#so instead short summaries are my backup

[mionemymind]

Chapter 2: Confessions for You

My Rival Series

Series Summary: The time where Y/n Y/l/n and Wanda Maximoff were academic rivals that fell for each other.

Chapter Summary: Y/n already is losing herself to her studies as competition looms closer and closer.

A/n: Gif credits to @elizabetholsens

Warnings: Rivals to Lovers, Obvious Feelings, Stubborn Reader, Cursing, Alcohol, Puking, Memory Loss? (ish)

Word Count: 5.1k

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

Last Month - Spring Semester

‘I fucking hate losing to her.’ Y/n’s fists were tightly clenched as she saw Wanda celebrate another perfect score. The glimmer in her eyes almost made Y/n’s vein burst from anger. The competition was in three weeks and the last day of school was in four weeks. 

It's been almost a month since she spoke to Dean Holloway about her scholarship. Since then, Y/n’s mental health has extremely deteriorated. The lack of sleep and the inability to eat was catching up to the bright student. 

She was making more mistakes in math club, simple ones that even the freshman could do with their eyes closed. Her confidence has gotten lower and lower the more she was unable to perfect her craft. 

And as Y/n stared at the ninety nine written on her test, all emotion was devoid from her. She was tired. Something that Wanda had noticed. The brunette had kept up on her usual appearances around Y/n. She taunted Y/n slightly over scores, grinned at every question she got right at math club, and overall proved to everyone why she was number one. 

But that wasn’t to say that the brunette didn’t notice all the changes happening to Y/n. If anything, Wanda was the first to notice all the changes. She noticed the appearance of deeper eyes bags, the short temper Y/n had over small mistakes, and even worse, the lack of focus Y/n had during lectures. 

There were other changes too like the way Y/n no longer engaged at all to Wanda’s banter. Instead, she would walk away, fists clenched, as if Y/n was holding herself back. Or the times that Wanda no longer spotted Y/n with her friends at all. It was like she was distancing herself from everyone she knew. 

While Wanda tried her best to look out for Y/n, all her kindness turned bitter when she thought of that meeting. 

Sitting across from each other, the two were finishing their project, looking over the final draft before submitting it. Wanda was looking over Y/n’s part of the essay when she came across a large paragraph that contained a lot of circular reasoning and hardly any sources. 

Wanda circled it and leaned forward to show Y/n. “Hey, you made a mist-,” Y/n snatched the paper, already rereading the paragraph at lightening speed. Her shoulders were tense as she squinted her eyes to read the paper better. 

“You didn’t explain your side well enough. I see what you’re trying to say but you end up using circular reasoning to back up your point rather the the sources we’ve gathered.” 

Feeling already embarrassed enough from math club, Y/n had enough. She got up, causing the chair to make a horrible screeching noise. Wanda grimaced at the sound as she noticed Y/n packing up. 

“Where are you-”

“Fuck off, Maximoff. I don’t need your input.” Wanda was caught off guard at Y/n’s hostility, but the smart girl had a sharp tongue and there was no way in hell she was going to allow Y/n to talk to her like that. 

“Clearly you do when you’re making basic mistakes like that.” Y/n scoffed as she stuffed her backup. 

“Always quick to call out someone’s mistakes. Would love for the day someone laughs at yours.” Wanda got up, her chair making the same awful sound. 

“Why are you being so rude? We are doing a peer review. What did you expect? That I let you mess up my grade.” Y/n rolled her eyes as she swung her backup over her shoulder. The zipper was barely over the arch, the swing almost causing her backup to open up. Y/n grabbed the remainder of her stuff and held it.

“You’re the last person I would ever call my peer. Do what you have to Maximoff but I’m fucking done here.” Y/n left without another word.

Wanda stood at her spot, offended at the fact that Y/n even snapped at her. What was worse, she genuinely felt hurt by Y/n’s tone. Y/n had never spoken to her like that, not in the three years they’ve known each other. 

So as she grabbed her stuff, her paper being last, Wanda didn’t notice the lack of marks on her paragraphs. All she noticed was the painful feeling in her heart left by Y/n.

“Okay everyone, let's please settle down so we can talk about the format for this upcoming state competition.” Up at the front of the lecture hall stood Y/n and Wanda. Naturally they stood a couple of feet apart as Wanda took the lead of the meeting. 

“This year we have the amazing honor of bringing in three teams to represent Evergreen University. Fortunately for us, Dean Holloway was able to get the approval to send in another team this year.” There were several claps coming from the students as Y/n somberly looked at the floor. 

‘He just wants to increase the odds of me losing.’ Y/n thought. Noticing that Y/n was not paying attention, Wanda shook her head and continued with the announcement. 

“As tradition has it, we will hold a bracket competition for those that would like to compete. Each team will have four slots to fill. Naturally as your co-captains for the club, we will only have 10 slots available for those that want to participate.” 

Wanda walked over to Y/n, giving her a slight pat on the back as she walked past her. “Your co-captain will list off how the competition will go.” 

Y/n cleared her throat, regaining her focus as she addressed the crowd. “In order to better assess senior and new member abilities, we will be holding a kahoot style competition as this will best mirror the real competition.”

Walking away from Wanda, “In order to avoid embarrassment of who did or did not get the answer correctly, we will be using the clickers that the University has provided our club. On the sign up sheet, I will write down your name beside the clicker number. The top ten members will receive a place for the competition. However, the members that place 11th through 13th will constitute as our substitutes in the case of anything happening to our members.” 

Y/n sat over to the desk of clickers, ready to write. “For those that are not wanting to participate but would like to see who has made it to our team, you are more than welcomed to stay as the questions on the screen will provide great practice. You may start lining up now for your clickers.” Wanda ended her speech with a gratuitous smile. 

A long line of students started to form as Y/n wrote each name down. Coincidentally enough, the first two clickers were reserved for Wanda and Y/n. Unbeknownst to Y/n, she wrote Wanda’s name at first and her name being second. Even her subconscious knew the truth. 

So as Wanda got the questions ready, Y/n sat at the table, away from everyone, hoping that her extreme hours spent studying were going to be worth it. Y/n looked at Wanda who sat with some of her friends in the club. There was still that stupid smile on her face. 

‘Eat dirt.’ Was all Y/n thought as the first question popped up on the screen. 

“Wait - you’re unable to pick me up when spring semester ends? Why?” Y/n sighed, still feeling the bitterness from math club as she sat under a tree that observed the Hodgekins Math building. 

“I’m sorry honey - your father and I are going to attend an important meeting for his company in Europe. Unfortunately, we were unable to reschedule it as your father’s clients were only able during that time to discuss the merge factors. I do hope you understand.” 

Y/n’s eyes teared up, feeling lower than ever before as she spotted Wanda finally leaving the building, the brunette’s words still in her mind. 

“How are you expected to lead when you can’t even get in the top ten?” Wanda whispered as she smiled at the students who made the team. “If you can’t even score top five, how can I trust you? Get your head back or I’m going to have to get someone else to fill your spot.” 

“Can you at least send Percy to help me out?” Y/n wiped her tears before they got a chance to fall. The weight of everything was crushing her down and it felt like no one even noticed. 

“Of course. He’ll be there to help you. How is school going by the way? Are you having fun? Your grades still okay?” Y/n leaned back on the tree, making sure no one was nearby. 

“It's been…okay. My state competition is less than a month away and I’ve been trying my best to study a lot for it.” Y/n bit her cheek, the feeling of losing gripped her heart. “But other than that, my grades are still good.” 

Y/n couldn’t see it, but her Mom was smiling on the other end of the phone. “Is that girl - what’s her name - oh yeah, Wanda, still there?” Y/n froze at the mention of the brunette, even worse, Wanda was oddly walking in her direction.

“Mom - I really don’t want to talk about her.” It’s like no matter what, Wanda somehow managed to pop up everywhere in her life. 

“Well, it has been a while since you’ve talked about her. I was starting to think she was no longer around.” Y/n knew when her Mom was acting oblivious and this happened to be one of those moments. 

“Mom-”

“You know if you can’t stand it just come back home. Your father is more than happy to help you get enrolled into-”

“Mom - I’m not going to Langford University. Dad can keep wishing but I will stay at Evergreen University.” The topic of Langford and her father was always a strain. While Y/n’s father was an alright man and honestly a great father, his vision for Y/n’s future never aligned for what his daughter wanted. 

Ever since she got accepted to Evergreen University, their relationship grew complicated. He even stopped calling after Thanksgiving break of her first semester in college. While Y/n did have a better relationship with her mother, it was still complicated nonetheless. 

“Look, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later Mom. Bye - love you.” Y/n hung up before her mother said anything back. The brunette that’s been in her mind stood right in front of her with a blank look on her face. 

“What do you want?” Wanda rolled her eyes at Y/n’s hostility. She hadn’t even said a word and she’s already managed to piss Y/n off. Had it been earlier in the year, Wanda would have enjoyed just how quick she could get under Y/n’s nerves. But now, Wanda couldn’t stand Y/n either. 

Taking a deep breath, Wanda calmed her anger and said, “Have you thought about what I said?” 

Standing up, Y/n wiped any possible dirt from her pants and glared at Wanda. “Don’t even think about replacing me. I’ll be at the competition and I’ll make sure that my group wins it all.” 

“You better be on your A-game at our next practice. If not, I’m pulling you.” Y/n’s jaw clenched at Wanda’s threat. Who was she to call the shots? They were co-captains after all. 

“Don’t worry your pretty head about me, Maximoff. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

‘I need to focus.’ It was a weeknight. As usual, Y/n was using this time to study for math club. Wanda had sent out a new packet for the competitors to use as practice for the real competition. 

For a majority of the questions, she had gotten ninety seven out of the hundred correct. But Y/n was on the brink of losing it all. She knew that any wrong answer would immediately lead to a Maximoff victory and that was the last thing she wanted. 

‘I need to be perfect.’ Erasing her calculations, Y/n redid it but still wasn’t able to match to the correct answer. Tightening the grip on her pencil, Y/n tried to not let this get to the best of her. But the constant sound of Natasha practicing her guitar started to aggravate her. 

In addition small music was already playing in the background, something Natasha was trying to play along with. So when Y/n redid her calculations once more and still got the wrong answer, she could feel her anger start to resurface. Still, she maintained her best composure and erased the wrong answer. \

Retrying for the third time, Y/n was close to reaching the correct answer when her pencil tip broke. ‘Just bad timing. That’s all. Get a new pencil and move on.’ She spoke internally. But the rational thoughts mixing with her anger were not a good combo. 

Was she hallucinating or was Natasha’s music suddenly getting louder? Ignoring it, Y/n grabbed a new pencil when the sound of a new email alerted her attention to her laptop. Going to Outlook, Y/n looked at the new email, its subject already signaling alarms in her head. 

Dean Holloway 

New Scholarship Requirements 

Feeling all sorts of anger and embarrassment, Y/n broke her pencil and slammed her computer shut. Standing up quickly, Y/n looked at Natasha, and without thinking, said, “Can you please cut that shit off?” 

Y/n was already fuming with anger, not caring if she pissed her best friend at all. At first, Natasha looked shocked at Y/n’s outburst, quickly turning the music off. But the realization of Y/n’s tone offended Natasha. 

“What’s up with you?” Natasha placed the guitar up against the wall. Y/n had never yelled at her like this before. 

“I need to study and I can’t when you’re distracting me.” Y/n waved towards the direction of the speakers and the guitar as if it was so obvious. 

“You could have asked nicely rather than being a dick about it.” Natasha did not like Y/n’s tone one bit. While they were best friends, Natasha did not take shit from anyone. 

“You could have been considerate of other people in the room rather than assuming.” Natasha scoffed knowing that this was not the first time she played music in front of Y/n. Heck, she always played music ever since freshman year of high school. Natasha could vividly recall the amount of times she asked Y/n in the beginning days of them dorming. Y/n would always respond with a smile, saying she never minded. So why would things change now? 

“Bullshit - tell me the real reason.” Natasha stood up and crossed her arms, not giving into Y/n’s lie. 

“I’ve had enough. Maybe that’s the reason.” Natasha rolled her eyes. She walked closer to Y/n, quickly lifting her shirt up to expose just how skinny she had gotten. 

“You’ve hardly been eating.” Feeling defensive, Y/n backed up, pushing her shirt back down. “You hardly sleep anymore. Not only that, I’ve barely been able to speak to you without you running away to study. Something is up. So tell me.” 

Y/n glanced down to the floor. Tears pricked her eyes as she thought of a way to get out of this. Guilt consumed her as quickly as her anger did. And now, she doesn't know what to say. 

So when the red head saw her friend silently cry, her shoulders dropped and immediately went in for a hug. “Whatever is eating you up, just please tell me. I’ll make sure to help you through it so you don’t have to go through it alone.” 

‘If I’m not perfect…I’m going to lose you.’ But as Y/n clutched on to Natasha, no words escaped her mouth for the redhead had enough to worry about. 

Day Before Competition - Spring Semester

“I can’t believe you’re actually going to a party.” Y/n looked over the simple outfit she had on, blue jeans, loose white shirt, and converse. This was the first time she was going to a party, vividly recalling the multiple lies she’s used to get out of one in the past. 

“I don’t understand why this one is suddenly mandatory for club members to go to. We literally have a competition tomorrow.” Today was supposed to be spent for late night studying, but according to Wanda’s orders, this was a must for all twelve members. 

“Who cares? I know you’re going to do well.” Natasha says behind Y/n. The red head admired Y/n’s outfit before looking eyes with her through the mirror. “You’ve been studying your ass off. I just know tomorrow is going to be your day.” 

Y/n didn’t want to overthink Natasha's words. Ever since she outlashed that night, she refused to for her anger to get the best of her even though her circumstances weren’t so great. Offering Natasha a wide smile, Y/n said, “I’ll be only drinking one cup tonight but nothing else. I can’t be too drunk.”

“And I’m going to do the opposite, I will be getting drunk especially since finals are this upcoming week.” 

‘I want to leave.’ Hours into the party, the crowd grew more alive. More people were in the center dancing while many small groups formed around the frat house. The backyard was filled with people vaping or smoking. 

Y/n didn’t quite recognize all that attended the party. If she was being honest, people started to come even when they weren’t part of a club. There were a few outliers from chemistry and movie club, but other than that, the crowd was overwhelming. 

Sipping on the last few bits of her drink, Y/n watched Natasha with a small buzzing feeling. The red head was downing her fifth shot. A smirk was wide spread on her face as she wiped the small bits of tequila that were on the corner of her mouth. The crowd around her cheered as the next person got their shot ready.

Natasha walked to where Y/n was standing and stood beside her. Feeling touchy, she decided to lay her head on Y/n’s shoulder and observed the crowd. She knew a lot of the outliers from the many parties she’s been to. Plus, with how outgoing of a personality Natasha had, a lot of people gravitated towards her. 

But no matter how many people Natasha was friends with, Y/n was always her favorite. The two were opposites but that made the friendship even better. The red head always viewed Y/n as the black cat that never wanted to be petted. But the day she was finally allowed was one that Natasha always remembers. 

“Having fun?” Y/n could smell the alcohol from Natasha’s breath but didn’t mind. 

“A little bit. This drink is helping me not stress so much though.” Natasha smiled at Y/n’s confession. The two didn’t really have a long talk about her outburst many nights ago. And while Natasha always had her guesses, she remained at Y/n’s side, never wanting her best friend to feel alone. 

As for Y/n, vowed to keep her anger in check. While she did still feel irritated at times, she focused on not letting her anger consume her as much. Even with the given circumstances, it wasn’t fair to Natasha or any of her friends to get the short end of the stick. It wasn’t their fault for the way things were. 

“Ya know Nat, for this party to have mandatory attendance, I have not seen Wanda or any of the math club members anywhere.” Natasha looked around the crowd that was in the dance room and couldn’t spot the all too familiar brunette at all. 

“That’s weird. Did y’all agree for a meet up spot?” Y/n shook her head no. 

“I haven’t even gotten a text from Wanda. She’s usually on top of these things.” The two watched for a moment, letting the loud music fill the comfortable silence between them. Wanting to get another shot, Natasha almost left when she saw Wanda amongst the crowd. 

“Why does Wanda affect you so much?” Y/n almost hadn’t heard Natasha’s question, but when Y/n followed the direction of her gaze, she knew. 

“She doesn’t affect me.” Although it was a small buzz, the ability to lie knowing she had drunk a little was all the confidence Y/n needed. 

“Well you talk about her,” Natasha pointed out. “Plus, anytime she’s around, you end up bickering for a while. Sometimes you would go on rants talking about what she said to you during class.”

The blush that appeared on Y/n’s cheek was hard to spot in the dark setting. The brown eyed girl clutched on her red solo cup, feeling embarrassed that she was easily called out with compelling evidence. 

Looking back at Wanda, Y/n could feel her heart rate increase as she saw her talking to other people. There was this different aura surrounding her. Maybe it was the drink or maybe it was the fact that she seemed to really enjoy herself. Like academics wasn’t the only thing she excelled in. 

“Is she the reason you’re acting so differently lately?” Natasha lifted her head as she felt Y/n stiffen up. Feeling like she overstepped, the red head was about to spout an apology.

“Yeah,” Y/n continued to look at Wanda. Even though it was rude to blame the situation on her, it was easier to admit it than speak the truth. “It’s just..I hate Wanda Maximoff. I hate her face and the way she hides her freckles. I hate her smile and how perfect she laughs. I hate how smart she is and how she knows everything. I hate her.” Y/n complained. 

But how could she hate the girl that always took number one in everything? How could she hate the girl that captivated her mind 24/7? How could she hate the girl she would willingly be number two for?

And as Natasha looked back at Wanda then Y/n, a realization suddenly hit her. ‘You like her.’ But Natasha didn’t dare to confess this outloud but it was so obvious. ‘What else would eat her up this way?’ Natasha thought. 

On the other side of the party, Wanda could feel eyes on her. Looking around the room, she finally connected to the brown eyes she knew well. Unknowingly, the sight of Natasha being so close aggravated the brunette for some reason.

But all Wanda could focus on was how soft Y/n’s stare was. There was no jealousy or bitterness about them. And that captivated Wanda even more because this was the first time that Y/n had ever looked at Wanda that way. 

Suddenly, all the air shifted in the room, and Wanda couldn’t help but think, “Why does she hate me?” 

Natasha left after her tenth shot as her girlfriend dragged her away. Feeling no reason to stay any longer, Y/n made her way out the frat house when she bumped into Wanda. 

The red head was unable to stand up straight, almost falling if it weren’t for Y/n’s arms. “Hey - hey - are you okay?” 

Here was the gaze again, the same one Wanda felt half an hour ago. It was almost too much to handle the first time, leading Wanda to drink even more. It was stupid, nonetheless, Wanda was drunk and the very reason why was the same one holding her. 

Feeling too much, Wanda leaned away as she puked into the bush. Almost wanting to puke from the sight, Y/n held Wanda’s hair back as she patted her back. “There - there.” 

Y/n looked around and was thankful that no one was here to witness this scene. As much as she hated Wanda, Y/n didn’t want this image to be in people’s heads. 

Standing back up, Wanda teared up, hating the feeling of puking. 

“Hey - it’s gonna be okay.” Not knowing what compelled her to do this, Y/n used the bottom of her shirt to wipe Wanda’s mouth. She didn’t care if puke got on her. The idea of Wanda crying infront of her was worse than puke. 

“Let me take you back home. You can’t walk in these conditions.” Was Y/n thankful that Wanda had bumped into her? No…well at least that’s what she would say out loud. But as Y/n walked Wanda back to her dorm, the awful thought of Wanda unsafely walking by herself at night made her sick. 

Arriving to dorm 321, Y/n swiped the key card, opening the door to a cold room. Carefully leading Wanda to her bed, Y/n lifted the white duvet, allowing Wanda to crawl in. 

When Wanda looked comfortable, Y/n looked around the room, noticing the minifridge at the corner. Opening it up, Y/n grabbed a water bottle and placed it at Wanda’s nightstand. 

Although Y/n could leave, the sight of Wanda sleeping made her freeze. Many thoughts slipped through her mind, some that she would blame the alcohol on. But there was this worrying feeling in her heart as the thought of Wanda puking in her sleep crossed her mind. 

No one would be able to help her in time considering she didn’t have a roommate. Groaning at her predicament, Y/n looked around the room. There was no spare pillow or blanket. It would be a rough night and the competition was soon. Looking at the clock on her wall, the bus would be ready to leave at 8:00 am giving Y/n around six and half hours to sleep. 

Was it worth it to stay at all? Would Wanda be fine? But as Y/n helped Wanda turn on her side to sleep, the brown eyed girl knew her answer. 

“Wanda, I’m going to be on the floor. If you need anything, just let me know.” There was no response from Wanda. Figuring she could leave before Wanda woke up in the morning, Y/n laid down on the ground, feeling cold from the intense air conditioning.

‘I can’t sleep if I’m freezing to death.’ The thought of using the rug below her as a blanket crossed her mind. Before she could say fuck it, Wanda’s voice caught her attention.

“Why do you hate me?” Glancing towards the bed, Y/n couldn’t see Wanda’s face from her view at the floor. Laying back down, Y/n looked at the ceiling, surprised that Wanda was even up.

“What makes you think that?” It was rude to dampen a drunk girl, that much was common sense for Y/n. So rather than outwardly admit anything, she rediverted it back to Wanda. 

“I can’t recall a moment where you were kind to me.” Y/n froze as she thought about that moment back in the library, wondering if Wanda had her flannel in her dresser. “And I don’t think you’ve said a nice thing about me…so you must hate me.” 

Oh how wrong Wanda was. Because the truth of it all, Y/n never hated Wanda. She could never hate the girl that pushed her to do her best everyday. She could never hate the girl that would go above and beyond for people that need help. She could never hate the girl she lived and breathed for. 

“I have said nice things about you,” Y/n whispered. The two never spoke like this before and it terrified Y/n to even admit such things. “You just have to look inbetween the lines. You’re smart - so I guess I hoped you saw through them.” 

Wanda was too drunk to really recall anything. She wanted so badly to ask but was afraid of the truth. “Are you ready for the competition?” 

Looking back up, Wanda had scooted to the edge of the bed, her eyes connecting with Y/n. “I think so. Do you think you’ll win?” 

Pulling the duvet away from her mouth, Wanda looked away as she said, “If I don’t, I’ll just disappoint my father.” 

“You wouldn’t disappoint me.” Wanda looked back at Y/n. Had she not been drunk, the intensity of her words and stare would have made her combust. 

But as the long night finally reached Wanda, she suddenly fell asleep before she could respond back. “Nothing you could ever do would disappoint me, Wanda.”

Competition Day - Spring Semester

Waking up to the sound of her alarm, Wanda panicked at the time. Immediately rushing to brush her teeth and change her clothes, she rushed out of her dorm, almost forgetting the important papers for the competition. 

As she ran on to the bus, sparing ten minutes, she looked around to see that everyone besides two people were left. The migraine in her head was hard to ignore, regardless, Wanda was thankful that she made it on time. 

Soon, the remainder of the team hopped on board, choosing a free row for themselves. Since it was a four hour ride, Wanda didn’t bother lecturing the team this early about the competition. She could do that later. 

Finding a free row near the front, she sat down at the seat closest to the window. Cursing herself for even drinking so much, Wanda glanced over and noticed that Y/n was across from her. She had jeans and white shirt on with a weird stain at the bottom. 

Wanda almost wanted to yell at her for not being in uniform when she noticed that she was asleep. Feeling another headache, Wanda focused on trying to find medicine in her backpack, the events of last night gone from her memory. 

Taking an ibuprofen, Wanda pulled out her notes and studied some problems. And although she didn’t remember, the girl across from her did as she finally got some sleep, having been up all night making sure that Wanda was safe and sound. 

Chapter 3

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[meazalykov]

good things come to those who wait

laura freigang x barca!reader (requested?)

summary: you'll finally be the happiest girl on the pitch, according to aitana

authors note: one of my mutuals on twitter checked out this page. they asked if I could do a part two to a fic I made months ago. here it is :)

warnings: small age gap

part one here

its been a month and you've managed to come to terms about what happened in that dressing room.

for a while, you walked into the dressing room always feeling a hint of embarrassment from being rejected by esmee. however, alexia reassured you many times that nobody finds you embarrassing, even esmee.

thank goodness you had football, since you were able to focus on that instead of the wanting to having a relationship like everyone else.

you step onto the pitch at the deutsche bank stadium, the unfamiliar pulse of adrenaline coursing through your veins for the champions league match.

the crowd's roar is a distant hum in your mind, drowned out by the singular focus you’ve forced yourself to adopt.

you're a starting defensive midfielder this game, outside from being a right-wing backup for lucy. as you look over to the left, you see esmee tying her cleats.

the rejection from esmee still stings, but you've pushed it aside, determined not to let it affect your performance. you knew this champions league match against frankfurt demands every ounce of your attention.

the first half is intense. you had to be sharp, alert, and relentless as the german team throws their best forwards towards you.

frankfurt's forwards are quick, and their midfield is formidable, but you’re not one to back down.

one of their forwards nearly took advantage of a goal opportunity, but you were able to side tackle the ball away before she took a shot.

you stood up, adjusting your shorts as cata makes a free kick from outside the box.

taking a moment to breath-- you realized that frankfurt is putting up a fight.

you’ve faced tougher challenges before, and today, you're determined to be the player your team needs.

but then there's her.

laura freigang. #10 for frankfurt. she's everywhere—pressing high, tracking back, and always looking to exploit any gaps in your defense.

you clash with her multiple times, and each time, she meets your challenge head-on. some of the blocks worked, others didn't.

what catches you off guard isn’t just her skill, experience, or her tenacity, but the way she looks at you. even with the ball in play, laura’s gaze lingers on you, curious and intense.

it’s unsettling and, you admit to yourself, a little intriguing.

the match remains tigh. it’s late in the first half when laura finally breaks through.

she finds a pocket of space just outside the box, and before you can close her down, she strikes. the ball sails past cata’s outstretched arms and into the net. 1-0.

at the start of the second half, barcelona doesn't falter. aitana orchestrates a quick response, threading a pass through to salma, who slots it home with clinical precision. 1-1.

later into the second, you shot the ball up to mariona who heads the ball into the net. 2-1.

the final whistle blows, and the crowd erupts. victory is yours in the group stage match-- but your thoughts keep drifting back to laura.

as you’re talking to mapi and ingrid, sharing a laugh over some play in the match, you see laura making her way towards you. her steps are confident, a slight smile playing on her lips.

luckily, mapi and ingrid stepped aside due to vicky calling for their attention.. so they didn't notice the older german girl coming.

"hey," she says, her face warm and voice slightly breathless from the match.

"i’m laura. that was a great game."

"yeah, it was. you gave the defenders a real challenge out there." you nod, still catching your breath.

"you didn’t make it easy for me either. i couldn’t stop watching you—uh, watching how you play, i mean." laura chuckles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"sure, just my playing?" you raise an eyebrow, a smirk forming despite yourself.

she laughs, a sound that’s somehow light and genuine. "maybe not just that," she admits.

"but i really would like to get to know you better, if you’re interested?" she continues.

your eyes widened, surprisingly, there’s a spark of something new in your chest, something you haven’t felt in a while.

"yeah, i’d like that." you say. there wouldn't be any harm in getting to meet new people, right?

"cool. maybe i could get your number?" she asks, her tone casual, but there’s a hopeful look in her eyes.

after you nod your head, she pulls out her phone from her jogger pants.

you take her phone, typing in your number, and hand it back with a smile. "call me."

and she does. the calls start off short, just casual chats about football, life in germany versus spain, your mutual love for photography, and favorite music.

but soon, they grow longer, stretching late into the night. you find yourself looking forward to hearing her voice, to the easy way you can talk about anything or nothing at all.

two months fly by, and before you know it, it’s time for the second group stage match against frankfurt.

this time, when you see laura on the pitch, there’s no awkwardness.

after the match, you muster up the courage that’s been building for weeks. the game is in spain, meaning that you're both here with no distance creating a boundary.

“laura,” you begin, pulling her aside as the rest of your teammates head to the locker room. you don't want them to know about this, not at least you're positive that this will lead somewhere.

“would you want to go out to eat tomorrow before you go back to frankfurt? like…on a date?” you whisper. again, hoping that nobody really catches you saying that.

you half expect her to hesitate, but instead, she grins. "yes, i'd love to."

the next day, as you're preparing for the date. you realize that you're stuck. you've never been on a date before, at least one that led into something.

hookups were one thing, but building an actual bond to form into a relationship was another ballpark.

you run out your apartment and go next door to seek out mapi and ingrid for advice.

they're your neighbors, so you're comfortable with asking them for anything-- they've always reassured you that you could. so you're sitting on the couch with ingrid as mapi sits on their recliner.

"guys-- I have a date tonight." you swallow.

ingrid smiles, happy to hear that you're moving on. mapi is surprised, who were you going on a date with?

"that's so fun!" ingrid says.

"who are you going on a date with?" mapi asks, protectively.

you're 21 years old, but mapi looks after you like an older sister.

"it's with laura. laura freigang from frankfurt. we've been talking for the last two months and since she is here in barcelona, we figured that we could spend time together." you gave a cheeky smile.

ingrid smiles knowingly, looking over at the protective tattooed woman. “ohh laura! mapi I know laura-- she's a good one. i remember playing against her in the bundesliga a long time ago. she’s got a heart, and i think you two will be good together.”

“just be careful, y/n. i don’t want to see you get hurt again.” mapi, on the other hand, is a little more skeptical. she didn't forget about the rejection from esmee.

ingrid gives her a look, her eyebrows flared.

“okay, okay. have fun, but i’m still keeping an eye on her.” mapi lets up, not wanting her girlfriend to be upset.

your first date with laura is everything you hoped it would be. she’s charming, funny, and there’s an undeniable chemistry between you-- considering that she's 26 and you're 21.

you go on a few more dates whenever your schedules allow, each one better than the last. sometimes you'd fly out to germany and other times she would come to spain.

she captures your journeys on film which you love. sometimes she'd let you take her camera to capture a few pictures of herself. this is special-- laura never let other people touch her cameras.

by summertime, you both find a long-break in your schedules and decide to spend it in mallorca.

the sun is warm on your skin, the waves gentle as they lap at the shore. it’s there, with the golden sand beneath your feet and the clear blue sky above, that laura turns to you, her eyes filled with a mix of nervousness and hope.

“y/n…would you be my girlfriend?”

for a moment, the world stops. then, with a wide smile, you nod. “yes, laura. i’d love to.”

when you tell aitana back in barcelona, she grins, pulling you into a hug.

“i’m so happy for you, y/n. you deserve this. remember what I said-- you’re going to be the happiest girl on the pitch now.”

and as you step onto the field for your next match, your love with laura and the memory of her smile in your mind, your teammates were right all along.

my master list is here if you want to read more fics <3

[fluentmoviequoter]

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Part 1/3 of my soft Tim miniseries!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

Summary: Tim Bradford cares more about you, his boot, than he should. You're injured and he shows his care without thinking.

Warnings: fluff, brief insecurity, description of injuries and stitches. r has hair long enough to pull back but no specific qualities!

Word Count. 1.0k+ words

A/N: This is just a little something I wrote last night. A scene of Tim being soft toward you, his favorite rookie. :)

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Tim Bradford can be gruff, pushy, and, at times, downright mean. But he never pushes his trainees more than they can handle, and his relentless tests and trials are for their benefit. By leading them to their potential or letting them fall short of it, he shows himself and them that they do (or in many cases, don’t) have what it takes. So, when people ask you if Tim Bradford is hard to work with or a tough TO, the answer is usually yes. 

But then there are moments like this. 

As you sit in the emergency room with a bloody wad of paper towels wrapped around your hand and your hair falling in your face, you watch Tim. He’s been on the phone since you arrived, pacing as he explains what happened to Sergeant Grey. You hadn’t seen Tim worried about you like this before today, but the moment he noticed the concerning amount of blood dripping from your hand as you stood your ground against an armed suspect, he showed you a side of himself that you’d never seen before. 

“Let’s get that hand looked at. I’m Dr. Grace Sawyer.”

You nod at Grace as you stand and brace your injured hand against the other. She smiles kindly as you introduce yourself and leads you into a nearby room. 

“Take a seat and I’ll unwrap Officer Bradford’s patch job,” she instructs. 

After you sit and extend your hand toward her, she carefully unwraps the blood-soaked towels and deposits it into a biohazard container behind her. The gash across your palm and over the side of your wrist begins bleeding again without the pressure of Tim’s impromptu wrap job. He yelled at you while he did it, but you know why. 

“How’d this happen?” Grace asks. 

“I, uh… I was supposed to stay out of the way until our backup got there, but a guy ran up behind Officer Bradford, my TO, with a machete. I jumped in before I thought about it," you answer.

“Clearly,” Tim grumbles as he walks in. “How is she?” he asks Grace. 

“I’m going to put in a few stitches. I’ll wrap it so she can get back to work, though. Is this your dominant hand?”

“No,” you answer softly, looking at Tim. 

Tim nods once before he walks to stand behind you. You feel his fingers in your hair before you can ask what he’s doing. Less than an hour ago, someone else had their fingers on your scalp, but you weren’t as accepting of the touch. 

“What are you doing?” you ask as he works your ponytail holder loose. 

“Fixing your hair. This look isn’t exactly department-approved and you can’t do it with stitches in your palm,” Tim answers. 

You turn your attention toward Grace and watch her work instead of focusing on how softly Tim is touching you or how close his chest is to your back. His warmth and care for you threaten to distract you from why you're here and what you're supposed to do when you leave.

“Sorry,” he murmurs when his finger hooks on a tangle. 

“It’s okay,” you reply. “Thank you.”

“Are you okay?” Tim asks. 

“I am. Thanks to you.”

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move that hand,” Grace says.

She winks as she stands, and you wonder if she knows how much trouble you’d get in for making a move on your TO. Not that you haven’t thought about it. Although, it always ends in rejection, even in your daydreams. The downside of knowing Tim so well, you think. 

“I don’t even know how he got my hand and my hair so fast,” you admit. “It was like I felt the slice and then he was yanking me backward.”

“You stood your ground well,” Tim responds. “Not that I’m praising you disobeying me and jumping in, but what you did was well done. Unnecessary, but properly executed.”

“Unnecessary?” you repeat. “I’ll remember that next time a guy is about to use a machete against your back.”

“You know what I mean,” Tim adds quietly. 

He drops his hands to your shoulders briefly, and when he pulls away, you shiver at the loss of warmth. 

“It’s not perfect, or exactly how you had it,” he begins as he rounds the exam table. 

“It’s great. Thank you,” you interject. “I really do appreciate it.”

“Just don’t let it happen again.”

“Trust me, I’ll try. Twelve stitches across my palm was never the goal.”

Tim rolls his eyes and sits in a nearby chair to wait for Grace to finish treating your cut. You watch him, and when you notice his shoulders drop, you push him back for once. 

“You know, I’ve been looking for a new hairstylist for an event next month,” you say. 

“No,” Tim answers. 

He crosses his arms tightly against his chest and tilts his head away from you. That means it’s working. 

“But you did so well! I mean, I haven’t felt this good because of a hairstyle since… I can’t remember.”

“Then learn to do it yourself.”

“But you’re my partner,” you argue with a pout. 

“When I said I’d be with you through the good, the bad, and the ugly, that’s not exactly what I meant.”

“But I’ll be ugly without beautiful hairstyles like this!”

Tim straightens quickly and says, “You’re kidding. Right?”

You shrug and look at the stitches lining your hand. 

“You’re beautiful,” he adds. “No hair-do can change that or make it untrue.”

“Thanks,” you whisper. 

“I’m back,” Grace announces. “Let me wrap this and you’ll be good to go.”

“About time,” Tim sighs. “Way to waste our afternoon, boot.”

You don’t hear a word he says. The only thing worth remembering for the foreseeable future is Tim Bradford saying, ‘You’re beautiful. No hair-do can change that or make it untrue.’ When you climb back into the shop a few minutes later, you realize that life will be hard with one of your hands out of commission. 

“How am I supposed to do anything without bothering this?” you ask. 

“Carefully. You just…” Tim sighs and knocks his knuckles against the steering wheel for a moment. Then he says, “Just call me if you need help.”

It takes you a second to register what he said and believe you heard him correctly, and your questioning sound communicates that. 

“Don’t make me regret it,” he adds. 

“Is this the ugly you meant?” you tease. 

“No,” Tim answers. “This is the good.”

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part thirty-five] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, lil bit of angst, smut (mdni ; 18+)

word count: 2.4k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

additional smut warnings: protected sex, public(ish) sex, switchy minho

“Min, what if we get caught?” you whispered, panting in his ear. 

It was hard to think straight while sitting on his dick but fragments of worries still bounced around in the back of your mind, vague reminders that what you were doing was illegal. It wasn’t as if you were some kind of saint, but you weren’t trying to get yourself on a registered sex offender list- especially not in Hawai’i of all places. 

“We won’t,” he assured you, “anyone who sees us will just think we’re cuddling.”

“Anyone with common sense will know exactly what we’re doing,” you muttered back. 

“Do you want to stop?” 

Minho held you still on top of him, fingers digging into your hips to stop you from moving. You didn’t answer right away.

“Baby?” he prompted, squeezing you tighter. 

The pet name startled you back into the present moment, making you stare down at Minho, blinking at him in surprise. He chuckled and freed one of his hands to rub your lower back under the hem of your shirt. 

“I don’t want to stop,” you confessed. “But if we get caught, I’m killing you.”

“If we get caught, my career is over,” he corrected, reminding you that there were more important things for him to worry about than yourself.

You always managed to forget that Minho was famous. Not even just famous, he was attached to the most popular boy group in the world. If he were to get in trouble for something like this it would make international news. And Minho’s parents would find out. Logically, you knew that his family finding out paled in comparison to the entire world finding out, but the first possibility was more daunting to you. Still, the idea of going viral for fucking one of BTS’s backup dancers on the beach was not something you wanted for yourself. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t then-” you said and started to lift yourself off of him. 

“I want to,” Minho assured you. “But I don’t want you not to enjoy yourself because you’re worried about someone seeing. We can take this back to the car if you want, or the hotel, or we can be done for the night.”

You slumped forward, resting against his chest and letting him hold you. You didn’t want to cut it short but you knew you wouldn’t be able to fully relax if you were thinking about every worst case scenario possible. 

“Can we go back to the hotel?”

He nodded. “Of course we can.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, none of that. Don’t be sorry. I want you to be comfortable, yeah? The whole point of sex is to enjoy it.”

You nodded in agreement even though you still felt a little guilty. Minho stood and then helped you to your feet. He gathered up the blanket you’d been sitting on and shook it off. He handed you one side of the blanket and kept hold of the other so that you could fold it nicely. 

“Where’d you even get this from?” you asked. 

“What, the blanket?”

 “Yeah, have you been carrying that around in your luggage this whole time?”

“No, I took it from the couch in my hotel room.”

“Minho!”

“What? I’m going to put it back!”    “It’s all dirty now, though.”

“I’ll wash it,” he assured you. “There are a lot of laundromats around here. Now come on, let’s head back before it gets too late.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him in confusion. “How do you know that? Do you keep a running tab of every laundromat you come across?”

He led you by the hand back up the beach to the pathway to the parking lot, turning his head ever so slightly when he answered you so that you could hear him. “No, I just pay attention.”

“Shocking.”

Minho turned away from you again but you could see him shaking his head. You assumed he was also rolling his eyes at you. 

He threw the blanket in the trunk once you reached the car, and climbed back into the driver’s seat. 

“I don’t suppose you want to take the wheel this time?” he asked after you had already buckled your seat belt. “Since you do have an American driver’s license?”

You gave him a look. “Yeah, but it’s illegal for me to drive this car since I’m not listed on the rental paperwork as a driver.”

“You think we’ll get pulled over?”

“We might! I’m also not old enough, remember?”

He grinned as he put the car in reverse “I know. I was just kidding.”

“Rubbing it in my face again?”

“Of course.”

The drive back to the resort was comfortable. Minho pointed out every single laundromat you passed, even after you told him he’d made his point and didn’t have to keep doing so. You were the one to reach for his hand this time, threading your fingers between his without hesitation. He smiled to himself when you did that and squeezed your hand affectionately, something that did not go unnoticed by you. 

The spot in the hotel parking lot the two of you had left earlier was still open when you returned. Apparently, no one else liked to be out late, even on vacation. 

You let go of Minho’s hand to get out of the car and didn’t grab it again as you walked into the lobby. 

“Are you tired?” Minho asked once you reached the elevators. You knew the question he was actually asking was whether or not you were too tired to go upstairs with him. This was just his not-so-subtle way of asking. 

“I was tired when you dragged me out of bed but I’m too horny to sleep now.”

He grinned. “My room, then?”

“No, let’s fuck in my room,” you said sarcastically. “I’m sure your brother would love that.”

“Hilarious.”

“Thank you.”

The bell on the elevator dinged, announcing its arrival and you shuffled in together. Minho placed a hand on the small of your back and leaned forward to press the button for the eleventh floor, settling back against the wall next to you once it lit up and started to ascend. 

He dropped his hand again when the elevator reached his floor. You missed the warmth instantly. You knew the little things like that shouldn’t hurt your feelings. You weren’t a couple. He was too recognizable to be seen with anyone and have it not cause a fuss. Still, you found yourself wishing things could be different. It stung, even though it shouldn’t.

Minho stopped in front of what you assumed to be his door and fished in his pocket for the room key. He waved the card in front of the sensor, the electronic lock blinking green on the first try.

The room was dark, but Minho turned the entryway light on so that you were able to see into the space. His room was nearly identical to you and Jisung’s. The only difference was that the bed was against the opposite wall.

“You’re not sharing with Felix this time?” you asked at the realization that there was only one bed instead of two. 

“Our parents wanted us to, but we were getting pretty sick of each other so we decided to split the cost of an extra room.”

“Uh-huh, and it had nothing to do with this?” You gestured in between the two of you to emphasize the ‘this’ you were referring to.

“No, no, not at all!” Minho insisted, hand to his heart. “I promise, I didn’t bring you out to the beach just so we could have sex. I didn’t expect for us to- I just wanted to talk.”

Your mind went back to the moment where Minho had seemed lost in thought, like he wanted to say something important and then decided against it at the last minute. Was that what he meant? Or were you reading too much into it?

“I meant to tell you earlier,” he continued, “I didn’t want you to think that.”

“Oh okay,” you said, mostly because you weren’t sure what else to say. “It’s not a big deal if that was why you wanted to go somewhere. It’s not like we really do anything other than hook up anyway.”

“Not because I don’t want to! It’s just, it’s not like we can do normal couple stuff.” 

“You’d... want to do that with me?”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I?”

Instead of choosing to address that, you pivoted. “Um, do you mind if I rinse off before we do anything else?”

Minho didn’t answer right away. He stood there staring at you with a look of concern on his face, bottom lip pulled in between his teeth as he tried to discern your sudden change in mood. “No, of course I don’t mind. But... are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”

You shook him off and lied. “No. I just feel gross from the beach. Did you want to join me or not?”

He hesitated again and you could tell he wanted to press further but refrained. “Yeah, of course I want to join you.”

You undressed together in relative silence as you waited for the water to warm up. The mood was definitely different but you hoped you hadn’t completely killed it. 

You could feel Minho’s gaze on you, could feel questions lingering in the air between you, but again he didn’t push. 

You turned around and kissed him to make up for it and he relaxed a little. He let you distract him all too willingly, stumbling into the shower after you with his eyes still closed. 

You pressed Minho up against the tile wall and he moaned into your mouth. He was already hard again, you could feel his dick twitching against your stomach. You reached in between your bodies and took him in your hand, stroking him slower than you knew he liked. It was better than nothing but nowhere near enough and it wasn’t long until he was thrusting into your palm, fucking your fist like it was a toy. You teased him a little, drawing your hand out of reach every now and then just to watch him pout. You couldn’t help yourself. It was payback for all of the times he had teased you and the desperate sounds he made every time you threatened to stop were turning you on more than you would have liked to admit. 

Minho let you think you were in control until he flipped it on you, literally. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he grabbed your wrists and spun you around so that you were the one up against the shower wall. Your back hit the tile hard and you scowled in annoyance.  

“What’s that look for?” Minho asked, hiking your thigh up onto his waist. 

“You couldn’t just let me be in charge for once?” 

He laughed. “I thought you liked it like this.”

You sigh. “I do, it’s just... I was having fun.”

“I could tell,” he mused. “You had this evil little smile on your face while you were jerking me off. It was pretty cute.”

“How could you tell? You had your eyes closed the whole time.”

“That’s not true, I had them like this-” he pauses to squint, “some of the time.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“I did!”

“Can you just fuck me already? I’m tired of you.”

-

“Is this really necessary?” you grumbled, glaring at Jisung as he rifled through the items on the rack.

“Yes!” he exclaimed. 

The boys were going golfing, and being the good fake girlfriend you were, you had no other choice but to tag along. You wouldn’t be playing, thank god, but you had to cheer Jisung on, and apparently had to dress the part to do so. You didn’t have anything suitable for the golf course so Nikki had suggested Jisung take you downstairs to the gift shop to find something to wear. 

The resort you were staying at was right across from the course so the gift shop was full of golf novelties and athletic wear for your... convenience. 

“These are expensive!” you hissed at Jisung once you checked the prices.

“You’re not the one paying for them,” he reminded you. 

“I know, that’s worse!”

“You know how much he makes right? Besides, I’m sure your real boyfriend will love it on you.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, you know that.”

Jisung looked annoyed. “Boyfriend, fuck buddy, booty call, sneaky link, situationship- whatever you want to call him.”

“Can we not talk about this?” you practically begged. “At least not here?”

He shrugged but dropped it. “You should get the polo and the skirt. It matches what I’m going to wear.”

You took Jisung’s advice and bought the items he suggested, paying for them with your own money. Even though they were pricey and you knew you would likely never wear them again, you wanted to exercise at least a little bit of financial freedom. You already felt guilty for the money the Hans had spent on you thus far. 

You thought about keeping the tags on the clothes and then returning them later, but it was hot out today and you knew you’d just sweat right through them. 

Jisung did buy you a little visor without you knowing. He presented it to you with a smug grin as soon as you stepped foot outside the gift shop, once it was too late to stop him. It was embroidered with a little cartoon quokka on the brim.

“We’re not in Australia,” you said, blinking down at the hat.

“Yeah, but it’s cute, right?”

“It’s really cute,” you quickly agreed. “Thank you.”

“Just thought you’d like it.”

He handed you the hat and then set off ahead of you back towards the elevators. You shook your head and scoffed out of earshot. You couldn’t figure him out. Last night he had made it clear that he wasn’t ready to talk, wasn’t ready to forgive you, and this morning he was talking to you like nothing had happened and buying you a sun visor because he saw it and thought you would like it? His mixed signals would give you a headache if you thought about them too long, but it was impossible not to. It was all you could think about. He was all you could think about. Well, him and Minho. 

You felt like an underdeveloped main character in a low-budget coming of age movie who only had enough brainpower to think about boys. Fucking exhausting, all of it. But what were you supposed to do? 

lmk what you think!! i always appreciate feedback :)

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Walter Marshall

Summary: Your work friend oversteps in his attempts to help you.

Warnings: Size discrimination. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is short, female. No other physical descriptors used. This is my first time writing a short reader so please let me know what I got right/wrong!

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Part 2

So many times you wished you were just a few inches taller. It wasn't much to ask, right? Just be of a height where people didn't think you needed a booster seat to sit in a booth. Working security wasn't easy but the looks you got when you had to get off of your chair almost always made you seethe. Few people ever said anything but you could still feel their stares.

You were grateful when it was finally break time. Once you got the feel of how things flowed in this building you learned the off times so you could have some time to yourself to actually have a break. There'd been only one or two other people in there at the same time as you. They'd come and go but overall Walter was the only one to ever keep consistent. The two of you would eat or read in a comfortable silence.

One time, however, there was a department party in your usual break room. Walter showed up around the same time as you and suggested a different location for the two of you. It should've shot up red flags that this giant of a man had a secret location he wanted to take to you but after all the months of companionable silence, a part of you trusted him.

On the way there one of Walter's coworkers, Ransom, met up with him, needing to discuss work. Instead he looked between the two of you and cooed, “awww! Does the widdle security guard need a big stwong pwotector?”

Your eyes flashed with a fire that instantly had Ransom nervous. “Sir, I have every right to take you into one of our security rooms for suspicious behavior and do a full background check on you. Why are you wearing a heavy sweater in the summer? Why do you need to talk to Walter when an email would suffice? Especially while he's on a state-mandated break. Do you have something you're trying to hide? Are you trying to help someone get access to confidential company information?”

As you speak, you step closer and closer towards him. Never mind that you have to look up at him, you can see you've got him nervous and you're pressing closer to amplify your stern tone.

“Apologize to the lady,” Walter growls.

Ransom snips, “I've got nothing to hide, Spitfire. I'll be back at my desk.” He turns to Walter, “just make sure to look for a replacement laptop battery for me.” He turns and walks away.

Looking to Walter, “I get what you were trying to do, but don't do it again.” He gives you confused look. “I might be small, but I can stand my ground. I don't need your help getting people twice my size to back down.”

He nods, “my apologies.”

You thought the matter settled but, in fact, Walter had made his mind to be more subtle about it. He felt very protective of you, though he barely knows you. You're just so small and work a potentially dangerous job. Sure, you were able to intimidate Ransom, but that's something anyone could do. What if it was someone actually dangerous?

He started meeting with you at the security desk, bringing your favorite coffee. He told you it was excuse to get out of the freezing cold server room for awhile. You trusted him so you accepted the coffee. The two of you kept up your break time routines when you could but now he started talking to you from time to time. Only when you weren't reading, though. He might be trying to learn more about you to keep you safe, but he wasn't an asshole.

One morning, as he brought you your coffee, there was a commotion that had you running out from behind your desk. Walter knew he wasn't supposed to but he followed you. A couple of men had been arguing and it escalated fast. You stepped between the two as your partner at the security desk was calling in for potential backup. The men took a few steps back from each other, surprised at your sudden appearance.

You gesture to the smaller man, “I'm gonna need you to go over by the security desk and have a seat.” Turning the larger man, “and you're gonna need to go over to that side of the entry-room and take a seat.”

He starts yelling at you to mind your own business and you shoot back, tone even but intense, that it is your business as their fight compromised the security and safety of others in the building. He opens his mouth to yell back but closes it as he looks behind you. Unsure of what made him stop you turn and you see Walter glaring at the man menacingly. Walter's stern expression turns to fear and you turn back just in time to see the man going to strike you.

Thankfully, you know how to use your size to your advantage. The strike misses and you use the force of the swing to throw the man onto the floor. You call for your partner to call the police as you apply the flimsy restraints the security guards had been given for such emergencies.

When your backup arrives, you quickly storm over to Walter, grab the front of his sweater, and fumed, “don't you ever do anything like that again! I thought we had an understanding! I can take care of myself.”

Walter hangs his head, “I'm sorry.”

“You really thought I needed protecting? That I couldn't handle myself? Tell me why.” He looks at you with confusion. “Why did you think I needed protecting?”

He tries to talk a few times but he's unable to put into words. But you already know the answer so you help him out. “It's because of my size, isn't it?” He hangs his head and nods.

You look into his eyes and tell him, “don't bother bringing me coffee anymore. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

Part 2

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82 ; @ronearoundblindly

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Princess & The Playboy (Part 2)

Summary: The reader has agreed to go out with Dean for one date only but is pretty sure he's just a flirt looking to get in her pants. But Dean is more than he seems and may be the first person she can have a truly honest conversation with in a long time...

Masterlist

Pairing: NFL Quarterback!Dean x Pop Star!reader

Word Count: 7,600ish

Warnings: language, family trauma/angst, kidnapping, smut

A/N: I think I gave them too much trauma tbh...oh well!

_________

Eric rapped his knuckles on the doorframe of your home studio but didn’t do anything further to disturb you. You were absently plucking away on a guitar, something quiet and simple, your head spaced out as you listened to the notes over and over. You weren’t sure how it fit just yet but you liked the melody enough to jot it down in a notebook.

“That’s going to be a number one hit someday,” he said. You shrugged, setting the guitar to the side, closing your eyes. “You okay, kid?”

“The team says I’m behind on the next album. I don’t even have a single song,” you sighed. You felt him plop down on the couch beside you, your eyes peeling open, finding his stern ones looking back.

“The whole point of you ditching your first label and doing things through your team is so you’d be in control. You put out a fucking album in March. It’s September. When the hell were you supposed to be writings these songs? During the four hours of sleep a night you got while on tour the past six months?”

“Eric,” you shushed him, putting a hand on his arm. “I’m just venting. If I need you to kick someone’s ass I’ll let you know, alright?”

“Just don’t let them bully you,” he grumbled, getting to his feet. “You ready for this charity date shit?”

“I’ll happily take Dean’s ten million dollars for an hour of suffering. His fault he threw so many touchdowns last night,” you said, Eric pulling you up. “Is everything settled?”

“We rented out the restaurant. The only people inside will be the two of you, myself and his head of security. Apparently he’s famous enough he has his own protection agent, albeit he doesn’t tend to listen to them.” You saw a twinge of annoyance on his face but let it go, instead following him out and down the hall, Eric giving you a side eye. “Aren’t you going to get ready for your date?”

You slid past him and over to your front closet, shoving your feet into a pair of converse. “The man’s seen me in sweats and a hoodie. A Stones t-shirt and skinny jeans should be a step up for him.” 

You swiped your crossbody bag from the front table, Eric sighing. “Let’s get this over with.”

Thirty minutes later you were sitting at a curved booth in a nice italian restaurant. Ordinarily, you never would have rented out a whole place for just yourself. But you were pissed off at your team for trying to get you to capitalize off Dean wanting a date. He seemed like a genuine fan and you’d have a conversation with him for how much he’d donated to the charity. You’d had a long conversation with them last night, with some backup from Eric over it all.

Either they backed off or you’d find a new manager, agent, PR rep, all of it. You’d done it before when you were younger and you had no problem doing it again. 

Between you and Eric, you were pretty sure they were going to back off on the Dean front, at least for now.

You couldn’t help but stare when Dean came into view through the back of the restaurant. He was in a flannel and henley, dark jeans on his long legs. He smiled when he saw you but stopped short when Eric stepped in front of him. He said something you couldn’t hear, Dean flashing a wink that made Eric’s eye twitch. Dean kept approaching though, Eric now in a hushed argument with a woman in jeans and blazer that’d trailed in after Dean.

“Please don’t give my bodyguard an aneurysm. He already thinks you’re sketchy,” you said as Dean slid into the booth with a big grin.

“Oh he’ll warm up to me.” We both turned our heads at raised voices, Eric and Dean’s bodyguard going at it.

“Moron!” Eric shouted, your eyebrows raised. You didn’t have time to question his sudden lack of professionalism before she was shouting back he was a dickhead.

“Everything alright over there?” called Dean, Eric and the woman giving each other death glares before storming off to opposite sides of the restaurant. “Okay…well I’ve never seen Sloane act like that before.”

“Eric either. Weird.” You heard rustling and glanced at Dean, that silly smile still on his face. “You do understand I’m only here because you literally bought your way into a date.”

“True but I like giving to charity and if I get a date with the girl I’ve had a crush on since college, what’s the harm in that?” he teased. You crossed your arms, leaning back in your seat, his smile faltering. 

“Yeah see, that’s creepy. So talk about whatever it is you want to talk about and then we can go our separate ways, alright?” He was frowning now, keeping his hands under the table. There was an still beat. Not awkward but…sad almost. “Just-”

“You think I’m creepy?” he scoffed. You shrugged, Dean’s smile returning but laced with something mean. “Because I asked for a picture?”

“No-”

“Because I posted about going to a concert which fifty thousand other people did that same night?”

“That’s not-”

“Because I gave you my number? Was that my creepy offense? Because I’m surely the first man to-”

“Okay, you know what?” you said, leaning forward, narrowing your eyes at his ridiculously pretty face. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. You might be famous but you aren’t my level of famous. Everywhere in the fucking world people know who I am. Pushy men that give their number and call you their crush and basically publicly shame you into going out with them for money? Yeah, that’s fucking creepy, Winchester.”

Surprisingly, he only sat back in his seat, breathing slowly. “I’m sorry then. Just let me say one thing and then I’ll get up and leave and you never have to talk to me again.”

You unfolded your arms, offering a small nod. Dean bit his bottom lip, letting it go slowly, his chest raising and falling softly.

“You were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen when I walked into that house party my sophomore year. It was the second weekend of the semester and I’d just played my first game as quarterback. I was the backup for our school you know. I was supposed to ride the bench but Dallas got hurt…” he trailed off as you stared at him. “Doesn’t matter. But I remember that party and I remember hearing you singing along to a guitar outside by the fire pit. You uh, you had your hair in a messy bun just like it is right now. You were wearing a Kansas hoodie that was way too big for you and you had on these nike sweatpants and obnoxious orange sneakers like you didn’t give a fuck how you looked. You had no idea how stunning you were.”

You glanced down. You remembered those sneakers. You’d only worn them a few times before your roommate accidentally lost them. 

“Your voice was beautiful. It still is but I’m a little sad you never do anything acoustic like you would back then. Still doesn’t matter,” he said, pausing a beat. “This isn’t a brag but girls threw themselves at me at that party. Every day after that game they did. But the only girl I wanted to get to know, wouldn’t say more than hi because I was a jock. And it took a long time for me to understand why but I do. Because I hate myself too.”

You flicked your gaze up and met his, green eyes boring into yours. You parted your lips but no words came, Dean nodding, a sad smile on his face.

“It wasn’t your fault. Your volleyball practice ran late. Your brother wasn’t your fault.” You bit the inside of your cheek and glanced away. “You hated sports after that. I read an interview that you thought sports were silly once. But I understand why. You don’t hate sports. You hate what they did to you and back then, every student athlete was just a guy that could hurt you or worse, he could get hurt too. I understand hating yourself. I was supposed to be there for my brother too but I stayed at school and fucked it all up. So I get why in college you wouldn’t give me the time of day when all I wanted was one date with the girl that made my heart skip.”

Fingers grazed your chin, cupping it gently as he forced your head up. 

“But I am not creepy for you still making my heart skip and wanting a date. We’re not kids anymore, Y/N. You don’t like me then fine, but give me a chance. Don’t push me out because I’m still a guy who plays sports.”

You gently pushed his hand away, Dean sighing. “Maybe you have a point about the kinds of guys I found attractive in college. The crush isn’t what’s…” You squeezed your eyes shut. “You have had a lot of girlfriends Dean and I mean a lot. You have a new girl every week. It’s clear we are two very different kinds of people. You hookup. I don’t. I’m like a conquest or some shit because you couldn’t get me in college. That’s why we’re not talking after this…whatever the hell this is, again.”

Dean cocked his head, eyes roaming over your body. “So you won’t go out with me because you think I only want to fuck you?”

“Am I wrong?” you asked. He chuckled, his face more lively.

“Sweetheart, I’ll admit, I’d enjoy doing a lot of things with you,” he grinned. “But…I’ll make you a promise. I won’t do anything with you, won’t even fucking kiss you, until you want me to.”

“You realized what you’ve described is friendship?” He shrugged.

“We can call it that if you prefer.” You were still under his careful watch, Dean leaning forward. “But know that when you do eventually fall in love with me I’m so going to rub your face in it.”

“And there’s the cocky flirt,” you said, nodding to yourself.

“Just stating facts,” he said, flashing you a wink as he tucked his hands behind his head. You rolled your eyes, Dean enjoying this far too much. “So-”

“Here’s how this works,” you said, grabbing a menu and sliding it over to him.

“Love a woman in charge,” he teased. You growled, his eyebrows shooting up. “Oh, the princess of pop has a temper. I think I like this sassy side.”

“We eat lunch and we try to be friends,” you said ignoring him. “Anything beyond that is yet to be determined. Are we clear?”

“Oh absolutely,” he grinned. You groaned, gripping your own menu tight. “You’re too fun to tease. I’m only going to keep doing it.”

“Keep it up and see how far that gets you, Winchester,” you grumbled. He stood abruptly, your eyes widening as he slid in next to you, throwing an arm over your shoulders. “What are-”

Hot breath fanned over your ear as you felt rumbling in your chest from his deep laugh. “Sweetheart, I’ll stop teasing the day you stop blushing when I do it.”

You turned your head, Dean’s merely a few inches from your own. He looked fucking cocky and sexy with that know it all smile. 

You hated that you were having more fun with his flirting than you had with a guy in a long time.

“Plus we both got that whole older sibling trauma, insane career pressure thing going on. I mean, match made in heaven right here,” he said, booping your nose. “Fuck, how are you hot and cute at the same time? No wonder the whole world loves you.”

You didn’t mean to but your eyes welled up with tears, Dean instantly pulling his arm back. You shook your head, wiping your face off with the back of your hand. “It’s not you. It’s just…that’s the second time you’ve brought up the thing we’re not…talking about. You know, our brothers. Do you…want to talk about it?”

Dean nodded. “After lunch…and somewhere private if that’s okay.”

“I can agree to that, even if our bodyguards won’t.”

“His house?” groaned Eric thirty minutes later. “His house, Y/N? You don’t know-”

“I don’t but you’ll be there and he needs to talk to someone about his brother and maybe I need a friend that’s not you that I can too. I’ve already made it clear to him that he and I are strictly friends.” Eric mumbled something but relented, the driver following after Dean’s SUV and to his home, only a short drive from your own.

Dean was waiting by the front door when you got out of the SUV, smiling as he opened it up. Eric went straight for Sloane who was nearby, the two of them bickering like cats and dogs, Dean shutting the door after them.

“Those two must have history,” he said, showing you down a front hall and through the middle of his open kitchen and living room, straight through a back door to a patio. You swore you could hear them arguing as you took a seat on an outdoor couch under an umbrella.

“I don’t think Eric’s dated since high school. Maybe they knew each other in the military or something,” you said, Dean humming.

“Could be. Sloane’s pretty much on her own too aside from the occasional hookup,” he said, sitting nearby on the couch. The air was quiet for a few moments as you took in Dean’s backyard, fairly quaint for LA standards, especially NFL quarterback standards.

“Whatever happened with you and Sam, it wasn’t your fault either.” He smiled, titling his head.

“I was supposed to go home that weekend and hangout with him. I was too damn hungover to though so I didn’t. If I’d gone home he wouldn’t have been walking home at night by himself. It wouldn’t have happened to him so it is my fault.”

You closed your eyes. “Well, I was late picking up Max and he walked home at night too so either we were both at fault or neither one of us was.”

“You were late from practice. Your coach made you late, not-”

“We were late because I got to practice late because I was making out with our fucking quarterback in the art room.” You felt him shift closer, arm around your shoulders as you forced yourself to look at him. “I didn’t hate athletes, Dean. I hated that because I was too busy kissing one, my little brother’s life was ruined. We’re old enough to know that it could have happened at any time, whether we were there or not.”

“I know,” he said quietly. You tentatively wrapped your arms around his waist, Dean smiling. “I never knew anyone else that had someone taken from them.”

“Me either. I mean I’ve met some through the charity but no one that knows…” 

“The world thinks you’re perfect because you’re good at your job and you smile for a camera.” You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder. “My friend Benny said you talked to him in english about Sammy.”

“I remember him. He was cute,” you said, Dean growling. “Someone jealous?”

“I’m the one pining after you, remember?” He laughed quietly, his long fingers brushing against your exposed arm. “He didn’t tell me until yesterday. I was on edge a lot back then. Even now Sam’s a touchy subject.”

“Doesn’t seem that way to me.” He shook his head. 

“You’re different. You know how hopeless it feels, what it’s like to have a funeral without a body, without knowing for sure.” You hummed, giving him a gentle hug.

“From our parents perspective, I understand why. We know the statistics and after so many years missing, so many experts telling them their kid is gone-”

“They needed to try to move on,” he finished. His fingers stilled on your skin, his body tense. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to. Not without knowing for sure.”

You smiled, turning your head to meet his own worried eyes. “Me either. Guess we have that unhealthy trait in common.”

“I don’t think we’re doing too bad for ourselves all things considered.” You stood up, taking a few steps away before turning on your heels. Dean’s face was neutral as you crossed your arms. “You don’t like me, do you.”

“I think…” you trailed off, trying to word this nicely. “I think all we have in common is we went to the same college and both have little brothers that were kidnapped. I am open to being friends, Dean. I am. But I don’t think what you want to happen here-”

“You’re wrong.” You frowned as he rose from his seat, stalking over slowly, eyeing you in a way that made you feel very warm all of a sudden. He didn’t stop until he was by your side, staring you down. “I can ignore the blushing, ignore how the second we’re in private you are holding onto me like we’ve known each other more than an hour. I can even ignore how you look at me with those big eyes and pouty lips like you want to climb me like a fucking tree.”

“That is not true.” He put a finger under your chin, tilting it up as he brought his face close, warm breath fawning over your face. “I don’t like you like that.”

“Yes you do and that scares you. I fuck away my fear of intamacy and you hide from it. That’s our problem, isn’t it. You and I hide differently. Well I’m done hiding and girl, you need to be done too. Don’t you get that we are safe for each other? I get that you are going to be nervous about this and you get that I’m not a tool. We can learn together, learn something that is not easy for anyone but especially people like us that have everything so damn publicized. Most of all we can trust each other unlike the rest of the world. We won’t hurt each other and you know it. You just won’t admit it. You won’t let yourself care for someone that isn’t capable of defending themselves. Why do you think your bodyguard is your best friend? You have got to give us-”

“Good god you never shut up,” you said, reaching up and grabbing the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss. Dean’s lips were instantly moving against yours, not taking ownership of the kiss but giving as much pressure as you were giving.

Hands cupped your cheeks, holding you steady as he smiled, teasingly dipping his tongue inside the dark cavern of your mouth. Dean pulled away much too soon, green orbs staring down, the heat in them cutting right through your core.

“I strike a nerve, sweetheart?” he teased. You scoffed, Dean tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. “Or does my armchair psychology just turn you on?”

“I was simply trying to get you to shut up.” 

“Oh. Well feel free to shut me up anytime you like.” You growled, Dean cupping your chin and pecking a softer kiss on you. You rose up on your tiptoes, Dean shushing you. “S’okay to admit you like traumatized cocky guys, princess.”

“You are insufferable,” you said, Dean smirking while you poked him in the ribs. “I never said I like you, Winchester.”

“Right,” he said, taking your hand and tugging you along after him. “Well come pretend to hate my company before I have to head to afternoon practice.”

“Insufferable.”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

Dean POV

“Hey,” I said late that night, answering my phone when I saw Y/N was calling. “You miss me already, sweetheart?”

“As if,” scoffed Y/N, quiet for a moment. “How was your practice?”

“Alright. How-”

“Just alright?” she interrupted. I raised my eyebrow, even if I was alone in my kitchen. Unlike Y/N, Sloane was the extent of my security team. Between her and myself, we had things covered. Sure, I was famous but it was different than being a pop star. I went to games that had security, a practice facility that had security, sets for commercials where they always had security. My home was in a gated community. The only reason Sloane was even on the payroll was peace of mind for my parents. She didn’t even go anywhere with me unless I asked.

“It was fine. Why?” I asked, Y/N going quiet again.

“Maybe I’m crazy but people that are in relationships generally ask how each other’s day went.” I closed my eyes, biting back a groan. “It’s already past eight. I should go.”

“Y/N-” The phone beeped, a glance down showing the call had ended. “Fuck me.”

I dialed her back, the phone picking up on the fourth ring, Y/N staying silent.

“Don’t hang up on me again.” She sighed softly, my stomach forming a knot. “Y/N…”

“I don’t think this is a good idea. We both have crazy schedules and-” 

“I told you earlier you don’t have to be scared of me. I know that’s what this is. You want to get to know me. Why else would you call? But you want an out too. Well I’m not giving it to you so suck it up cause you’re stuck with me. Understand?”

The line was quiet before I heard a bed creak, followed by a thick swallow. “I never said I’d date you, Dean.”

“Well we are so get used to it.” She mumbled something I couldn’t make out, my stomach still sour. “I will not hurt you, Y/N. That’s a promise.”

“You went out with forty two different women so far this year. Forty two. You spend every weekend fucking a new woman while I…” she trailed off, her voice still to thick for my liking. Was she crying? Fighting back tears? 

“What’s wrong, princess?” I asked gently, her voice hiccuping. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m sorry Dean but I’m clearly not mature enough for any kind of relationship with you. Please forget this happened.” She hung up again, my stomach fully twisted up. 

I was not going to let her fear stop her from living her damn life. I texted Sloane and two minutes later I was calling a different number, swallowing down my nerves.

“Dean Winchester,” said Eric, Y/N’s more than intimidating bodyguard. “Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“I need to know where Y/N lives. I want to go over and check on her.” 

“What the fuck do you mean check on her?” he snapped, a loud scrape in the background like a chair falling over.

“She’s fine! She’s fine,” I said, Eric’s loud growl making my ear hurt. “She’s upset is all and-”

“Let me guess. You made her upset?” I swallowed. 

“Not on purpose. I-” 

“What did I say to you at the restaurant? What the fuck did I say to you?” he grit out. I sighed as I went to my front door and slipped on a pair of sneakers. “I said if you hurt her, I’d fucking make your life hell. And what did you do? Sounds like you fucking hurt her. You understand why the fuck I wouldn’t tell you where she lives?”

“Eric, if you want to beat the shit out of me or bury me in the backyard or do whatever the hell you want to me, then fine. Go ahead. But she’s sitting in her house crying right now and this is something you can’t fix. So save my murder until after I can make her feel better, alright?”

“I’d rather shoot my own dick off than tell your slutty ass where she lives. I will check on her-”

I grabbed my keys off the front table and went outside, squeezing my phone tight. “Has she ever had a boyfriend?”

“Why the fuck-”

“Because you know as much as I have she hasn’t, not since Max was taken. She is scared of getting close to people and you know it. You’re the one person that’s been by her side since she got famous, aren’t you? I am asking you as someone that cares about her, as people that both care about her, please tell me. I need to at least try and help her know she’s not a lost cause.”

“Why on earth would she think that?”

“Because I have the same head as her,” I said, slipping behind the wheel of my SUV. “Be at the house too, I don’t care. But let me try, man. Please.”

The line was quiet, my heart in my throat as the seconds passed by.

“9 Hunt Lane. She’s a three minute drive from your house. Tell the guard at the gate ‘Cherry Blossom’ and they’ll let you in.”

“Thank you,” I said, starting the car.

“If you fuck with her-”

“I know. You’ll cut my balls off or some shit,” I said, opening my gate and backing out.

“Oh that’d be the nicest thing I’d do to you.” I didn’t put it past him that it was the truth. “I’ll be there in ten.”

“Don’t trust me, buddy?” I tried to joke but it came out forced. 

“I’m your fucking nightmare, not your buddy.” He hung up and I stared at the phone a moment.

“I would hate to know how you treat me if I wasn’t your favorite player,” I mumbled, taking off and in front of Y/N’s house before I knew it. I hadn’t realized we lived in the same neighborhood, just opposite sides. Her security guards at the gate were giving me a good side eye until I uttered the magic words. The next thing I knew, I was being let in the front door of the house by them, the thing closing tight after me, one of them locking it back up from the outside.

I kicked off my shoes and walked through the massive front hallway to the back of the house, looking all around but finding it dark. Until I glanced upstairs, a light coming from down the hallway. I quickly jogged upstairs, pausing halfway down the hall to a pair of double doors, one of them open.

“Y/N, it’s me Dean,” I called out so I didn’t frighten her. I could have sworn I still heard a sharp intake of air inside. “Eric gave me the secret password to get in. You’re going to have to tell me what cherry blossoms means some…”

My mouth snapped shut when I stepped into the room, Y/N wiping away at her eyes with the sleeves of an oversized hoodie. I frowned and walked in further, pulling away her hands from where she sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Oh sweetie.” My heart clenched at the site of her red, puffy eyes, at the dried tear tracks down her cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m what’s wrong!” she growled, trying to push me away but my hands around her wrist stopping her in place. “You want me? Me? I’m a fucking disaster, Winchester.”

“If you’re one then so am I.” She shook her head as I knelt in front of her, Y/N looking over my head. “Talk to me, princess.”

“At least you’ve had relationships and fucked other people.” I stared up at her, a pair of harsh eyes looking down at me. “I’m thirty two years old and as far as I’ve ever gotten was a kiss. A kiss. Because all men want is my money or fame or to fuck the virgin. To screw the pop princess and further their own careers.”

“Y/N-”

“The second I care about someone and let my guard down, they’re gonna hurt me or worse. Someone’s gonna hurt them and I can’t do jack shit,” she shot out, her chest heaving as more tears flowed. She stared me down, shrugging. “I’m too hurt to believe that you don’t want me for me, that you won’t get hurt too. You will get hurt. People want to be with me and if you were, you’re just a target. A fucking bulls eye on your back for life. Either you fuck me over or someone fucks you over. That’s all there is. That’s it. So why the fuck would I sign up for that? Why would I-”

I leaned forward and tilted my head up, catching her lips briefly. I hated the taste of salt on them, of the way I could feel her body shake as she fought back even more tears. I pulled back slowly, keeping close, her big eyes watching me with so much fear but something else too.

Desire. Longing.

“Remember earlier when we said we both had to learn and we’d do that together? Well that’s what this is, princess. So you get scared and I’ll be here to remind you to, okay?” I whispered, kissing the tip of her nose. She looked so confused, watching as I wiped off her face with my hand. “I don’t give a fuck that you’re a virgin by the way. You deserve to choose how and when you want to love someone with your body and that’s your choice alone.”

Her bottom lip wobbled as she nodded, my thumb running over it.

“Don’t be afraid of me, baby,” I murmured, tucking a piece of damp hair behind her ear. “Tell me who hurt you so much to make you think you’re unlovable.”

Her eyes shimmered, gaze casting down. “He was my responsibility. I was supposed to protect him and…” She forced her head up, face scrunching up as I held her cheeks. “I’m going to fuck that up again. Whatever man I’m with, I’m going to let him down. I’m going to let my partner down again. And I’m too weak to stop it.”

“Hey, hey,” I said softly, waiting a beat until she was looking at me, bleary eyes, runny nose and and all. “I am your partner and you will not let me down. We will protect each other. That’s how it works.”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” she whispered, voice ragged. “The attention. The death threats. The creeps. The way people write letters and offer information on Max that are full of lies. You’re famous but it’s not like this. All of that will happen to you too. I can’t protect you from it, Dean. No one can.”

I touched my forehead to hers, shushing her when she shivered. “You’re right. It’d be another crazy ass level of infamy that I don’t know. And people will hate me for it. But they hate me already for losing games, for getting a flag, for not running when they don’t know the fucking plays. People will hate us for no reason no matter what we do. So why the hell wouldn’t I want to be happy with you while that’s happening?”

She sighed, gently taking hold of my hand. “I’m not the girl with the designer clothes and hair extensions and fake eye lashes with a smile everyone thinks I am. This is what I am behind closed doors, Dean. Why would you ever want this?”

“Because I fell for the girl who looked like a hot mess around a backyard campfire, the sweet one that valued her school work and gave the boys without the good looks attention because of what was in their heads. You have a charity to try and shut down trafficking rings. You have never said a bad thing about another celebrity when we know some of them deserve it. Don’t you know how good of a soul you have, princess? Scars and all, it’s the one I want.”

I ran my finger down the curve of her cheek, her free hand going to my shoulder, gripping it gently. 

“It’s so unfair,” she said, sliding her hand up to my face. “You’re only supposed to be a handsome cocky flirt. You’re not supposed to be sweet too.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” I whispered as she tilted her head closer, her breath warm, a faint whiff of mint in the air. “I know you want me. So take me.”

Y/N’s eyes grew a sliver darker, nose jammed against my own. “You sure you want that?”

“I’m already yours.” She crashed her lips to mine, tugging on my hand. She wouldn’t let me breakaway as I rose to my feet, crawling onto the bed as she laid back. I yelped when her legs wrapped around my waist and she flipped me to the other side of the bed, her body straddling mine. She lowered her torso, dipping in a way that made my cock strain in my jeans, her face only inches from mine. “You sure you’ve never done this before?”

“I said I’ve never had sex. Never said I’d be innocent.” She said, pressing her lips to mine, a twinge of something in her face pulling her back after a second. “I’m not ready for that tonight.”

“That’s okay,” I reassured her because it completely was. She eased and brought her head down, kissing under my jaw and doing nothing to ease the twitch in my dick. 

“Your dick seems to have other plans,” she murmured. 

“Ignore him,” I said, cupping her face so she saw I was serious. “You are wildly unphased about the fact a cock is poking into the back of your thigh for someone who’s never even seen one you realize?”

“I’ve seen them, just not in person,” she said, eyes going to my lips. “And I wouldn’t say unphased is what I am…just don’t want to send the wrong impression.”

“Is it turning you on?” I asked carefully, Y/N nodding once. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Keep it to your hands,” she said quietly, before kissing me again. I let her run things, her slow wandering fingers quickly tugging in my hair as her kiss turned rougher. She gasped when I put my hands on her waist and squeezed, earning me one of her hands fisting my shirt. She was getting into it, her breath hitching for barely a moment as I slid a hand under the waistband of her sweats, under the cotton underwear.

Her hips rolled while my fingers made their way over her smooth mound and suddenly I was touching her slit, teasingly gracing the tip of one finger through her folds.

“Oh,” she said, when I brushed her clit, her eyes meeting mine. I stared up at her, the room dead silent. A grin spread onto her face, a giggle escaping. “I didn’t mean for you to stop. Feels different from when I do it.”

“Good different or bad different?” I asked, still not moving.

“Your fingers are bigger than mine,” she said, rocking her hips forward, my finger rubbing against her. “Definitely a good different.”

I blinked a few times, shaking my head with a big smile. “Y/N Y/L/N. Are you humping my hand?”

“Yeah. And?” she asked, grinding her hips down, biting her bottom lip. 

“Definitely not innocent,” I said, moving my fingers again, Y/N’s lips parting when I slipped a finger inside her wet core, leaving my thumb to rub circles around the bundle of nerves. 

“More,” she whispered, capturing my lips, a breathy moan rising up her throat as I pushed another finger inside. I curled them and rubbed, Y/N’s body sparking like a live wire. “What the fuck…”

I ground my palm against her clit as I thrust my fingers inside her, slamming right against her g-spot. Y/N’s eyes squeezed shut as she full body shuddered, this one clearly pleasant, head shaking once.

“Go with it,” I murmured as she yanked on my hair, her body unsure of what to do with this kind of pleasure. I’d only heard it described to me but I knew there was a difference between a normal orgasm and one that came from hitting that spot deep inside, one her little fingers couldn’t quite reach.

Her jaw dropped as her eyes fluttered open, giving me a chance to lean up and kiss her as she rode out the first wave of an orgasm.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” she panted against my lips, voice growing higher. Y/N whimpered when she went straight into a second orgasm, her hips jerking frantically, searching for more. 

Finally when her legs were quivering and she put a hand on my wrist, I stopped moving, Y/N rolling onto the bed beside me. She breathed hard with closed eyes, a thin layer of sweat on her face. I carefully started to pull my hand away, her hand squeezing my wrist hard. She forced her eyes open, no shred of worry or fear in them now.

“Do that again,” she whispered, removing her hand from my wrist and sliding it over to my stomach, down towards the obvious bulge in my pants. 

“Y/N-”

“I can trust you, right?” I nodded, Y/N working my belt open. “Then trust me too.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. She smiled, lazily nodding. 

“I’m not the only one with a problem connecting to someone. I’m just the one that cried all over themselves before you helped me. Now it’s your turn.” 

“Okay,” I whispered, Y/N stopping after unbuttoning the denim. Her eyes flickered to find mine, her hand moving up to tickle the skin of my stomach. 

“If you’re with me, you’re with me, Dean. No one else.”

“I already told you, princess. I’m yours.” She raised her chin, satisfied with that answer. But still, she didn’t move. “What’s wrong?”

“Why won’t you commit to anyone? Honest answer.” I closed my eyes, her small hand on my face making me slowly open them. “I’m not going to hurt you either.”

“Part of it is Sam. Feeling responsible, not wanting to feel that pain again. Love would…” I trailed off.

“Someone that can destroy you again.” I nodded, removing my hand from her pants, letting it rest on her hip instead. 

“I don’t want that pain,” I whispered. “And I don’t get it as bad as you but women just want to use me. Date a NFL player and they can launch their influencer careers or model or whatever. So I let them use my body instead and I used theirs and I didn’t have to worry about getting hurt. But that’s not the real reason.”

Y/N ran her fingers through my hair, looking at me with the softest eyes I’d ever seen, reminding me of Sammy for a split second.

“It’s hard to move on when you’re still hung up on the girl from college that wouldn’t give you the time of day.” She swallowed down a thick lump in her throat, watching me oh so carefully, looking for any sign of bullshit. I didn’t blame her one bit. “I told you I had a crush on you.”

“You get over crushes,” she whispered, her voice gentle.

“You do. S’really fucking weird though to get a crush on a girl who went through the same shitty life experience as you, who ended up having as massive of a career as you, all before you ever knew that shit about her. Life’s funny like that, isn’t it.”

“If Sam hadn’t gone missing-”

“I would have pursued you. But I was so goddamn broken my last two years of school, I couldn’t handle that kind of rejection. Everybody thinks Finish Line is such a happy song because of the beat but it’s fucking tragic, isn’t it? I never saw that until after he was gone. I knew only someone in pain could have written those lyrics. Neither one of us back then were ready for a relationship, not when it was so raw.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But I wish I could have been there for you back then.”

“Want to know something embarrassing? I have a playlist that’s just your songs. I listen to it before every game for luck. I would wish I’d said something to you in college because now you’re so beautiful and so famous and I’m the emotionally distant playboy you��d never go out with. I’d have to do something stupid like bribe you into a date by giving to your charity. That guy’s a fucking loser all because he never got over you…and I still don’t know if you just pity me or if you actually might like me too.” Water welled in her eyes again, my hand reaching out to catch it.

“We’re going to make a promise,” she said, holding my hand to her chest. “We don’t hate ourselves anymore. You’re not the playboy anymore. I’m not afraid of moments like this. You’re Dean and I’m Y/N and we like each other. We are two people dating and figuring it out like everyone else in the world. You are not a loser, Winchester. Promise?”

“Promise,” I said, lacing our fingers together. I chuckled, Y/N scooting closer to rest her head on my shoulder. “Look at us. I think we’re getting the hang of this having a healthy relationship thing.”

“People make it seem so hard,” she joked, wrapping her arm around my waist. “Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you harassed me into that date.” I smirked, Y/N growling. “Don’t let it go to your head or I won’t give you a handjob.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I teased, Y/N eyeing me as her hand shifted downwards. “Hey, you really don’t have-”

She covered my mouth with a finger, shushing me. “I want to. Just tell me if I can make it better for you, okay?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to do just fine with it, princess.”

One Hour Later

I jogged downstairs, leaving Y/N lax in bed, completely blissed out from another round of orgasms. Turns out she had a pretty damn healthy sex drive. I cut her off at a blowjob though. She’d had an emotional night and I wanted her to feel good, not self-conscious about going too fast. I’d told her to wash up and clean off her face while I dished up our takeout and brought it up. Neither of us had eaten dinner yet and it wasn’t hard to convince her to split a pizza and garlic bread with me. 

Downstairs I poked around her kitchen for a bit before I found some plates, napkins and a pair of water bottles. 

“Here.” I jumped at the sudden voice, spinning around to find Eric setting a pizza box and smaller container on the kitchen island. 

“Uh, thanks. How-”

“Guards at the gate have a card they use to pay for takeout with,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me. “Your hair is tousled.”

I reached up to pat it down, Eric stalking over to me, cornering me against the counter. “Listen-”

“She needs a good man, not a fuckboy.” I cocked my head at him, Eric crossing his arms.

“You don’t know me,” I said, moving past him, setting everything on top of the pizza box.

“Yes I do,” he said behind me, hairs on the back of my neck standing up. “You’re going to butter her up because you share a history, break down her walls until you get in her pants. You’re already getting in, obviously. Once you fuck her a few times, then you’ll be gone, playboy Winchester got the pop princess, like a predator that caught his prey finally. Press will fucking love it and you’ll be able to fuck literally any woman on earth you want to which is all you want, isn’t it?”

I spun around, a dark scowl on his face as I pressed my chest to his, hands clenched by my side.

“You can be an ass to me all you want. You can think what you want. I know you care about her, love her even. So put on the tough guy act all you want. But we both know you wouldn’t have told me where she lives, wouldn’t have given me the magic password if you thought I would hurt her. You know exactly the kind of man I am. I bet you fucking know better than most people in the world, don’t you?”

He had two inches on me and used it to stare me down, his jaw clenched, a vein in his forehead pulsing. “She is not the kind of girl you hookup with. It’s all or nothing with her.”

“I will give her my all. I swear.” He bumped my shoulder as he walked past me, footsteps stopping a few feet behind me.

“If you love her the way I know you do, then you better.”

“How do you know I do?” I asked but he walked away and out the front door. Whatever. He wasn’t my concern anyway. I grabbed the box and headed upstairs, ready to enjoy dinner with my girl.

________

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

[xo-urban]

Can I request Arthur Morgan with male reader, who is a part of the O'Driscoll gang and secretly helps the Van Der Linde?

Long story short, male reader gives Arthur information on the O'Driscoll's plans and so on, the rest of Arthur's gang know reader and how much he's risking for them by meeting up with Arthur to warn him and stuff. Reader approached them himself some time ago, as he saw just how wrong the stuff his gang did was, earned their trust and proved to be a good man. They asked him several times to dirch the O'Driscolls and join them instead, as he was experiencing some truly vile, down right abusive, treatment from his father, Colm O'Driscoll, but he couldn't, as he was scared it would bring harm to Arthur and his family (the gang).

One night, when the Van Der Linde were supposed to meet him, he didn't show up. Arthur went to their usuall spot, next to a river, where he found a note from Colm, saying to meet him in a few days there, alone, with no backup. If he didn't show up or obligated by the terms, he would kill reader.

The rest is completely up to you, but please make it have a good ending! My heart can't take anymore angst stories with a bad ending TvT

To Be Astray

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Male Reader

Summary: A family gone mad, you’ve found yourself leaving for a better life but nothing every comes that easy in an outlaw’s life.

Warnings: Typical in-game violence, neglect, abuse, torture (a bit mild in a way), homophobia (very little)

Word Count: 1734

A/N: I absolutely enjoyed writing this! Hopefully it doesn’t seem like word vomit on here and you actually enjoy reading it as much as I did writing! 🤍🤍

You’ve always stuck with your gut, whether it be running and fighting, drinking or gambling, or straying away from whom you once called family.

You’ve been running along with the O’Driscoll gang for quite a long time. You were born into the gang’s system, watch people come and go, innocent lives get taken by your hands.

“Steady boy!”

You were interrupted from your thoughts as your father, the infamous Colm O’Driscoll himself, tried to calm his horse down. It must’ve heard something and got spooked, oh that poor thing.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes with a soft snort, continuing down a path with your father.

Colm talked and talked, new ‘promised’ futures, recruiting new members. Hell you have grown sick of him, you’d only gather information rather than follow them. You’d seen how cruel your father really is. Every time you fucked up a task, he’d beat you like a racing horse whose feet have been broken without a single person to care for it.

That’s till one night, at the mining camp in the harsh cold mountains. You were found by another gang, the Van Der Linde gang no less. You’ve always heard of the stories amongst fellow members, the rivalry between the two and the once unity they had as allies.

You were held to your will, treated like a prisoner until you went on missions with them to seek out your own gang, killing off your numbers and helping the enemy.

They warmed up to you no doubt, despite the history and the name you wore, you became an important essential to their gang. At first they offered you a place in their camp, a whole tent with food and water provided, but you knew you’d impose a great danger by staying.

So you reluctantly persuade them to let you go and promise to meet back every few days at a creek in the forest near their camp. You'd meet up with a member of the Van Der Linde gang to deposit a shit load of information about your father’s next moves, check up on one another before you returned back ‘home’.

“Alright, you can run off now. You know what you need to do” Your father spoke, earning a scoff from you as you turned the other way, hurrying off to the spot you were supposed to meet up at.

. . .

You tread through the vegetation, the oil lamp in your hand brightened the way. You were tired, but the information you promised was even better this time around after asking a bunch of loose-mouthed rookies.

You couldn’t help but smile, seeing your favorite cowboy come into view, his leaned fit body, the soft beard, those gentle eyes with his rugged face. You watched his lips curve and form into a smile, drawing you in.

“So glad to see you again hun.. been too long” Arthur sighed, wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close as he kissed your face, his beard ticking you as he swayed your bodies side by side.

You and Arthur had gotten together after so long, all those long talks, risky touches, compliments had led you to where you are now.

“Missed you too darlin’, can’t help but stray away huh?” You sighed, laying your head against him as you felt his lips touch your head ever so carefully.

“That’s not my intent.. been running around, stealing and robbing. Makes me wonder how a bad man like me ends up with a man so perfect and sweet.” Arthur spoke quietly, his hand, rough and calloused yet so soft and gentle, ran through your hair.

You savour the moment as the two of you sway side to side in each other’s arms in the dark blue cover the night brings. You’d almost forget you were criminals with how soft the moment was, with the soft rustling of leaves, the cold breeze that grazed your back as you were held in the warm arms your boyfriend provided.

Though it lasted a few good minutes, you had to get down to business. You explained the next game plans of your father’s operations and which big moves he was considering to make. Arthur listened intently, watching you and nodding when you said something important to let you know he was still listening to you.

Soon after, it was time to head back, the moon shining brightly on it’s highest peak.

“I’ll see you in the following days Arthur..” You smiled, jumping onto your horse, walking your mare over to lean down and kiss Arthur sweetly on his lips, his hand caressing your cheek before you pulled away, turning to leave with the most lovestruck smile on your face.

To hell you went as frantic steps rushed off.

But you had assumed they were Arthur’s.

. . .

You had rode back to camp, a sour scowl on your face, glancing at the weird glances you had gotten. Did something happen when you were gone? You were confused till you were greeted by the angry look on your old man’s face.

“You were WORKING with the Van Der Linde gang behind my back? My own SON. My own son is a fucking traitor to this family!” Colm had shouted at you, stomping over angrily before grabbing the collar of your shit, tugging harshly.

“I can’t even fucking believe it. I should’ve left you with the wolves, but god dammit! You’ve failed me. You’re not my son. You were never a true O’Driscoll. The darnest disappointment I’ve ever seen. Sleeping with fucking men too!? You're gonna damn well pay with your blood, splattered on the ground in front of that boy..”

You watched as your father raised his hand, falling rapidly before you even had time to brace for it. The hard slap collided with your cheek before you were thrown at the dirt, your father’s shoe kicking dirt in your face and spitting at you, ordering the men watching to tie you up.

“You fucking bastard! I’ll have your head on a pole waving over the fucking country to see!”

You screamed as you felt the harsh burn of ropes press against your skin, crying out in pain before the butt of a rifle was smashed against your temple, knocking you out cold.

. . .

Arthur waited for you at your usual spot, eager to meet you, but it had been hours and he was growing restless. He walked a bit further up the river in hopes to find you, but a white note hung by a knife that was posted into a dark tree caught his eye.

He looked around before he approached, yanking the note off the tree as his eyes widened.

“Shit!” Arthur cursed aloud, whistling for his horse, quickly mounting it before snapping the reins, hastefully sprinting out there to get some extra guns brought along before he formally meets up with Colm O’Driscoll himself.

. . .

You could’ve sworn you were passed out for more than a day. Your father starved you and treated you as if you were a feral prisoner.

You’d been waiting for hours and you were starting to doubt that you’d make it out of this situation alive. You worried for Arthur to come quicker with each passing click of the clock.

When you were about to shut your eyes in defeat, the loud trampling of what you assumed, two or three horses approaching. Your eyes looked up, hoping. And there he was.

Arthur arrived with an angry face of hatred, followed by Sadie and Charles. You were sat down on your knees, as the small group of Van Der Linde members dismounted their horses, Sadie and Charles raising their guns at the O’Driscolls that had done the same. The tension was high and this was no doubt gonna end up in a blood bath.

Arthur didn’t even let the man speak once he opened his mouth, his hand grabbing the revolver out of its holster and emptied all of its bullets out at the O’Driscolls.

Your father ran back, turning to aim his gun at you before you watched Charles harshly shove him to the ground. That didn’t stop the shot from firing right into your thigh. You yelled in pain as the bounds on your arms were cut free, immediately helped up by a pair of strong hands.

“Hang on Darling, we’re getting you out of here!”

Arthur helped you up onto his horse, yanking on the reins as he held you to his chest as you hissed in pain.

“I know love, I know, we’ll get that fixed when we get back I swear, stay strong, I know you can”

You nodded, doing your best as you turn back to find Charles and Sadie riding behind you two, not too far behind.

Arthur held you protectively the whole way, not even taking his hand off you for a moment as he took you to Hosea’s tent, laying you gently down on the cot, his eyes softening at your state, holding your hand tightly as he exchanged little words with Hosea who immediately got to work.

“You’re safe. I ain’t gonna let any O’Driscoll ever hurt you again. I swear on my life”

Arthur kissed your knuckles softly, holding it close to his face.

“Rest easy love, you have no idea how miserable you look.”

“You callin’ me ugly?”

You snorted weakly, smiling as you felt your eyes become heavy.

“No.. never love..”

. . .

You’ve awoken to loud snoring right beside you, only smiling once you turned your head to find your boyfriend in a nice change of clothes, sleeping in a sitting position with his head on the cot.

You awed softly, running your hand through his hair gently, sitting up with the help of your good leg, meeting Arthur’s worried eyes.

You were about to speak before he cupped your face and kissed you deeply, letting you melt into him before he pulled away with little crystallizing tears in his eyes.

“You’re one goddamn miracle..”

Arthur sighed happily, resting his head against yours as he sat himself down on the bed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in close.

“And you’re my incurable romantic..”

You chuckled, letting your lips connect one more time, finally, together again without a worry about having to go back there.

You’ve learned to love being astray, finding the most perfect man to love in the end.

[caesariawritesstuff]

The Easy Ones

Summary: Edward's puzzles are only meant for the Dark Knight - so imagine his surprise when you come solving them instead.

Content Warning: Angst & Spying

Word Count: 753

● Ao3 ● X ● Retrospring ● Read on Ao3 ●

His plan was perfect. Edward had spent weeks working on every trophy, every riddle, every puzzle and quizzical conundrum. There was no way the Dark Knight would beat him this time. He’d gone over each and every equation with precision. He’d studied the bothersome detective’s toolbelt, gadgets, and arsenal a hundred times over. There was nothing – absolutely nothing – that would stop his plan.

So, when his computer pinged with a notification, alerting him that someone had come near one of his puzzles, his eyes raised up and excitement raced through his veins. Yes, this was it – this was finally the time he’d get to see the Dark Knight stumped. Edward gripped his desk tightly, his knuckles turning white. He couldn’t wait to see the slow look of dawning defeat on that stupid Bat’s face. The sheer, utter disappointment of realizing he’d been bested by Edward Nigma, the Riddler, of all people!

But to his surprise, it was not the Dark Knight at all.

In fact, it was you. Edward frowned, his brows furrowed. What have we here? he wondered. This wasn’t part of his plan.

He sat back in his seat, some of the tension loosening in his shoulders. Unexpected variables made his stomach twist in knots. He’d spent too long designing this carefully crafted conundrum to watch it be ruined by some insolent little pest. It was no matter, however. You would give up eventually; there was no way you were smart enough to solve his puzzles.

A small smirk touched the corners of his mouth as he watched you examine everything he’d set in place. Watched the quizzical look of confusion appear on your expression. But to his absolute, utter shock – you turned on your heels and quickly finagled with the few buttons and gizmos laid out, and the little cage around his trophy opened.

“What? You solved it?” he screamed, jumping to his feet. “No, no, no. That wasn’t for you, you little pest.”

He grinded his teeth together. That was for the Dark Knight. Everything was ruined; how was Edward going to best the Batman when he was one puzzle short? He collapsed back into his seat and ran a hand through his hair, sucking in a breath. It was no matter. He had dozens of backup trophies on hand, it could be replenished. All he needed was one of his goons to go out and get the job done.

He shouted for one of his men to come in, and when they had, he gave the orders. When the thug was left, he returned his attention to the monitor. You were gone now, finally. He searched the next set of monitors in hopes of the Dark Knight. Wondering when the bothersome bat would come solving one of his queries.

Then, there was another ping and the same excitement rushed through him. But his eyes strayed to one of the dozen monitors before him and his frown deepened.

There you were again. His trophy in your hands, cradled against you like a prized possession. Irritation flickered in his veins and he crossed his arms.

“There’s no way you can get lucky twice,” he said aloud. “No one is smart enough to solve another of my puzzles.”

He watched you move about the several different contraptions, studying them. If you were smarter, you’d have solved it by now. This puzzle wasn’t even that hard; perhaps you truly did possess only one braincell. His frown slowly curved into a smile as your shoulders slumped in defeat, as it looked as though you were finally going to give up. His pride swelled deep within his chest.

No one outsmarts me, he thought. But just as quickly as it passed through his mind, you stomped forward and pressed each button on the contraptions in the right order – and the little cage sprang open once more, revealing his trophy inside.

“No,” Edward said, slamming his hands down on his desk, causing the monitors to rattle. Rage flickered in his stomach, spreading through him like wildfire. Another one of his precious trophies in your greedy, grubby hands.

How dare you think you could out best him. Slowly, he sank bank into his seat, eyes narrowing as he watched your next move. It was no matter, there was no way you’d solve a third. You’d only gotten lucky twice, yes of course, that’s all it was. There was simply no way you were smart enough to solve a third.

After all, those were the easy ones.

[sincerely-sofie]

Embracing my inner Cringe Queen by dumping some Among Us OC art here. Meet Annings the Cyan Crewmate, Soot the Black Imposter, and Robin the Cyan Mini Imposter! Bonus context is under the cut at the end of this post, but you can enjoy the jokes and stuff in this without it! All you need to know is that Annings is a medic and Robin is her adopted daughter.

(This one is a gif, but might not load until you click on it!)

(Story summary / teaser below!)

Annings was the sole survivor of a civilian cruiser that was boarded by imposters when she was a child. She became a bit of a poster child for the war efforts against the shapeshifting alien rebels MIRA worked so hard to stomp out, despite never once voicing a similar opinion. After she grew up on Earth, she decided for take a MIRA flight back into space— this time as a medic instead of a civilian— seeking closure from her traumatic experience on her last flight.

Instead of closure, she was granted custody of an orphan whose mother was ejected on suspicions of being an imposter. Annings didn’t believe the accusations, and returned to earth with her newfound ward, Robin, whereupon she realized that most toddlers shouldn't be able to split down the middle and swallow their lunch whole, plate and all.

Robin's health began to fail not long after their arrival on earth, and Annings was forced to choose between her fear of meeting another hostile imposter and her fear of losing her daughter. She chose to return to space, taking as many jobs on MIRA flights as possible so that she could increase her odds of encountering an imposter who might know what was wrong with Robin and help her fix it. It took long enough that she began to fear whether Robin would make it to the next flight, but eventually she found one such infiltrated flight--- and the freshly deceased captain had named her his replacement in the case of his death.

Annings puts her knowledge of imposter stratagem to use in order to minimize the threat of continued deaths, and confronts one of the pair of imposters she picked out amongst the crewmates. This imposter, who used the human name Soot as part of his disguise, was fully prepared to kill Annings when she proposed a deal where he'd help her and she wouldn't reveal his true identity to the crew... But when she told him about Robin's wasting away and how she didn't know how to fix it, and he realized she had set up backup after backup to ensure he wouldn't find an alibi whenever he had the chance to kill her, he learned he was doomed to become a walking childcare manual for her.

Long story short, Soot ends up getting attached to both Robin and Annings, and when disaster strikes and threatens the lives of those they hold dear, he throws everything away for the human and child he's come to care for. Meanwhile, Annings has to reconcile her trauma with the bond she's forming with this new imposter and her fear of ending up just like the massacred civilians of her childhood flight.

Robin, meanwhile, is just chilling throughout the story and wondering why all the grown-ups are so angsty all the time.

[aparticularbandit]

First Steps

Summary: Mukuro has an unanticipated encounter on her first solo mission.

brought to you by @danggirlronpa's list of ships that have no content and also i couldn't get the idea out of my head so here you go.

Rating: T.

AO3

Her first solo mission.

The first time her superiors have trusted Mukuro to kill someone entirely on her own, with no backup.  Normally, it takes members of Fenrir years to get to this point – at least, from what she’s heard from the other operatives – but she’s gotten to this point within a matter of months.  Nearly a year, but not quite.  It sets her apart from the others in a way that she both likes and does not like; she joined Fenrir to be among a group of equals, of people like her, but she’s climbing the ranks so quickly that it causes envy and awe and disgust, which makes her…well, not exactly an equal.  It was already strange when they allowed her to join their ranks as young as she was, and now….

Now, she has no choice but to continue to prove herself.  If she makes a mistake, a single misstep, then those opposed to her will just pull out their I told you sos, the ones they’ve been waiting to use since she joined, before they even met her.  She can’t just be good; she has to be perfect.

Fortunately, the Ikusaba family is built for this kind of pressure.

Unfortunately, someone else got her kill.

“Who are you?” Mukuro asks, blunt, as she levels her gun at a girl who looks about her age but seems to be dressed like a maid who walked off the set of a Tim Burton movie.  A more chatty operative might ask what agency this girl is from; it’s not like there aren’t other mercenary companies, and it’s not like some of their targets aren’t wanted by multiple people, and it’s not like people don’t, on occasion, hire multiple mercenaries to make the same hit just to make sure it goes through.

But Mukuro couldn’t care less about any of that.  She only cares that this girl, whoever she is, got here first.  Before her.

The girl clasps her hands in front of her calm as anything, like she isn’t staring down the barrel of a gun.  “Did I do something wrong?”

Like most people wouldn’t consider murder to be something wrong.

(Mukuro doesn’t, but that’s not the point.)

“You killed my mark.”  Mukuro nudges the body in front of her with the toe of her boot.  He doesn’t even let out a moan.  If he did, she could shoot him, and then it would technically still count.  But no.  She’s gotten here so far behind this other girl that he’s not even throwing out a death rattle.

“I see.”  The girl tilts her head to one side, and she brushes ashen blonde hair out of her left eye.  “Unfortunately, I do not believe I can bring him back only for you to kill him again.  That is beyond my capabilities.”

Mukuro’s eyes narrow.  “No shit.”

The girl sighs.  “I suppose killing someone else would not suffice.”

“No.”

“My sincerest apologies, then.”  The girl doesn’t smile, just stands there, cool as anything.  “I do not suppose you could lower your weapon.  As you can see,” she says, holding out her empty hands, “I’m no threat to you.”

Mukuro looks around the room, noting not just the body of her mark but the many, many other corpses surrounding them.  That’s not even counting the bodies she ran across on the way here.  She raises a brow.

A smile graces the girl’s lips.  “You do not believe me.”  She steps forward, causing Mukuro’s finger to shift on the trigger of her gun, and then stops.  “I was sent here to fulfill a request from my master.  Your death is not part of that request, so you are at no risk.”

“Who are you?” Mukuro repeats instead, blue eyes meeting the jade green ones.  (She’s even taller than her, and Mukuro’s not short.  Something about this girl just puts her off.)

“Kirumi Tojo,” the girl says, “and you’re Mukuro Ikusaba, aren’t you?  I met your parents once.  Your mother was very proud of you.”

Your father less so, Mukuro is sure the girl is thinking, but at least she doesn’t say it.  She slowly lowers her gun.  “What did they want with you?”

Kirumi’s smile softens – a true look of pity.  “Your father sought a maid for your mother, one more, shall we say, adequate than those he normally came across.  I was highly recommended.”  Her gaze shifts.  “However, something about me must have bothered him, as I was never in his employ.”

Mukuro scoffs.  “Sounds about right.  Oto-sama doesn’t trust anyone with Oka-sama, no matter how highly recommended they might be.”  Even if they’re family.  She considers that for a moment.  Maybe especially if they’re family.  Then she nods to Kirumi.  “What exactly did your master want you to do?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot tell you, only that his request is now fulfilled.”  Kirumi meets her eyes again, considering.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m merely making a decision.”  Kirumi holds her hands out again.  “Not about killing you, as we’ve already established, so please don’t aim that weapon at me again.”

Mukuro’s eyes narrow.  Then she turns away from the maid – a test of sorts.  “I’m leaving.  There’s nothing here for me to—”  As she speaks, she feels the maid rush at her, and her lips curve upwards.  She turns and deflects a knife with her own.  Then her gaze drops to the knife before returning to meet Kirumi’s gaze, one brow raising.

Kirumi steps back, flips the knife in the air, and hides it within her clothes once more.  “Only a test.”

“Mmhm.”  Mukuro turns away from her once more.  “Don’t try that again.”

“I would never,” Kirumi says, voice soft and composed.  “However, if I might make a suggestion.”

Mukuro’s teeth grit together, and she glances over her shoulder.  It would be easy to spit out a lot of things in this moment.  So easy.  But there’s no point to that.  She can hear whatever suggestion this girl has to make, and then she can leave, and that will be the end of it.

Kirumi glances over Mukuro.  “Would you allow me to join your service?  I believe that my particular assets could be quite useful for you.”

“I don’t need a maid.”

“No, most people don’t.”

“I can’t pay you.”

“Most people can’t.  Let me take care of that end of things.”

Mukuro stares at Kirumi for a moment, appraising her in a different manner.  “I think not.”  She can’t take a maid back with her to Fenrir.  That wouldn’t go over well.  Even if the maid was capable of this sort of bloodbath.  They’d start wondering if her kills were truly her own, and she can’t have that.

Kirumi nods in acceptance.  Then she pulls a card out from a pocket in her apron and holds it out to Mukuro.  “If you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

But Mukuro takes the card anyway.  She holds it between her fingertips as she leaves, presses it against a spot of bare skin just to feel how sharp it is.  It wouldn’t take much effort to cause a papercut with this.  Or something more dangerous.

Hm.

Not that it matters.

Hopefully, she’ll never see that girl again.  She certainly isn’t planning on calling her.

(Mukuro tucks the card into her pocket, and although she doesn’t look at it again for some time, she never lets herself lose it.)

[jkoo-njoo]

College crush - 3

summary : college au l when the frontier between a crush and an obsession blurs, how can you draw the line?

pairing : shy n clingy bf! jk × black fem! reader

genre : fluff, soft yandere | headcanons

word count : 2150, on going story

warnings : stalking, fixation, home intrusion

author’s note : Hi loves ! This is supposed to be the second to last chapter of this story, but I don’t feel like ending it so soon. I’m still hesitating on wether to write a sequel in the form of drabbles or just add 2 or 3 more chapters instead of just one. You tell me what you would prefer most (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) Enjoy my angels ~ ♡

previous | next / masterlist

3/ the moth searching for light through darkness, with hope

- the first time : just reaching out to you

Jungkook was really set on taking the leap of faith and sending you a message directly.

he is very nervous but also confident that you will appreciate this gesture because he has backup :

a few days ago, after the bi-weekly photography class, he followed you a bit around before going home

you went to grab coffee with some of your friends at the local café

and he just sat at a table behind you lot, making sure not to be noticeable

he was glad that you and your friends had the habit of talking a bit loudly so he didn’t have to sit right next to you to listen to your discussions

anyways

what he heard that day left him completely speechless

you guys were talking about the type of actions you’d consider romantic from a significant other and what you’d love to experience

best believe he was absolutely tuned in when it was your turn to speak

and that’s when he heard you say that you were a delusional and hopeless romantic that would really love to have a secret admirer that sent you letters and gifts

everyone clowned you and kept telling you to give it up because it would never gonna happen

but he, on the other hand, couldn’t be happier

he was going to make your dream happen, with the upmost joy doing it.

fast forward to today, with Jungkook going insane over trying to choose the perfect first-letter-from-a-secret-admirer between the 3 piles of tens of already written letters he had in his room

he settled for this one short letter :

“Like a bee drawn to a flower, I am endlessly attracted to your being, your beauty and existence essential for my survival.“

he signed — your secret admirer not yet ready to put any indication about his identity

he folded it with great care and put the message in a beige ancient style letter that he sealed with red wax

he hesitated on perfuming the letter or not but he eventually decided against it, because what if you don’t like the odor and throw away his letter, rejecting him before even checking him out ?

he was ready to go all out for you, but that didn’t mean he wanted to take reckless risks

he truly wanted to make an impact on you in the best way possible. And that included being very meticulous

when he was done, he walked up to the building next to his and deposited the letter in your letter box, whilst shaking uncontrollably the entire time

he did that in the middle of the day, so he figured he’d check the day after if you opened your letter box

he went there 3 days in a row and noticed that you didn’t really check your letter box that often

so he went against one of the main restrictions he imposed on himself : not to go all the way up to your front door.

but he did. and from now, he’d give you letters by putting them in between the front door and the wall, just above the handle so you’d inevitably notice them immediately every single time.

- the second time : being too greedy

this little back & forth of him writing letters and giving them to you lasted a few weeks

he would send you letters every 2 to 3 days, and they would vary in length but never in substance

they would always be very light and easy to read, whilst intensely dripping with passion and love

the one he sent you yesterday was :

“if anyone ever asks me which is more important between my life and yours, I would tell them that I have died to myself and that I live only for you.”

he was taking his secret admirer job very seriously.

and judging by the way you would take all of his letters and not throw them out — he regularly checked the dumpster assigned to your building — you were visibly enjoying it.

one day, the routine got interrupted when he came up to drop off the LLOTD [love letter of the day] and…. your door was unlocked.

in his defense : he was sliding the letter between the door and the wall like he always did, but this particular time it didn’t want to stay in place ; the letter kept falling

so he grabbed the handle to have more balance while trying to make the letter fit in the crevace

then the handle just… moved. and opened the door.

he didn’t even do it on purpose like,,, it just opened ???

and now he was standing there, frozen in the middle of the hallway with the handle still in his hand, unable to move.

his hands inevitably start to sweat because even if he’s stuck, he knows what he wants to do ; but he can’t bring himself to do it.

he has always dreamed of entering your place. He has been wanting this for so long.

and there was now a golden opportunity to fulfill this dream……. he couldn’t let it pass by him. He just couldn’t bring himself to close the door and go home

so… he enters.

he is absolutely delighted to be in your space ; but he’s also getting very overwhelmed

there is so much to look at, so much to smell, so much to admire and ingrain in his brain

he gives himself like 5 minutes to get around and puts on a timer to make sure to go out on time.

you are living alone so your room’s decoration is very sweet & unique

also meticulously clean and organized

though he takes notes that he should buy you a basket to put your fruits in it, and a duvet cover so you can snuggle your cute self inside, and more plushies to horn your bed

he cannot wait until the time he gets to decorate this place with his own special touch too

the timer goes off indicating that it was time to go back to his place

he pushes the letter between the front door & the wall, then leaves

he was in such a state of euphoria that when he got back to his place he wrote like 5 letters in one sitting

when he noticed that you never really locked your door but just shut it, and since he knows your schedule by heart, he starts breaking into your home a bit more often over time

each time, he tries as hard as he can to not touch or move anything

he only verifies that you do not throw his letters by checking your bins, and lays on your bed while daydreaming of cuddling with you on it while watching movies, or play with you on your pc set up

he is very careful to not do anything that would make you notice that someone is coming into your place while you’re not there, because he doesn’t want you to be scared.

he would never deliberately cause you to be uncomfortable, afraid or to resent him

but it’s getting harder and harder everyday to not touch or take anything when he wants to go back to his place with each and every object that you use as a souvenir

he’s getting tormented…

so close, yet so far from the goal,,,, it was driving him crazy.

- at the same time : a curious appreciation

it’s been a few weeks since you’ve been regularly receiving love letters from a secret admirer

you would be lying if you said that you weren’t completely enjoying and indulging in it

at the beginning, you thought that it was a prank, because it was just so random & the timing was almost too perfect since you started receiving letters right after that one discussion with your friends

but it started being more recurrent, and it progressively made you flattered to receive such sustained and lovely attention

the words of this admirer were sure having a strong effect you.

so much that you kept absolutely every single one of their letters in a little box hidden in your nightstand

nowadays, you were catching yourself waiting for their letters or thinking about their words more than once throughout your day

you didn’t talk about it to your friends because you didn’t want them to make fun of you ; or worse : that one of them admits that this has all been a big joke and that it was all fake

this is your own little secret that you keep between you and your heart

and it’s just letters, beautiful letters at that. The admirer does not seem to be a creep, so you’re safe. There’s no need to alert anyone… right ?

at some point, you’ve tried to find out about the identity of your admirer.

the only information that you have at the moment is their signature : they sign every single letter with the mention — your secret admirer

you do not even know their gender. This is as anonymous as it gets like you cannot make this up

you have no idea about who it could be : no one in your social circle or the circle of your closest friends seems to be a good enough pretender to this spot, so it was surely intriguing you

but what you do know is that you are going to meet them soon. You have to.

- the rest of the time… too far gone to go back

eventually, one of your hoodie disappears. Like straight up vanishes.

you noticed it because you were looking for something to wear as lazy pajamas and it was one of your appointed “trash clothes” to put on

it is not that serious though like you must’ve just lost it.

So you wore something else and went on with your life, not caring much about that.

a few days later, you received a letter from your secret admirer.

it was weird because they haven’t sent you anything in like 10 days ; that was very out of character for them.

so, you were relieved to receive something from them again, but this letter was rather unusual

it wasn’t a poem ; but an apology.

the title was “please pardon me my love” and their writing was very clumsy, like they’ve been shaking while writing it.

in the letter, they admit that they took your hoodie — you assume that it must be the one that you lost the other day. They apologize for it by saying that they just wanted to have a piece of you with them and knowing that you didn’t value this particular hoodie that much they couldn’t help themselves. They promise to buy you absolutely every clothes that you want, and that they’ll replace the hoodie with a new one of your taste by tomorrow. At the end, they beg for your forgiveness and implore you to not stop loving them ; some water drops that you assume to be dried out tears adorning their words.

if you were being honest, you really couldn’t care less about the hoodie disappearing ; but it did make you feel kinda uncomfy knowing that they intruded your sacred space

their confession made you reflect on the past few days, and validated the feelings of confusion and uneasiness you felt seeing some of your belongings slightly changing places sometimes while you did not recall moving them yourself

you were definitely not crazy nor were you having hallucinations.

despite this… you still couldn’t find it in you to fear them or worry in any way.

like, they just took a hoodie that you didn’t care about. This was harmless, right ?

so, for the first time since the beginning of this whole ordeal : you decide to write an answer to them

you didn’t take yourself too seriously : you told them that you weren’t mad about the hoodie, but that the next time they come in here they better clean up your place a bit because you were pretty busy at the moment and didn’t have the time to do so

you would leave it on your desk tomorrow and see what happens

but for now, it was time to sleep and rest. Or at least try.

[manyothermusingsofmine]

Sleep Habits || Drabble

Fandom: Xmen

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 2730

Summary: Some people need a little help to fall asleep, no matter how physically exhausted they are.

------------------------------------------------

It had been so incredibly difficult to get some sleep, even two days after the last mission. And not for lack of trying; instead of getting her frankly exhausted body to rest Miranda had found herself staring wide eyed at the ceiling desperately pleading with her brain to shut off and let her sleep.

People had kind of left her be after what happened, more concerned about Kurt who had seemingly shaken the whole ordeal off as if it had been nothing. And, honestly, compared to some of the stories she had been hearing around the mansion the Xmen dealt with a lot worse than the occasional Sentinel or aggressive viper mutant.

She thought of Vivian again, a slight shudder running over her spine at the memory of her vivid orange eyes and massive fangs. Miranda had fully, absolutely meant it at the moment when she had said she wanted to kill her, but now looking back she just felt a weird sense of pity for the other mutant. Why? The woman was paranoid, immediately lashing out to anyone who dared to be at this mostly abandoned location; Miranda figured that's how the disk ended up there in the first place. Some poor Friends of Humanity's bastard must have crossed her while having this disk, and gotten their ass killed in the process.

'Hm, a completely self-isolated woman paranoid at the world. Sound familiar?'

She shook the thought off, angrily replying in her head that she wasn't like that anymore, nor had it ever been as bad as Vivian seemed to be. Truth be told, on some level she had known that as soon as she called for backup Gambit and Shadow would show up. It made a world of difference to her that not only did people answer when she called for help; they helped.... Well, obviously. Her eyes looked up at Kurt, out on the basketball field in some discussion with Gambit and Jubilee while Morph seemed to fuel the fire of whatever was going on. She leaned back against the wall of the mansion, sighing as she heard footsteps approach.

"Hi. I would've asked if you've gotten any rest yet; but I don't need to listen to your cells for the answer."

"Bags under my eyes say enough, huh?"

Shadow nodded, mimicking Miranda's pose by leaning on the wall as well, looking rightfully annoyed.

"Look, it was upsetting enough that you didn't heed my word after the fact, but I chalked that up to you being worried about Kurt. With him alive and kicking, I had hoped you would finally get some much needed rest."

"I'm not doing it on purpose, Shadow," Miranda quietly responded, a sigh leaving her, "I want to sleep. I'm trying to. I can't. I'm sorry I'm making you think I don't value your input. I do. If it wasn't for you, everything would've ended much, much worse."

Shadow seemed to soften a little at that, looking over at the basketball field where Jubilee and Morph had decided to go do something else together, and Kurt and Remy were still in the middle of their conversation.

"Hey, don't sell yourself short like that. Hiding Kurt from view like you did was incredibly clever."

"It was a panicked solution from a panicking brain."

"It worked. In the end, that’s all that matters."

Miranda shrugged a little, following Shadow's gaze to the basketball field. Yeah, it worked. She was still dealing with the exhaustion from how well it had worked; but she started to see Shadow's point. Had Vivian gotten sight of Kurt in the state he was, she surely would've gone in for the kill.

"They just seem to shake it off so easily, huh?" Shadow started, half gesturing over to the X-men, "Remy, Kurt; they toss off these life or death situations as if it's nothing, as if they weren't at risk of getting seriously hurt or worse. Don't know about you, but I don't think I can shake off what happened with Vivian that easily."

"Me neither."

"I don't think they'll hold it against us, either. We're still very new, in the grand scheme of things."

"...... Vivian reminds me of myself."

Shadow blinked, looking at Miranda with wide eyes at this sudden revelation; but the moment she thought about it, it did start to make some sense.

"You're not like Vivian. You're prickly and push people away, and like me you wonder what the hell we're doing here among people far more skilled, but you're not that paranoid, convinced of your own truth, or aggressive."

"I could be."

"Stop being mean to yourself about this or I'm revoking your right to functioning kneecaps."

At that, Miranda couldn't help but laugh, the sudden humor in the aggressive emotional support halting the negative spiral her brain liked to take. Shadow gave a small smirk, considering her task well done as both looked out at the basketball field.

"Don't have to ask you which team you're rooting for, huh, Mir?"

"Neither do I have to ask that of you."

"Shut up."

"That's my line."

Laughing a little they watched as the game picked up speed, both of them in synch looking over as footsteps approached the two.

"Oh, hell," Miranda muttered, seeing Rogue approaching and feeling both her and Shadow's anxiety immediately raise, "incoming on two o'clock."

"Good to see both of ya out and about, though I think I would've preferred if you joined the boys on the field-"

"Uh, I think I hear my test routines with Hank calling," Shadow said, immediately leaving while Miranda was halfway amused with her escape- guess she wasn't the only one instinctively intimidated by Rogue. Taking Shadows spot against the wall, Rogue followed Miranda's gaze out to the field, keeping an eye on her from her peripheral and noticing Miranda was now looking rather deliberately at only one corner of the field.

"Don't be switching who you're rooting for just 'cause I'm here, sugar."

A light blush dusted itself upon her pale skin, her power momentarily wanting to activate before her brain realised it didn't have the energy to spare to do so, keeping her very visible. Maybe for the better, as vanishing on the spot after such a line would only give Rogue more ammo to work with.

It still didn’t stop her muscles from tensing up, to which Rogue sighed.

"Honestly, both you and Shadow sweat like sinners in church every time I come 'round. You more so than her, but still;  It’s starting to hurt my feelings a little. Well, okay, I ain’t being entirely truthful; it’s not every time I deign to show up. Interestingly enough, it is just when my brother happens to also be hanging 'round. As if you think I'd never approve of anyone throwing looks his way."

"I'm not ‘throwing looks’," Miranda responded in a clipped tone, despite still making a needless amount of effort to not look in the direction of the blue mutant; the ridiculousness of it all getting to Rogue as she started to laugh.

"Sure, honey, keep telling yourself that; might actually end up convincing someone of it, someday. Ya know, that does make me think though... been a while since I've seen him with any gal at his side. Reckon it's cause I intimidate them all away from him?"

".... Probably," Miranda admitted, shrugging both as an answer and as an attempt to shake off the feeling that Rogue saw right through the things she didn't want to admit to, "Because, like, hypothetically speaking; if you didn't want someone around him they simply wouldn't be. You don't strike me as the type to sit back idly  while some chick with bad intentions bats her pretty eyelashes at him in order to take advantage of his kindness."

"Yeah, well, hypothetically; those kinda gals don't aggressively struggle against their own exhaustion just to stay at his side the whole night 'cause he got hurt."

Oh. Well. Fuck. She kind of had her, there. Miranda could feel the heat creeping onto her cheeks, turning her head away from the conversation as to not show Rogue how much she was actually getting under her skin right about now

"Look, sugar, I'm as much in charge of Kurt's love life as he is of mine; which is to say, not at all. I ain't his guard dog or his ma, and even if I were; he's a grown man perfectly capable of making his own choices."

Miranda's eyes went to Kurt for a split second, just as quickly glancing away again before he would notice. Trying to calm herself back down, she decided to focus on the actual ball game instead; everything to avoid looking Rogue in the eyes and making more of a fool of herself than she already felt like she was.

"What makes you think I'm a good choice for him?"

"What makes ya think ya aren't?" Rogue watched as Miranda shrugged in a non-committal way, "Oh, hun, c'mon now; you are far too harsh on yourself. He clearly likes being around ya, you make him laugh, you’re kind, care enough to reign in your language around him. That prickly demeanor you’ve measured onto yourself for your protection ain’t fooling anyone no more, not when you put your own sleep schedule behind staying at his side.

As if on cue, Miranda yawned, covering her mouth with her hand as she did while Rogue called out to the two men to behave themselves and stop trying to cheat each other out of points. Rolling her eyes at their responses that the other obviously started it, Rogue leaned back on the wall and looked at Miranda.

"So, what are ya gonna do?"

"I don't know," Miranda muttered with another shrug, "never even gotten this far before."

"I was hoping the answer was 'get some sleep' but I guess beggars can’t be choosers, but if that means what I think it means, well..." Rogue had laughed ever so softly, before turning more serious at the second part of her words. She looked at her brother. The game of basketball had stopped, and Kurt was rolling his eyes at some wild tall tale Remy was trying to convince him was a hundred percent true, "He's a good choice for you; he's a sweetheart through and through."

Rogue looked up as Gambit and Nightcrawler came over, ignoring the second yawn at her side as best as she could.

"And what are you two lovely ladies gossiping about, mhh?" Gambit inquired, immediately getting a light shove backwards from Rogue

"Non ya business. Anyway, I need your explosive expertise on something, mind coming with me?"

"And what do you need my expertise on that you can’t immediately tell me about?"

"All you need to know is that you get to blow things to smithereens, sugar. I have a theory about your powers that I've been dying to put to the test. Come along now."

Remy shrugged, bidding farewell to the other two mutants before following Rogue, waiting until they were out of earshot of the others and turning to smirk at her

"And I'm sure it has nothing to do with letting those two have a moment to themselves?"

"Oh, hush, you."

Kurt watched them leave, tail curiously swishing along as he tilted his head slightly. That was a weird and rather immediate exit for the both of them- his thoughts about it interrupted as he heard a yawn, and he turned to Miranda.

"Hey..." he started, softly, now noticing just how tired she still looked. He had hoped that she had gotten some sleep in between now and the night he awoke himself, but that seemed to have been wishful thinking, ".... thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything. Keeping me safe, staying at my side- Gambit told me what happened; how you used your powers to shield me, that you stayed up all night next to the bed... Before wildly veering off into how he definitely fought of Vivian with nothing but a bobby pin. "

"Ah, Gambit. Story teller extraordinal. Anyway, don't mention it. You'd do the same for me,” silence fell between them as he gently brushed a stray red hair off her shoulder, unspoken gratitude radiating off him. Her body language softened, gaze turning to the ground as another yawn escaped her. She shivered, her body complaining about its lack of sleep until her last resolve around it finally broke.

"... Kurt, I'm so tired." she whimpered in a moment of vulnerability, her tone of voice wobbling in the way of someone who had been desperately trying to get some rest and had failed every time, "and yet I can't, I'm.."

Kurt placed a supportive hand on her shoulder, thinking for a moment if he knew anyway he could help her finally get some much needed, much deserved rest

"Can you get yourself inside and to the bedrooms?" she nodded at his question, "great. I'll meet you in your room in about an hour; i need a shower first." He smiled as she quirked an eyebrow at him, clearly not knowing what he had in mind. Gently moving a particularly stubborn little curl of hair away from her face, his expression softened by a lot; "just trust me."

He let go, disappearing in a huff of purple smoke to get to his own room in the mansion; a place he could visualize so well he barely had to think about how to get there. Miranda simply followed his advice, making her way to her room slowly and dropping down on the bed with a loud groan.

She was still staring at the ceiling when she heard the knock at the door roughly an hour later.

"Come in."

"Awh, I had kind of hoped I wouldn't hear a response," Kurt lightly joked as he came in, his regular hair still very slightly damp as the rest of him seemed fluffier than before, "but that would've been too easy."

"The ceiling is in desperate need of a new coat of paint," Miranda dryly remarked, with Kurt following her gaze to said ceiling.

"Probably. Wait, is that really what you're worried about?"

"No. I just noticed. Y’know. Instead of sleeping."

"... Right. About that; scoot over?"

She was honestly too tired to argue any further about that, or anything else for that matter, moving away on the bed to create enough room for him to join her. And he did. Had she been in any other state of mind other than utterly exhausted, it would've made her blush a shade of red that a firetruck would be jealous of. Especially when he rolled onto his back and gestured at her to come closer.

Her sleep deprived brain thought about it for a second, and then mentally shrugged; on instinct alone she scooted back to him, nestling herself against his chest as his arms closed around her in a protective embrace. Hearing his heart beat steadily in his chest, the soft, warm, fuzzy feeling of the almost velvet fur he was covered in, the way his hand smoothed down her hair; all of it helped calm a mind that would otherwise get far too roped up in its own thoughts and the patterns of the ceilings above. She lightly clutched onto him like one would to a gigantic teddy bear.

"Better?"

"Mh..."

"I figured. For how you compare me to a plushie every now and then I figured you were one of those kids who couldn't sleep without some kind of fuzzy companion,” he laughed a little, the soft tone of his voice as warm as the comfort his embrace shrouded her in, “I'm glad you trust me enough for this, I hope it helps. Does it?

… Miranda?"

It had been the fastest she had ever fallen asleep in her life, out like a light before his sentence even started as her eyes had fallen shut and her breathing calmed down. Kurt just smiled to himself, smoothing down the soft tresses of her hair as her weight on him worked equally as comforting.

It didn't take him much longer to follow her example, joining her in slumber.

[wire-mutt]

a woozy youth

(On AO3)

Summary: During a scuffle with a villain, Miles is injected with a potentially fatal aphrodisiac. Hobie is the only one around to help.

Notes: Hobie/trans!Miles sex pollen fic. Hobie is 20, Miles is 15. Hobie feels horrible about the whole thing.

CWs: dubcon, emetophobia, needles, underage, age difference

18+ only, explicit, not sfw, etc

Hobie watches Miles plummet through a window chasing after the most recent villain causing trouble in the wrong dimension. Some kind of mad scientist--an off-shoot of Doc Ock with syringe tentacles--who's been using civilians as guinea pigs for his concoctions.

Hobie swings up to the windowsill, peers down and is relieved to see that Miles finally has his hands on the slippery little bastard. For all his little gadgets, the scientist is no match for Spider-Man's super strength, and Miles has him pinned to the floor beneath him.

Hobie has every intention of swinging down and helping Miles web his limbs to the ground, but he hesitates--something he'd end up kicking himself for later. Miles has been so eager to prove himself in these missions, but keeps getting one-upped by his partners. He's yet to be sent on a mission without a babysitter, and by no means is Hobie here to be some authority figure. If Miles has got it, he's got it.

But he hesitates too long. Before either of them can react, a mechanical limb snakes out from behind the scientist and stabs into Miles's shoulder. Miles cries out, and it's all the scientist needs to pry himself out from underneath him.

"Careful, Spider-Man," the scientist taunts, rising to his feet, "Some of my testing didn't yield the most orthodox results. This variant of the toxin--Love Serum--works quite differently, actually! You better hope you have a gentle hand with you; it's known to be fatal if left unattended to. Good luck!"

"That's the best name you could come up with?!" Miles jabs, still clutching at his shoulder, a pink substance leaking from the puncture. As the scientist skitters away, Miles calls, "Pervert!"

Concerningly, Miles doesn't give chase, staying kneeled on the floor. That's when Hobie leaps through the window, firing a webshooter at the villain. "Hold on, now! You've still got me to worry about!"

His web wraps around one of the legs and he pulls, but instead of halting the villain it simply separates from the suit. The limb comes hurtling towards him, and he flips over it with ease, hearing it crash into the building behind him.

The area outside the lab is a wide-open space without many buildings to swing from, and even missing a leg the villain is making great distance in a short amount of time. He'd have to chase him on foot.

He shoots a concerned glance towards Miles.

"I'm fine! Go after him," Miles insists, but the way he's leaning towards the ground tells a different story.

Instead, Hobie calls for backup on his watch, telling them which way the villain is heading. Miles makes a noise of complaint, letting his head drop. His sigh is audible.

Hobie approaches him after he's done informing the other Spiders, kneeling down beside him. "How you feelin'?"

"I told you, I'm fine," Miles says, strained despite his words. "That guy's never tested his stuff on spider-people before. It probably doesn't even work on us. Go after him."

"Quit tellin' me what to do."

Hobie glances in the direction the villain went, then back down to Miles.

"Look, if he's wrong, then there will be other chances to catch him. If he's right, well, there's only one of you. …Don't look at me like that, you know what I mean."

Miles just sighs, pulls off his mask. His skin is already starting to darken, damp with sweat, and he's panting. It's hardly been a minute.

"You got a girlfriend? Or boyfriend?" Hobie asks. He doesn't know if he could logically get Miles to them in time if so, but it couldn't hurt to try.

"Uh… No," comes his hesitant answer.

Hobie pulls off his own mask, considering his options. He could call for Gwen, or even Pavitr--someone closer to Miles's age than him--but as far as he knows, they're both on their own missions. And Miles probably wants as few people to see him in this position as possible.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, then." He tries not to let his own uneasiness show in his voice. He's five years older than Miles. Not that he cares about laws per se, but… he still feels like he'll be taking advantage of the poor boy.

He's thankful that it's the dead of night and the lot is vacant. In his condition, he doesn't think Miles would make it somewhere more private even if Hobie physically dragged him there. Glancing around, Hobie spots a security camera outside the entrance to the building, and uses his webs to cover the lens.

A shudder runs through Miles, and Hobie places a steadying hand on his uninjured shoulder. Miles whines at the touch and leans into it, and it takes everything in Hobie not to recoil.

"Easy. I'm gonna help you out, mate. Don't worry."

Miles glances at him, eyes lingering a little too long with a look that makes Hobie's stomach twist. That kind of hunger looks out of place on Miles's otherwise innocent features.

"Let's just start slow, yeah? And get you out of that suit. You look like you're about to overheat."

Miles nods absently, moves the hand clutching his shoulder to the back of his suit, then is wracked with something that has him groaning and placing both hands in his lap while his thighs squeeze together, fingers twisting into the fabric.

"I… can't."

Hobie nods, and moves to unzip Miles's suit himself. Miles sighs as his skin hits the cool air, his flush reaching his neck and shoulders already. Hobie lets his suit drape around his waist as Miles's shrugs out of the top half. The boy's muscles are toned, though he's just a little too scrawny to resemble an adult. His small pecs heave as his breath picks up and sweat dribbles from the exposed skin between his collarbone.

Miles squirms in his suit, trying to find some kind of relief. "This is crazy."

"For sure. But we'll get you through it." Hobie hooks his fingers into Miles's suit to pull it down around his hips. Miles gives him such a pleading look as he does it that Hobie wants to turn around.

He won't let himself. This is for Miles.

He doesn't mean to tease the boy, even if part of him is stalling. Hobie helps him kick off his suit completely, leaving him in his boxers--which are soaked--as he lays back on the ground.

Huh. Hobie had no idea he was trans. He feels bad that Miles was robbed of the opportunity to tell him himself--yet another thing to add to the growing list of things on Hobie's conscience.

Hobie moves back to put some distance between them, and Miles whines at the loss of contact.

Hobie pulls his glove off with his teeth. "Just try 'n relax."

Miles looks so... lewd like this, flushed with half-lidded eyes, legs spread, hips arching as he tries to rub himself against the air. Hobie's cock is starting to take an interest, despite his reservations, and Hobie internally curses at it.

"I'm gonna touch you, alright? Just to get you through this," Hobie warns.

Hobie places a hand on his thigh, moving it up until his fingers brush against the damp fabric of his boxers. Miles's body jerks in response, legs spreading wider, inviting.

Hobie strokes his pussy, and the boy mewls at the contact. "Just breathe, yeah? In and out."

Hobie pushes the fabric of his boxers to the side and slides a finger easily inside him, curling it as it enters. Miles's thighs quiver, and his back arches off the floor.

Hobie's hand moves steadily, Miles's hips bucking up to meet it. Hobie tries to ignore the way the boy's pussy tightens around his finger when he curls it, the way Miles's hands scramble to grab something to hold onto, how he's trying to grind against his hand, desperate for friction.

"Another one. Please," he whines, his voice so sweet. Hobie complies, sliding a second finger in next to the first, watching his digit sink down to the knuckle in one smooth thrust. His thumb moves to rub at Miles's clit.

Miles is moaning now, a mess beneath him, and it's getting to Hobie. He feels sick to his stomach, a headache forming in the back of his skull, yet his cock is pressing against the inside of his suit, and he can feel it leaking in a sticky mess. He bites the inside of his cheek until it's bloody.

Miles's whole body is trembling, and he's panting like a dog in heat, whining with each breath.

"It's alright," Hobie reassures him, even though Miles doesn't seem to be listening anymore. "I've got you."

Hobie speeds up his hand, watching as his face screws up with pleasure. Miles's back arches again, his head going back and his hands clenching against the concrete.

Hobie feels like he could throw up, but that sick feeling isn't enough to suppress his libido, his dick throbbing incessantly in his pants at the sight of Miles going mad with lust.

He doesn't stop, doesn't slow down. He's going to make the boy come, whether Miles loves him or hates him after this.

(Hopefully it's the latter.)

He keeps going, and... going, and his arm hurts and Miles hasn't come yet. Frustration is etched into Miles's features, a far cry from the pleasure from moments ago. He's shaking his head, sweat dripping down his forehead.

"It's not enough," he gasps, his teeth gritted.

Hobie is taken aback. "What do you mean it's not enough?"

"I need more. I need--" Miles's hand comes down on Hobie's wrist, the one moving between his legs. His touch is scorching. "I need something inside me. It's not enough."

Hobie goes still. "You want me to--?"

"Please," Miles begs, "It's not enough."

Hobie can't take it anymore. He feels like he's going to snap, like he's going to go insane.

"No." He's not about to whip out his cock and fuck a child into the ground. "Not havin' none of that. I'll get you there."

Miles looks devastated. "But--!"

"I know you can do it," Hobie encourages, though he's lying. He just needs to get it over with, so he can get away from this place as quickly as possible.

He withdraws his fingers, to Miles's audible dismay, and hooks them into the waistband of Miles's boxers, pulling them down and off his legs in one swift motion.

Miles looks properly confused as Hobie lays out on his stomach between his legs, pushing them apart.

"What are you doing?"

"Gonna lick you out," Hobie says bluntly, and he means it.

"Like a cat?"

Hobie laughs at that. "Not exactly. Don't worry about it."

He doesn't give Miles a chance to react before he slides his tongue along his pussy lips, making the boy buck and whine. He wastes no time, tonguing his clit as his fingers slip back inside him.

Miles seems satisfied enough with it, head rolling back against the floor as his thighs squeeze around Hobie's head. Miles is so receptive to everything that Hobie is giving him, moaning like a pornstar as he does.

Hobie tries to focus, to just pretend this is like any other fuck, but the more Miles reacts, the harder it gets. He can feel the tremble in the boy's thighs as he presses them against his ears, muffling the pitiful noises that have been pouring out of him for the past few minutes. His cunt is twitching around fingers, his clit thrumming underneath Hobie's tongue.

The smell and taste is making his head spin, and he's never been more turned on in his life. He's a fucking pedophile, he can't believe this is happening to him.

Miles whimpers, and one of his hands finds purchase on the back of Hobie's head, pressing him further down into him. "Right there! Don't stop."

At this rate, Hobie is going to soil his pants. He grinds down onto the concrete floor desperately as Miles pleads, but there's not nearly enough friction to satisfy the way he's throbbing, the heat coiling in his gut.

Somehow he still manages to ignore his cock, in favor of licking and sucking between the kid's legs. It's like he's fucking possessed. He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down, until Miles is back to being a drooling mess beneath him.

Miles is whining, his hands finding Hobie's wicks as Hobie keeps sucking his clit, his fingers rubbing at the spot inside him that makes the boy go wild.

"Oh, god," Miles pants, "I'm gonna--!"

His thighs tighten around Hobie's head, and he's spilling all over his mouth and chin. Miles is writhing under him, gasping and moaning as his fingers dig into Hobie's scalp. Hobie can't even think as he fucks Miles through his orgasm, the boy's pussy quivering and contracting around his fingers. He's just relieved that it's over.

When Miles stops twitching, Hobie pulls back, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. Miles is breathing hard, his body limp and eyes fluttering shut as his chest rises and falls rapidly.

Hobie can't stand to look at him, to look at what he's done, so he stands and turns away, trying to ignore the tightness in his pants. He wants to go home, go to bed, go anywhere but here. He could shower for a year and still not feel clean.

Instead, he stands there, listening to the heavy breathing of a boy he just molested.

"Hobie..." Miles croaks behind him, and Hobie's stomach flips. He wants to crawl out of his own skin, but he forces himself to turn around.

"You alright?"

Miles is still lying on his back, his hands limp and his legs spread. "It's... It's not gone."

Hobie glances over him, seeing that his skin is still flushed. That desperate look still hasn't left Miles's eyes.

"What?" is all Hobie manages, his brain coming to a screeching halt.

"It still hurts." Miles is leaning forward, hooking his fingers into himself, a clumsy, desperate attempt to repeat Hobie's earlier motions. "It's not enough."

"Miles, are you serious?"

The boy looks up at him, eyes pleading, begging. Hobie's heart is beating a mile a minute, his stomach churning.

"I need you to help me," he says, desperation in his voice. The movements of his hand looks painful now, hammering in and out of himself. "Please."

"There's nothin' my dick can do that my fingers can't," Hobie insists, mostly to himself. Miles isn't having any of it, shaking his head, eyes squeezed shut tight.

"I don't know, maybe it's like... an antidote," he says. "I just-- I need you. Please. Please."

"Fuck." Hobie is panicking. He knows Miles is only thinking about his body's needs, but he can't even wrap his head around the thought of what he's about to do. Miles is still a kid, even if both of their bodies are trying to convince them otherwise.

He doesn't know how long he stares at Miles, watching him drive his fingers into himself in a way that would be painful to a sober body. When he does move, it doesn't feel to his own accord. He finds himself kneeling between Miles's legs again, Miles's hands finding his shirt and clawing. He unzips his pants, already painfully hard, his cock curving up towards his stomach.

He casts one last wary glance towards the webbed camera, like it'll catch him in his worst moment, then back down at their bodies. Miles watches, his face a mixture of awe and need.

Hobie positions himself, rubbing the head of his cock along Miles's pussy. Miles bites his lip, his fingers digging into Hobie's skin.

And then he's buried to the hilt inside a child.

And it feels so good.

His wet, sucking heat is tight around Hobie's cock, and he can feel the kid trembling beneath him. Miles's legs come around his waist, pulling him in further, his heels digging into his back. Miles is squirming beneath him, his hands sliding up his shirt and clutching at his back. His lips are parted, breath coming out in hot bursts against Hobie's skin.

He moves his hips robotically, in and out, and tries to suppress the shiver that runs through him each time Miles moans.

He's been with girls who were tighter than this. He's been with boys who were noisier. But Miles is... something else entirely. The boy's body is reacting to Hobie's, and it's like he's sucking Hobie's cock inside him. Hobie can't tell if he's feeling the toxin too or if he's just reacting to the way Miles is pulling at him. Hobie's head is swimming with the feeling of being inside Miles, with the scent of sex and sweat and lust. It's a mess, a mess of bodies and limbs and moans.

"Hobie," Miles whines. "Hobie. Hobie."

His name becomes a mantra to the boy, and Hobie has to clamp a hand down around his mouth to keep him quiet. He's trying not to think about the fact that he's fucking a kid, but the sounds Miles is making are making that impossible.

"You've gotta be quiet, Miles," Hobie gasps. "I can't--I can't do this if you keep moanin' like that."

He keeps moving, even as Miles starts to make those same sounds around his hand, and it feels good enough that Hobie can almost pretend it's someone his age.

Miles is clinging to Hobie like he's the only thing in the world, his hands in Hobie's hair, tugging at the wicks. Hobie shuts his eyes tight as he pumps his hips, trying to lose himself in the familiar sensations.

But it's difficult. This is, objectively, bad sex. If he lost himself to habit, he'd be biting his partners neck, taking it slow, teasing them. Not like this, Not this awkward, uncomfortable thrusting into a kid too impatient for foreplay, just trying to get it over with.

He uses the hand not covering Miles's mouth to shift the angle of his legs, pushing them higher. From the sounds he makes, it has a pretty big impact. He's tightening and spasming around Hobie's cock, trying to drink him up. This boy is so full of desire, eager to please and be pleased, innocent and yet not.

Hobie's head is swimming, his blood racing. He's just jabbing himself into him, hoping it's enough--and by Miles's reactions, it is. There's nothing pained or desperate in him anymore, only ecstasy, as if Hobie is the best thing he's ever felt. Maybe he is.

He keeps moving, tries to keep his voice down, and just keeps thinking of anything but this. He tries to think of nothing. Of his tour schedule, of the streets of London, of how it'll be cold when he goes home. He tries to think of the guy he got a drink with last night. The one with the tattoos and the cocky grin. The one who'd showed up to his shows to learn his words, the ones he sang about identity and transgression. He thinks of the way his body had felt under his fingers, lithe and solid, and the taste of him on his tongue.

"I'm so close," Miles whispers against his hand, and that makes Hobie's stomach drop. It makes his hips stop moving, and Miles whines, trying to push his hips forward.

Miles sounds so sweet, so desperate. He's a wreck, tears streaming from his eyes, sweat pooling in the dip of his collarbone, hands clinging desperately to Hobie's clothes. He's trying to kiss Hobie's fingers, nipping and licking at them.

Hobie pulls his hand away, and Miles tries to kiss him instead. Miles's lips are parted, tongue darting out to try and taste him.

Hobie hesitates, fighting the urge to pull out completely, but finds his hips move forward to their own accord, pushing in again.

He lets Miles kiss him.

He kisses him back.

And it's awful.

It's nothing like kissing his past partners. But Miles is sweet against his mouth, moaning into the kiss as Hobie slides his cock in and out of him, his whole body wracked with pleasure. His hands are bruising Hobie's shoulders and there's a franticness to the motions, like at any moment Hobie will just pull away.

Hobie is shaking. His stomach is twisting, his heart pounding. Miles is pulling at his shirt, his hands sliding underneath to grip at his skin, and it feels so good that Hobie wants to throw up.

He breaks the kiss, resting his head on Miles's shoulder as he thrusts in and out, in and out. Miles is panting, chanting his name, begging for him not to stop. Hobie wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to run away.

But he can't.

He just keeps fucking the kid, trying to get this over with. Miles's voice is breaking as he cries, and Hobie doesn't know if it's from pleasure or pain. He doesn't stop, keeps moving in and out until Miles is shaking against him, and then--

And then--

Hobie feels it.

The walls of Miles's pussy are squeezing around his cock, rippling against it. He feels Miles's body jerk against his, and hears him let out a strangled cry, muffled against his own hand. His legs lock around his waist, his fingers digging into his skin. He's twitching against him, his pussy pulsing around him as his hips grind.

And it's like Hobie's body has been given permission.

He comes inside Miles, and it feels so good, so fucking good. It's the best orgasm of his life, his mind going blank as he spills into the kid.

He's in heaven, he's in hell, he's everywhere at once.

He rides it out, feeling Miles spasming around him.

When Miles's legs finally release him, Hobie doesn't collapse against his chest. He's quick to pull out, put space between them.

But, out of habit, he pauses to take one last look at Miles, the blissed out look on his face as he relaxes against the concrete, the come--his come--oozing between his spread legs.

He scrambles to his feet, nearly tripping over his own pants as he tugs them back up. He stumbles a few feet away and heaves, bile rising up the back of his throat and spewing onto the ground. He stands there, bent over, hands on his knees, trying to steady his breathing as he empties the contents of his stomach. He hears Miles make a confused noise behind him, but doesn't turn around.

"Feelin' better, mate?" he asks, panting, his voice rough.

"Yeah," Miles responds after a pause. Hobie is sure he's never heard such relief in his voice.

Hobie is already pulling on his mask before Miles can continue, ready to forget all of this.

"I should be saying something about 'dinner first', right?" Miles tries to joke as the sound of a long zipper permeates the air.

Hobie forces himself to laugh. It's all so stupid, so morbid and horrible. His throat feels like it's full of glass, but he's relieved to hear some normalcy in Miles's voice - nothing like the pleading arousal of before.

"If that was an invite," Hobie says dryly, "that's a resoundin' no."

"No! I was just… Uh... Well, thanks for your help."

"Don't mention it." Please.

"Are you--?"

"Just get some rest," Hobie stops him. He's already picking out home on his watch. "I'll see you around, yeah? Maybe next time I'll give you a bit more attention."

Miles snorts.

"Yeah, we'll see."

[kazoosandfannypacks]

"It Now Belongs To You" by kazoosandfannypacks

Chapter 5/10: The Swan at the Duckling Pairing: CaptainSwan Rating: T Word Count: (648/10.6K) Summary: When Emma and Killian receive a pair of magic beans as a wedding gift, they take a voyage on the Jolly Roger for their honeymoon- but a wrench is thrown into their romantic getaway when they run into a notorious pirate who's staked a claim on the Jolly Roger. Chapter Summary: Emma follows Killian into the tavern, and when his plans go awry, she sets in motion a plan of her own to save her husband's ship from Black Beard. Tags: post-canon, canon compliant, fluff, no smut, suggestive themes, alcohol, gambling, self indulgent fluff with a sprinkling of angst Author's notes: i apologize in advance for how short these next couple chapters are! Taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie [if you'd like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

 Emma hadn't gotten nearly the warm welcome in the pub that her husband had gotten (and she made a note to herself to hassle him about in later- all in jest, of course- her love was not fragile.) A few of the men had glanced up at her, and one or two whistled for her attention, but for her plan's sake, she payed them no heed, instead taking a seat at the bar, somewhere she could see Black Beard's table from.

 "I'll have what he's having." Emma said to the bartender, pointing at Black Beard. If she made it seem like she'd taken interest in Black Beard, it'd throw suspicion off her interest in their game.

 It wasn't that she didn't trust Killian to win, she just knew the best laid plans often go awry, and she was ready with a backup plan- not one she'd revealed to her husband, as there was no way he'd go along with it, and no need to bring it up unless he failed, and he couldn't.

 "You're not from around these parts, are you?" The barkeeper asked.

 "What would make you say that?"

 "I know people." He said. "And you'd be wise to stay away from those ones." He pointed at Black Beard's table, which she'd been watching out of the corner of her eye.

 "Really? And why's that?" Emma asked, watching Killian lay down his cards.

 "Two of the most feared captains in the realm- and crew as fearsome to boot. No place for a lady like you."

 Black Beard laid down a hand of cards as well, then laughed a full and hearty laugh- and Emma knew what this meant- time for plan B. She took a swig of the drink, dropped a couple coins on the counter and slid off the stool.

 "I'll be the judge of that." Emma told the bartender, taking off her cloak to uncover her low-cut dress and perfectly-tousled hair.

 She approached the table where Black Beard was holding the rigging piece and the magic bean, hoping he would be like most pirates- or most men, for that matter- the kind with only one thing on their mind.

 "Is it too late to deal me in?" Emma asked, leaning on the table, smiling coyly at Black Beard.

 "Emma?" Killian asked. "Swan, what're you doing?"

 "Ah," Black Beard smiled. "So this is that wench I've heard so much about."

 "And you must be the Captain Black Beard I've heard so much about." She held out her hand to him, and he took it and kissed it with a rum-soaked slobber. "The name's Emma."

 "Well then, Emma." Black Beard said, then turned to Hook. "I can see now why you traded your ship for this lass twice. Why, I'd even gamble away the Jolly Roger for a night with this wench."

 Black Beard laughed and took a swig of his drink, but Emma smiled. That was all she needed to hear.

 "Throw in the magic bean too and you've got a wager."

 Black Beard looked at her, then at Hook, then back at her, with a sickening smile and cruel laugh.

 "Honeymoon ain't even over and she's tired of you already, Jones?" He laughed at Killian. "How's that for poor form?" Then, he motioned to the crewmate in the seat next to Killian, and he got up so she could take a seat.

 Killian leaned over to Emma and whispered. "Emma, love, you don't have to do this. We should just cut our losses, and…"

 "Babe," Emma whispered, "trust me."

 "You're not the one I don't trust." He nodded toward Black Beard.

 "Don't worry about him." Emma said. "I've got a few aces up my sleeve too."

 "Now," Black Beard said. "If this domestic squabble is over, can we begin? The night won't stay young forever."

 Emma turned back to the table and smiled. "I'm in."

[thatforgottenbasilisk]

wouldn't it be really ironic if someone bombed bakugou's future hero agency

Word Count: 2072 (AO3) (My Fic Masterpost)

Originally Posted on 4/29/2024

Rating: T

Summary:

Mina's not having a great day.

She's not all that great at defusing homemade pipe bombs, and yet here she is. Defusing a homemade pipe bomb. That someone put in her own damn agency. Literally what the fuck.

For Whumptober 2023 Day 8, Prompt #2: Outnumbered

"I feel like today was supposed to go a certain way and then decided to go the opposite way."

Mina hears Denki complaining over the comms, and glances over to see him fighting off twelve different villains- of varying skillsets, fortunately- alone while she takes care of defusing the bomb that their leader decided to plant in a very populated mostly-corporate building. Their very populated mostly-corporate building, to be more accurate.

"Well I'm sorry, would you rather be the one trying to figure out if this is a Type A or Type B pipe bomb? One of them you cut the red wire! The other kind goes off when you cut the red wire! No pressure!" Mina snipes back over the communicator, more aggravated at the situation than anything Denki's doing or saying.

"No! No! I'm sorry! Please don't put me on bomb duty!" Denki babbles frantically into his mic, and Mina at least gets a little giggle out of that.

"I'll be on bomb duty!" Katsuki yells into the communicator, and Mina rolls her eyes- not that he can see it. He's definitely the best at defusing bombs, because he's a maniac about details and bombs are all about details, but Mina's their second-best and she is also the only option for a particularly glaring reason.

"It's connected to a timer that has about three minutes left. You're in Okinawa. You will not be on bomb duty." The only reason their comms are even connected from this far away is because Hatsume upgraded the standard communicators for all licensed Pros a month ago in order to use cell towers instead of short-range wireless transmission. Thus, Katsuki and Eijirou decided to take their comms on their honeymoon, 'in case of an emergency,' according to Eijirou, and 'to laugh at your stupid problems,' according to Katsuki.

"But I'm so good at bombs! Tell me about the bomb. I will defuse it through you." Reason number two that Katsuki's not on bomb duty: he's drunk as a fucking skunk. Eijirou, though he took his comm out a few minutes before all this started going down, isn't faring much better. She can hear him in the background.

"Shut the fuck up about the bomb! Someone get me backup, they have some kind of sleeping gas they used to take two sidekicks hostage!" Hanta cuts in, and Mina goes back to focusing on the bomb. The marketing and R&D departments have both been cleared out, but she's still sitting in an empty office bullpen on the ground floor, below where a bunch of villains have somehow figured out that Eijirou and Katsuki picked this week to have their honeymoon. They had a big public wedding six months ago, and told everyone the honeymoon would be 'random' so nobody tried anything in their absence. Clearly, this did not work as well as intended.

"On it! I'm going on the main channel!" Denki responds, and starts furiously tapping at his comm to shuffle through the available channels. There's one for intra-agency communication, another for area communication- which is usually restricted to the nearest agency, which is just them, so no point- and another for all on-duty Pros. Plus more channels, but Hatsume didn't tell her where all of them connect to.

"Which sidekicks?" Mina asks idly, tracing the path of a blue wire with her finger. It connects to a canister on one side, and the timer on the other, but she doesn't know if that canister is a weird homemade battery thing or a weird homemade explosive thing. Should she just melt the explosive part when she figures it out? Sometimes that worked at UA, even though she kept getting points off for it. The last time she defused a bomb wasn't nearly this hard, but then again, she also didn't keep having to duck to avoid random objects or people being thrown in her direction.

"Radroach and Vultura." Hanta reports, and Mina sighs in disappointment. Radroach is the textbook definition of a tank, if a bit young and in need of direction, and Vultura's very quick and sneaky. With both of them taken out, they're all in much worse shape than before.

"Hey, uh, if anyone happens to be near the Ground Zero agency, we're kind of being attacked by a lot more people than we have people?" Denki's voice rings out on the main channel, which cuts in through all private channels as well as anyone who's on the main channel. He has a talent for sounding uncertain even in these kinds of situations where they definitely need backup ASAP.

It takes a minute or two of total silence over the comms, and the sound of both distant and nearby fighting before anybody responds.

"This is Ingenium II, ETA one minute. Do I want to know what I'm getting into?" Thank fuck for Iida. Super speed and a preternatural ability to be near disaster zones right where he's needed proves to be a godsend time and again, and today is definitely no exception.

"... They have a bomb?" Denki says, seemingly fully aware of the irony of that statement. Iida audibly sighs over the comms, but Mina's pretty sure he hadn't meant for that to be broadcast.

"Thank you, Class President!" She chirps, and Denki and Hanta echo it. Iida just sighs in disappointment at all of them.

True to form, he comes in through the front a few moments later, and Mina puts both of her hands up and steps back from the pipe bomb. "It seems super homemade to me, I can't make heads or tails of it. Let me know if you want me to melt anything!" With that, she relinquishes bomb duty to Iida, who takes it in stride.

"Please don't put acid on anything that could be a chemical explosive." Iida sounds tired already and he's only been here a couple of seconds. His armor looks scuffed from something that didn't happen here, and she kind of wonders what part of his shift he's on.

"Okay! Hanta, I'm on my way up!" She says to Iida and Hanta respectively, and starts running up the stairs towards the third floor, where Hanta and their sidekicks have everyone cornered.

"They went upstairs! Go there!" Hanta shouts back, and Mina guesses that he and their sidekicks had everyone cornered on the third floor. The elevators are out of service- contingency response to the 'attack alarm' being pulled, since the squishy people are on the bottom floors and therefore are less likely to need the elevators- so it should be easy for her to find which floor everybody's in.

Sure enough, the door to the fourth floor has been ripped off its hinges- why, she doesn't know- and she can hear sounds coming from inside. Remembering what Hanta said about the knockout gas, she puts her outer jacket over her nose and mouth before going inside.

Fourth floor, fourth floor... she never goes here, what the hell is on the fourth floor? She knows that people work here, she's pretty sure they're some level of squishy since she sees office desks and they're close enough to the ground floor, but she can't for the life of her remember what goes on here. She tiptoes inside, looking around for anybody causing damage or something, and she spots three people going through drawers on the other side of the room.

Thankfully, it seems like it's just these three, and one of them has their whole face exposed- not enough to rule out sleeping gas happening at the moment, but enough to suspect it's not too much of an issue right now.

"So, are you guys trying to rob us? Because all our money's at the bank, you should probably go there if you want it all that bad. Honestly, I don't know what you're looking for other than, I don't know, bruises on your bruises." Mina calls out, mentally cursing the muffled quality of her voice that comes from her makeshift gas mask. It makes the announcement much less cinematic. Thankfully, all three of the villains startle and stare at her in comedic surprise, so she's still winning in the end on that one.

"Like, are you trying to get chemical burns? Because attacking this agency specifically is how you get chemical burns." She continues, and she's not even lying- Katsuki's explosions are nitroglycerin-powered, so any damage they do classifies as 'chemical burns,' not to mention if anyone even touches any of her acid. Even the high-pH stuff is still pretty risky to anyone who's not prepared.

"We've got two of your sidekicks downstairs- " One of the villains starts, and stops when she holds up a single finger in the universal gesture for wait.

"Listen, girliepop," It should be noted that all of these villains are male, but girliepop is a state of mind, "Whatever is going on downstairs is none of my concern. I trust my coworkers, y'know? Why would I start an agency with them if I didn't trust them?" She asks, rhetorically, and doesn't wait for an answer.

"Look, I get it, we have something that you want and you don't know the word 'please.' And that's okay! We can all learn together! For example, if you could please turn yourselves in, nobody has to get hurt!" She finishes fake-sweetly, doing her best impression of a preschool teacher just for the fact that it's more annoying. She loves being annoying to people who piss her off, and making her defuse a homemade bomb is a one-way ticket to pissing her way the fuck off.

"No can do, sweetheart." A different villain says, and Mina's decided to be drop all pretenses of fake niceness. Nobody calls her sweetheart except her mom. Fuck these guys.

"Suit yourselves!" She says, and picks up a desk with one hand. They barely have enough time to duck before it's sailed across the room, and someone makes the mistake of looking back up as she's throwing a second one.

"Oooh! Headshot! How many points do I get?" She shouts as she starts walking closer. These desks aren't heavy enough to do anything better than knocking someone out, even after sailing across a room first- the worst injury that guy's got is a broken nose and maybe a concussion.

Somebody vaults over the desk he's hiding behind- brave of him- and starts running at her, with something on his arms starting to glow. Probably his quirk, and she probably doesn't want to be touching that, so she ducks down and kicks his kneecap in before he even reaches her. There's going to be so much paperwork about breaking someone's bones, she already knows, but this entire incident is already riddled with paperwork so maybe who cares?

Besides, he was about to attack her with his quirk and she didn't even use hers. Plus, she's kind of hit the limit on her patience for today, so not a lot of holds are barred right now.

"Okay! Okay! I surrender!" The last guy stands up from behind the desk, and she grabs the handcuffs off her belt and skips over to him, because why not. Someone here is finally seeing sense.

"Hold your hands out, then!" The guy, shaking, holds both his hands out before Mina realizes the cops aren't here yet, so there's nowhere she can actually put him without risk that he's going to do something. She cuffs one of his hands- the right, because it's statistically likely to be his dominant hand- and thinks about where she should put the other handcuff.

"Ah! Come on, we're going to the stairs!" In an attempt at a frog-march, she half-drags the man out to the stairs and handcuffs him to the railing. "There! Now stay still for a minute."

With that, she goes back into the bullpen and grabs a bunch of zipties from a nearby drawer. She should really start carrying more handcuffs on her, but in her defense, she's not a cop and she was in her own agency. Everyone else gets the privilege of zipties on their wrists and ankles, like she's some kind of vigilante, but again: no handcuffs. If they wanted those, they should've attacked her when she wasn't in her agency.

"Hey guys, do you need help anywhere downstairs? I'm done!" She calls out on comms, and gets a bunch of general 'same here' responses.

[notxjustxstories]

Traitor

kinktober day 4: hate sex 18+ only; minors dni

summary: the sailor senshi think they have a new ally, but Minako knows better.

ship: Kaia Luthor (quasi-oc) x Minako Aino

wordcount: 1728

tags/warnings: hate sex, consent not explicitly given, mild bondage, vaginal fingering, violent fantasies (not acted upon), mild painplay

kinktober 2022 masterlist | kaia luthor tag | kaia/minako masterlist

The other girls were grateful for the help; Sailor Venus would be lying if she said she wasn’t, too. But it shouldn’t have come in the form of a redheaded woman in a grey suit reminiscent of the shittenou. It seemed Sailor Venus was the only one to take issue with her appearance- hardly a surprise since her memories of the Silver Millennium were the clearest.

“Go home and get some sleep,” she ordered the remaining senshi. “Last I checked, we all have work tomorrow.” She didn’t wait for them to follow her orders, instead chasing after the woman in grey. Her saving grace was that the woman was headed in the same direction as Minako’s apartment, while the girls lived in different areas of the city and wouldn’t be close enough to her place to notice.

The woman landed on a balcony and slipped inside, not even bothering to check for spies. Amateur.

Sailor Venus followed, sliding the glass door open and closing it behind her without a peep. She recognized the hotel- highly Americanized right down to the coffee options. She heard the sink running in the bathroom, and she removed her belt, ready to use it if necessary.

The water turned off, and after a moment, the redheaded woman came out, freezing at the sight of the heroine. She looked different yet exactly the same; the magic that protected the senshi’s identities obviously protected hers as well, but only one person had gone into the room.

“S-Sailor Venus,” she stammered. “Is there a youma?”

“Cut the crap, Beryl.”

The confusion and fear left the woman’s face, but some of the surprise stayed when she scowled. “And here I thought I’d at least get ‘Tanzanite.’ I know you lot welcomed Endymion back after his little trip on the dark side. I wasn’t even turned in this life.”

Venus scoffed. “Only because she still had your past life’s corpse. You lost the right to the title Tanzanite the moment you decided to go after Beryl without backup.”

“I only went because no one believed me. Because I was Earth’s second born, there was no way I could be so attuned to my planet that I sensed a darkness no one else could,” the woman countered. “Everyone let me think I was going insane and completely ignored the warning signs that I was being primed for possession by a vengeful sun goddess and her pet demon! Even the woman who claimed to love me more than anyone else.”

“You betrayed us, Isolde,” Venus spat out.

“You betrayed me first, Freya.”

Venus wasn’t sure when she’d gotten close enough to the woman for their chests to nearly be touching, but it didn’t matter. Close enough was close enough. She surged forward, hands going to Tanzanite’s cheeks as she captured her in a kiss, the redhead stumbling back into a wall.

Tanzanite- well, she wasn’t exactly Tanzanite in a silk camisole and shorts, now was she?- responded immediately, hands skimming under Venus’s skirt to grab her bottom and pull her in closer, grinding their bodies together.

Venus had dropped her belt at some point, and a small, sadistic part of her mourned the fact that she couldn’t tie the woman up right that second, or use the weapon to strangle her and watch the life leave her eyes. It was the greatest risk of being a soldier: you didn’t just witness horrible acts, you committed them as well.

Freya had envied that in Isolde, before the possession of course. Isolde’s shittenou title was honorific at best, meant to placate her when Endymion and the rest would spar and she wanted to join. Not once did she see true battle until after it was no longer her mind controlling her actions.

She’d tried to hide her anger, her bitterness, her battle scars. She treated Isolde like the princess she was and saved her violence for other consenting partners. Even when Isolde did see one of the scars (never the anger, never the bitterness), she treated it like holy ground, laying soft kisses upon them or tracing her fingers along the ridges with a strange sort of reverence. Never mind the fact that a few had come from the people of her own planet who sought to hurt Serenity.

Running her fingers over Tanzanite’s shoulders and arms, Venus realized she had finally picked up some battle scars as well. She pinched the raised line on Tanzanite’s arm, smirking at the yelp it elicited. It wasn’t so much that the scar hurt, or even that Venus had pinched too hard, but a reminder of whatever it was that left a permanent mark on her body.

Venus wrapped her arms around Tanzanite and pulled her from the wall, turning around just to push her down roughly on the bed. Their eyes met, and Venus saw the same tempered rage she felt in Tanzanite’s eyes. She reached down, picking up her belt as Tanzanite scooted further onto the bed, letting her head fall back on the pillow.

Slowly, Venus climbed up on the bed, straddling Tanzanite’s hips. The way she grabbed the redhead’s arms was tougher than it needed to be, but she took great care in delicately wrapping the length of heart-shaped chains around her wrists. “You’ll still give me anything I want,” the blonde taunted. “So much for that ‘fearless general, protector of the Earth’ thing. You’re just a sad little princess begging for someone to love her.”

She should’ve expected the hit to the face. It might’ve just been a slap if Sailor Venus hadn’t tied Tanzanite’s wrists together, but getting two joined fists to the face knocked her off of the redhead, only her calf managing to stay atop the woman. With a groan, she pulled herself back up, glaring down at her… what was she? Ex-lover didn’t feel appropriate with what Venus had planned, but fuck-buddy implied a sense of emotional attachment, or worse, that they were friends.

Sailor Venus knew that she’d gone too far- pressed into a scar that wasn’t one yet, still an open wound. Might always be an open wound. But she wasn’t going to let that stop her, let her turn into mush and pretend everything was okay. There was too much rage in her heart for that.

She grabbed the bindings around Tanzanite’s wrists and jerked her up to a seated position, then kissed her with a force she forgot she had. Her teeth nipped at Tanzanite’s lips, earning whimpering moans from the redhead, and their hips rocked together. With all the other stimulation, Tanzanite didn’t even notice what Venus’s hands were doing.

The moment Tanzanite tried to reach out to her, Sailor Venus pulled back and smirked, watching the realization don on the other woman. The leftover piece of chain wrapped around behind the lowest part of her neck, then back to the front around her wrists, circling two more times. She wouldn’t have any problems breathing, but she would be acutely aware of just how much she was at the mercy of Venus.

A soft whine escaped Tanzanite, and she leaned forward, trying to get the friction she desired and touch Venus, but the blonde just put a hand on Tanzanite’s wrists and pushed her back onto the bed- this time intending to use her supernatural strength.

“You shouldn’t have hit me.”

“You shouldn’t have said those things.”

“Maybe not, but I’m not the one tied up.” Sailor Venus lowered herself onto Tanzanite, kissing and sucking up along her jaw. It would’ve been her neck, but she didn’t want to risk accidentally moving the chain to a spot that might actually cut off her oxygen. “Brings back memories, huh?”

A soft cry escaped Tanzanite as she leaned her head back to grant Sailor Venus better access.

“Remind me… when was the last time I had you like this?”

It was a bluff and they both knew the other remembered damn well. Still, Tanzanite took a shaky breath and answered. “My birthday,” she whispered. “You and Bassel took turns fucking me and eating me out all night long.”

“Until you were a writhing, overstimulated mess.” Sailor Venus ran her fingers through Tanzanite’s hair, suddenly unable to hide her affection. “And now I get to do it again. Only this time I won’t be merciful.”

Tanzanite took in a shuddering breath, unable to stop the soft “please” that escaped her lips as Sailor Venus made her way down her body.

Venus tilted her head tauntingly to the side. “Please what?” she asked. Her fingers played with the hem of Tanzanite’s shorts, slowly dragging them down, along with her panties.

Another whine escaped Tanzanite before she finally gave in. “Please fuck me,” she begged.

“Well… since you asked so nicely.”

Venus yanked her shorts and underwear down before discarding them carelessly to the side, then she lowered her body to take Tanzanite’s in. Another scar was visible on her hip, and she sank her teeth in- something her partner was unaccustomed to if Tanzanite’s howl was anything to go by. One hand drifted over the outside of her thigh, feeling a patch of skin that didn’t quite feel like the rest, and she brought her open palm down on it. The moan that fell from Tanzanite’s lips was intoxicating.

She removed her gloves, then her fingers moved inward, and she gently drifted them over Tanzanite’s slit. A cry caught in the redhead’s throat, and Sailor Venus laughed. “Even after everything you did, you still get soaked before I have the chance to touch you.”

Another whimper. Another plea.

“And then you were always so sensitive to my touch,” Sailor Venus continued. “I barely had to do anything. All it took was one finger on your clit-” she placed her thumb there, drawing tiny circles- “one in that pretty little cunt-” her index finger slid in without resistance- “and just the right angle…”

When she crooked her finger, Tanzanite came apart, moaning and jerking and desperately trying to touch Sailor Venus, but to no avail.

As she came down, Sailor Venus lifted her hand to her mouth, sucking them clean of Tanzanite’s juices. “Hm… you still taste the same.” At the subsequent whimper and plea to be unbound, Sailor Venus let out a tiny laugh.

“Darling, you signed up for all night, remember?”