, you realise. You slowly lower your arms at the sound of your rescuer’s voice.

“Frankie!” you cry, throwing yourself at him and winding your arms around his neck. “Oh, God. Oh, God, I thought… How did you…?”

“Shh, shh.” Frankie holds you tight, his hands cupping your face when he pulls away to examine your face. His jaw ticks with loosening tension when he finds you unharmed. “Pero and Dave called me. They knew I was the closest to you. We’re meeting them at the safe house. Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, holding onto his hand so tightly you could hurt him if he wasn’t so familiar with stress and pain. “My car’s close.”

“We’re taking mine.” His tone leaves no room for argument. You guess the bounty contract lists your exact make, model, and license plate.

Frankie has entered soldier mode now that he’s confirmed you’re not in any pain. He's tactical in the way he guards your body with his, eyes sweeping every potential entry point and hiding spot. The weight of his arm across your body is heavy and reassuring. The two of you hurry across the parking garage until you can climb up into Frankie’s beat-up truck. He places his hand on your knee, which bounces anxiously, and meets your eyes. “You with me?” he asks. 

“I’m with you, Frankie.” You squeeze his hand. “You got me. I’m safe.”

“You're safe,” he repeats to himself. 

He peels out of his parking spot and makes for the light of the exit. You ground yourself with your fingers caressing the worn leather of the seat. “Frankie, it's three million dollars.”

“I know,” he says gruffly. 

You stare at him, wide-eyed, but he's got his own eyes on the road, his jaw firmly clenched and his curls peeking out from under his cap. “That's a lot of money. What does Orlov want with me?”

“Pero pissed him off,” says Frankie plainly, white-knuckling the wheel. “Other than that… he doesn't need a reason. It’s a hit to his pride if word gets out that a standard contract killer insulted him by rejecting his job offer.”

“I think the rejection and the insults came separately.”

“Knowing the dickhead you married, probably.” Frankie shakes his head. “He’s sorry, honey. We're all sorry. We should've known.”

“You couldn't have known. Normal people don't call hits on civilians when their husbands make them mad.” You tuck a curl behind Frankie’s ear. “You did beautifully, Frank. He would've killed me.”

Frankie blows out air from his nose like a charging bull. “Dave is working on getting the word out to his contacts that you're off-limits. Pero is too fucking angry to move, let alone think. He's wound up tight.”

You shake your head fondly. “Whenever I get the flu, he thinks that's it for me. He doesn't do well when he’s not in control.”

“No, baby. He doesn't do well because it's you.” Frankie lifts your hand and kisses your palm, his thumb stroking your skin just because he needs to. It reminds him that you're all right, for now. “If he's not in control, he gets control. If you're in trouble…”

“I know,” you finish, letting silence settle between you. 

Pero has been wearing a hole in the hardwood with all his pacing. He's counted each of the slats in the floor ten times and debated all the most satisfying ways he's going to murder Alexander Orlov. Better yet, his whole family. 

Yes, that'll send the right message. 

“Will you sit the fuck down?” says Dave, rubbing his thumb over his mouth. Pero just growls, turning to pace again. Dave has stripped out of his jacket and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows. “Frankie sent the message. She’s with him. She's—”

“Ay coño, malo, puta,” curses Pero. “Do not say she's safe. She's not safe, not until this ends.” He shakes his head, refusing to lift his eyes from the floor. “I’ll take off his skin.”

Dave keeps eyeing the driveway for signs of Frankie’s vehicle. It won't be long now. “Flaying sounds great,” he says diplomatically, “but you need to sit down, man. You need to relax. She’s safe with Frank. You know it's true.”

Of the three of them, Pero certainly isn't the smartest. He wouldn't have taunted a mobster if he were. But he's smart enough to know that Dave—who is the smartest—is right. “I want him dead,” he says, sitting down next to Dave at the kitchen table. “And I want it to fucking hurt.”

The sound of an engine shutting off has them briefly exchanging glances. The sputtering of Frankie’s truck. 

Pero stands up from the chair so fast it clatters to the floor. You climb out of Frankie’s truck and hold yourself a bit more reserved than usual as he escorts you up the driveway. Pero throws open the front door and you're running toward him with tears in your eyes before he can take a step out the door. 

You throw yourself at him and wrap your arms around his neck, choking the life out of him. He's not even sure you're real until he closes his eyes and tangles his fingers in your hair, memorising its softness and its distinct scent of coconut. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and finally, finally, lets himself breathe. 

“Pero,” you cry, squeezing your thighs around his waist. He carries you inside the house, not once considering setting you down. “I was so scared, Pero.”

“I know, I know,” he whispers, his arm firm around your waist. He kisses you from your neck to your cheek to your mouth, where you lean into him desperately, grabbing his jaw to keep him against you. “You’re safe, my love. You’re with me.”

You whimper against his lips when he pulls away to inspect you closely, setting you carefully on your feet. “Mi alma.” His thumb traces your unharmed cheek. “You’re okay? No one hurt you?”

He cannot stomach the thought. He does not think he's capable of letting go of you for one second. He will track down every single person who even considered hunting you down and string their guts for decoration outside your home. 

You shake your head, cupping his face in your hands. “Frankie saved me,” you tell him. “That man would’ve… he would’ve…”

“Shhh, my beautiful girl.” He kisses your forehead and rests his against it, swiping away a tear that slips down your cheek. “Lo siento. I never should have taunted him.”

You shake your head. “He should have known not to fuck with you. He’s the idiot.”

Pero nudges your cheek with his nose. “So forgiving,” he murmurs. “How did I find you?”

“Luck.” You seek another kiss and hear the door click shut behind Frankie. “I love you.”

“Amor de mi vida,” he whispers, tucking you under his chin as he brings you into his side. 

Frankie claps him on the shoulder. “Got there as fast as I could.”

“Right on time, it seems, amigo.” Pero clasps his arm. “Thank you, Francisco.”

Frankie squeezes your hand. “You know I’d do anything.”

“We know,” you say softly. “You saved my life.”

Dave enters the foyer and zeroes in on you right away, stroking his thumb over your cheek with his brows pulled taut. “You're okay?

“I’m okay.”

He shuts his eyes for a moment and drops his hand to the back of your neck. “Good,” he rasps. “Kovac wanted me to take the contract.”

“What?” growls Pero. 

“Puta,” says Frankie, scratching at his beard. 

“He'll be dealt with. But it means he doesn't know who you are,” says Dave, his eyes sliding to Pero, “or who she is to you.”

“Orlov and his family have fingers everywhere,” you supply.

Pero nods gravely. “His father holds stock in her company.”

“And probably employees on my payroll,” you add, the realisation striking you. “That's probably how he was able to get so much information about me.”

“What about online articles?” says Frankie. “Interviews, magazines?”

“Pero and I agreed I would keep my personal life confidential,” you tell him, rubbing your hand up and down your husband’s arm. “All the public knows is that Viva ’s COO is a woman, and her last name isn't Tovar. Our CEO Jade handles public relations.”

“Her wife isn't a hired killer,” says Pero, idly kissing your temple. “She gets to live a life of safety.”

You brush your fingertips over the scar on his face. “She's also probably bored,” you say lightly, giving him a gentle kiss on the jaw. 

Pero looks down at you with gooey brown eyes. “Don't say a thing like that, mi amor. Not until we can get you safe.”

A muscle in Dave’s jaw flickers. “Kovac and the rest know not to go for you. I’ve reached out personally to other agencies who I can trust.”

“You can't trust anyone, man,” says Frankie. “The guy who put a gun to her forehead may have worked for one of those agencies, for all we fuckin’ know.”

Pero curses in Spanish. You chew on your bottom lip. “And someone will let slip that I’m married to Pero. That he turned down Orlov. The public will know.”

“The public will sympathise,” says Dave. “But the public doesn't matter. This is all underground.”

“But I’m a civilian.”

“And going after a civilian breaches etiquette,” agrees Dave, “but it's not illegal.”

“But,” you interject, “it might make him more vulnerable to double-crossing. If underworld criminals don't like other criminals breaking rules of engagement, they may sway to your side. Help you take down Orlov.”

“She's right,” says Frankie. 

“Of course she is,” murmurs Pero, kissing the crown of your head. “York, make some calls. Let it be known that my wife is innocent in all this.”

“I’ll lay it on thick,” says Dave, winking at you even though he isn't smiling, still gravely rubbing his fingers over his mouth in habit. 

“We need to stay on the move,” says Frankie. “Someone is bound to have seen one of us come here. Baby, I can get you somewhere safer, outside the city.”

Pero sighs. “Francisco’s right. You cannot stay.”

“I know that,” you say, “and I’ll stay out of the way. But baby, you’re all walking right into Orlov’s trap. He knows you'll want revenge. He’ll kill you.”

“He doesn't have the skill,” says Dave. “He's a figurehead at best. And he doesn't have the motivation.”

You pin him and your husband with stern glares. “Do not get cocky. He may not have the skill, but he has the money to hire the skill. And you two are not dying for me.”

“No, my love,” says Pero. “We are going to kill for you.”

“I’m not saying the asshole doesn't deserve it”—you recall the clash of terror and helplessness as the man held a gun to your head—“but the three of you need to seriously consider the odds.”

“I have considered,” Pero says fiercely, “and there is nothing in this world I will not face to keep you alive. ¿Claro?”

It's hard to ignore the spark of excitement in your core. Your husband may be a killer, but you aren't perfect, either. Case in point: the way your body reacts when he gets angry. And judging from the way his eyes turn black, he can see the shift in you. 

“Mi cielo,” he says, his voice like gravel. 

You hook your thumbs in his belt loops. “Mmm?”

His hand gently strokes your hair, cupping the back of your head. “You know we must go.” 

“I know,” you muse, tugging him a little closer, “but does that have to be right this second?”

Pero makes eye contact with Frankie over your shoulder and inclines his head. Behind you, hands gently come to rest on your hips, bunching the fabric of your blouse. Frankie’s mouth ghosts warm air over your neck, his plush lips and soft moustache finding the spot below your ear. 

“My beautiful girl,” says Pero, watching your head roll back against Frankie’s shoulder. Your husband frees the top button of your blouse and shucks it open to reveal the lacy bra underneath. His jaw ticks. “Did you wear this for us, mi amor?”

Frankie’s hands untuck the blouse from your skirt and his warm, rough hands are a balm to the tension in your stomach. He pulls you back against his chest, keeping your ass firm to his growing erection. Pero shifts to your side, and Dave takes his place in front of you, helping unbutton the rest of your blouse as your husband tilts your chin up and kisses you. 

“Yeah, she did,” says Dave, answering in your place since you're having trouble forming words with Pero’s tongue down your throat. He slides the blouse off your shoulders and lets it pool on the floor. “Such a pretty girl.”

“So beautiful,” murmurs Frankie, whose mouth hasn't left your throat. Hands unclip your bra and fling it aside, and you don't realise whose they are through the haze of pheromones and cologne and the tang of cigarette smoke. It sticks to your ribs and thrums in your blood like triple heartbeats. You're so wet that you're dripping in your panties, unable to lift your arms long enough to touch one of them. 

They're in control when they have you like this. They're using your body to assure themselves that you're unharmed. 

Pero smells of leather and the cologne you always buy him for his birthday. He kisses like he's starved, as he always does. It’s aggressive and biting and commanding. You melt under his kiss, under Frankie’s mouth, under Dave’s hands on your waist. 

Frankie unzips your skirt and shucks it down, leaving you in your panties. You feel your cheeks warm as Dave goes to his knees in front of you, kissing his way from your sternum to your navel. 

“Such soft skin, hmm, hermano?” coos Pero, his face nuzzled in the right curve of your throat as Frankie continues to occupy the left. “It will never see so much as a cut again.”

Dave hums against your body, taking his panties down so you're exposed to the three of them. Frankie reaches around you and palms your breasts, forcing your back to curve into Dave’s grasp. 

“What do you want him to do, amor?” asks Pero, nipping your earlobe. His voice makes your ribs tremble. Dave presses gentle kisses to your inner thighs while Frankie rolls your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

Your head lolls around your shoulders, supported by Pero’s hand fisting your hair. It's hands and lips and teeth. It's the warm, wet sensation of Frankie’s mouth sucking greedy little marks into your neck and Dave’s murderous hands, so gentle on your hips. “I… ngh…”

Pero nudges his nose against a ticklish spot in your neck, making you shiver. “He won't do a thing until you let him,” he says. As a confirmation, Dave gently nips your thigh. The corded muscle of their arms keeps you in place, ensuring you won't fall, letting you feel without fear. 

“I want to come,” you manage, meeting your husband's eyes beneath your lashes. 

Pero nudges his nose against your cheek. “Do you want their fingers, my love?”

“God, yes,” you whine, your body keening as Dave runs two fingers through your slit. “Please, yes.”

“We got you, baby,” says Frankie, squeezing your tits. 

“You heard my wife. Make her feel good.”

Dave nudges your thighs farther apart and licks a bold stripe through your slit. You yelp, tangling your fingers in his hair. “I said fingers, York,” warns Pero. “No seas codicioso (Don't be greedy).”

“It's okay, Dave,” you say breathlessly. “Just surprised me. It feels good.”

“Relax, baby,” says Frankie, letting you rest your head back on his shoulder. The stretch of your throat gives Pero better access, and he takes advantage: making his own marks on his side of your neck, tracing his path with his nose as Dave sinks two fingers deep inside your cunt. 

“Ah!” you moan, your chest heaving and your eyes rolling back. “Fuck, Dave!”

Groans vibrate through your body. They like hearing you. They get off on knowing you feel good. Dave curls his fingers against your front wall and you see spots, your other hand curling around Frankie’s wrist. “Oh my—” 

Even though your legs are trembling as Dave repeatedly presses up against your g-spot, Frankie’s hand glides down your body and, his teeth nipping at your jaw, finds your clit. 

“Ohhh, Frank— ie!”

He huffs into your skin, refraining from bucking his hips against you because he knows it's greedy. He rubs your clit in slow circles as Dave works his fingers inside you. “So good for us, sweet girl,” he says, admiring the deep flush of arousal on your body. You're warm and inviting and spread open for them, your eyes struggling to stay open. 

Pero sucks on the spot beneath your ear that he knows drives you mad, and you moan long and loud, squirming in the men’s grasp while pleasure burns through you. 

“Bésame,” says Pero. You're overwhelmed by the attention, close to coming apart under their hands, and you need an anchor. So you turn your head to the side and kiss him again. 

The need to come is cataclysmic. Your pleasure mounts from the efforts of the men around you, their limbs and their souls fine-tuned to your body. Your stomach tightens, your nerve endings bursting with white-hot sensation, your thighs trembling as you climb toward your high. 

“She's coming,” says Dave, curling his fingers forward. You cry out, unable to form words.

“Yeah, she is,” says Frankie, watching your chest heave with every breath. 

“Record time,” says Pero, grinning into your neck. 

“I’m— I’m—!”

You feel teeth sinking into your throat. Frankie, if you have any sense left. He likes to bite. You lose the ability to support your head and crush your face in Pero’s chest, grasping Dave’s hair and choking on a sob. 

Your entire body stiffens, and though you cannot hear through the ringing in your ears, the three men around you can see the surge of wetness spray out around Dave’s fingers, splashing onto his tie. “Jesus Christ,” he says. 

“That's it, baby,” says Frankie, soothing the bite mark he left with his tongue. 

You whimper, held down by their strong arms, your orgasm devastating you. Pero mumbles soft Spanish in your ears. Dave gently withdraws his soaked fingers as Frankie removes his hand from your clit, letting you come down slowly. You're dizzy, covered in a faint sheen of sweat, and all you can see, taste, smell is the presence of the men around you. They help you come back to Earth with gentle kisses and soft touches. In the field, they’re killers. Here, they know nothing but keeping you safe and happy. 

Compared to the afternoon you've had, you feel really fucking happy now. 

“You with us?” asks Dave, patting your hip with his dry hand. You nod, because your mouth can only produce a faint squeak. Dave rises to his feet and, after exchanging a look with Pero, lifts his slick-soaked fingers to your lips. “Then you can open up for me, hmm?”

You do, letting him place his fingers on your tongue. You swirl it around his digits, tasting your own tang, watching him through bleary eyes. “ Thaaat’s it,” he says warmly. “Now you know why we're all fucking starved for you. You taste good. Don’t you?”

You nod again and close your lips around his fingers. Pero holds your jaw, keeping your head in place, while Frankie kneads your tits. “Made a mess of Dave, honey,” says the latter. 

Dave pops his fingers out of your mouth to let you speak, though your voice is hoarse. “Didn’t… didn’t mean to.”

“It's okay, sweet girl,” says Dave, his hand skating up and down the curve of your waist. “My tie looks better this way.”

You feel yourself flush, but Dave is kissing you, his chest pressed up against yours, forcing Frankie to keep you from stumbling. Pero steps back, relishing in the sight: you, unharmed and satiated, in the arms of two men he knows can keep you safe. Frankie kisses along your jawline as Dave claims your mouth, both of them drawing soft moans from you and seeping the tension from your bones. 

Dave pulls away and brushes the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. “Thank you, baby,” he says softly. “I have to make some calls before Frankie takes you out of the city. You gonna be okay?”

You smile up at him and fix his tousled hair. “I am okay. Thank you, Dave.”

He kisses your forehead and makes for the basement, where he and Frankie once fashioned a makeshift ammunition store. You turn in Frankie’s arms and adjust his cap over his head. His shirt is rumpled and his hair is a mess, his erection still achingly obvious in his jeans. “Knocked you all askew,” you say regretfully. You know how much he likes his order. 

“Don't mind when it's you,” he says, cupping the right side of your face. His thumb strokes your jaw, his dark eyes soft and buttery. “You did good. You did everything right today.”

You glance at Pero, who moves closer with your clothes in his hands. “It doesn't feel like it,” you say as your husband shrugs your blouse back over your shoulders for a modicum of warmth. He'll have a change of clothes for you upstairs, anyway; this house is stocked with everything a person could need. 

“You did everything right,” Pero repeats, his lips at your temple. “I could have lost you today, mi amor. Staying alive is all I ask of you.”

“Well, you can thank Frankie for that.” You send the man in question a wry smile. “I certainly will.”

You want to bite that pout right off his mouth. “I’ll get thanks when I deserve it.” He presses a kiss to your nose. 

That's a certainty about these men: they never make you feel used. Frankie follows Dave into the basement, leaving you alone with your husband. He takes your hand, pulling you against him. You hold onto the lapels of his leather jacket and kiss him deeply. “I’m sorry about all this,” you whisper. 

Pero blinks. “Why are you apologising to me?”

“You're in your head, baby.” Your fingers trace his old scar and disappear into his thick locks, combing them back from his forehead. He closes his eyes, damn near purring at your attentive touch. “You can't dive headfirst into a plan when you’re overthinking everything. I’ll lose you, and I refuse to lose you. You know this is not your fault, right?”

“It is.” He grabs your waist and kneads your soft flesh. “He would never have sought revenge if I hadn't insulted him.”

“You were right to insult him,” you say fiercely. “He and his family trample over the less fortunate. They look down on the poor from their skyscrapers and renege on their promises of providing low-income housing. They're leeches, Pero, and you were right to take Alexander down a peg. His pride is hurt, which means he's vulnerable. Putting a price on my head shows it.”

Instinctively, he sneers at your words, grasping you tighter. You only admire the changing planes of his beautiful face, the scrunch of his white scar and the regret in his dark eyes. “He will pay,” promises Pero. “He will pay for thinking you were ever an option.”

“I know he will.” You scratch your nails through the hair at the nape of his neck and watch his expression soften. “But you’ll promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Don't think about me,” you tell him. “Treat it like a standard mission. I’ll be sitting in a house somewhere, far away from danger, waiting anxiously for my husband to come home to me. And he will. Come. Home.” You pin him with your best wifely glare. “So do not think about me. It will only distract you. ¿Claro?”

Pero nods, zealously grasping your head in his hands and kissing you all over: your lips and cheeks and nose and eyelids. “I love you,” he says, his voice breaking. “I love when you smile and laugh and get angry. I love when you boss me around. I love when you use my words. I love your heart. I've never seen a thing like it. And I will never, ever drop it. I will come home to you, amor.”

You sniffle, grinning at him through your tears. “Promise me,” you say firmly, “please, mi esposo.”

“I promise,” says Pero, “I will not think about you. Not even once. Not your laugh or your smile. Not the sight of you naked and panting, not the sounds you make when—”

“That's enough promising,” you laugh, leaping onto him to kiss him again. 

next

[redemptioninterlude]

[ 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐌 ] //rue

the 5 senses meme ( accepting ) + @sunxsin // ling [ 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐌 ] ― sender calms receiver down from a panic attack in a loud place

Okay so this whole thing is like, really fucking embarrassing, isn't it?

Like it's just supposed to be another party in another space. Beautiful and bored people trying to talk about the industry and bitch about the people they knew, as if that shit didn't spread like wildfire, until everyone knew each other's business. Maybe that's the point. Maybe that's how THEY WANT TO BE SEEN, who knows, who cares. Posted up in crowded spaces and music turned up so loud, you could barely hear one another, she thinks, so many people really do feel like they've stepped out of a the Weeknd song, but part of her thinks, she's really no better.

Wasting away in a place like this isn't so bad, if you wanted it bad enough. YOUNG HOLLYWOOD LEGENDS, they're all looking to play pretend to a life that they clung to an image, in the hopes that maybe they'd be one of the few that fucking made it. It wasn't easy without someone being a friend, or family, to give you a helping hand ; a name that made you a must have. And it's been a hell of a time for Rue, who's last few months off of acting had come as the consequence of a bad boyfriend, and stupid choices, how she let some guy dictate to her that she hadn't been good enough...

Breaking up with him had been her best decision, and she wears it proudly. And then everything else starts to happen, in a sudden uplift that almost knocks her right off her feet. The nominations for that film she did before she'd 'retired'. The way her take on the final girl was something everyone felt was FRESH AND NEW, when really it just felt like good luck. Who cared? It was finally happening for her, and being here beneath the glow of that attention? Actually kind of terrified her. Rue knowing how to smile, and wave, but the moment she managed to found it getting to be too much?

It's like her heart was pounding right out of her chest. An anxiety that crawled its way up from the back of her throat, she's caught beneath the glare of the lights, a microphone in front of her face, and Rue's all too aware that she feels as if she needs to throw up. She almost doesn't notice the hand at her elbow, the smooth words offered up, how she's late, but he promises that she'll be back, Ling Yao all of a sudden at her arm. Pulling her out of what felt like a SUFFOCATING SITUATION, leading her off to some quieter hallway, a window cracked open... Rue's half gasping by now, nodding along when he asks if she's alright, his palm smoothing down the line of her spine, coaching her through each breath. Almost as if he's been here before, trying to dismiss that thought, as she concentrates on the sound of his voice. Breathe in... breathe out... in... out...

[neo-culture-mafia]

[02:03PM] “Where is he, Mark? They should’ve arrived yesterday.” You questioned for the millionth time that day— pacing around the room as you looked at the window every two seconds.

“I thought you didn’t care about what happened to your arranged husband.” Hyuck muttered, receiving a not-so-nice glance from Mark.

“You’re not helping, Hyuck.” Mark scolded him before walking to you and gently placing both of his hands on your shoulders. “Unforeseen things happen during missions all the time, Y/N. I’m sure they’re on their way.” He stated with a gentle smile on his lips.

“Aren’t they supposed to tell you guys when something happens?” You asked, feeling the cold sweat take over your hands. Your nervousness was starting to show.

“Only when they’re fucked up.” Hyuck added, automatically shrinking his shoulders when Mark turned to him to mouth “I’m gonna kill you” with no sound.

“What he’s trying to say...” Mark turned his attention back to you with the sweetest smile he could put on his face. “is that they only call when they need help, so the fact they haven’t called it’s a good sign. Very good sign.” He assured you.

“Okay.” You finally let a deep breath out of your mouth, trying to let Mark's words sink in and help with your worrying.

“You should go to bed, though. We’re gonna linger around a bit more so we'll tell Renjun that you were worried about him when he arrives.”

“I’m not worried about him.” Your facial expression automatically changed and you adjusted your posture, getting out of Mark's grasp. “I’m just concerned about the others, there are people from my family there too, that’s all.”

“Uhum. I’ll let you fool yourself this time.” Hyuck gave you a sarcastic smile before walking to you with a bit less attitude. He knew better than to keep doing that to you, you had a scary husband. “But seriously, go get some sleep. I'll let you know when he arrives. You barely slept last night.”

Judging by the way Mark and Hyuck were staring at you, you knew that trying to say anything different would be a lost battle.

“Pinky promise?” You asked after sighing at how powerless you were in front of two of your closest friends. “I whole hand promise you.” Donghyuck held up his hand for you to hit, getting a weak smile as an answer from you. “He’s one of the best, Y/N. If there’s anyone in this world that you shouldn’t worry about, it’s him.” He reassured you before kindly scouting you out of the room.

{...}

When Renjun finally arrived at his house, his mind was too tired for him to remember that he was supposed to tell you he had arrived. His feet unconsciously moved towards the bathroom as he quietly repeated to himself that he just needed to take all that blood off of him and that he would feel better. A fallacy to say the least, but Renjun had never felt like himself whenever he had blood stains on him, it just bugged his mind as a constant reminder that one more life had been taken by his gun. Not the happiest thought to have before going to bed.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, finally feeling like himself again, Renjun paced towards your room on the other side of the hallway, ready to knock on your door to tell you he'd arrived and to hear you telling him to fuck off and let you sleep as the usual response. Instead, what he received was much different than expected.

When he was about to knock on your door, he noticed that the door was already open. Your room was empty.

“Y/N?” Renjun called for you. The silence was the only answer. “Shit.” He mumbled to himself, quickly running to your nightstand drawer where he had previously convinced you to leave a gun. It was also empty.

The fear started to grow inside of his chest as Renjun silently walked out of your room. Since you had firmly and kindly stated — or threatened to cut his balls off — that Renjun was banned from ever entering your room without your permission, he still hadn’t had the chance to put any alarms inside your bedroom. The only alarm capable of adverting the rest of Neo Culture in case of trouble was in his room.

Although Renjun had arrived around a few minutes ago, the hall's light was still turned off. He didn’t like to see the bloodstains on him, so he usually would only turn on the lights after making sure he wouldn’t see any reminder of violence on his body.

The fact that his room's light on had passed unnoticed by Renjun, something unusual to happen, only made the fear start to take over his body. Fear was a foreign feeling for Renjun, but when the thought that something might have happened to you occurred to him, he knew this was a rare exception. Someone was inside his house, and you were nowhere to be found. The equation was easy for him.

As much as your marriage wasn’t ideal, Renjun never pushed you away. He understood that you had a temper and that being rude was your way to cope with how fast things had “happened” between the two of you, and even though he didn’t enjoy being treated like shit, he was more than certain that no one had the permission to lay a finger on you. Arranged or not, Renjun took the marriage vows seriously, and someone hurting you was out of the question.

In a second of anger, Renjun ignored all the expert assassin instincts that were screaming for him to check the cameras before attacking- him throwing away the idea to know how many he was going to be dealing with. He ran straight to his room’s door and kicked it open to see a very confused you raising your head from his pillow.

Renjun's eyes were quick to scan your face. You had bags underneath your eyes, very red and swollen eyes, that tipped off that you most likely had cried yourself to sleep. When Mark and Donghyuck mentioned that you were worried about him, Renjun thought that they were just messing around. Now he could see they weren’t lying.

If the situation was different, you would have probably told him to get lost. But as your tired eyes landed on Renjun's figure, relief was the only thing radiating off of you.

You probably looked terrible. You could feel that your hair, your face, your clothes, and even your self-esteem were messed up, but your eyes were still locked on his anyway.

As your brain tried to come up with an explanation, you started to wonder: How could you explain your current situation without completely humiliating yourself in front of the man you thought you despised till yesterday?

“W-what,” your voice failed, causing you to mentally curse at your own stupid voice for not helping. “What’s with the gun?” You managed to say a few words as you quickly sat down on his bed.

“What’s with the crying?” He questioned back, not breaking eye contact with you as he placed the gun on his waistband.

“Uh- Nothing. I just missed my home.” You murmured, cleaning some tears off of your face with your hoodie's sleeve in an awkward manner as your vision tried to adjust to the combination of the room's light + puffy post-cry eyes.

“Oh.” Renjun's stare softened. His heart was still trying to calm down after so many bad scenarios flashed through his mind, so he didn’t even think about whether he would be invading your personal space or not when he sat down next to you. “I’ll ask Chenle to take you to see your parents tomorrow.”

As Renjun's body touched the mattress, your body automatically retracted and you were back on your feet, receiving a confused stare from the previously mentioned.

“I-I didn’t mean it in that way.” The words stumbled out of your mouth as your eyes tried to focus on anything but his face.

Surprisingly, your eyes were met with something you hadn’t seen before. You were so lost in your negative thoughts and crying when you walked into his room that you didn’t notice the small picture frame he kept by the side of his bed. It was your marriage day. You and he were in the picture.

“Huh?” He stared at you in genuine confusion.

No matter how many times you tried to push him away by telling him off or saying that he didn’t have any obligation towards you, he always took your marriage very seriously. He always prioritized whatever you needed, and he would always go beyond his limits just to make sure you had everything you needed.

Renjun never mistreated you. Not even for a second.

“When I married you, this place became my house. Even though I strongly opposed to the wedding, I accepted this as my house.”

“But?” Renjun instinctively asked as his mind was trying to conceive what was going on.

You debated for a few seconds whether or not to say the next words. Yet when you stared at his messed bed sheets that you were lying on instants ago, even if you wanted to, there wasn't any way to embarrass yourself more in front of him than you already had.

“This house isn’t my home without you in it.” You admitted, feeling a heavy burden get off of your shoulders as you let the very last piece of your dignity in Renjun's room before walking yourself out of it without turning back.