#the time when i was giffing this i was busy picking up my jaw from the floor

[linusbenjamin]

Tom Hiddleston behind the scenes of 'The Making of Loki S2'

#marveledit #tvedit #tom hiddleston #loki #lokiedit #userelysia #userlaurianne #tuserpolly #nikolatexla #the time when i was giffing this i was busy picking up my jaw from the floor #how can someone look this good in baggy clothes and loafers

[bradleyfuckingbradshaw]

All too well

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Summary: You're at dinner with your boyfriend and some of his colleagues at a restaurant he chose when you look over the menu and realize there's no vegetarian option, but he's too busy with his friends to realize that. Bradley isn't.

A/N Ignore the text on the gif. It was just perfect for this fic

"Babe, did you say this was formal or more casual?" you yell from the bedroom. Clothes are currently covering the bed as you attempt to find the perfect outfit for tonight. It's the first time he's ever brought you to an event with his colleagues from the Navy, and you want to make sure you look like someone who belongs next to him.

"I sort of like you like this," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you from behind. You chuckle as you peel off his hands from your exposed stomach.

"You're saying I can go in my underwear?" He seems to consider it for just a moment before he picks up a black turtleneck.

"It's more casual than formal. Wear this. You always look amazing in it." He places a kiss on your cheek before leaving you to get ready. Carefully, you paint your lips red as the final touch before grabbing your bag.

"So, who exactly are we meeting?" You gently scratch his neck with your nails as he drives.

"Just a few of my colleagues from Top Gun. For the first time in a few years, we're all stationed in the same area. I'll introduce you when we get there," he says, keeping his eyes on the road. The rain is pouring down heavy outside, and you find yourself thanking the universe for the inkling you'd had when you left home to bring an umbrella.

"Damn, looks like we're the last to arrive," he mumbles, parking as close to the restaurant as possible. He grabs the umbrella and gets out. You wait for exactly thirty seconds before you realize that he's not coming to open your door. He actually just left you without an umbrella in the pouring rain. You roll down the window slightly to yell after him at the same time as he turns around.

"Could you grab the keys? I think I dropped them on the floor." Rightly so, the keys are on the floor of the car. But you're still without an umbrella, and he hasn't even noticed that you haven't gotten out of the car yet. As they start moving inside, one of them breaks apart from the group and rushes over to the car. Even though you're pissed, you put on a smile as he opens the door.

"Figured you might prefer to stay dry," the stranger laughs except he's not a stranger at all. No, you know that voice very well. Your smile tightens when you look into Bradley Bradshaw's taupe eyes. His jaw drops when he notices who you are.

"Shit," he breathes, but you're not about to let this ruin the night.

"Tonight is a big night for him." He nods - just once. And then he walks you to the door, making sure to cover you with his umbrella. Thankfully, there's an empty seat right next to him, and you hurry over to occupy it. Introductions are made, and you should get an Oscar for how well you pretend to have never ever heard the name Bradley Bradshaw before.

"So, Y/N, what do you pass the time with while this knucklehead is away?" the girl, Phoenix, asks with a kind smile. You're about to answer when he cuts in.

"Knucklehead? Who are you calling a knucklehead, Slippery Joe?" Then he embarks on the story of how Phoenix came to be known as Slippery Joe for dropping several valuable engine pieces and breaking every single one of them. You try to smile as they all joke around because you know how happy he is about tonight. So, you look over the menu and to your horror, you notice there's not a single vegetarian meal on this.

"Babe," you say quietly to get his attention, but he's too busy talking to one of the guys you can't remember the name of. That's when you notice Bradley staring directly at you with a menu in hand. You give him a pointed look.

Keep your mouth shut.

Only if you say something yourself.

Once again, you attempt to discretely get the attention of your boyfriend. You try to intertwine your fingers with his, but he moves his hand and inadvertently claps your hand before dropping it. With burning cheeks, you excuse yourself and head up to the bar.

"Is there any chance you can prepare a vegetarian dish?" you ask one of the waiters who passes by. She gives you a funny look, and you're well aware of the irony of asking that question at a steak house.

"The best we can offer is the salad bar," she apologizes before rushing off to another table. When you turn around, Bradley is standing right there.

"He picked the restaurant, you know." Clenching your jaw to keep from outright crying, you walk past him without even acknowledging him.

"He dropped your hand. What sort of dick does that?" Of course he noticed. Spinning around, you point to his chest.

"Not another word, okay? We happened years ago. You don't get to pretend like you know me or my relationship now," you say in a hushed voice to keep the rest of the table from hearing it. With a heavy heart, you return to your seat where your boyfriend continues to completely ignore your existence.

When the waiter comes over, you keep quiet while everyone else orders. When it finally becomes your turn, you smile and say: "I'm not that hungry, so can I just have the salad bar as my meal?" All the guys start howling and crying about how you can't turn down the meat in this place. You insist that you're not really that hungry even as Bradley looks like he's about to explode.

"If you're worried about the bill, I can cover it," your boyfriend whispers, and you can't believe that he thinks this is about money.

"I can't eat a single thing here. I don't eat meat." You try to keep your tone neutral, but you can't help sounding a little disappointed in him.

"Really, you want to pick a fight right now?" Before you even have a chance to respond, he turns back to his friends and throws himself into the conversation. Dumbstruck by his audacity, you keep quiet as the night goes on. Every time someone tries to bring you in to the conversation, he finds a way to make it all about him. And you really try to tell yourself that these people are his friends and he hasn't seen them in forever, but you can't help the nagging feeling that he'd prefer it if you weren't here. Too engrossed in the role of entertainer, he doesn't even notice when Bradley slides a plate of fries across the table to you.

'Clean' he mouths and then rejoins the conversation. With a grumbling stomach, you pull the fries over and notices that he's used his bread plate to make sure they haven't been touched by the meat juice. Despite your best intentions, you can't help but smile as you dig in. But the joy is short-lasting when your boyfriend finally notices.

"You could've just told me if you wanted fries," he says, giving Bradley a side eye that he politely ignores. But you see the smirk he's trying to hide.

"I think I need some air before dessert," you excuse yourself and walk outside. The rain has finally stopped so you take a deep breath and revel in the smell of wet earth.

"Petrichor."

"What?"

"Petrichor. It's what the smell after rain is called." You don't have to be a mind reader to know he too is remembering mornings spent on the balcony right after heavy rain.

"Right." Wrapping your arms around yourself, you take several deep breaths. Suddenly, a coat is draped across your shoulders.

"I know you get cold," he mumbles looking just about every direction except for yours. For once, you accept his kindness. Together, you enjoy the quietness of the evening as the party continues on inside.

"I know this isn't my place to ask but what the hell are you doing with that guy?" You don't immediately shut him down even though you should. This is dangerous territory.

"He's not normally like this," is your only response. And it's true. He's not normally this bad, but he doesn't always treat you like you deserve. You know. You've had many conversations with him about it.

"So, the Navy, huh? I didn't think you wanted that." You'd known Bradley when you were both young, and he'd sworn he wouldn't follow in his dad's footsteps if only to keep his mother from worrying.

"I didn't know what else to do when you left for college. I needed some sort of structure. The Navy offered me that and then I realized just how badly I wanted to be there." He takes a step towards you, and you're stupid enough to stay put. You and Bradley didn't break up because you stopped loving each other.

"What are you doing with him?" he asks again. This time quietly and... hurt? And you truly don't have an answer for Bradley because in this moment in time, you have no idea.

"Why do you care?" you counter.

"Because I love you. Always have, always will," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. You take several steps back to create some space between you.

"You can't just say stuff like that!" you exclaim.

"Why not? I've flown with him, I've seen him with other women. He is a prick and one of the worst ones." You push past him and lets his coat drop to the floor before entering the restaurant again.

"Hey, I'm not feeling too good. I'll grab a cab home," you whisper and he doesn't even bother to offer to drive you home. He just smiles at you briefly before returning to the conversation. Making a beeline for the parking lot, you try to ignore Bradley. Even as he comes over to stand next to you. And especially as you start shivering from the cold. He doesn't dare offer you his coat this time.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have sprung that on you."

"No, you shouldn't have." A silence much different from before settles on you as you wait for the cab. You rub your arms to try to stay warm but it's impossible. God, why didn't you just bring a coat?

"I can drive you home. It's no problem." You wait at least five more minutes before you begrudgingly walk over to his car. He tries and fails to hide the smirk on his face when he doesn't even have to point it out to you.

"I remember stuff too," you say under your breath as you get in. This has always been his dream car. Even at the age of 16 with absolutely no money or prospects to ever earn enough money to pay for this. The drive back is quiet but you're so acutely aware of how close he is to you, you feel like you're going insane. He looks good. Even you can't deny that. And his cologne... God, his cologne is going to be the reason you lose your last shred of dignity.

"Thanks for the ride," you say once he pulls over outside your apartment.

"No problem." Get out of the car. You tell yourself over and over to get out of the car, but your body seems to have grown roots. Finally, you look over at Bradley only to find that he's already watching you.

"I won't invite you in." Because I might do something I'll regret.

"Okay." Just get out of the damn car... He's too close, and you can't think straight.

"For what it's worth I'd never treat you like that." For just a brief second, you try to convince yourself that you heard wrong, but you know he really just said that.

"I know." He inhales sharply but keeps quiet otherwise - letting you decide how to end the night. Seeing him, hearing his voice, it's all bringing back feelings you've kept buried for so long. You never imagined that you'd see him again but now he's sitting right next to you, and you can't ignore that feeling in your chest. Your heart used to beat for Bradley Bradshaw... it still does. Painfully slow, you reach out to grab his hand. He clutches it tightly in his.

"I've missed you," he whispers, baring his heart to you. Nothing happens that night. You need to end things with your boyfriend, be a decent person. But a week later, Bradley knocks on your door and when you open it, he kisses you instantly. Your hands are in his hair and his... they roam every curve of your body. He groans as you kiss his neck and let your tongue lick that sensitive spot right below his ear.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs.

"Take me to the bedroom, Lieutenant."

#rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw fic #top gun rooster #rooster x you #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun #top gun fic #top gun blurb #top gun fanfiction #top gun spoilers #top gun maverick #top gun movie

[queenariesofnarnia]

the general and her boys

gif not mine!

wc: 2,025

fraternal poly! bad batch x f!reader (absolutely no clonecest)

warnings: 18+ content! mdni! porn with a sprinkle of plot in the beginning, nothing crazy, group sex, praise kink, use of sarge, anal, piv, unprotected, cum swallowing, oral (m receiving), handjobs, and i think that is it!

✨✨✨✨

All you asked for was a night of rest since you’re finally on shore leave. A night in your secret apartment gifted to you by Padme. Relaxing in your silk robe that matched the red in your squad’s armor, lined with black lace. You accomplished most of the self-care routine you planned for the night. Sipping on a glass of wine you picked up on Naboo, enjoying a trashy holofilm.  Several knocks echoed through your apartment interrupting the climax of the film. You had a feeling this was going to happen, even though they promised you not to start a fight with the regs. You entered the code to the door, meeting five sets of eyes as it whooshed open. Standing to the side letting them in to find a seat.

“I don’t want to hear about who started it or why you got involved” you grumbled sitting back in your original spot which now has you nestled between Tech and Crosshair.

“We’re sorry general” Hunter’s gruff voice sounds over the film you went back to watching. You glance at him and nod before turning your attention back to the screen. Wrecker helped himself to whatever snacks he could find in your kitchen.

“Wrecker, were you even going to ask if helping yourself to the general’s food was okay?” Echo was the one to question the large clone.

“I don’t care at this point. That’s why I have snacks in the first place. I knew my night alone wasn’t going to last” you tell Echo without breaking your focus from the screen. Finishing your wine, you placed your glass on the table before leaning over Tech who was busy with his datapad to grab the bottle on the side table. This gave Crosshair and Hunter a view up your robe, while Echo and Wrecker had a view down your robe. Plopping back down to refill your glass the room went quiet except for the film ending.

“Why didn’t you ask me general?” Tech broke the silence amongst your squad.

“You seemed busy, so I just did what was easy” you sent him a smile before taking a sip of from your glass. Crosshair took the bottle from your hand taking a quick swig before passing it to Hunter who had his hand out towards his brother.

“Don’t worry about why she didn’t ask Tech. Let’s talk about how the pretty little general gave us a little show as she reached over you.” Crosshair informs his brother placing his gloved hand on your thigh. The action made you take a gulp of your wine.

“What’s under the robe mesh’la?” Hunter whispers in your ear causing you to jump since you didn’t notice he left his previous spot.

“Tech start recording” Wrecker chuckles at the order given by Crosshair.

“I have been recording since the moment she opened the door” Tech says a smirk reaching his face. In this moment you knew you were in for it. You jokingly flirt with the guys all the time. However, you never thought it would lead you here. Echo was now sitting with his legs crossed intrigued by what is unfolding in front of him.

“Take the robe off for us sarad” Crosshair orders you giving your thigh a squeeze. You stood after chugging down the rest of the wine for the courage you will need tonight to survive. Back facing them you untied the robe letting it glide off your shoulders hitting the floor. Your spine tattoo now exposed to them. Each of their helmets and their names written by them decorated your spine. A chorus of groans sounded in the quiet living room as they took in the sight of your tattoo and your backside.

“Turn around for us little tooka” Wrecker’s voice cracking at his own request. Their jaws dropped when you turned around. The signature skull and 99 inked above your left breast, a loth wolf started at your waist ending at your mid-thigh, a 5, a crescent, and jaig eyes decorated your left bicep.

“When did you get all these tattoos cyar’ika?” Tech’s question breaking the trance his brothers were in as they stopped looking at the tattoos that decorated your body and back to your face.

“We can discuss that later. Now is there a real reason why I’m naked?” you questioned smirking your arms crossed beneath your breasts pushing them up.

“Get in the bed and we can show you” Hunter’s voice sounding deeper than usual makes your stomach flutter and your pussy tingle. Making your way past them without a word your hips swaying as you make it down the hall into your room. In about five minutes after the boys have taken their armor and blacks off they were surrounding your giant bed. You pretended to be busy with your datapad until it was snatched from your grip by Crosshair. He tosses it on the lounge chair in the corner of your room.

“Get on all fours mesh’la” Hunter instructs you. Immediately obeying, they command you to arch your back for them. The cool air in the room hitting your back side showing off your anal plug.

“She looks so pretty” Wrecker groans palming his cock. The others agreeing each walking around you to get their own perfect view of you.

“Wrecker get in front of her. Crosshair, Tech each of you take a side, Echo get behind her and mesh’la let me get under you.” Hunter gives out instructions. You never expected this moment a pleasant tingle was sent through your body as each of them found their spots round you. You were thankful for a big enough bed, so Wrecker fit in front of you nicely. Echo removed the plug from your puckered hole slowly. The mewl it pulled from your lips made each cock twitch. You spit in each hand before wrapping one of them around Crosshair’s and the other around Tech’s length beginning to slowly pump each of them. Hunter’s skilled fingers quickly found your soaking pussy dipping to fingers in, and Wrecker tapped the head of his cock silently directing you to open your mouth. Opening your mouth wide, tongue licking the underside of his shaft before taking him in your mouth. This was Echo’s opportunity to position himself before entering your ass. Feeling him stretch you made you moan around Wrecker’s length as Hunter’s fingers found your clit, whilst mouth attached to your nipple. Hunter continued to toy with your clit which was bringing you to the edge quicker than you would hope. The sensation of his mouth attached to your nipple turned you into a moaning mess. Each of your boys whispering praises to you.

“Look how pretty you are” “Kriff, you feel good” “Just like that sarad” “You look exquisite” you took praise well. Echo’s scomp was resting on you lower back and you enjoyed the cool metallic feeling. You could feel Hunter line up with your pussy with one thrust up he was buried in you to the hilt. He and Echo took their turns thrusting in and out of you at a brutal pace. Hunter’s fingers still rubbing your clit and quitting before you could finish each time, he took you there. He left his marks all over your breasts. Wrecker’s thrusts were faltering each time you moaned around him. Using the precum from Crosshair and Tech’s cocks was helpful since spitting on your hand would have been a challenge. Crosshair doing his best not to fall apart and Tech not caring that he was practically melting under your touch.

“I’m not going to last like this pretty girl” Wrecker’s sentence was broken up between each thrust. “You gonna let me cum in your mouth?” you nod your eyes glossed with tears and your moans desperate. His final thrust you felt the warmth of his seed hit the back of your throat before pulling out to finish the rest of his load on your face. Smiling at him before swallowing.

“I hope you got that Tech” Crosshair said before a string of curses leave his mouth. Tech could only nod.

“Tech come here” you gesture in front of your face and take him in your mouth. Using your now free hand to cup and squeeze his balls. You knew he wasn’t going to last long so when you pulled back you slowly grazed your teeth on the underside of his shaft, before taking him back in your mouth all at once. When you gagged on him, he couldn’t help but release in your mouth making sure each drop was in your mouth before he pulled out your mouth.

“Go ahead and smile for me cyar’ika” he instructs you his hand wrapping around your throat making you him in the eyes. You smile again showing him his cum. “You may swallow” he nods at you and pulls away. Placing a kiss on the top of your head thanking you. Crosshair took over stroking himself for you.

“I’m going to paint your face now sarad. But I’ll be in you later.” He hissed before releasing all over your face and hair. Smirking at your cum covered face he gets off the bed.

“Do you want me inside or do you want me to pull out cyare” Echo’s tone is soft yet rough as he whispers the question in your ear.

“In me please” you whimper biting into Hunter’s shoulder. He pulled out for a moment for Echo to finish. Rough fingers gently wrapping around the back of your neck pulling you in for a keldabe kiss. Echo leans down placing a kiss on your shoulder as his thrust falter, releasing in your ass. He waits a few seconds before pulling out of you slowly, putting the plug back in you until Hunter has his turn to finish. When he got off the bed, he made his way to the lounge chair in the corner. Hunter flipped you over with ease, guiding his cock back to your entrance thrusting in you at a rough pace, bending your legs back to where your knees touched your chest with one hand. With the other his thumb circled your clit.

“Go ahead and beg for it mesh’la” His sergeant voice making your walls clench around him. “You look so pretty all used by us” he whispers in your ear nibbling your earlobe as he pulls away. “I know your close mesh’la beg for it. That’s the only way I’ll cum in you.” His pace made you lose your train of thought.

“Kriff, Hunter may I please cum?” your tone is airy as you gasp between words.

“No. You can do better than that. Come on mesh’la” he pulls his thumb away right when you could feel yourself at your peak. You let out a string of curses that make Crosshair huff with laughter.

“May I please cum Sarge? Pretty please” the neediness evident in your tone. His thumb returned to your clit as you kept mumbling ‘please’ for your release.

“Go ahead” he grants. The moan you release higher than you expected as your back arches. Your pussy convulsing around his cock. Moments later he collapses on top of you, painting your walls with his cum. Placing a soft kiss on your neck rolling off of you. Once he moves Echo comes back over to gently tug the plug out to let his seed pour out your other used hole. Tech making sure he gets this part for their recording.

“You did so well for us general” Hunter compliments. You could only smile and nod. You could feel the exhaustion. Crosshair went into your fresher to get you a warm cloth to clean you up with. Wrecker went to the kitchen to get you a snack and get dressed. Tech, Hunter, and Echo went to put the bottom halves of their blacks back on before coming back to your bed. Crosshair cleaned you up before going to grab his bottoms. You’re snuggled up in between them all as they pile in your bed to cuddle. A moment you could only hope to get on camera one day.

#tbb hunter x reader #tbb tech #tbb crosshair x reader #the bad batch x reader #tech x reader #wrecker x reader #crosshair x reader #echo x reader #the bad batch #clone force 99 #clone troopers #the clone wars #xreader

[gaysindistress]

When Night Comes - five

Summary: Who would win in a staring contest? New York’s resident mob boss and master of the side eye Bucky Barnes or the daycare teacher who really wants to go home and smoke?

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings:  mob!Bucky isn’t the nicest this chapter, mentions of death and blood, cursing

word count: 3.7k

four | masterlist

a/n: I know I’m leaving you guys on a cliff hanger but I couldn’t resist. Who do you think it is?

Tag list: @cakesandtom @vickie5446 @buckybarnessimpp @hidden-treasures21​ @unaxv​

@mal-adaptive-dreams @elizacusi-blog

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest

“Let go of me,” she sneers, ripping her arm out of his grip as he closes his office door. The club is still vibrant and loud from behind the closed door while the room inside the office is still and stiff. With her arms crossed over her chest, she doesn’t move from her place by the door and stares at him with every ounce of anger she can muster. He, on the other hand, is rather unbothered as he leans against the edge of the desk and meets her stare not before stealing a longing look at her chest that’s being pushed out by her crossed arms.

“Care to explain why you dragged me in here?”

“Care to explain why you’re here with Yelena?” he offers up his own question. 

“That’s none of your business.”

“I think it is. You’re supposed to be on a date with me but you canceled and refused to answer any of my calls or texts. I was starting to believe you’d disappeared off of the face of the planet but here you are in my club with one of my people which makes it my business.” 

Her eyes twitch ever so slightly at his logic because he’s right but she’ll never let him know that. Her silence irritates him in record time and he repeats his question, “Why are you with Yelena?”

“Because I can.”

“Okay, why did you cancel our date?”

“I think you know why.”

Pointing a finger at her, he says, “I do but I want to hear it from you so I’ll ask again and I expect a complete answer this time; why did you cancel?”

“I saw you with your girlfriend.”

He is a man of few words and even fewer explanations. A vague annoyance is written across his face, noticeable in the way his jaw feathers and his arms flex at his side as he grips the desk’s edge. His hooded eyes scan every inch of her, searching for the joke in her statement and when he doesn’t find one, his eyes settle back on her face. Confusion clouds her anger and she grows uncomfortable under his gaze. 

“If you’d picked up my calls, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” he finally explains after his thorough scan of her has concluded, “That wasn’t my girlfriend. What you saw was a business meeting between Steve, myself, and that woman. You’re cute though, getting jealous and trying to make me so by showing up with someone like Yelena.”

She scoffs at the suggestion, “I wasn’t trying to make you jealous.”

“Then what were you trying to do?”

“To forget you considering you’re galivanting around with Lycan.”

His head cocks at her last word, “Lycan?”

“That’s what she was, right?”

“Yes,” his tongue pokes out to roll his lip between his teeth, “but how do you know that?”

“Tell me why you were with her first.”

“I’m starting to wonder what I got myself into with you,” he says as he rubs his jaw, his rings sliding against his stubble as he does so, “I’ll make a deal with you; I’ll explain how I know her after you tell me why you’re at my club and how you know what Lycan are.”

“I didn’t know this was your club,” she shifts her feet ever so slightly, the sound causing him to twitch due to his enhanced hearing. 

“She picked the club, didn’t she?” 

Her silence is mistaken for confusion when it is really defiance because he hasn’t held up his end of the deal and answered her questions. 

“Yelena, she picked the club, didn’t she?” he asks with more authority and intensity. The new tone he has taken on drives a part of her to answer even when her mouth tries to wire itself shut. “Yes,” she answers hesitantly, “Are you going to hold up your end of the deal or…?”

Cocking his head to the side in thought, he smiles at the ground before looking back up at her, “She’s smart, I’ll give her that and I will in time. Tell me, did she say what she does for us? What her job is?”

Sunny shakes her head which earns a slight chuckle from the darkling man in front of her. It seems that with every second his aura becomes increasingly dimmer until the usual warmth he has is gone and there’s nothing but darkness emanating from him. The tales of his alter ego, his mob boss persona, have come up in conversations with others but this is something entirely different. The sheer power and dominance that oozes from him is intoxicating and feels like poison in her veins as he stares through her. 

“She does many things for Steve and me but her most important job is clean up. When we need something or someone taken care of, she’s the one we send.”

“What does Yelena have to do with the Lycan I saw you with?” The air in her lungs feels thinner than before as reality sinks in. 

“Why don’t you ask her? Go on,” he points at the door behind her, “I’m sure she’d love to fill you in on everything.”

Something inside of her is begging for her to run out of that door and never turn back but the alluring air that he has about him persuades her to stay and repeat herself “What does Yelena have to do with the Lycan?”

“Use your imagination,” he shrugs his shoulders slightly, “You can figure it out.”

“No, I need you to tell me exactly what you were doing with her and what Yelena has to do with all of it.”

He licks his lips, tongue darting out to wet the pink flesh, “You don’t have any idea what my business is, do you?”

“I thought you were a criminal but now I’m starting to think you’re not even human and do much worse than just tax fraud.”

“You wound me, Doll,” he fakes an injury, placing a hand over his heart as he would if she had stabbed him there, “It’s not tax fraud if you’re a good businessman.”

A deep, disbelieving laugh escapes her before she can muffle it but it’s not like she truly wants to. This man, this cocky, arrogant, god of a man is really suggesting that being a criminal is synonymous with being a businessman. She’d thought her days dealing with people like him were in her past, left behind in California with her elderly mom, her brother six feet under, and his killer walking free. She’d be damned if she let herself get dragged back into this life and now is her opportunity to leave and never look back. 

“So we’re just skipping over the part where you didn’t deny that you aren’t human?” “I was getting there but now I’m not sure if I want to tell you.”

“Hilarious,” she takes a step back to test his reaction and see if she really can just walk out now but he is quick to push off the desk and moves closer as she moves further away. 

“I’ll let you walk out that door but if you do, you’ll never get your answers or be safe.”

The statement causes a shift to happen in the room. Where they were once fighting over the legality of his business among other things, has now become a space of confusion and something else. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Sensing that she is easily spooked at this moment, he stays far enough away from her that she feels safe but they both know he could reach her in a second if he wanted to.  

“She’s in New York and she’s been asking around for you. It’s only a matter of time before she finds you.”

“Who?” She tilts her head quizzically as she watches for an indication of what he is going on. 

Bucky checks his watch briefly before turning and rounding his desk to sit at it and points at the chair in front of it, “Take a seat.”

“No.”

Sighing and rubbing his hand down his face due to how argumentative she is. Getting her to do anything that isn’t her idea is like herding cats. However, he does explain no matter how much she gets on his nerves with her attitude, “Fresno June of 2018, a 25-year-old man was shot and killed in the street. His shooter was found but never convicted because of a lack of evidence. The man was a part of a known drug ring so the cops closed the case. To the public, it seemed like a drug deal gone wrong but that’s not the case now is it?”

“I don’t understand…” Sunny tries to derail his train of thought but Bucky cuts her off mid-sentence. 

“Don’t play stupid. You know exactly what I’m talking about, dragă. Your brother was trying to make quick money but was in over his head because he got caught up in the wrong crowd. I have to admit when I heard that Alix Wright was in New York tearing down every door to find a woman who looked remarkably like you, I was a little shocked. My Sunny, my sweet daycare teacher Sunny was somehow connected to Lycan pack leader Alix Wright?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” her chest is rapidly rising and falling as her anger starts to rear its ugly head again. How could he know about California? How could he have known about her? She had been so careful as to not reveal anything that would’ve given her away. Hell her mother had even gotten rid of every piece of evidence that would’ve tied her to the family and her brother. There wasn’t even a picture left of her at her mother’s house anymore and the only people that knew she existed were people who knew her in her childhood. How could Bucky, of all people, have figured it out? Most importantly how did her ex find her and what did Bucky have to do with all of it?

He says her birth name once, quiet enough that just the two of them can hear but it doesn’t ease the pain of the memories of her brother that come flooding back. She had been the one to find him, screaming and begging for him to hold on just a little bit longer as she held him while he bled out in the street. She had been the one covered in his blood from her efforts to save him when the cops and EMTs showed up. She had been the one to listen to his final prayer and apologies as he pleaded with God to forgive him for his sins. She had been the one to comfort him when they both realized that the sirens were too far away to help him. 

Tears sting in her eyes and her nose burns from the anticipation of the accompanying sob. She has to dig her fingernails into the sleeves of her leather jacket to distract her as she speaks, “That’s not my name.”

“You’re right, you go by Sunny now.”

“That’s not my name,” she repeats more to herself than to him, like she’s trying to convince herself of it. 

“Like I said, Alix is in New York looking for you. It’s only a matter of time before she finds you and if you choose to walk out, I will leave you alone but I can’t protect you and neither can Yelena. You have a choice to make,” he states it as if her life doesn’t depend on this little decision. The cavalier attitude in his voice only adds to her anger and frustration. 

“You act like this is some easy decision to make. Less than an hour ago, I thought I was on a date with a girl that really liked me but now I’m learning that she’s your little spy and that you’re both somehow involved with Lycan and possibly not even human. Like Hell, I would trust either of you.”

“I only asked her to keep an eye on you, whatever else happened is entirely on her, “ he tries to defend himself, “However your alternative isn’t any better.”

“Bullshit, it’s all because you wanted her to follow me. And don’t you think I fucking know that my alternative isn’t any better?” she hisses with a venom he’s never heard or felt before, “You have no idea what I’ve gone through; to get away from her, to keep myself safe, to stay away from people like YOU. Oh, I’m sorry, I mean monsters like you. I have a life here, one that I built without anyone’s help and you’re asking me to give all of that up because of what? You feel like you need to protect me? Fuck, you haven’t even told me how you know Alix.”

For about the millionth time that night, his jaw locks, and his eyes tense with her words. Whether or not she knows it, she has a way of getting under his skin unlike anyone else. Rubbing the slight stubble on his chin again, he contemplates her words, “Knowing people like Alix comes with the territory and I never said that you needed someone to protect you. I’m offering because I care about you and don’t want to see anything bad happen to you. Believe it or not, I wouldn’t offer to help if I thought you were just a fling.”

“Territory? What territory? What does that even mean?”

“Later. Now is not a good time to get into the details, dragă.”

“No, now is the perfect fucking time. Tell me how you know Alix.”

“No,” he states, leaning back in his chair.

“No?” the anger drips from her tongue and lands deep in her chest. Here he sits on his throne, doling out information as he pleases and when he sees fit like a true mob king. 

“No,” he simply repeats, “I told you now is not the time. I need you to make your choice though; are you going to accept my help or not?”

“Yeah I made my decision; you can go fuck yourself.”

Even though his office is cleaned regularly, dirt still scratches the floor as she turns on her heel to leave. There isn’t a moment of hesitation as she quickly yanks the door open and nearly sprints out of his office and back into the club, leaving him annoyed and fed up with the idea of having to deal with more Lycan. He won’t chase after her but he will make a trip to her apartment later to check on her whether she wants it or not. After all, he still owes her an apology dinner and a full explanation.

Emerging from the office with a slam, she doesn't stop at Yelena’s booth and walks as quickly as she can toward the exit. Yelena is quick, too quick to get up and catch her by the bicep before she makes it too far. 

“Hey, what happened there?”

She tries to pull her arm away harshly, “Thanks for settling all of this up and feeding me to the wolves. I should’ve known that he put you up to this.”

“What are you talking about? What did he say?” her grip is still iron hard as she tugs Sunny closer to her and she lowers her tone, “What did Bucky say to you, голубка?”

“He ordered you to look after me.”

“No, he didn’t. He asked me to check in on you after the kickback and that was all.”

“I don’t believe that for a second. You expect me to believe that you didn’t flirt with me and ask me out because he needed you to watch me?”

The question has Yelena dropping her with a wounded expression, “That’s the furthest thing from the truth. You can’t really think that.”

“What can I think, Yelena? Tell me what I’m supposed to think after what he said, about you, what you do for me.”

“What did he say about me?”

She scoffs, using this opportunity to step away from her, “What does it matter to you? It’s not like any of this is real.”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. It was real. It was real to me,” the voice that comes out is small and childlike, a stark contrast from the usual confidence and light attitude she normally had. The quiver in her lip breaks away at the anger held in Sunny’s heart but this, this is unacceptable. The lying? The manipulation? The secrets? None of it could ever make a comeback in her life no matter how fond of the person she is. 

“I… I can’t do this again. I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry,” she shutters, giving her heart one last glimpse at the devastated eyes of her almost lover before she forces herself to leave. 

“Please,” Yelena takes tentative steps in her direction as she moves back at the same rate. 

Sunny shakes her head in sorrow, eyes beginning to brim with tears. As if strings are ripping them away from each other, it takes all of her willpower to break eye contact and turn her back. She feels eyes on her as she pushes past the bouncers and weaves her way through the red haze. When she is finally out of sight, Yelena takes a shaky breath and places her hands on her hips. The weight of his heavy stare boring holes into her head brings her turn to him. He matches her scowl, brows pulled together and eyes too emotional to hide anything internal thoughts. 

“Of everyone, you picked her?” her voice has returned to normal, the child shrinking back into the abyss of her mind. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Fix it,” she demands of him, “Whatever you did, whatever you said, fix it right now Barnes.”

“There’s nothing for me to fix. I told her that Alix was looking for her and that we could help her if she wanted.”

“There’s more.”

He shrugs, “She knew Juliette was Lycan so I can only assume that she knows about Alix and us.”

“I can’t believe you,” she shakes her head in utter disbelief, “You couldn’t help yourself, could you? I told you to wait until I could find the right time to tell her about Alix. You know the rumors about what she did to her, what she did to her brother and yet you still just let it all out at once. You can be so… heartless sometimes.”

“Well, it stopped beating around 200 years ago so that checks out.”

Steve chuckles to himself as Peggy lightly hits his chest, “Peggy, honey that was funny.”

“Even if it was, Bucky is in the wrong,” she narrows her eyes at him, “That was too much information to lay on her at once and you know it. Give her a few days and then make it up to her. Apologize, offer your protection again, and don’t tell her about us unless she asks. Even then maybe not.”

“So you’re telling me that I shouldn’t start every conversation with ‘I’m immortal and need blood to survive’? Got it,” his humor is lost on Peggy who gives him her best mom look. 

Yelena lets out a dry laugh at the interaction, “All of you are unbelievable.”

She leaves in a huff, her drink sloshing onto the table when she drops it and chases after Sunny. The men watch her go but Peggy’s eyes are still trained on Bucky. He takes a seat next to Steve, squinting his eyes at her as he settles into the plush cushions of the booth, “Yes Peggy?”

“What does Alix want with her?”

“From what I understand, she’s her ex and it didn’t end on good terms. She killed Sunny’s brother after he found out about her being Lycan and tried to blackmail her for money. I can only assume she’s been trying to track her down to make sure she doesn’t tell anyone about HER or US for that matter.”

“Is she worth starting a war with Alix?”

“Yes,” he answers before taking a sip of his drink, “She’s worth everything.”

Flashes of the terrible movie called her past life keep replaying as she hugs herself in the back of a cab. Her brother’s cries for help echo between her ears when the driver tries to ask if she’s okay, her tears and silent mouth concerning the man. Blood keeps reappearing on her hands out of the corner of her eye as they shake against her arms but it disappears when she looks at them fully. Every passing light mimics the far-off police lights and her body heaves as she tries to shake the memories away. Even the driver’s face morphed into Alix’s, vibrant gold taking over his dark ones when she makes eye contact in the rearview mirror. There is no resemblance between the two of them but that doesn’t stop her mind from playing cruel tricks on her. 

“Are you okay?” he asks one last time before he stops to let her out. 

“I’m fine. Thank you,” she mutters, handing him his fare and scrambling out of the car to her apartment. She nearly trips over her feet in her rush up the cement stairs and drops her keys due to the shaking of her hands. Letting out a frustrated cry, her forehead meets the door and wet tears race down her cheeks, ruining the makeup Jessica artfully applied earlier. A worried neighbor opens their door to see what is going on and quickly darts back inside when they spot her. 

Picking her keys up, she successfully unlocks her door and rushes inside to safety. Alone finally, she locks her door and slides down the wood, free to let out any cries, sobs, or words of anger. Months of repressed feelings come to the surface as she hides her head in her hands and pulls her knees up to her chest. Her breathing is labor in efforts to keep up with the demand for air but the corset makes it difficult to do so. Everything is too tight, too close, too much for her and she has to fight off the urge to rip everything away from her skin as the anxiety washes over her. 

Amidst her internal struggle to maintain control over herself, she doesn’t hear the window to her bedroom open or the boots that drop down onto the wood floor.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #mob au #bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes imagine #mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier x reader #when night comes bucky barnes #vampire!bucky #vampire!bucky x reader #vampire au

[sanisme]

take a break

GIF & ayato divider made by me. credit @sanisme if you use anything please. credits to @kiyaedits for the divider at the end xo

summary – your boss calls you over to his office, quite unusual of him. why? word count – 3.1k

pairing – kamisato ayato x fem!reader content warnings - smut, softdom!ayato, virgin!reader with a perv mind, corruption kink, consensual sex, oral (m!receiving), slight mentions of deepthroating (tw gagging), facial, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, spanking, overstimulation, dumbification, semi public sex, ayato is your boss and long time crush, multiple rounds, pet names used

author's note – this is my first ever post. i'm still learning how tumblr works so please bear with me! lowercase is intended by the way. enjoy.

your duty as the kamisato clan head's assistant consisted of caring for cleanliness of the workplace and to keep things in order. as of the present moment, you were taking care of a pile of rather important documents and papers that fell over as you were taking care of another part of the house. picking up the scrambled papers on all fours on the floor was much more energy consuming than it seemed to you at first.

to help pass the time you would often let your mind drift and think of interesting scenarios as a way of making your job less unpleasant. these scenarios would often end up with you thinking of the one person you desired....doing things to you. it was not an uncommon occurrence, and though you felt uncomfortable with those thoughts at first, you had grown to enjoy them. they seemed to make time go faster.

as you were picking up the last few papers, imagining various things in that creative mind of yours, you heard a masculine voice call out your name. was that inside your head? god, you had gone so far with those thoughts you couldn't tell.

"am i bothering you? it's somewhat of an emergency."

you swiftly stood to your feet and straightened your clothes, turning around to see a tall blonde man smiling at you.

"hi, thoma. not at all. what is it?"

"boss asked to see you in his office. he told me to make it quick. it seems important."

giving thoma a confused look, you nodded and tried to catch your breath, and off you went. it was unusual of ayato to call you up to his office, though you weren't complaining. you took any opportunity you had to talk to him, given that he was the man you desired. a little anxious, you hesitantly walked up to the door and knocked.

"come in, dear."

you couldn't deny that you loved his flirtatious ways with you, how he was always physical whenever he interacted with you, with his little touches on your shoulder, your arm or even your back. but you'd rather die than publicly admit it. as you walked in you were greeted by ayato, sitting at his desk with his usual business documents neatly divided into two piles on his work surface. when you looked up at his face he was smiling warmly and looked at you straight in the eyes.

"take a seat, please."

and so you did. you were way reluctant to speak up, too nervous to get mixed up in your words and say a bunch of nonsense. why was he making you so nervous? you had known the guy for years. a little crush wasn't usually something that made you lose your self-assurance, perhaps his behavior around you was what made you fall for him harder.

"archons, calm down. you haven't done anything wrong, i promise." he giggled.

you smiled at him softly and loosened up, already less nervous being aware that his demand to see you wasn't for negative reasons. you finally spoke up and asked him how you could help.

"you should take a break from cleaning. this place is very well ordered. you're a very good maid, you know? sometimes i tell myself you deserve to be rewarded for it."

you felt heat rise up to your face and looked down, trying to cover the redness on your face. your jaw was starting to hurt a bit from the wide smile that took over your face. though not only a feeling of happiness took you over. you pressed your thighs together very tight at the sudden praise. if there was one thing that gave you butterflies, it was certainly praise. you were long aware of your praise kink and sometimes used it in your fantasies with ayato. it truly made your stomach do flips, now that praise was actually coming out of his mouth directly at you, the effect was much stronger. you felt a familiar feeling grow within your stomach.

"rewarded? how?" you stutter.

you watch silently as ayato examines your face with his amethyst-like eyes, seemingly boring holes straight into you, scanning your features so carefully. you felt the pressure rise up in you, your heartbeat increasing by the second.

"why don't you come help me with those papers? come here." he motions at you with his hand to approach him.

with a faint smile on your face you hesitantly get up from your seat, slowly and carefully walking towards him, very self-conscious of the way you looked and behaved. was your hair looking okay? were your clothes dirty from kneeling on the ground earlier? were you walking weird? too quiet?

as you stood still next to him, unsure of what to do with yourself, ayato stared at you through his lashes before backing up his chair by a few inches.

"you see, i've been having a little trouble concentrating today. too many thoughts running through my head. i feel like i need some assistance with this job...and the first person i've thought about for this kind of help was you." he spoke carefully.

"isn't thoma usually the one who helps you with those things?"

"thoma isn't fit for this job."

confused, you slightly tilted your head to the right, nervous to look at him. god, you hated eye contact. you searched for somewhere to look at so you wouldn't have to look at him, and doing that, you accidentally took a glance at this bulge between his legs. it was big. was he...hard? your eyebrows softened at the sight, unintentionally. hopefully he hadn't caught up to it.

"y/n, you've been loyal to the kamisato clan for years now. you're a very dear coworker...such a sweetheart..."

he sighed after that particular word that made your heart skip a beat, he sounded impatient.

"...i've desired you for a long time. i need you y/n, right now." he said in a sincere voice, grabbing your hand with his gloved one.

you finally looked up into his lustful eyes, lips parting, tightening your hold on his hand, finally catching up to what he so desperately wanted from you. without a word you kneeled down and slid under his desk, inbetween his spread legs. he was enjoying this and so were you, despite the tight knot in your stomach. he smiled at the feeling of you unbuckling his belt and freeing his cock from its confines. you tried to stay neutral at the sight of it. its prominent size made you wonder how much you could fit in your mouth.

you finally decided to wrap your hand around the base, opting to start delicately stroking him. he was so hard you thought he would cum any second now, but his face said otherwise. he was doing his job, scrambling through his papers like nothing was happening under there. if someone happened to walk in here, no one would be able to tell. it was like your dirty little secret.

you went up to the tip, rubbing it with your thumb, and applying pressure right under it, eliciting a hum from your boss. slowly inching your head forward, you started with little kitten licks on the head of his cock, and finally taking him fully inside your mouth. he was so big you could barely fit it all inside your warm, wet hole. bobbing your head up and down, you increased the pace and sucked in your cheeks to create more friction around him. noticing how much he was enjoying it, you went further by swirling your tongue around him, making him grab onto your hair with such force. he had clearly gotten louder and despite having relaxed now that there was some action, you quickly started to get nervous again at the thought that somebody would walk in, alarmed by the obvious sounds.

he swiftly moved your head up and down quickly, unintentionally hitting the back of your throat, making you gag a few times, tears invading the corners of your eyes. he thought it was sexy to see you crying from his big cock. you grabbed onto his clothed thighs to hold yourself up, knees hurting. you couldn't help but feel some sense of pride at how ayato, such a prominent, proper, formal man could so easily lose his composure to someone like you, and you loved it. you had never done this kind of thing before, the only base of knowledge you had was from those suggestive books you read sometimes to fantasize.

at this point it seemed like he was using your mouth as his personal fleshlight. you let yourself be guided until he let out the softest, most adorable moan and quickly pulled out of your mouth, stroking himself in right front of your face with the squelching sounds of your saliva mixed with his precum invading your ears. he came without warning, painting your face in his thick cum, and there was so much of it. you wanted a taste.

he tried to catch his breath, letting out soft little grunts and cut-off curses, caressing the back of your head where he had pulled so hard.

"i'm sorry...did i hurt you? he spoke up and you shook your head, smiling at him.

"you're so good at this...such a good girl. i wanna make you feel good too."

he moved his hand from the back of your head to your cheeks, grabbing them with both hands and softly caressing them. you felt like you were melting. his cum-stained thumb made its way towards your lips and you unhesitatingly took it in your mouth, sucking on it. he tasted warm and bitter, with a sweet aftertaste and you loved it. after getting rid of the rest, you stared up at the man who was now holding your chin up to stare at your face.

"why don't you get up here sweetheart? come sit on my lap."

and so you did as he said, feeling internally excited not only to tend to his sexual pleasure like a good girl, but also to be so physically close to the person you had been admiring for so long. your brain still hadn't processed what was happening, but you were about to. the chair was wide enough to allow you to straddle his lap, your legs laying comfortably on either side of his hips...but the friction between your legs did not go unnoticed by the both of you. you could feel his hot breath on you as well as his chest rising up and down, his heart beating at a steady rhythm. he seemed to know what he was doing. had he had many women? had he given others the same pleasure you so wished he inflicted on you for so long? your mind began to wander as you felt some sort of jealousy well up within your heart, but now wasn't the time. you had the man of your dreams sitting right under you. you snapped back into reality when you felt his big, gloved hands snake around your waist, rubbing up and down, to finally set up on your hips. the jealousy soon died out and turned into butterflies. you stared at him in awe, pupils wide, with a prominent blush on your face. he could tell you were nervous from your slight trembling.

"this is the first time you do something like this, isn't it?"

you shyly nodded, lips parting instinctively.

"i'll be gentle then, sweetheart. wouldn't want to hurt such a precious little thing, am i right?"

he sure knew how to make your stomach do flips. the bastard was doing it on purpose, and he was so damn good at it. if humans could melt, you'd be some sort of mush right now. right on his lap, his bare lap...

you couldn't help but slightly grind your hips against his cock, watching his eyebrows furrow in pleasure. with his hands, he guided your hips to increase your pace, until he put you to a stop.

"enough." he said sharply, but not in a rude manner.

with his hands, he picked up your hips, slowly lowering you onto him. being a virgin, you winced at the sudden and painful stretch, letting out little gasps but he did not stop, he was enjoying this too much. did he have a kink or something? he gave you a few minutes to adjust to him, of course he wouldn't want you to have a bad time.

"you're so t-tight baby, it's hard to focus. you feel amazing. such a cute, good, good girl."

he slowly started to move your hips at a steady rhythm, though it hurt at first, the pain soon started to turn into pleasure, his member hitting so deliciously against that special spot deep inside your pussy. you couldn't help but moan a little too loud – eyes rolling back. he placed a hand on your mouth a applied pressure to your jaw to keep you quiet.

"wouldn't wanna get caught in this position, sweet baby. you're a special girl, wouldn't wanna make the others jealous, right? hearing you getting fucked so well by my cock, only you get special treatment. nobody else is to know about it. you're my special girl aren't you?"

you nodded quickly as your noises turned into heavy, quick breaths – when you felt him thrust up into you you held your hips up, loving the pleasure he was giving you, wanting more and more of it, you soon became addicted to him. he began kissing your neck, your chest, fondling your breasts and playing with your nipples all the while picking up the pace on his loins when he felt your tight pussy closing up on him repeatedly, signalling your first orgasm. sure enough, your eyes rolled back and you couldn't help the scream of his name raging from your throat as he was sent over the edge at the same time as you, filling up your tight cunt to the brim with his juices, again gifting you with a huge load that flowed out of your pussy onto his balls, and spilling down your shaking thighs.

you felt drained, letting your body slump against his, drooling onto his shoulder, catching your breath. you felt satisfied yet sad that this special moment was over, hoping it would happen again in the future. picking yourself up you looked directly at him, focused on his figure, shaking, hands squeezing your plush ass, eyes looking tired as ever, breathing heavily. how did you manage to make him such a mess? it was a truly beautiful sight you'd keep in your memory forever. you longed for more in your mind, but didn't say a word. and at that moment you thought he had mind reading skills.

"bend over the desk, love."

the sentence itself gave you butterflies and you involuntarily tightened up on his cock, still buried inside of you. you slowly stood up, legs wobbly from the delightful orgasm he gifted you with and excitedly did as he said. he took a moment to grab onto your ass, spreading it and looking at the mess he made between your legs. it was sexy, yet you felt exposed and flustered by his actions.

when he got up, you felt impatient to have him inside you yet again. it was a feeling you'd grown addicted to. he wasted no time in plunging himself right inside your cunt, swiftly but carefully. he wanted to make ruins of your body. having that idea in his mind, he started right away with a quick pace which had you seeing starts, moans muffled by the drool-stained wooden desk against your mouth. he smoothed his palms against your behind and without warning he spanked you really hard, three times in a row, twice on the left, once on the right, making you let out little yelps each time.

"more! more! more! please, sir!"

"that's my good girl. so well mannered. you take me so well, you're doing such a good job for me. keep taking me like that, yeah...that's it. i'll make you feel so good."

another slap was felt on your ass and it only made you louder and louder, ayato's care for the noise was long gone, and so was his sanity. all he wanted was your pussy milking him, over and over again.

"perhaps i should call you in my office more often, what do you think? i think this job requires...two people...fuck-"

his consistent pounding made him seem like a feral beast claiming you in the wild, his dick was so big you thought he'd split you in half. hearing that this kind of thing would occur again made you want to scream his name over and over without a care in the world, wanting to let everyone know how good he made you feel, and then you were cumming again- legs shaking against him, hole creaming around him while he cursed over and over again, he loved the feeling of your pussy pulsating so hard.

"aren't you my sweet little toy? do you like when i talk to you like this? i'll make you feel like this everyday if you wish it, you're mine now."

you could only babble nonsense as he fucked your brains out, not being able to let a single coherent sentence out.

"have i fucked you stupid already? have you become my dumb little baby? so sweet. don't say anything, let me take good care of you."

he filled you up one last time. you felt warm and satisfied, holding onto the desk and giving ayato a personal memory of this special moment with the mark of your nails engraved onto it forever. your ass was on fire from the repeated spanking, your vision was blurry from the overstimulation and your eyes were tearing up from the pleasure inflicted on you. his hands ran up from your ass to wrap around your waist, pulling you onto his lap in a bridal-style embrace as he sat down. his heartbeat and his warmth were comforting, his eyes staring softly at your face before placing soft kisses all over it, leaving your lips for last. your first ever kiss, and certainly not the last.

ayato had made his mind up long ago that he wanted you as his partner for the rest of his life, and he had finally claimed you. you were his now. you could already tell he was your home.

you drifted off into a blissful sleep at the thought of your new lover.

© 2023 sanisme. do not repost my works on any platform.

#kamisato ayato #genshin impact #genshin impact smut #hydro vision #ayato x reader #kamisato #kamisato clan #smut #gi smut #albedo #kaedehara kazuha #inazuma #hes so fucking hot #xiao #zhongli #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #x reader #x reader smut #fem reader #afab reader #genshin #video games #video game smut #wow #male character

[purecantarella]

Moment's Decisions

day 3 everyone!! i hope you all enjoy this one!! college AU shin yuna x reader disclaimer/s : smut. minors dni, this one i get more explicit

this is one of those gifs i will definitely reuse

You and Yuna didn't often see eye to eye despite working in synch perfectly. She was the only one who understood your logic on a fundamental level yet she found you irritatingly insufferable.

Mostly because of your many...escapades.

You were often known around campus as incredibly fluid and amazing in bed, making anyone you'd hooked up with go crazy over you. Yuna on the other hand, had never really entertained such things.

She needed to focus on her academics, her career, she didn't have time for such things. Plus, the one person she had interest in happened to be the biggest prick she knew.

Her feelings for you were rather complex, she found you attractive, intelligent, and incredibly kind when you chose not to tease that day but those days were far-flung between.

In any case, you were a constant in her life, and she was yours.

In that spirit, you two were together again in her dorm room, biology and chemistry books scattered about the floor where you both sat. You spoke on and on about a sorority girl you'd met a couple days ago. "She was just so fucking desperate, Shin. You don't understand—"

Yuna rolls her eyes and throws a stray pencil your direction, "Have some class, L/n. Jesus." You chuckle and continue reading and taking notes. "How bout you, pretty girl?" Yuna calmed her heart before you continued, "Hooked up with anybody recently?"

"None of your business." She replies coldly, making you utter a soft 'oooh' before laughing again. "Whoever the are they are probably not doing a good job, you are way to fucking tense."

You were ready to drop the subject when you hear the brunette mutter, "No one's doing the job at all."

"I'm sorry...WHAT?"

You quirk a curious brow, tossing the book in your hand across the table before leaning up to Yuna. Her cheeks flushing, realizing that she's been caught. You grin devilishly before tilting your head to the side, "Have you never been touched, Shin?"

The moment of silence is all you need to fall on your back chortling madly while you clutched your sides. "Shut the fuck up, L/n! It not like I want that!"

You catch your breath, composing yourself while running a hand through your hair. You cross your legs on the ground, staring at her like a curious puppy, she would have found it adorable if you weren't such a dick about it.

"Absolute bullshit, Shin." You pause, your smirk faltering momentarily before you grin again, albeit a little dimmer than Yuna usually saw it.

A silence lingers. It leaves the brunette a little uneasy, you always had an opinion or something to say, so seeing you so quiet was off-putting to her. She attempts to joke, "Did my lack of a sex life really shock you into silence?"

You look up to her, there's a certain hunger in your eyes. Again Yuna is taken aback, her jaw drops before you shake your head and rasp out a husky, "Maybe I just find it unnerving that no one's gotten you there yet."

The taller girl gulps down nervously but boldly says, her voice soft and fragile, "M-Maybe the person I wanted was being an absolute asshole and fucked around with other girls." You don't say anything, you barely move, but you knew what she was trying to say.

You lift your gaze to see Yuna flustered and playing with the ends of her hair. Nervously picking at whatever she could get her hands on. Your expression never shifted, but you crawled over the books and papers.

You were closer than she'd ever usually let you be. "You are absolutely insufferable, Shin."

You lean in to press your lips to hers, but she raises her hand, pushing your lips away from her. "I...I'm not ready for th-that..." Her eyes stare into yours, the intensity of your gaze making the blood in her veins rush rapidly through her body.

Instead, you tilt your head to the side, your lips lightly trailing over her cheekbone, her glassy skin burning at the contact. You peck her warm cheek before taking on a more active role. "Strip for me, Shin. I have an idea."

The rasp in your voice had her weak at the knees. She'd always made fun of the girls you slept with and how easily they submitted to your every whim, yet here she was, slowly peeling off layers of her outfit.

You bite your lip as you kneel before her, in a complete trance as more and more of her skin is exposed to you. All the while, her eyes are glued to your expression of pure want.

"Jesus, Shin, you are absolutely hot." You mutter softly.

Yuna stands bare before you, her legs going for miles, her stomach tight and her tits were a delight to look at. You breath hitches as she runs a hand through her hair before she stares at you with her big doe eyes, innocence radiating from them.

The brunette is feels humiliated but still, it was the hottest she'd felt in her entire adult life. She gets back down on her knees, awaiting your further instruction. Unable to control yourself, you lean forward, lips finding her shoulder while your hands brush up her bare waist.

Yuna whines and places her hand on your back, pulling you closer. Her high pitched whines make you smile proudly against her neck before you lean back and admire your work. Pink marks lining the outline of the taller girl's neck. "Even prettier, Shin."

She rolls her eyes and shoves you back gently, you grin again before settling in front of her. "Now what, L/n? Just gonna have me sit here?" Yuna asks, her patience wearing thin.

"Don't test me, I definitely would." Yuna's eyes turn pleading instantly, making you laugh softly. "Not tonight though."

You shuffle backwards and begin stripping yourself, the girl in front of you's eyes going wide and the red in her cheeks turning an impossibly deeper hue. "Tonight," You toss your damp underwear her direction, "You're getting yourself off."

Yuna quirks a brow before you sit back, and open your legs. Cunt on display for her, your grin grows as you watch her jaw drop and her nipples get progressively stiffer. "Do as I do, Shin. And you might just get off for the first time in your life."

Slowly, you circle your clit, applying a light pressure, your eyes never leaving Yuna's. She nervously reaches down as you do, playing with the bean nervously, shyly hiding her whines. "Mmm, that it Shin."

She watches you intently as her fingers got to work on her damp pussy. You watch her slip two fingers into the depths of her heat. You tremble as you hear her cry out in pleasure, her voice sending you into over drive. You mirror her movements, panting soft, "Fuck you look so hot like that, Yuna."

She whines and nods, "Y/n please...oh God, please. Tell me what to do." Her breathing is labored and her eyes are hooded as she stares deeply into your dark eyes. You swallow thickly and instruct her, "Use your other hand, pinch those nipples for me. Do it now."

Yuna moans again, following your instructions. You jump up beside her, hands still rubbing your own wet center. Your free hand reaches down to toy with her clit, lips replacing her hand on her tits. "Does that feel good? Huh? Answer me, Shin."

"Yes! Jesus Y/n, yes!" Yuna feels her stomach tighten as you suckle on her perky breasts, both your hands moving in a delicious pattern, all to bring her to her climax.

"Holy shit, Y/n!" She squeals as a rush of dampness soaks her hand and the papers dangerously close to her legs. The smell of sex and both your arousals wafting in the air. You pull away from her, watching her pant and fall to the ground behind her.

You grin and fall down beside her. You watch as her eyes begin to droop slightly. "How was your first orgasm, Shin?" She smiles and chuckles softly before rolling onto her side, more confident.

"I think I need another demonstration, N/n."

You grin before pulling her on top of you, "There's so much for you to learn, Shin."

yeah i'm not gonna lie i got sort of awkward midway through so if its a little weird in the middle, i'm sorry :"") i've never experienced this type of thing so i sort of dont know how to write about it but i like to punish myself so here we are HAHAHAHA i hope you lovelies enjoyed and i will see you all tomorrow!! bye, keep safe!! - r

#itzy #itzy x reader #itzy reactions #itzy imagine #itzy imagines #itzy smut #itzy yuna #shin yuna #yuna x reader #yuna imagine #yuna smut #kpop imagines #kpop x reader #kpop smut #kpop idol x reader #kpop idol imagines #kpop idol smut #girl group imagine #girl group reactions #girl group x reader #girl group smut #kinktober 2022 #purecantarella #pls dont keel me

[gayerthanevertbh]

𝐲𝐨�� 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 || 𝐧.𝐫.

not my gif!

summary: you have a hard time believing that the love of your life could ever do such hideous act on you. you trusted her, wanted her, and most especially loyal to her. but how come you never got the same treatment?

warnings: cheating implied, angst, cursing, natasha being a total dick. 18+!

author’s note: i really tried my best making this sad as possible and i’m giving credits to @roger-that-cap​ because their story is kind of similar to this, although its a lot different too. anyways, i hope you enjoy this!

main masterlist

You were like a flower to her. Compelling, exquisite, elegant, and most of all fragile. Every petal she picks out, you hurt. She hurts too but, mostly you.

You met Natasha around the summer of May 6th, two years ago. Your friend, Wanda, was part of this team called “Avengers” where they save lives – apparently. And when she invited you to a party where the woman was there, both of you hit it off right away.

It’s probably because of how well connected you are with her like you’re comfortable telling the redhead a whole life story about you that seemed so sad and depressing; which, it was. She would casually nod, hum, and tell you that your feelings are entirely valid.

When it comes from her, you like to hear the compliment. The reassurance. But when it comes to the other people you love, you hate it for some fucking reason. Hence why you don’t have friends much.

During the second week of getting to know each other and casually going on dates, Natasha asked you if you would like the idea of you being her girlfriend. You would sometimes laugh inwardly whenever you remember that scenario and how embarrassed you were just because of your silly reply.

“Be my girlfriend?”

“Huh?”

Natasha was raking her bottom lip with her teeth, feeling nervous about your quiet reply and kind of having regrets about asking you to be her… girlfriend. You scrunched your eyebrows together and turned to face the woman, who looked like a tomato.

“What did you say, love?” you asked and brought your hand to her backhand, touching it softly which made Natasha calm down a little by the simplest connection.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend? I mean, you don’t have to say yes, I was just merely suggesting – Although please say yes–Mmph…”

You cut hurt off with your lips pressed against her top lips and moan against her mouth, your hands cupping her jaw softly to not harm her since she still isn’t comfortable with physical touch. The redhead smiles through the kiss and trails her calloused hands all the way up to your back – pulling you intensely closer to her, never leaving your lips.

She was afraid to let go.

Pulling away with a soft pop, you whispered, “I have a big crush on you. But, I also really like you.”

“Yeah?” she asks while pressing her forehead against yours.

“Yeah.”

Natasha shakes her head and chuckles at how adorable you are, and how cute you sound when you kiss her. She pulls you into her lap and kisses you hungrily, but passionately if she may add. You made out with the woman for an hour or so, endlessly.

“I trust her, Wanda.”

“But I don’t,” she says simply while you can see a hateful look in her eyes. Natasha has been away from home over the past 4 months, knowing that she’s saving the world. You’re just an ordinary civilian who dates an Avenger. Wanda, on the other hand, cannot go due to the whole world hates her – unfortunately.

“Wanda, please…”

“The rest of the team are back!” exclaimed Wanda who stood up from the couch, looking angry. Shit. “Only Steve and Natasha haven’t come back home.”

“Natasha is a lesbian, Wands.” you added quietly. You hear her scoff pathetically at your response.

“I know that, but they’re best friends, the bestest friends! And ever since before they left Natasha has done nothing but busy herself over her damn phone instead of you.”

She was right. A month before she left, Natasha kept herself distant from you. You don’t know why, you wouldn’t want to assume why either, but she was less affectionate and loving to you. And every night you both sleep on the same bed, the redhead would be at a bar getting drunk or on the couch, hungover from 7 bottles of beer.

But you push those awful feelings away, you don’t want to assume anything.

Please, don’t hurt me.

“I’ll go to bed,” you whispered tiredly and walked away from your friend with a defeated body, slumping your entire back on the wall once you’re back inside a room where you sleep with Natasha. They will come home soon, you know that and she will come back with open arms and everything will get better.

It will. It has to get better.

Steve wiped off the sweat on his forehead after working out and packing his belongings. They were returning to New York within midnight after a long mission and also, covering for his best friend Natasha, who was cheating on Y/N. Multiple times.

As soon as he walked into the quiet living room, he saw Natasha kissing a young girl on the lips, whispering something that he couldn’t catch. He was disappointed, mostly to himself for not saying anything to his best friend’s girlfriend. They were rather close, or that’s what he thought.

“Nat, stop it,” Steve says with a lower voice, clearly very annoyed by the sight.

The redhead sighs between the girl’s lips and kisses her forehead, whispering once more,

“I love you. But, this has to end.”

“Do you love me?” says the young Hungarian girl who looked so heartbroken, knowing that her older lover has someone else who isn’t her.

Natasha nods frantically, “Yes, baby, I do. But it has to end, I’ll never come back.”

Steve couldn’t hold on to his guilt anymore. He could no longer defend his best friend, especially seeing the woman who is cursing her love for another girl. So, he did what he had to do. Tell Y/N everything – as he should.

“Nat, you have to stop,” Steve asks once more, clearly being more annoyed at the woman.

As soon as the girl leaves, Natasha closes the door with a loud sigh and presses her forehead against the cold wood wall. She never understood why there was this feeling where she needed to flirt or to be with someone, especially when she’s in love with Y/N. It’s not like she’s a sex addict, probably far from that, but she likes to feel something; that isn’t from her girlfriend, which is sad. It disappoints her to want something from someone when Y/N was giving everything.

“Tell her or I will,” Steve stated.

Natasha shakes her head, turning to face the older man with vague tears in her eyes, her face feeling warmer and warmer when the realization keeps hitting her; she’s about to lose the woman she loves over a stupid girl.

“You wouldn’t dare–”

“You do realize Y/N has been calling me non-stop, asking me where you are? For me to be lying behind her back?”

Objectively, as always, Natasha scoffed and crossed her arms – feeling more ashamed when Steve keeps bringing up her girlfriend, acting like she was the injured party. It’s always been like that.

“You’re not going to say anything until we get back,” says Natasha with a low grumbling whisper, anger rising through her veins as she walks closer to the super-soldier with piercing eyes. “You’re not going to say shit! She’s my girlfriend!”

“And you should’ve never fallen for another woman if she’s your girlfriend!”

“I didn’t fall for Nicole,” Natasha scoffs once again, spilling the girl’s name who she had an affair with. She wants to admit that there were no feelings involved, at least for her, but she felt something. A little, perhaps. Which is pathetic.

“Yes, you did,” he says while leaning against the table angrily. “You had an affair with her for almost 5 months. You bought her gifts, made love to her, and brought her to the tower even though Y/N doesn’t know! You loved that girl, Natasha. You–”

“I’m not doing this tonight,” she cuts him off while shrugging, walking away with shameful eyes and a shameful heart. She felt utterly disgusted, completely drenched with disgrace. The redhead couldn’t help but let out a loud broken sob and quickly covered her mouth to muffle her cries. Oh, how she wished that somehow she could turn back time and do her best to hold off her desire to give her all to someone else, that she could’ve focused on her throughout those months but no, everything went so wrong.

Because of her, Y/N was about to be broken. Or perhaps she already was.

“They’re back.”

You were alerted and quickly stood up from the couch, watching from the window to see the Quinjet landing near the building. You can feel your heart racing from each second pass, hoping somehow everything goes back to normal. You want to jinx it, but you’re not entirely sure about your own assumption.

“I hope nothing happens,” says Wanda with a deep sigh, crossing her arms tightly. “If something happens, know that I’m here with you. Every step of the way.”

“Thanks,” you gave her a tight lip smile and continued to watch the Quinjet shutting off its engine. And as soon as the doorway opens, your breath hitch at the sight of the woman you love, looking effortlessly beautiful. You smiled dumbly to yourself, feeling your cheeks getting warm at each step Natasha takes, and soon enough they were inside the building.

Natasha goes inside the room to see you with excitement filled in your eyes. You quickly walked to her, throwing your arms around your girlfriend and kissing her cheeks deeply, almost feeling a tear in your eyes when you’re this close to your girlfriend once again. You didn’t think about your distance from her or the unresolved problems, you just wanted to hug the love of your life.

Surprisingly, Natasha hugs you back and kisses you on the forehead, smiling widely. Wanda just stands there, eyeing the woman with a dead look in her eyes, noticing Steve’s blue eyes were somewhere else.

“Oh my love,” you whispered and pulled away with running tears in your eyes. “I’ve missed you so much… Please don’t leave again?”

Natasha could only nod, feeling the rising shame in her body, and kissed you on the lips chastely.

“Me too, malyshka.”

Wanda derides quietly, “Sure you did.”

“Excuse me?” Natasha asked while pulling away from your embrace, eyeing Wanda carefully with her dark green eyes. She was not always fond of Wanda, more like because the Sokovian was your best friend. So, she didn’t really like that idea. But, she wasn’t controlling either so she let her jealousy slide and instead tried to understand that you have this friendship with the witch.

“Huh? Nothing,” says Wanda with an innocent tone, looking smug.

“Wanda,” Steve says in the midst of the heated air and walked toward the Sokovian girl, smiling at her politely as always. “I don’t think it’s time for you to–”

“To what, Rogers? To let Y/N know?”

You were so drowned with your enthusiasm that you didn’t know this was going on, so you turned around and looked at Wanda with squinted eyes. Shaking your head, you replied, “Know what, Wands?”

Natasha drew a breath inwardly and pulled you closer to her body, almost hugging you in some type of way. You feel her hand graze on your chin and turn you around, making your eyes avert to hers intently.

“Y/N, baby–”

“Tell her now, Romanoff,” Steve demanded and you suddenly felt your entire body weight drop. Tell you what? You were confused, but there was this feeling that you know where this is going. You’re just hoping, praying somehow, that what she’s about to say is totally different from your perspective.

“I…” Natasha stutters, feeling her throat tighten. The vibe was seriously ruined, everything felt in heat. Wanda glares at your girlfriend and her hands balled into fists, trying her best not to attack now. It wasn’t good timing, either.

“What’s wrong, Nat? D–Did something happen?”

“Jesus,” Wanda throws her hands in the air exasperatedly and exclaimed, “Your girlfriend is fucking someone else. Natasha is having an affair with a younger girl from Budapest.”

God, you are just so stupid sometimes.

What disheartens you is that you truly believed that there was nothing going on and that Natasha stayed faithful and devoted to you. But, it’s so good to be true. It was real and it was happening or it was happening. You don’t want to know yet you’re itching to have the knowledge of why your girlfriend would do such a thing? Did she want more from you? Sure enough, you gave everything you had. Everything.

You brought your hands to hers that were linked to your waist and pushed them away, struggling. You can see terror and hurtfulness in her eyes and it makes you think that this whole situation must’ve been misunderstood. Although it wasn’t, it was clear that Natasha had an affair behind your back.

Your eyes were still piercing at her and you managed to ask, “Who was the girl, Steve?”

There was a long thick silence within all of you as you stare at Natasha intensely so that you won’t able to understand what you were truly feeling towards the woman who betrayed you. Natasha looked at you with shame, hope, and the deepest apologetic eyes that you’ve ever seen. You can see the way her hands are trembling, her breath hitching with each breath she takes. You have so much control to not hug the woman but instead, you stood in your own place, staring deeply at her.

“Nicole, she’s 23.”

This girl was younger than you by 8 years, you almost fell to the ground at how young the woman was. She wasn’t even a woman, she was just a girl. A girl. It twirls your stomach into knots and somehow you want to rip it out and never breathe again.

Yet you’re here, standing across from a cheater, who never deserved you.

At least that’s what you think.

“Y/N–”

You held up your hand, chuckling with a croaking voice. You were shaking now and taking a couple of steps back from the woman just to avoid being touched by her. You applaud yourself for the strength to do that. “I don’t think–Oh God, I don’t know… I think you should stop.”

“Princessa, please–”

You didn’t bother to reply and walked away from Natasha, tears that were evident in your eyes. You cover your mouth to muffle your broken sobs so you won’t grab attention but, knowing how loud you can be, you’re sure enough that everyone heard it. Rushing inside the room you sleep in and will be the last time you’ll be in here, you grabbed a nearby suitcase and unzipped it with loud untuned sobs. Not 5 minutes later, Natasha bursts inside the room with tears that were blurry in her eyes and reached for your hand; which you quickly swat her hand away.

“Do not touch me,” you said with a deeply hurtful tone, trying not to look at the woman because if you do, you might say the nastiest things.

“My love…”

“No!” You spun around, pointing your index finger at her so close that you could feel her breath. “No, you do not get to call me that. After what you did? Do you know how humiliating that was for me?”

She shakes her head. Of course not.

“God I thought I was this precious thing you have!” you exclaimed, bringing your fingertips to your nose bridge and pinching it, trying to calm yourself down before it’s too late. “Like, I was everything to you. That I gave you everything. I merely thought what I gave was enough for you it wasn’t. Was it because she’s young? To what, fulfill your youth that you never had?”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Do I? Because I don’t know what to believe anymore, Natasha,” you scoffed at her dishonesty and continued to throw random clothes inside the suitcase, not caring if it was neat; you just simply want to be out of this situation.

“Baby,” she reaches for your wrist and you tried pulling away from her, but the grip was strong. She gets close to you, her face inches away from yours, and cups your right cheek so softly that you almost melted into her touch.

“My relationship with that girl meant nothing. It really meant nothing–”

You pushed her away with all the strength you had left and screamed in terror, “Do not touch me!”

Natasha frantically nods over the sound of your voice and holds her hands up, understanding that you want nothing else but her hands away. She whispered, “Please, don’t be mad at me… please–”

“Stop,” you chuckled darkly and closed the suitcase that was filled with your clothes or hers, you don’t know, and grabbed the nearest sweater until a pair of hands was attached to your wrist again, trying to pull you away from the racket.

“I said don’t touch me!”

“Can you please listen to me? Just for once?” You shake your head, refusing to hear any of her excuses. Who knows, they might be more lies. “Stop, please listen to me! Everything was out of proportion–”

“It clearly was,” you cut her off with piercing eyes, trying to get away from her grasp. “You are the last person I want to talk to, so please let me go!”

She shakes her head, left and right, and her lips trembling from how utterly hurt you were.

“It was an accident, I swear!”

Was that even an accident? An affair that lasted for 5 months? That was a huge lie. An affair that would cause that long would involve feelings and talks about the future that was unpromised.

“You are the biggest liar that I have ever met, I feel repulse around you!”

“Please,” she begs with a heartbreaking tone that didn’t match her usual voice a while ago. “Please, let me explain everything. Just sit down and let me tell you everything.”

You shake your head, trying to force your eyes somewhere else other than Natasha’s green eyes. You’d rather look at a devil (although she is the devil) other than her.

“No, get off me!” you could feel the waves of emotion effortlessly running through your veins on your neck and you have this urge to lay it all out on her, cursing her and screaming that she’s the worst person you’ve ever met but that would also be an untruth thing to say because you still find her so beautiful and so perfect, that it’s hard for you to believe that this is happening. That this is the person that you love.

“My darling cub, please–”

“No,” you finally wretched your wrists and held your hands up high where you can wordlessly tell her that you don’t want to be touched. “I’m not your fucking cub or whatever, maybe go to Nicole for that. Plus, she’s younger yeah? What, is it because she has fresh pussy?”

She scrunches her eyebrows defensively and exclaimed, “No! That’s not true–”

“Then why go for a younger girl then, huh? So what, you could manipulate them? Like me?”

Natasha shakes her head, her hands are covering her face because she felt so ashamed, too ashamed, and too disgusting.

“No, please stop…”

You nearly laughed at her sudden begging, that she was the one who was hurting. How pathetic she looks in your eyes, you can’t even feel bad for her.

“I thought somehow we are like I don’t know, soulmates? Like maybe god or the fucking universe brought us together to love each other and take care of some sort but–”

“We can still be like that!” she says, somehow still having this hope in her eyes that this could all be sorted out. She pleads with her hands shakily, almost pressing her lips to her fingers and with trembling knees. “Please, Y/N–Just let me fix this, let me fix what we used to have.”

You shake your head, tears at the brim of your eyes that are very sore – you wish you could pull them out. You quickly added with a defeated tone,

“Fix yourself first, and be happy. But don’t ever come back to me once you’ve realized how much kind of a dick you are. You are the biggest,” you breathed, trying to form words in your head but your anger lashes out seemingly. “...you are the biggest dick I’ve ever met. Go to that girl and fix everything with her since you’ve given up everything for her. She’s more worth it, trust me. I know better.”

You grabbed your suitcase and left the room, trying to not look at her face that was very sorrowful – you might even run back to her. Wiping the tears from your eyes, you see Wanda waiting for you outside and quickly swinging her arm around you; pulling you so close to her that you felt the warmness that you need right now.

She kisses your head, whispering, “I’m very sorry–”

“You knew?”

She turns to you and placed both of her hands on your shoulder, sighing.

Wanda nodded.

You smiled, but not in an amusing way, and continued to walk with her. Then once you were outside of the building, you croak out:

“I understand you had to keep it from me.”

Some say that Natasha’s mistake was stupid, that maybe she didn’t mean for it to happen. But what’s not going through your head is how was she capable enough of replacing you over a girl who barely has gotten out of her youth? Was Natasha enjoying the younger girl’s company? That somehow she had more enthusiasm than you had?

You wouldn’t able to forgive her now, maybe never. But time is needed. It has to be done.

Part 2?

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff #natasha angst #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic

[love-islike-abomb]

Renegade: part 4

Roman reigns x OC Scarlet

Gif credit: @romanreigns

Warnings: angst, scifi, errors I may have missed

Tag list: @angelreigns444 @acknowledge-reigns

______

A few days later

Joe's POV

I hadn't yet told my cousins about the woman who's caught my attention.  "uce,  Woman will only lead them to you faster!" I could just hear them say.

I barely knew her And I was already falling for her. She was beautiful! Her personality was to die for and those eyes! Such beautiful dark brown eyes!!

"Uce! You with us?" I heard Josh say and I snapped out of my trance.

"Oh yeah sorry! Just lost in thought" I said

"About what?" He said crossing his arms "don't tell me it's a woman cause you know better! We can't have attachments! It makes us easily found!" He warned

"Josh how are they gonna find us?! We've been on the run for nearly 300 years! The should have found us by now!" I said

"I knew it! It's a woman!" Josh said rolling his eyes.

"Stop acting like my father Josh!" I glared at him

"Bout time someone does before you get us all killed" I heard him mumbled.

I felt my teeth sharpen and Tried to hide the anger that boiled up in me but it was no use. I ran and punched Josh across the face breaking his jaw only for it to instantly fix itself.  He ran back at me and pushed me causing me to fly across the yard. I stood up ready to fight again but Jonathon stepped in between us. "that's enough! Uce maybe him finding a woman is what he needs! Perhaps you should to! You may not be so grouchy if you got some!"

Jonathon looked at me "does she know uce?"

"No she doesn't" i said shaking my head.

"Keep it that way for now!" He said

I nodded. "I like her a lot!"

"That's fine uce! Just keep yourself and her safe. No one in this town knows who or what we are! Let's stay that way!"

"I'm gonna go see her again later this week" I said.

"Just bring her here!" Jonathan said

"Are you sure? Hot head over there may not like that to much"

"Stop! Just bring her over for dinner! Nothing to crazy" he said. 

"You 2 better behave yourselves and not be the horn dogs I know you can be!" I said crossing my arms.

"I won't" Jonathon said. Josh seemed to be off in his own little world until his brother nudged him "what?" He whisper yelled "oh yeah me either uce!"

I sighed "fine I'll ask her but if she says no I'm not pushing her. I don't wanna make her uncomfortable"

"Alright just let us know" Jonathon said patting me on the shoulder.

"I will"

Scarlet's POV

It had been a few days since I heard from Joe. I figured he was busy so I didn't think anything of it. I was folding laundry when my phone rang "talk about timing" I smiled.

"Hey!" I smiled into the phone

"Hey beautiful! How are you?"

"I'm alright! Just doing some laundry. Gotta have clean clothes" I said

"I get it" he chuckled "hey I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come meet my cousins one day this week for dinner?"

"Your cousins?" I asked

"Yeah I mean if you don't want to you don't have to" he stammered

"What are y'all planning on doing?" I asked

"Oh just a cook out" he said

"I'd like to come" I smiled

"Awesome!" He smiled "well as far as I know it's gonna be Saturday but since it's only Tuesday I'd love to see you before then!" He said

"It's still early in the day so if you wanna come over tonight you can" I smiled.

"I'd like that. maybe 6?"

"Sounds good"

"See you then" he said

After our phone conversation I finished a few things around the house. And around 4 started getting dressed.  I picked out a red dress.

After getting my shower and getting dressed I did a few last things before putting my shoes on. I had somehow managed 15 minutes to spare before he got here. Soon there was a knock on the door.

I took a deep breath and went to the door. "Hey scarl- wow!!" He smiled.

I blushed "you don't look to bad yourself!"

"Is that heart I hear?" He asked

"Oh yeah that's barracuda!" I said

"Nice! You've got taste!" He smiled.

After barracuda was over a song I was somewhat hoping would come in while he was here came on. "Lady in red?" His eyebrow perked up. "I um.... "

"You do look beautiful in that dress!" He smiled. "Come ere" he said reaching his hand out and leading me to the open part of my living room. Putting his hand on my hip and gently pulling me close to him we slowly swayed to music. Grabbing my hand he raised my arm over the back of his neck. "The song isnt lying. You do look gorgeous!" He smiled.

I blushed. I started to say something but he started singing along with the song. "Lady I. Red" he smiled down at me "is dancing with me" his smile started to slowly fade. "You look absolutely beautiful in that dress!" He said.

I smiled "it's been sitting in my closet for almost a year and I never had reason to wear it"

"I'm glad you wore it tonight" he smiled slowly leaning in to kiss me as the song ended.  Hia soft lips connecting with Mine had my heart racing as I slowly pulled away and laid my head on his chest A few minutes later I realized we had been dancing with no music "I've never done that before" I said lifting my head up.

"What's that?"

"Danced with no music! I guess the song was still in my head" I smiled.

"Or you're comfortable and relaxed and you didn't need it" he said.

I smiled "I know we just met a few days ago but I feel drawn to you already and I don't know why"

"I don't know either but I'm glad" he said

Slowly leaning in, our lips met again. A soft gentle kiss yet needy enough to leave me wanting more. A soft moan escaping my lips making me smile "you're a good kisser"

"Glad to know" he smiled "have I told you how beautiful you look?"

"Only hundreds of times" I smiled

Grabbing my hand in his and bringing it to his lips to kiss it again... I'be always wanted someone to do that and him doing it without me having to say made it even more romantic. His phone chimed randomly and he looked over at it "it's probably my cousin's wondering where I am. Let them wonder" he said leaning back in to give me another kiss only to stop a few seconds later with his phone ringing.

"Hello" he said sounding irritated

"Are you sure" his attitude towards the person suddenly changed, almost as if he was hiding what they just told him. He hung his head "alright" he said, hanging up his phone. He started to walk away but I grabbed his arm to stop him..

"What's wrong" i asked confused

"I have to go" he said, His facial expression sad.

"That's it no explanation?" I said

"I can't have you involved in this!" He said

"Involved in what? Joe what are you talking about?"

"I'm not who you think I am Scarlet!" He said

"Great... just as I start to like a guy he pulls the "I'm not who you think is am" card! Typical" I said rolling my eyes "let me guess your married and have kids already right?"  I yelled.

"Scarlet it's not like that at all" he said

"Then what is it like Joe? You come in here sweep me off my feet with your romance and because I won't jump into bed with you... no you know what just go! Get out! Gone with your wife and kids or whoever else you have! I'm such an idiot!" I said putting my head in my hands.

"Scarlet I -"

"OUT!!"

He turned to walk out the door and turned around  "I'll always be here"

#Spotify #Roman reigns #wwe fanfiction #roman reigns x oc #wwe x oc #roman reigns fanfiction #scifi

[ivybird]

It's always the quiet ones - Part One -Her.

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader.

Summary: You don't mess with the Queen.

Word Count: 1671

Warnings: Swearing, angst, crying, a hint at physical abuse, toxic relationship, blood, smoking, alcohol consumption, shouting.

A/N: Hiii! Okay, so...PART ONE. MINORS DNI. Proofread so all mistakes my own! GIF isn't mine!

Series Masterlist.

James Buchanan Barnes. The most feared man in New York. No one dared to upset him, or they’d be met with the barrel of his gun, and yet, here he was sat pouting in the back of an SUV because Bucky was somehow convinced to do business with Walker. He shuddered at the thought. John fucking Walker, the man who thought he was above everybody, thought he was above the Princes of New York…thought he was above Bucky. Walker wanted to offer him a deal, something to do with guns and grenades, but Bucky wasn’t listening when Steve filled him in, he was focusing on not losing his shit and smacking Steve upside the head with the butt of his gun. The car behind them contained the other three princes. Loki, Sam, and Thor. They insisted on coming along for “protection”, but Bucky knew they were being nosey bastards. He clambered out the car and picked a cigarette out of his holder, brought it to his lips and lit it, and Bucky couldn’t help but think the flame from the lighter resembled the fire bubbling up inside him.

“C’mon man, don’t wanna go in there stinkin’ of smoke”. Steve appeared beside him, wafting his hand to get the smoke away. They both leant against the side of the car waiting to be beckoned to Walker’s door. “Why’d you bring me here Steve? I told you, no business with Walker, Pierce, Rumlow and Stark. They’re off limits, and look at me, waiting to be called in like a dog whose been let out for a shit”. Steve chuckled and placed his hand on his friends shoulder. “This could be good for you, stop acting like a goddamn baby”. As Bucky flicked his cigarette away and turned to give Steve a snarky remark, they were beckoned forward by a man in a tux. “Mr Walker is ready for you”. Bucky gave the man a curt nod and walked past him through the threshold, leaving Steve to apologise and thank the poor guy. The foyer to Walker’s mansion was grand, if it wasn’t his, it would’ve took Bucky’s breath away. The accents of gold against white marble was far too pure for a man like Walker. Bucky’s eyes landed at the bottom of the staircase and there he stood, in all his so-called glory. A white button down, black slacks, and a tumbler of whisky sitting in his hand. Bucky managed a small nod in Walker’s direction. “Walker”. A smirk flicked at the corner of John’s lips. “Barnes. Rogers. Surprised you agreed to meet me”. Bucky scoffed and turned his head to Steve with his jaw clenched. “Not like I had a choice”.

“Buck”. Few could get away with talking to Bucky like he was a petulant child, but Steve was different. “Let’s get started, gentleman. Office is this way”. The pair were lead through a series of corridors and some stairs before they reached the office. John sat in a large leather chair and beckoned the men to sit across from him. “Please, sit”. Bucky and Steve made themselves somewhat comfortable, the air was thick with tension, and nothing could seem to ease it. “Before we get started, there’s someone I’d like you both to meet”. Steve and Bucky locked eyes before returning them to the man in front of them. “Who’ve you got locked away? No one I know would willingly wanna spend time with you, Walker”. A dry chuckle escaped Steve’s throat at Bucky’s remark but quickly covered it with a cough.

“Lucky you don’t know her then, Barnes”. Bucky rolled his eyes and scratched at his beard, his patience was wearing thin, and Steve knew if they didn’t get to business soon the office was going to turn into a blood bath. Without taking his eyes off Bucky, John raised a hand towards the door and beckoned with two fingers. “Y/N, darling? Come here. Some friends of mine like I’d like you to meet”. Steve furrowed his brows and glanced towards the door as Bucky leant forward. “We’re not friends”. Walker laughed at him. Bucky didn’t have time to respond. There she was, hovering in the doorway. Her hair flowed around her waist in soft waves, her figure was wrapped in a light blue sundress and her feet were clad in white ballet slippers. She was magnificent. Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes away from her as Walker grasped her hand and pulled her into his lap. The girl shrieked at the sudden movement and looked uncomfortable, but quickly fixed her expression when she saw Bucky staring at her. “Gentlemen, this is my fiancé. Y/N”. Bucky was snapped out of his trance by Steve clearing his throat. “Fiancé?”. Walker’s arm was wrapped around her waist so tight Bucky was sure she’d burst. “What? Didn’t think I’d have it in me? Pretty little thing isn’t she?”. Bucky didn’t say a word, he refused to feed into the man’s ego. Of course, he found her beautiful, he felt a pull to her he couldn’t quite explain, but he wasn’t going to tell Walker that. “Go on, don’t be rude, say hello”. She stood from his lap and cautiously reached forward offering the men her hand. “Hello”. Steve offered her a smile, whereas Bucky’s dumbass stood up and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “Miss…”.

A blush crept up her cheeks as she retracted her hand, feeling her fiancé’s eyes burn holes in her head, so she offered him a polite smile. “Y/L/N”. Bucky returned to his seat, his eyes still on her, a smile tugging at his lips. “Y/L/N”. He repeated it slowly, the taste of the name on his tongue like honey. Walker hummed in what sounded like disapproval behind her before yanking her down onto his lap once more. “John, I shouldn’t be here. You’re talking business”. Walker placed a sloppy kiss against her cheek, Bucky could see her visibly cringe but plaster a sweet smile onto her face when he looked at her. “Nonsense pretty one. You’re gonna be my wife, you need to know everything”. She nodded at him and readjusted herself so she was comfortable – if you could call it that – in his lap.

The men talked…and talked….and talked. She zoned out, her only focus was Bucky. His arms bulging against his jacket, a hint of an accent she couldn’t make out, his fluffy hair, his beard, his ocean eyes…his plush lips. She felt herself squirming every time his tongue darted out to wet them. Bucky’s eyes flickered to her every minute or so, getting lost in her Y/C/E before tearing himself away. “Come back to us, Y/N”. John’s now slurred voice pulled her out of her revere as his fingers clicked in front of her face. “Sorry, got lost in thought”. He patted her back and pushed her off his lap handing her his half full tumbler. “Be a darling and take this to the kitchen while I see our guests out”. She nodded at him frantically before attempting to scurry away. Her foot caught on the leg of the desk, sending her flying. Steve and Bucky were quick to react, standing to catch her. Steve’s large hands caught her before she hit the ground, but the whiskey flew and landed all over Bucky’s crisp white shirt. “Oh my god! Mr Barnes I’m so, so sorry!”. The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. Bucky chuckled as Steve guided her to stand straight. “Hey it’s okay! Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?”.

She rushed to the table to pull some tissues and began blotting his shirt. “No, I’m alright, thank you. I’m so clumsy!”. Bucky pulled her hands away from him and he swore he felt sparks in the tips of his fingers. “It’s alright”. Walker cleared his throat and the two whipped their heads towards him. “Are you kidding? I invite my friends over for a business meeting and you embarrass me by throwing my whiskey all over him?”. “John, I’m sorry. It was an accident. I tripped; I-I-I’d never embarrass you on purpose”. Bucky stood in front of her. “Walker, it was an accident. Leave it, man”. John walked around his desk and pushed himself in between Bucky and Y/N. “I think you better leave, Barnes. I need to have a chat with my fiancé. You”, he turned to face her. She recoiled, the rage in his eyes only meant one thing. “Upstairs. Now”. She nodded and ran.

“C’mon, Buck. Let’s go”. Steve pulled him out. Once they reached the car, Bucky pulled out a smoke, his hands shook as he lit it. “What the hell was that?”. Bucky looked at his friend, anger spread across his features. “What?”. Steve paced back and forth, his arms flying everywhere. “That! I saw the way you were lookin’ at her, man. Those puppy eyes, the smile, kissing her fucking hand. Are you insane? Do you want a war? Because Walker’ll start one”. “Yeah and did you see the way she fucking flinched every time his hands were on her? She looked like she wanted to hurl. I’m telling you Steve, there’s something not right here”. Steve stopped in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s none of our business, man”. Bucky wrenched the car door open and slipped inside. “Somethin’ isn’t right, Steve. I’m gonna find out what it is. That girl’s in trouble”.

Steve huffed and made his way around to the other side. Once settled he ran his hands over his face. “What’dya wanna do?”. Bucky turned to his friend, his mind going a million miles an hour. “I don’t know yet, but I need to find out what’s goin’ on. She looked so scared, man”. Steve just nodded, he wasn’t going to be able to stop Bucky and he wasn’t going to try. The way he looked at her…Steve knew he was going to fall in love with her…and he was playing a dangerous game.

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au #bucky imagine #sebastian stan characters #sebastain stan #mob steve rogers #mob bucky barnes #mob au #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #marvel

[alyswritings]

Babysitters for a Day

Request: what about toddler!sister reader x tom and zendaya taking care of her for one day <3

Summary: Tom and Zendaya babysit Y/N for the day.

Warnings: none

a/n: thank you for the request! hope you all enjoy!

(gif not mine)

Tom has plans with some of his friends, including the twins, and him and Zendaya are bidding goodbye after spending most of the day together.

"So are we still on for tomorrow?" Zendaya asks.

"Mm, actually, no. My mum needs me to babysit Y/N. She has to work and everybody else is busy with something. Sorry." Tom tells her, sympathetically smiling.

"That's okay. I understand." Zendaya gives him a reassuring smile.

"Although... you could babysit with me... if you want." Tom suggests.

"Well, I mean, I don't really wanna get in the way of yours and Y/N's time." Zendaya says.

"No, no, it'll be fine. She loves you." Tom states.

"Are you sure?" Zendaya asks.

"Love, I promise. Besides me bringing you would make me her favorite brother again." Tom grins.

"How do you know you're not currently her favorite brother?" Zendaya laughs.

"Because she quite literally said, and I quote, "Sammy is the best. You three are stinkyheads."" Tom quotes.

"Okay, fine, I'll come by. But if she doesn't want me, I'm leaving, and it's just you two. If she's okay with it, I'll stay." Zendaya says.

"Sweet." Tom grins, kissing her.

- - -

The next morning, Tom finishes getting Y/N ready after she ate breakfast. Everybody else is already out and taking care of their own tasks, leaving the oldest and youngest Holland siblings.

The doorbell rings and Tom rushes to it, answering it to reveal Zendaya.

"Hey." Zendaya smiles.

"Hi, love." Tom smiles, the two sharing a quick kiss.

Y/N rushes in to see who's here and her face brightens at the sight of Zendaya.

"Z!" Y/N cheers, rushing to the woman.

"Hey, little one!" Zendaya excitedly greets, picking the young girl up.

"Y/N, I have a question for you." Tom says, walking over.

"What?" Y/N asks.

"Is it okay if Z hangs out with us today?" Tom asks.

"The whole day?" Y/N asks, looking between both hopefully.

"Whole day." Zendaya answers.

"Yeah!" Y/N excitedly nods. "I wanna hold her hand when walking."

"I swear she loves you more than me." Tom tells his girlfriend.

"I do." Y/N says. Tom's jaw drops and Zendaya chokes on a laugh.

"Well, I guess we know who isn't getting a Christmas present from me this year." Tom says, sticking his tongue out at Y/N, the young girl's jaw dropping.

"But it's Christmas." She pouts.

"Guess we'll see what happens in the next couple months." Tom says.

"Don't worry, Y/N. I'll buy you bunch of presents." Zendaya says making the youngest Holland smile.

"Okay, Y/N, what do you wanna do?" Tom asks.

"Can we go to the park?" Y/N asks.

"Sure." Tom nods.

- - -

The three are at the park and it's not super busy given it's not the afternoon yet. Y/N played on the playground with a couple of other kids before rushing to Zendaya and Tom.

"Z, can you push me on the swings?" Y/N asks.

"Sure." Zendaya smiles.

"What about me?" Tom asks.

"You can stand by." Y/N says.

"She really does love you more." Tom mutters, the two following the four year old to the swings.

"She grew up with brothers. Maybe she's just excited to have another girl around." Zendaya says.

"I miss being the favorite." Tom frowns.

"Guess you shouldn't be a stinkyhead." Zendaya teases.

- - -

The trio are at lunch and Y/N has a kids menu that she can color on.

"Can we play Tic-Tac-Toe?" Y/N asks Zendaya.

"Sure. I happen to be excellent at that game." Zendaya says, grabbing one of the crayons and starting to draw the Tic-Tac-Toe box. "But I'm sure you could beat me."

"I usually beat the twinnies. Paddy always wins and Tommy does sometimes." Y/N says.

"Oh, really?" Zendaya asks and Y/N nods.

"Paddy never lets her win like us." Tom whispers.

"Mm-hmm. You sure you've never lost in an honest way?" Zendaya asks.

"Maybe once or twice." Tom mutters. "She cheats." He accuses. Y/N glares at him and Zendaya rolls her eyes.

"All right, Y/N/N, you go first." Zendaya tells her.

"Do you wanna be X's or O's?" Y/N asks.

"Mmm... X's." Zendaya says.

"Otay." Y/N says, drawing in O in one of the squares. Zendaya puts an X in a different square. They play until Y/N has three O's in a row. "I win!" She grins.

"Dang it. I thought I had you." Zendaya pretends to be disappointed.

"Can we play again?" Y/N asks.

"Of course." Zendaya smiles at her, drawing another box. She glances over at Tom, seeing his soft and fond smile as he watches the two of them.

Zendaya focuses on the game and lets Y/N win again, enjoying the gleam in the little girl's eyes when she wins.

"Tommy, can you play?" Y/N asks hopefully.

"Sure, darling." Tom says, grabbing the last spare crayon. He draws the box and lets Y/N put an O in one of the squares. Tom lets her win, the girl cheering for herself again.

The second time they play, Tom quickly beats Y/N.

"Really?" Zendaya asks.

"She needs to learn the Holland competitive trait sometime." Tom shrugs.

"It's otay. I always win in Candyland." Y/N grins.

"She cheats." Tom accuses again.

"Sure, honey." Zendaya sarcastically agrees with him.

- - -

The three are now mini golfing and Tom is in the lead.

"You know you could let her win." Zendaya says as the two watch Y/N line up the ball with the putt.

"Yeah, but what's the fun in that?" Tom whines.

"Cause she's four. Come on, you don't like seeing her little face light up because she got to win. That sweet, little, innocent face looking up at you with bright eyes full of joy." Zendaya says.

"Are you trying to guilt trip me or something?" Tom asks.

"Maybe." Zendaya smiles.

"But it's so fun winning." Tom insists.

"It's very fun winning for a four year old." Zendaya retorts.

"Tommy, help." Y/N calls. They look over, seeing her ball in the middle of the small and shallow pond.

"What happened?" Tom asks, walking over.

"It went the wrong way." Y/N says. Tom bends down and reaches into the pond, getting the ball out. He dries it off with his sweatshirt before giving it back to Y/N.

Y/N goes over to the start of the area and puts the ball down.

"Can you help me?" Y/N asks.

"Which one?" Zendaya asks.

"Tommy." Y/N says.

"Yeah, sure." Tom puts his ball and club down. He stands behind Y/N and puts his hands over hers as she holds her small golf club. Tom has to bend down a little to be able to help, some curls falling into his face.

"Okay, so you need to aim it this way... that way the ball won't go in the direction of the water again. Unless it hits something." Tom says. "And the hole's not too far away so don't use too much strength, but not too little either."

Tom helps her hit the ball and it stops when it's close to the hole.

Y/N manages to do the next few holes by herself, still requesting Tom's help occasionally.

By the end of the game, Y/N did end up winning.

"You didn't let her win, did you?" Zendaya smiles.

"Hey, she had me helping her. All my talent went into her hits." Tom insists.

"Uh-huh." Zendaya nods.

- - -

By the end of the day when they returned home, Y/N was practically asleep and Tom is holding her, the girl cuddling into his chest.

"I must say this is the most fun I've had this week. I gotta hang out with this little one more often." Zendaya smiles.

"Yeah. yeah, she'd really like that." Tom says.

"Bye, Y/N/N." Zendaya whispers to the half asleep girl.

"Bye bye." Y/N whispers.

The couple bid goodbye before Zendaya starts to leave.

"Z?" Y/N calls quietly.

"Yeah?" Zendaya turns back.

"You're my favorite. The boys are still stinkyheads." Y/N says. Tom gains a bitch face as Zendaya quietly laughs.

"Thank you, Y/N. I'm honored. I'll see you guys later." Zendaya says, leaving.

Tom gets Y/N up to her room, having a quick conversation about the day with Nikki. Tom goes into Y/N's room and quickly changes her into her pajamas. He tucks her into bed and turns her nightlight on.

"Night, darling." Tom whispers, gently kissing her forehead.

"Tommy?" Y/N calls.

"Yeah?" Tom asks.

"You're my second favorite." Y/N says. "You're my favorite stinkyhead."

"Thank you, Y/N/N." Tom smiles, gently ruffling her hair. "Go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"I love you." Y/N mumbles.

"I love you, too." Tom tells her.

Taglist:

@glxwingrxse @peyton-14

#tom holland #tom holland x sister reader #tom holland x sister!reader #holland!sister #zendaya

[mackenzielovee]

ambivalence blurb: new years - rafe cameron

a/n: i spend way too much time picking out gifs lmao. anyway - here it is! sorry it's early but im gonna be too busy the next few days. let me know what you think ;)

Warnings: underage drinking, sexual innuendoes, mentions of sex, mentions of driving under the influence, mentions of the institution of marriage, a shit load of fluff

series masterlist

Rafe's eyes frantically search the room, unable to find her anywhere. He glances back in what should be the Thorton's dining room, but is instead packed with drunk teenagers all ready to ring in the new year.

He steps into the kitchen, immediately spotting Topper's dirty blonde hair that he'd gelled back, claiming to both Rafe and Kelce that women loved it like that. Rafe had just rolled his eyes, but now, he's thankful for it. It makes Topper visible in a sea of people. Nobody else would wear their hair like that.

"Topper," Rafe raises his voice over the volume in the kitchen, "Have you seen Y/N?"

"Oh, my God," Topper sarcastically gasps, drunken gaze meeting Rafe's, "She broke free of the leash?"

Rafe rolls his eyes, roughly shoving Topper's shoulder, "Fuck you. Where's my girlfriend?"

"Relax, dude," Topper groans. He's doing his best to regain his balance, grabbing onto the kitchen counter for support.

"Don't tell me to relax when I can't find her anywhere," Rafe mutters, already looking around again.

"Chill, I know exactly where she is. She's fine," Topper shrugs, "We ran out of ice."

"What does that have to do with it?" Rafe asks him, eyebrows furrowed.

"She's sober. Gave her the keys to your truck, figured you wouldn't mind. She left, like, five minutes ago."

"Wait," Rafe holds his hand up, clenching his jaw, "You sent my girlfriend out on the road, alone, with a city full of idiots driving drunk tonight?"

"Yes, you know how much I hate your girlfriend," he remarks, rolling his eyes, "She's fine. It's five minutes up the road."

"God help you if she's not," Rafe mutters in his ear, and with one final shove, he stalks out of the room.

Rafe hurries outside, glancing around the sea of parked cars to see if, by any chance, you'd come back yet. He sighs when he doesn't see his truck, then walks to the end the driveway and paces. He checks his watch once every minute, glaring at every individual entering or exiting the Thorton house.

Finally, after ten agonizing minutes, he recognizes the headlights of his truck pulling onto the property. He hurries over to the truck and reaches for the handle the second he hears the engine flip off.

"Hey," you say absentmindedly, not glancing at him because you're too busy fiddling with your phone and his keys.

"Baby."

His voice is tense, stern, demanding. You turn and look at him, finding him standing with his arms crossed.

"You okay?" you question.

"Please, get out of the truck."

You do as he says, treading lightly as to try and figure out what could be upsetting him. Once your feet are firmly on the ground, he shuts the door for you and then plucks his keys from your fingers.

Before you can speak, he pulls you into his arms, keeping you flush against him as he lets himself calm down.

"Rafe," you say, voice uneasy, "How many drinks have you had?"

"I'm not drunk," he insists, kissing the top of your head, "I was worried. You should've let me come with you. People have been drinking, you have no business driving around to get fucking ice."

"Okay, I'm sorry," you coax him, running a hand up and down his back.

"Please, don't do that again."

"I'm sorry, baby," you repeat, "You just looked like you were having fun. I didn't want to pull you away."

"Always pull me away," he insists.

"Okay," you agree, standing up taller as if to ask for a kiss, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Just, would never forgive myself if-"

"Stop," you press, "I'm fine. You overthink too much."

Rafe  laughs dramatically, but ultimately nods. Funnily enough, he's never been accused over overthinking when it comes to his job or when he helps Wheezie with her homework. Seemingly, only when it comes to you.

"Can't believe he sent you out for fucking ice," Rafe grumbles, "And, he looks like a douchebag with his hair. I should kick his ass."

"He's your best friend."

"Not right now, he's not," he grunts, then releases you and steps forward, pulling open the back door.

"Hand me one," you say absentmindedly.

"I got it, baby," he shakes his head, attempting to get a solid grip on three bags of ice.

"Rafe, I got three bags."

"What's your point?" he questions, finally lifting them up, one in one hand and two in the other.

He nods his head for you to close the door of the truck, then starts walking inside. You smile as you watch him carry them, knowing he has to be uncomfortable but would rather do that than have you care anything even remotely heavy.

"Oh, Y/N," Topper explodes when the two of you enter the kitchen, "You're a lifesaver."

"Buy enough ice next time, you idiot," Rafe mutters to him, setting the bags down on the counter.

"He's mad at me," Topper mumbles to you.

"Yes, he is," you agree, "I'll work on him."

"Gross, Y/N," Topper drunkenly raises his nose up at you, then stumbles off in search of Kelce.

You round the island and stand beside Rafe, who is still fumbling with the bags of ice. He doesn't notice you staring at him until you place a hand on his arm, halting his movements.

"What is it, sweetheart?" he asks.

"You're tense," you inform him, "And, a little grumpy."

"Yeah," he agrees, running a hand through his hair.

You hoist yourself up onto the island, sitting on it and then pulling Rafe to stand in between your legs. Instantly, his mood seems to adjust. He smirks and sets his hands on your thighs, enjoying the close proximity.

"You're too handsome to be tense and grumpy," you tease.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You reach over into the coolers about a foot away and pull out two beers, holding them both up to Rafe for him to twist off the top. He does, then accepts one of them.

"I feel better already," he says, "Didn't need the beer, though. Just you."

"So cheesy," you joke, but pull him down to you by the collar of his shirt anyway.

He grins and gladly accepts, putting his beer down on the counter and then running his hands up your thighs as he kisses you intensely. When you'd initially showed you this dress, he hadn't been able to form words for how much he loved it. Now, he seems unable to stop his hands.

"How about now?" you tease when you pull away, lips brushing against his when you speak.

"Better, but need more," he smirks.

His hands travel from your thighs around to your ass, giving it an adoring squeeze and watching your eyes widen.

"Rafe," you gasp.

"Not my fault," he shrugs, "It's the dress."

You're about to make a remark back, but Topper buts in at just the right moment, making Rafe groan.

"Shots!" Topper cheers, handing both of you a full glass.

Two hours and many shots later, you and Rafe both feel incredible and ready for the midnight hour to strike. You had walked away from him to get another white claw, but got sucked into a random conversation with a girl at the cooler when she gushed over your dress.

He watches you from the couch in the living room, staring at you with glossy eyes and every ounce of love he's ever had for you.

"Y'know," Rafe starts, drunkenly pointing to you and earning the attention of Topper and Kelce, "Still can't believe I got that girl, boys."

"Mhm," Kelce hums, "She's smoking-"

"Stop't," Rafe says quickly, slapping his hand over Kelce's mouth, "Can't believe I'm going into the new year with her. She's so-"

"Okay, bro," Topper sits suddenly, spilling a bit of his drink at the movement, "I'm startin' a timer. You can ramble for two minutes, then y'have to shut the fuck up."

"Deal," Rafe nods, then immediately launches into his feelings, "She's so good. So beautiful, so smart, so funny, holy shit, th'other day- no, y'guys wouldn't like that one. Anyway, love her so much. Always have. Always will. An' y'know, you guys are assholes for telling me I wouldn't get her. But, forgive you. Believed you at times. But, swear, gonna give her a ring-"

"Whoa, what?" Topper stops him, eyes wide.

"Shh, bro, I only have, like, thirty seconds left," Rafe shakes his head, holding a finger up at Topper, "Haven't even got started on our sex, holy fuck-"

"No, God, please," Kelce groans.

"Time's up," Topper says quickly, even though it's not. Truthfully, he'd never even bothered to start a timer, "You're giving her a ring? As in, already have it? Or, like, way in the future?"

Rafe grins, "Dude, bought it after Kelce's Halloween party. She got super drunk'n told me she wanted to marry me."

"Rafe," Topper gapes, feeling more sober than he had a few minutes ago, "Bro, that's huge."

"She's not ready," Rafe continues, no longer bound to his two minutes, "But, y'know, after she graduates and we figure some things out, I'm gonna ask her to be m'wife."

Topper opens his mouth to speak, to congratulate his best friend on such a huge accomplishment, such a huge milestone. Instead, Kelce interrupts him.

"Dammit!" he grumbles, "She'll be, like, really off the market, then?"

"Shut up," Rafe says, slapping Kelce on the back of the head. When he looks over at you, you're heading back, "Nervous t'kiss her at midnight. Everything I ever wanted."

Topper smiles, "You got this, bro."

Rafe grins at him, nodding his head as if to silently thank him. He turns once you reach him, holding his arms out and pulling you into his lap.

"Hi, baby," he whispers in your ear, pressing a small kiss into the nape of your neck.

"Hi," you reply, giving him your best drunk smile, "Was tellin' that girl that we're together."

"Did she ask?"

"No."

Rafe chuckles, "So, you're just bragging on me, then."

"Yes," you nod in agreement, then press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, "Love you so much. Guess what?"

"I love you, too. What?" he replies. He fumbles with a stray strand of hair that refuses to tuck behind your ear while he waits for your response.

"Don't even wanna do the midnight thing," you admit, "Rather just go upstairs with you, take my makeup off, and then you could-"

"There are other people around you," Kelce raises a hand, "And, no offense, Rafe, but it would break my damn heart to hear Y/N talk dirty to another guy."

You laugh, fastening your arms around Rafe's neck as you squirm in his lap. He grabs onto your hips, steadying your positioning.

"I suggest you move away then, Kelce," you tease him, then lean down and press a kiss to Rafe's lips.

"Guess what?" he asks you this time.

"What?"

"I want to do the midnight thing," he says quietly, "Kiss you at midnight and think about how I wanna do it again every new year's for the rest o'my life. Plus, need to show everyone on Figure Eight that you're mine. It's only been a few months, y'know. There's gotta be like, one person who doesn't know."

"You're s'cute," you grin, "We're doing the midnight thing."

Rafe nods contently, smiling to himself when you cuddle your head into the crook of his neck and place a kiss there. He can tell you're tired, but when he looks at his watch, he sees that it's only about ten minutes until midnight.

"I love you," you whisper to him, your heart swelling because of the alcohol and the words he'd just said.

"I love you, sweetheart," he says back.

Topper and Kelce both rise shortly after, claiming they need to find someone to kiss at midnight. Rafe just nods to them, checking on you to make sure you haven't fallen asleep on him. You assure him by pressing a kiss into the crook of his neck every minute, which only winds up turning him on.

"Glad we're crashing here," Rafe whispers to you, "Gonna need to go upstairs soon."

"Me, too," you smile, "Y'look so good right now. Not fair."

"Not fair?" he raises an eyebrow, checking his watch once more. Five minutes until midnight.

"Mhm," you hum, "How'm I supposed to keep myself ladylike when you look so good?"

He grins, "Baby, nobody said you had to be ladylike tonight."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah," he nods, leaning forward and pressing a few quick kisses to your lips, "C'mon. Need to get some champagne and stand up."

"Rafe," you whine.

Quickly, he tucks your legs around his waist and stands up, keeping you tucked around him. You protest, only because you don't want to look like a toddler in front of everyone. Really, you'd let him carry you around if it meant being that close to him all the time.

He sets you down and takes your hand to lead you to the kitchen, where Topper and the girl he found are pouring champagne into plastic flutes for anyone that wants it.

Rafe snags two glasses, then leads you back out of the kitchen and into the living room. At thirty seconds until midnight, Topper appears beside the two of you with his girl draped all over him. He smiles at you and holds up his flute, as if silently cheering you for being so happy with Rafe.

Topper starts counting down at twenty, which makes Rafe roll his eyes. You just laugh, leaning into his side and letting his scent overwhelm you as you wait. Rafe feels his chest tighten when it hits ten, his anxiety skyrocketing.

His girl, the girl he'd always wanted, ready for him to kiss her into the new year. She looks up at him with her beautiful, drunken eyes, smiling widely at him.

"Three!" Topper yells, "Two! One!"

Rafe drowns out all of the cheering and the 'Happy New Year' shouting, his only focus on you. He takes a deep breath, tightening his grip around your waist and pulling you to him. He leans down just as you rise up, lips meeting and moving together in perfect harmony. Of course, both of you drag out the kiss. Your first kiss of the new year.

Your hand comes up to his hair, his down to your ass, and you giggling when he squeezes is the only thing that breaks you apart.

"Holy shit," he mumbles, grin forming on his lips.

"I know, right?" you smile, pecking his lips once more.

"Happy New Year, baby," he whispers.

"Happy New Year," you reply, running a hand absently down his neck and over his cheek.

Topper buts in, giving you both hugs and offering more champagne. You and Rafe both drink the flutes, but don't want any more after that. Instead, you're just ready to be alone with Rafe. He feels the same, it seems, because the second you drain your glass of champagne, he takes your hand and starts toward the stairs.

Neither of you bother telling Topper you're going to bed, knowing it wouldn't make a difference. He's too far gone, now.

Rafe unlocks the guest bedroom door and then re-locks it once both of you are inside, unable to keep his hands off you once he turns around.

"My gorgeous girl," he mumbles in between kisses, "My pretty, drunk, beautiful girl. I love you."

He leads you over to the guest bed, sitting down and pulling you into his lap without breaking your kiss. You let your hands roam, eagerly undoing the top two buttons of his shirt and slipping your hand into it, touching his warm, bare skin.

He moves his lips down to your neck, hitting that sweet spot and making you moan. He knows he'll never get used to that sound.

"Can't believe you," he mumbles into your skin, "Can't believe I got you. Get to be with you. All I've ever wanted."

"Baby," you mumble, bottom lip jutting out as you feel your heart swell with emotion.

"M'serious," he continues, "Loved you forever."

"Hey," you pout, leaning back and tipping his chin up so he's looking at you, "Love you. Want to be with you forever."

"Count on it," he nods, and the little smile that tugs on his lips makes you smile.

You press your lips to his once more, pushing him back so he's lying down on the bed. The rest of the night just seems to be the two of you tangled together, laying up, kissing, and giggling long after the party dies down.

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[snackhobi]

min yoongi is the best shot in the business. you’re the best gunsmith in the city and the only person he trusts to programme his tech; to make his gear. 

he likes your work. it’s a shame, then, that he doesn’t like you.

pairing: yoongi x f!reader / word count: 14.3k / genre + rating: NSFW (18+), cyberpunk!au, smut, frenemies (?) to lovers

warnings/etc: hitman!yoongi. black market dealer/gunsmith!reader. cursing/explicit language. whole lotta tension, sexual and otherwise. mentions of injury/violence. minor character death (no one important, don’t worry, this isn’t an angst fic). brief hurt/comfort. reader has tattoos. sexually explicit content. oral; fingering; multiple orgasms; overstimulation (f). unprotected sex (please take the necessary precautions irl). rough sex?. choking. creampie. brief mention of aftercare. I think that’s everything but please lmk if I missed any!

a/n: thank you SO MUCH to both @hobi-gif​ and @morndas​ for beta reading this and being so supportive, ily both so much and I owe you my life 🤧💕 as always what was meant to be a short fic turned into a huge one. also this is technically for my 1.1k milestone but it’s a billion years late, oops!​

Yoongi really doesn’t like you.

You’re loud. Cocky. Arrogant. You needle him all the time, dig your fingernails in and squeeze, revelling in the way he sets his jaw, the muted spark of irritation in his eyes. You bat your eyelashes and tilt your head, throw it back whenever you laugh and reveal the easing column of your throat, dragging each interaction out with a kind of sadistic pleasure that has him gritting his teeth. Because you love annoying him, getting under his skin, tapping your fingers against the soft swell of your bottom lip as you eye him up, taking your time before you speak.

Infuriating. You’re infuriating and you know it.

It’s unfortunate, really, because you’re unavoidable. 

Jungkook had asked, once, why Yoongi doesn’t just go elsewhere. They’re more than familiar with the underbelly of this heaving city, underneath all the neon lights and shimmering holograms and towering skyscrapers and legal tech; the scuttling seams of back alley traders and illegal goods, tech or otherwise. There are plenty of black market dealers, after all, plenty of other vendors he could go to to get the equipment he wants. Plenty of other skilled crafters, artificers, artisans, people who would be more than happy to create the things that Yoongi asks for, that he needs. People who can get their hands on anything you want. For a price.

Yoongi’s answer had been short and succinct.

“She’s the best there is,” he’d said, and that had been that.

Because it’s true. You might be exasperating, maddening, laughing in Yoongi’s face where others might cower or genuflect, but no one is as good as you. All of Yoongi’s gear has been crafted by you; each and every single one of his weapons, his tech, the headpiece that fits so perfectly around the back of his skull that Yoongi often forgets that it’s there, hidden in his hair, unfolding across his eyes whenever he lines up a shot to make the kill—there’s evidence of your work across every inch of his body, hidden away under his clothes, day in, day out. Even when he’s not on a contract Yoongi never leaves anything to chance. 

(A walking armoury, Namjoon had called him once.)

(You’d phrased it differently.

You’re always packing, hmm? you’d hummed, rapping your fingernails in a steady beat as you’d leaned back in your chair, smiling with teeth. There was laughter in your words and your gaze, no attempt made to hide your amusement, but after your goading you’d made him a collapsible sword anyway. It’s a beautiful thing, this folding blade, bristling with plasma and energy if Yoongi needs it, lethal and deadly. One of his most prized possessions, something that’s gotten him out of multiple corners, and he owes it—you—his life.)

There’s no one on par with you. You’re a Renaissance woman, a fiercely talented polymath who doesn’t need to rely on anyone else to create the things you create. Low-tech, high-tech, no tech—you make everything from scratch, programme things yourself, hunched over each project in your own workshop with nothing but your mind and your own two hands.

It’s the only reason he puts up with you and your antics, the sharp jibes, the shameless flirting; you’re the most infuriating person he knows, but there’s no one else he would trust with the work that you do.

Unfortunately.

Which is why Yoongi finds himself here, again and again, as familiar with this studio as you are—he watches you work, sometimes, watches you sketch up blueprints and drag your fingers across your array of displays, your world cast in shifting shades of cyan and electric blue from all the tech in here, humming and alive. He likes to see how his equipment is made, after all. It can mean the difference between life and death. He takes this seriously.

It’s the one time you might be quiet. Might be quiet, because you still talk even when you work; flick your gaze between Yoongi and whatever’s set in front of you, that ever present smile spread across your lips, smug and amused. You’re only silent during the hardest jobs. Like right now, you’re intense and focused, a furrow dug between your brows as you survey his sniper rifle—almost shorn in two. (It had been the only thing to hand when he’d had to block a blow from a guard he’d somehow overlooked, no time to draw any other weapons before they’d started to brawl.)

You’d been unimpressed. You’d raised your eyebrows with all the severity of a disappointed mother, bitten words out at him with molten snideness, dripping heat and snark.

“It’s a gun, Yoongi. A gun. You know, something you shoot with? Pew pew? Blammo? I’m not sure what sort of shields and body armour you’ve seen in the past but this isn’t either of those things. Do you want me to sketch some diagrams up for you? Or maybe I could write you a book. Baby’s First Arsenal, Chapter One: The Difference Between Things That Are Guns And Things That Aren’t. Would that be helpful?”

No one else talks to Yoongi like that. No one else would dare. It’s only a rare few that know his birth name and it’s not often that he hears it, more used to the sound of Agust D falling off people’s lips. But that had been part of your price, part of the agreement when he’d first met you and asked for your services: his real name.

Yoongi had let it wash over him, had endured your tongue-lashing before putting the gun down with a heavy finality and thrust it over at you, tired of all your talk.

“Just fix it,” he’d demanded.

You’d laughed in his face.

“As always, your bedside manner leaves something to be desired,” you’d said, taking the rifle from him.

The D-2 Shadow isn’t just a weapon. It’s a piece of art, clean edges and slick lines, and Yoongi is grateful to have it back in his hands. There’s no other sniper rifle like it, made of super lightweight alloy and easy to handle; thermal scope, enhanced stabilisers for accuracy; superior kinetic coils for better shot penetration. Yoongi had asked for the best and you’d delivered. Gone above and beyond, crafted a weapon the likes of which no one else possesses, modified in ways other people can’t even fathom.

And you’d fixed it when he'd almost let it get destroyed. Made it better than new, even, layered it in more alloy to make it stronger without making it heavier, a new material of your own design. If he hadn’t known you as well as he does he’d have worried that it was beyond repair, knows that other gunsmiths would have taken one look at its crumpled body and shaken their heads, but you hadn’t. 

Of course you hadn’t. You never do.

You charge him a pretty penny for your work, make him pay through the nose for everything he asks of you, but Yoongi is more than willing to do so. More than capable of paying, coffers lined with more money than he might need, one of the best contract killers there is—the real price he pays is with his sanity, worn away each time you open your mouth. He can’t help but rise to your bait, as derisive as you are; it’s only the smallest things, a sharpness to his otherwise even tone, an angry spark in his eyes, but you pick up on it all.

He’s not your only customer. You don’t extend your services to many, only to the people you want to—Yoongi’s not sure what set of harebrained criteria you have that lets you choose who you’ll sell to and who you won’t but he can’t make heads nor tails of it. He knows he’s not part of your clientele because he’s got the credits to pay, nor is it because he’s one of the most highly regarded hitmen in his line of business. 

You don’t just choose people who can afford to pay or people who have a level of power and influence in this dark underworld you inhabit. You really don’t care about those things. You just pick and choose on a whim.

(Once, back when he’d first met you, Yoongi had discovered that you’d concocted an entirely new security system—practically incapable of being hacked, crawling with tech, a level of complexity even the richest elites could barely afford—for some small artist who’d worried that their paintings might get stolen. He was an unknown at the time, this V, squirrelled away in one of the dark corners in the lowest levels of the city, and you’d all but given him some of the best work you’d ever done, undercharged him something chronic.

You’d shrugged when Yoongi had asked why.

“He makes me laugh,” you’d replied.)

Yoongi isn’t your only customer but he’s certainly the only one you seem to treat the way you do. There’s a level of irreverence in everything you do, self-confidence settled across every inch of you like the obnoxious stench of a teenage boy’s body spray, but you seem to take particular pleasure in Yoongi’s displeasure. He’d brought Namjoon along, once, inquiring after an imitation greenhouse, how someone might set up the tech to raise tropical plants that wouldn’t survive otherwise (mostly above board, even; Namjoon might grow illicit plants, poisonous and prohibited, but he likes pretty flowers, too). And there had been none of the mocking that Yoongi receives. None of the wind ups. You’d been pleasant, despite your incessant snark, agreeing to take the job with a smile on your face that Yoongi never gets given.

(It had been infuriating, to know that you’re capable of not being an ass, but you just choose not to be. For fun.)

Yoongi really, really doesn’t like you, but he respects your work. Respects you, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

You keep your word. You don’t supply his competitors, although you claim it’s not loyalty to him and it’s only because they can’t pay as well as he does—winnings go to the highest bidder, you’d said sagely, as obtuse and irritating as always. 

But Yoongi knows other sellers will provide anyone who’s willing to pay, freelancers who peddle their wares regardless of affiliation or alliances. You’re beholden to no one and yet Yoongi knows you would never double cross him. Never supply anyone who challenges his work, even if they have the money, even if he’s on good terms with them (it’s not personal, it’s business; Yoongi has no issue with other hired killers as long as they stay out of his way). He knows he can rely on you, which is something to be treasured in these back-crossing back-stabbing backstreets.

So when he makes his way to your door, the details of a new contract still fresh in his mind, he instantly comes to a stop.

There’s something off. He can tell immediately, years of instinct causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise, every part of him on edge. Everything looks normal, is normal, but there’s a burning in his gut that has Yoongi’s finger itching for the trigger even though there’s nothing to shoot. 

You’ve granted him the privilege of access to your workshop, to the other rooms, entered the scans of his hand and eye and voice into the security systems, keep him updated on the varying passwords you cycle through, so he can enter whenever he needs to. 

(He’s woken you up on more than one occasion, roused you from sleep for last minute supplies before he leaves for another contract, appearing in the dead of night like a spectre of death, clothing dark and eyes darker, overflowing with weaponry. A looming silhouette edged in strokes of cyan and magenta from the ever present, low-level neon light in your room, so much darker than the bright lights of your workshop. Intimidating. 

And you always just roll your eyes and sigh and tell him to keep a better eye on his cache of equipment and climb out of bed for him. You’re so at odds to him in your sleep rumpled clothing and mussed hair, still unafraid even when he’s fully geared and ready to kill; shirt slipping off your shoulder, swathes of bare skin in the place of Yoongi's all-encompassing outfit, shimmering black light tattoos visible on your legs and arms and bare skin of your collarbones, geometric lines in the palest of blues and greens. You hand over whatever he needs and tell him the creds he owes you.

“I’ve already given you a key to my apartment and you haven’t even taken me for dinner once,” you sigh—dramatic and melodramatic—even as you hand over a bundle of crossbow bolts. The synthesised toxin inside the darts is your own concoction, of course, courtesy of the plant matter provided from Namjoon’s greenhouse.

“I’d literally rather be shot in the head than willingly spend time with you,” he replies.

“You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid,” you say, and just laugh in the face of his unimpressed deadpan. As insufferable as always.)

So he doesn’t need your permission to enter. He’s silent, light-footed as he makes his way inside, scanning each inch of this familiar interior; nothing’s wrong, not yet, but Yoongi can sense something in the air. Something heavy, settled bitter on his tongue, coating the back of his throat.

And then he walks into your workshop.

You’re meticulous. Even when you’re overrun with gear, with parts that have yet to be used, everything has its place. You prefer paper over datapads, too, tack sheets of designs and notes up on the wall, have clipboards and stacks of sheets set neatly in their place, a throwback to a time before tech ruled everything. Yoongi knows the layout of this room as well as he knows his own home, a mental map of straight lines and unwavering coordinates with you in the centre of it all.

Upheaval. Those neat lines of organised cartography have been pulled apart. Ham-handed work, to be sure, more of a statement than anything else; intent to instil fear rather than to destroy (although, Yoongi sees now that one of the monitors has been smashed, display sparking white and blue as it bleeds out electricity.). Even in the darkness of the room—overhead lights off and only emergency lighting on, painting things in shades of dark crimson and pink—Yoongi can tell that whichever interlopers have done this are already gone. The room is empty.

Then the sound of a clatter breaks the silence and Yoongi’s already got his pistol out, drawn without a thought as he approaches the sound that comes from the back room, fleet-footed and silent as he raises the gun and rounds the corner—

And sees you at the end of the barrel.

There’s a first aid kit on the floor. Packs of medi-gel and rolls of bandages and other supplies scattered around your feet. You haven’t even spotted Yoongi yet, in despair at the mess in front of you; he’s never seen you like this, never seen anything other than your veneer of enraging smugness and never-ending energy.

“Y/n?” 

You flinch even as your head snaps around, eyes wide—but the second you see Yoongi you visibly relax, even though he’s still holding a gun in your direction.

There’s a bruise blossoming across your left cheek.

“Ah, Yoongi.” The smile that paints itself across your lips is almost convincing despite the dark flower that’s unfolding on your skin, blood rising to the surface and painting it in hues of pain; you wince, a little, when the smile makes your wound ache. Soldier onwards as you act as though nothing is wrong. “I know you’re always desperate for my attention but do you mind giving me a second? I’m kind of indisposed at the moment.”

Yoongi’s lips are set in a thin line. He only has one question on his mind.

“Who did this to you?”

Your gaze flickers before you break eye contact, staring at the first aid supplies on the floor. “What, this? Have you never dropped something before?”

Yoongi ignores your deflection. It only takes a few moments to reholster the pistol, to step over to you, to grasp your chin and tilt your face towards him.

“Who did this to you?”

Yoongi’s tone is quiet and low, firm and undeniable. For the first time since he’s met you it seems as though you’re lost for words, lips parted around a silent sound of surprise as you’re subjected to the full force of Yoongi’s gaze, cutting through you; past every layer of self-inflated narcissism you put on, past every deflection you might make.

There's a beat of silence.

And then you slowly but irrevocably fold underneath the weight of his stare.

You let him lead you, sit you down, bowing to his hands and his directions. You’re silent throughout, lips an unfamiliar shape as they’re pulled down into the slightest of frowns. He’s only ever seen you smile, seen you laugh, self-assured. Never like this.

You seem surprised, startled when he sits across from you and cracks open a pack of medi-gel. Yoongi’s surprised too, although he doesn’t show it, lets his instincts take over and settles into auto-pilot as he reaches for your face. He’s never seen your eyes so round, so wide, watching the hand that descends on your cheek with all the single-minded intent of a man about to fillet a fish—careful and practiced but menacing, maybe. (He doesn’t like you but you don’t deserve to have been hurt and Yoongi can’t just stand by and not help.)

And you don’t shy away. You stare at him as he stares at his fingers, layers the gel evenly across the pain of your bruise, cool and soothing.

It’s only when he’s reached for more medi-gel and touched your cheek for the second time that you finally speak.

“It was one of the Tang cousins.”

Yoongi goes still, fingers resting across your skin, slick with purple gel. 

“One of the cousins?”

Yoongi doesn’t like you. But—and God knows what he did wrong in a previous life for this to be true—you’re one of his inner circle, one of the very, very few people he trusts. You’re not friends and he doesn’t like you, but he owes you, owes you a hundred times over, owes you for every successful kill, every silent infiltration, every averted detection. All thanks to your tech and the work you put into it for him. He’s indebted to you.

Yoongi always pays his debts.

“I didn’t even catch his name.” You sound dismissive. Normally you’d laugh, deride the person you’re speaking about, but instead you just sound tired. “One of the low down ones. New kid on the block; someone I didn’t recognise, with some lackeys or similar. Trying to make a name for himself, I think. He demanded that I build weapons for him. I said no.”

The Tang family is a big one, a criminal empire that has its tendrils dug in everywhere. You don’t deal with them, have no interest throwing your lot in with them intentionally or not; it’s a big, formidable family, but it’s not the only one around. You’d be dumb to get involved in that mess of generational, cross-family conflict. You’ll sell things to the highest bidder, shift illicit high-tech stock, build generic modifications that people can buy—but you don’t make bespoke weaponry for just anyone.

You don’t even sell to the heads of the Tang family directly, let alone to some back-alley sewer rat who probably barely has the faintest ties to the family, a single vein of Tang blood in his body, just enough to give him an in.

Whoever this cousin was he must be really fucking stupid to not know that. Stupid to think he could demand anything from you. Stupid to think he could hurt you when you laughed in his face and said no. Anyone with half a brain-cell should know not to fuck with you, know that it’s an honour to even be allowed inside your workshop, that to be told ‘no’ by you is a privilege.

Stupid to think that he wasn’t going to pay for that stupidity.

The pack of medi-gel is empty, the deflated pouch forgotten on Yoongi’s knee as he stares at you. The flecks of biomatter in the gel catch the light, sparkling like glitter in the lavender that’s seeping into your skin; all the surprise is gone from your eyes and instead you’re just watching him, stolid and steady. Analytical.

(You’re smart. Yoongi knows you are. For all that you talk shit and play foolish, he never forgets about that fierce intelligence. Never underestimates you or how perceptive you are. He only wonders what’s on your mind right now; what it is that you see in front of you.)

“Next time don’t let someone in unless you’re certain you’re going to sell to them.”

You scoff in his face. “Alright, Dad. Do you want to update my curfew while you’re at it? Make it ten p.m. instead of eleven?”

Yoongi blinks slowly. You’ve got both eyebrows raised, surveying him with a mixture of amusement and disbelief that he’s trying to tell you what to do (because no one tells you what to do; they wouldn't dare). But you don’t pull away, your knees still touching his, body bowed towards him from when he’d coaxed you closer so he could reach your face—so he knows you don’t mind. Not really.

(Knows you don’t care about anyone’s opinions or rules, only sticking to your own. The fact you’d been shaken from that place of confidence by some thug—even for a moment—doesn’t sit right in Yoongi’s belly. That bitter taste is back in his throat and it’s ice cold, icicles prickling through his blood.)

(He doesn’t like you but you’re one of his people and no one fucks with Yoongi’s people.)

The bruise is still there days later, after you’ve rearranged your workshop back to the way it was, sourced a new monitor to replace the one that was broken. You’re back to smirking, already ready for his request, more bullets for his weapons and super-charged plasma to recharge his sword, but the bruise is a stark reminder of what you’ve been through. So is, too, the new blueprint he spies half finished on your open displays: an automated security system that scans thermal signatures, guns unfolding from the ceiling whenever aggressive movement is detected from an unfamiliar person. Anyone who’s not listed as familiar in the security logs. 

(Yoongi used to wonder about that. Why you didn’t have security mechs set in place, programming their AI to protect you, but you don’t like to use mechs. Don’t like to use them, even if you could afford to build them, because you compare it to forced servitude. You’ve never needed them before now, anyway. Safe in your reputation, knowing that you’re in a position of power, that people come here because they know you’re the best of the best.)

(But it seems like you don’t trust that any more. Don’t feel safe.)

Yoongi keeps as silent as always, bites his tongue when you cut him off mid-sentence with nothing more than a raised finger.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut, wagging the finger back and forth like the slow pendulum of a grandfather clock. “No more crafting requests. I’m still working on the concentration mod you asked for and I’ll let you know when it’s ready. I don't rush for anyone. Patience is a virtue, baby. Did no one ever tell you that?”

“Don’t call me baby.”

“Okay, handsome.” Your reply is instant, unruffled, and Yoongi grits his teeth. 

But still. For all that you’re acting like normal, workshop set back into place, white lighting shining overhead, as neat and presentable as always—Yoongi can read uncertainty in the way you move. Discomfort. You don’t feel safe in your own space and it’s obvious, even if you don’t realise it.

“Come back any time,” you say coyly, and Yoongi, as always, ignores you. Transfers the creds he owes you in silence before he takes one last look at the bruise that’s still painted across your skin, dark eyes touching yours for the briefest moment before he turns and leaves.

For the first time since you met, Yoongi buys from someone who isn’t you.

It’s not bad. Well made, decent tech, Predator pistol sitting easy in his hands when he brings it to the light and watches it unfold from its holstered state, the way plasma bursts to life in the barrel; weaker than bullets but easier to reload in the field. It’s no surprise that the Yeom family gets their stuff sourced from here. The body armour, too, isn’t bad, engraved with the family crest and cast in their colours.

It’s not bad, but it’s not as good as it could be. Not as good as Yoongi needs his tech to be, demands it to be—but quality doesn’t matter. Not today. He has a job to do.

It’s easy to find his mark. Scum gathers in stagnant water, in the dirtiest and dankest places, and this is where Yoongi finds Tang Lee. Finds him spilling beer and money in the backroom of some grimy strip club where the holograms flicker from age and the strippers are tired, trying their best to scrape a living from the seething riverbed of filth that runs underneath the bright neon lights of the skyscrapers in the levels above.

Lee isn’t alone but it’s so easy to take them out it’s laughable, men drunk from cheap alcohol; Yoongi catches one in a chokehold, smashes another’s face into the glass table with enough force it shatters, faces Lee once they’re the only two standing. The music outside is too loud and the room is sound proofed for privacy and so Yoongi isn’t interrupted as he brings Lee to his knees, thrusting his face into a smear of blood that drips from his now-broken nose, courtesy of a quick jab of Yoongi’s right fist.

It’s not a quick kill. It could be. Yoongi could have ended this in moments, caught Lee off guard and ended his miserable life almost effortlessly—but he doesn’t. He takes his time, makes it count, teaches him a lesson, has Lee on his hands and knees as he sobs out apologies and snivels for mercy before he takes the pistol and blows his brains out. Yoongi doesn’t feel sorry for the man, eyes the body impassively, not even worth his disgust—he only feels sorry for whoever finds the chaos of the room and the bodies inside, the distinct plasma burns he purposefully leaves in the wall with the Predator pistol, the entire scene he’s created here: a scuffle gone wrong, fast.

You’re not the only person Tang Lee has crossed but you’ll be the last. Yoongi checks the pulses of the other two men, finds one dead and the other still alive, barely, just like he’d planned—and his work is done. It’s the Yeom family’s problem now, any fall out from Lee’s death pointed at them, a repayment of a slight Lee had made to a Yeom supplier only a few weeks ago. (Yoongi wagers that neither family will care, will draw a veil over this moment and let this settle without raising arms, no one important enough to go to war over.)

He discards the pistol and armour once he’s done, incinerates it all, no interest in keeping subpar equipment. It’s not even worth dismantling for parts. Hoseok finds him in their basement, eyeing the blue flames that lick their way around the discarded armaments; he just watches Yoongi, inscrutable and calm as he eyes the blood on the clothing before it bursts into flames.

“Not a contract,” Hoseok says. (It’s not a question.)

“A job.” Yoongi replies, watches the cloth turn to ash through the thrumming display of the incinerator. “Something that needed to be done.”

He doesn’t tell anyone what he’s done. There’s no point in it. Yoongi decides something needs to be done and he’ll do it, whether that’s building a new chair for Jungkook after he broke his old one or killing a man who hurt you.

The next time he sees you your bruise is practically gone, faded into your skin. You’re intent on something on a monitor but when you notice him you turn, swivelling in your chair in one smooth motion as you lean back and put your hands behind your head, cross one leg over the other, dripping self-satisfaction, your smile sharp and full of teeth.

“Ah, Yoongi.” You look so smug that Yoongi has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Welcome, once again, to my laboratory. Is this visit for business or pleasure? Either way, you know I'm happy to oblige.”

“I’m here for the mod you promised me,” he says bluntly, and you just keep smiling, even as you hold out a hand for the sniper rifle, handling the D-2 Shadow with as much reverence as Yoongi does as you affix the mod.

It’s perfect, of course. All that Yoongi asked for and more. The software links with his eyepiece, biometric sensors that help him find his target, software to adjust to his pulse and breathing.

“You can even change the colour of the HUD,” you say, as if it’s some sort of buy-one-get-one-free offer, some fun little feature, rather than another helpful piece of software that you’ve created. Dismissive. An afterthought.

(You act like you take nothing seriously. Yoongi is your stark opposite, weighing everything in his hands and treating it with the level of attention it deserves, intent and focused.)

He’s staring down the scope when you speak once more. Light and easy, for once, rather than loud with your usual exaggerated exuberance or silken with unnecessary suggestiveness.

“I hear that they found a Tang family member dead.”

Yoongi just hums in response. Keeps his eye on the scope, wills the colour from dark green to white using the affinity link he has synced with his headpiece, watches the lines of the heads up display of the scope repaint themselves without even a single flicker, transition smooth and effortless. (Perfection.)

“It seems like the Yeom family did it,” you say, tone still conversational.

“Is that so.” Yoongi sounds disinterested, face impassive as he draws the gun away from his face, eye piece automatically folding away from his eyes. “Can I ask about other mods now that this one is finished?”

One of your brows rises, a perfect curve of discontent. “Say thank you first, Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes cut into yours but you don’t back down, watch his blank face as he eventually says: “Thank you. Now I need more mods.”

You throw your head back as you laugh. “You’re insatiable,” you say, but you don’t say no. “What do you want now?”

(It’s not that you never say no to Yoongi. Because you have, and you do, and you will. But never because you can’t make what he asks for—and only because you refuse to make things that might endanger his safety, illicit bio-mods that other hired hitmen use, things that degrade the body from the inside out.)

Yoongi’s just holstered the Shadow, ready to go, when you speak one final time.

“Yoongi?”

He’s never heard you say his name like that, soft and quiet.

“Thanks.” You’re staring at him, regarding him steadily, solemn in a way that he’s never seen. You’re smiling, as always, but the expression is lightyears away from what Yoongi is used to—just the barest hint of an upturn to your lips.

Yoongi stares back at you. “I don’t know what you’re thanking me for.”

Your smile grows, a warm thing, unfurling like a flower. Almost affectionate. “Sure,” you say. “Of course. Silly me. Slip of the tongue.” And then, as if your brain’s only just caught up with what you just said, the smile turns salacious. “On the note of slipping the tongue—”

“Bye.”

Your cascading laughter follows him on his way out, cutting and shining with amusement. 

Yoongi’s been getting more contracts. He’s finally buckled under Jungkook’s insistent whining and has agreed to get gear for him, too, to train him how to shoot. Hoseok has more than enough contacts in the underworld to get jobs for them both—he’s the most powerful information broker around, after all, sitting in the centre of a web he’s woven after years of work, all that sharpness and darkness hidden behind his deceptively bright smile.

(Yoongi’s lucky to consider him a friend and not an enemy.)

So that’s why he’s here with increasing frequency. That’s why he finds himself at your door more often than not. To get those orders in place, to make sure they’re progressing as fast as they need to.

You never react when Yoongi steps into your workshop. Well, you do, you lean into your hand and smirk at him, pursing your lips around each snide remark, each suggestive comment—but you never question his appearance. You just go with the flow, unbothered by his presence, even when there are other people there—other customers who eye him with unveiled curiosity and confusion (some Yoongi recognises, some he doesn’t, well-known faces and unknowns alike; none of them know who he is, though, unrecognisable as Agust D without his battle gear on). Yoongi keeps a close eye on their stances, any unchecked aggression or hostility towards you. Keeps a watch on the tension of your shoulders and spine, because of… habit. Battle instinct. Nothing else.

“You know my policy, Yoongi.” You’re analysing something in your hand. It looks like an antique spyglass, something from the decades before technology overtook the world, but it’s jammed full of tech; it doesn’t just magnify to a terrifying degree, it also amplifies sound, connected to an earpiece that’s sleek and easy to overlook. ‘A small project’, you’d called it, as if it isn’t something that people would pay a fortune to own. “If I’m making something for someone I have to meet them first. If you want me to make anything for this ‘JK’ then it’s not happening until you bring him here. Just like with your friend RM.”

Yoongi is lolling by your monitors, half-asleep in your chair (which had moulded to the shape of his body the second he sat in it, designed to be too comfortable for its own good). 

“I know you can’t pull yourself away from me,” you continue, glancing up from the scope. “But you have to spend time with your friends sometimes. I know they’re not as pleasing to look at as me—”

“Stop.”

You shift the spyglass to one hand and lean your chin on the other, regarding him with sharp eyes and an amused quirk to your lips. “I love that you think you can tell me what to do.”

Yoongi resists the urge to make a noise at the back of his throat, opting to keep mum instead.

He’s too tired to argue with you. He’d come straight after a contract, blood still on the edge of his sleeves (not his), watched the way your eyebrows had risen when you’d casually taken in the state of him before offering to wash his jacket. You know the reality of this world you both inhabit, operating in the shadows, survival paid for in blood; you might not be on the high ground, lining the shot up to take the kill, but you craft the trigger that Yoongi pulls.

(You might be aware of this reality but you’re far removed from it, shaken by violence on your own door. You never should have been faced with it. You’re an inventor; a creator. Not a killer. Not like Yoongi is. He’s not going to let that happen again. He doesn’t like you but you shouldn’t have been subject to pain—shouldn’t still have your motions edged with a held breath, as if you’re waiting for it to repeat itself. 

No matter how well you hide it, Yoongi knows that there's a part of you that's still scared.)

“I know you think you’re too important to need to remember things, but we’ve worked together for long enough that you know that I’d ask to meet JK first, Yoongi,” you say. “Did you really have to come straight after murking someone just to be reminded about that? Not complaining—you know I love seeing that pretty scowl of yours—but I just figured you’d rather be resting right now. Don't tell me the infamous Agust D missed me and decided to come here instead.”

“You were on the way.”

(He’d circled around, taken a longer route, descended into the familiar maze of the lower city. To throw off the scent of any potential pursuers. You just happened to be nearby, pure coincidence and convenience.)

You retract the spyglass, collapsing it in your hands. “Either you leave right now and go to your own place to sleep, or you’re going to sleep in my bed. Your choice.”

(If Yoongi took the time to think about it, really think about it, he’d notice that the words aren’t shrouded in suggestion or insinuation. Your brows are raised and you’re looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to decide what he’s going to do—unimpressed at how tired he is, how he’s come here instead of sliding into his own bed for the rest he so clearly needs.)

Of course, Yoongi leaves. He returns home without his jacket, strips his shirt off as soon as he’s in this safe place, this base, sheds pieces of his body armour as easy as anything (you’d designed it to be lightweight and easy to don and doff, the perfect defence for someone who relied on stealth and speed); he’s just removing the last greave when Hoseok appears, rapping his knuckles against the open door.

“You’re finally back.”

Yoongi looks up. Hoseok is dressed for work, Hope Broker persona in place, tailored suit that sits perfectly with the lines of his body, handsome and stylish and entirely put together. He oozes poise and power. Elegance.

“Yeah.” Yoongi lets the greave drop, silent as it falls to the floor. “Job’s done.”

Hoseok smiles. It’s a genuine one because it’s for Yoongi. “I know,” he says, even though scarcely any time has passed since Yoongi put a bullet in the back of the target’s skull. Nothing happens in this world of theirs without Hoseok finding out about it, always sooner rather than later. “Just wanted to check in and make sure you were okay.”

“All good.” 

“Good.” Hoseok is used to Yoongi’s blunt nature, his short responses when he’s tired. “Get some sleep.”

Hoseok’s elegant even as he adjusts his cufflinks. It’s just the briefest of moments, the crisp edge of his perfectly white sleeve contrasting with the shining silver, the design inlaid in them—but Yoongi recognises that design immediately.

Because it’s yours.

It’s the same emblem on each piece of his gear, small and understated, hidden away, easy to miss—but Yoongi knows it intimately. He doesn’t say anything. Lets Hoseok leave without a word. Each one of the men that Yoongi considers family, the tiny collection of people that stay in this same home as him, know that he only gets equipment sourced from you—but Hoseok had never mentioned that he’s been in contact with you, too. 

It’s not important. Hoseok might be his friend and a staunch ally but there’s plenty that he gets up to that none of the others are privy to, trading information to the highest bidders, head of a huge network that Yoongi can use to his advantage but isn’t technically a part of. The people Hoseok deals with—buys his information and resources from, keeps perfectly balanced in comparison to his own power—is his own business and not Yoongi’s.

Yoongi moves to gather his armour, the hardsuit he wears like a second skin, and spots that insignia that he knows so well branded into it. To have Hoseok wearing it at his wrist—the Hope Broker, renowned trader of secrets—is a statement. You could have made the cufflinks plain and unadorned. But you hadn’t.

When Yoongi climbs into bed that night, he finds that his sleep is restless.

The smile on your face fades. “You know I don’t talk about business with other customers.”

Yoongi’s staring at you across your workbench, the light from its surface going dim as you take your hands off it, disassembled stun mine forgotten.

No one knows about his genuine friendship with Hoseok, but they do know that Agust D and the Hope Broker have an agreement; a professional working relationship. “I know the Hope Broker,” Yoongi says. 

Your eyebrows rise so far they seem to threaten to ascend into your hairline, you’re so incredulous. “Everyone does. What’s your point? Do you expect me to give you information about everyone you ask about? I get paid to keep people’s privacy, Yoongi. Do you think I sell the information of your equipment, how to dissemble every defence you have? Do you think I give your name out to everyone who asks?”

There’s no touch of amusement to the line of your lips, no sparkling irreverence in your eyes. You’re genuinely displeased.

“He’s wearing your symbol.”

You scoff. “You wear my symbol too. Why, are you jealous? Your armour has exactly the same technology. Better, even, because I can fit more tech in there.”

The cufflinks generate a kinetic barrier, then, a layer of invisible shielding that lays just atop Hoseok’s skin. But no one sees Yoongi’s armour; no one sees the workmanship of your weapons, no one except him. Your insignia isn’t emblazoned on his wrist for all to see.

Yoongi isn’t jealous.

“Hope is a powerful man,” you continue. “Everyone knows that. Even people who haven’t met him know that. Even people who aren’t sure he exists know that. If I want to sell to him then that’s my business.”

Everyone who’s anyone recognises your logo, no matter how rare it is to spot it (you only craft for a select few, after all). And Hoseok’s influence is far reaching and powerful; no one would dare cross him, dare to cross anyone who’s associated with him. 

“I’m looking for a new workshop.” You rise, moving away from your workbench to your monitors, touching a display with your fingers to bring it to life. Ignoring Yoongi’s presence, not even looking at him. “I haven’t got the space to modify the systems in this one as much as I want to. The walls are already full enough as it is. Do you know how hard it is to find somewhere with the specifications I need?”

Yoongi realises, then, why you’re doing this. The bruise is long gone and your skin is unmarred but you still don’t feel safe. You’ve always worked alone. Until now. Now you’re making moves to settle down, settle in, make a statement of allegiance to someone who can offer you a level of protection with their influence.

Someone who can offer you somewhere new, away from this inadequate place you’ve outgrown.

Hoseok laughs lightly when Yoongi asks about it, mentions it in passing as the two of them drink soju side by side, Hoseok in his suit and Yoongi girded in the armour under his unassuming clothes, both in the upper city for work; they stare down at the myriads of tall buildings and huge holo-boards and rainbow array of neon lights, far above the place they call home.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, utterly relaxed (and faintly amused). “I know you respect her work so I thought I’d reach out. I’m surprised she can make the things she does in that tiny workshop. You’re right; she’s very good.”

You are. The next time you meet, you give Yoongi his usual shipment and more besides, more than he’d ordered, reflected in the amount of creds he has to pay—because he won’t be able to just drop in for a while, your workshop dismantled and scraped empty in preparation for the move. Where to, he doesn’t know, but you say you’ll pass on the information once everything is up and running again.

“If you break any of your gear while I’m gone then you’re on your own,” you say. “I’m not shipping anything before my new workshop is finished.”

Two days later, Yoongi spies a new watch on Hoseok’s wrist. It looks low-tech, old style, metal strap and round clock face—but he sees the silhouette of your logo under those ticking hands and knows there’s more tech in there that meets the eye.

He looks away.

It takes a week for the message to appear, encrypted: your new location. Levels above your former workshop, one of the higher strata of the lower city—still hidden and out of the way but away from the dirt and darkness. 

Yoongi goes. He finds the door panel, scans his palm, leans forward for the light to flit across his eye, murmurs a word, watches the door slide open. He’s already programmed in. New workshop, new security system, but he’s still allowed in, still one of the people you consider familiar, trustworthy. 

(He doesn’t know of anyone else who fits that category. Has only ever seen you manually allow people inside, granting your permission each time, rather than giving them free run of the place. No one has as many complex orders as he does, he’s certain. It’s for ease and practicality’s sake.)

He’s unfamiliar with the layout of this new building, first corridor already longer than he’s used to; he pauses for a moment but then hears something, faint—your laughter. Follows that sound, makes his way forward, through polished corridors with lines of light underfoot, leading him down some stairs and towards the sound of you.

Your new workshop is beautiful. There’s enough room in here for everything, no need for a backroom: a central worktable, benches lining the walls, tech displays built in, everything edged with lighting, dark surfaces shining bright, large floor panels underfoot emitting a low glow. Your former home had been that underground workshop and a locked door to a ladder to your micro apartment up top, tiny kitchen and single bed in a small room with a shower cubicle in the corner. Yoongi already knows that this building is far, far bigger, and you have more space than you’ve ever had before; you’d never been discontent with your smaller home, comfort from familiarity, until that comfort had been stripped from you.

You’re smiling. The snark woven into your words that Yoongi is used to is muted, light comment falling from your lips as you sit on that central table, perched on its edge. And Hoseok, he laughs, grinning so widely his teeth are on show—he’s wearing a suit but his jacket is resting on his shoulders, tie undone and cast around his neck. A stance of relaxation, one Yoongi’s never seen from him, not when he’s working. Not when he’s The Hope Broker and not Hoseok.

He’s still smiling when he notices Yoongi, the two of you looking over when the hitman speaks.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Hoseok.”

That ever-present smirk freezes on your face for a split second, eyes widening at the sound of Hope’s real name. Hoseok just takes it in stride, his smile not dimming even for a second.

“Hey, Yoongi.” His greeting is as warm as it always is. “Just checking in. Have to make sure everything is up to scratch. What’s the verdict?”

You’ve hidden your surprise, wiped it off your face, eyes on Hoseok as you answer him. “It’s perfect.” A pause. “I take it you two know each other?”

“Sure. Yoongi is an old friend of mine.” Hoseok is still smiling, looking at Yoongi with creased eyes. Unafraid of revealing this information to you, still at ease despite the tension that’s bubbling in the air, Yoongi’s impassive face. Hoseok is always an unshaken pillar of positivity. “I didn’t realise he was coming. Am I interrupting an appointment?”

You stare at Yoongi. “No, you’re not. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

(You’d sent the message less than an hour ago. Yoongi had taken one look at the address, memorised it, pulled on his jacket and headed out; clearly you hadn’t anticipated how fast his arrival would be.)

“A happy coincidence, then.” Hoseok sounds like he genuinely means it, is pleased to see Yoongi here, his smile unwavering. There’s a languid set to his body, the easing line of his spine, hands in his pockets. A glittering in his eyes. (No one ever gets the drop on Hoseok, never surprises him, catches him off guard, no matter what they do.) “But I’ll let you conduct your business and we can catch up another time.”

He takes a hand out of his pocket as he walks past Yoongi, pats his shoulder amicably. His palm is relaxed against the tense set of Yoongi’s shoulders before he ascends the stairs and disappears out of sight, the sound of his polished shoes fading until he’s gone, one of the monitors on the wall flickering to indicate the front door is shut once more.

You’re still staring at Yoongi. The atmosphere had been heavy, even with Hoseok there—and now that he’s gone there’s nothing to alleviate that pressure, nothing to dissolve the strange twist to the air.

“Who,” you start, measured but sharp, “do you think you are?”

Yoongi returns your stare, looks back at you with his dark eyes. Doesn’t respond to your question; an unnecessary, unprompted thing, razor-edged for a reason he can’t discern. 

“Can’t you hear me?” You slide off the table, stalk towards him. “I said—” you raise a hand— “who? Do? You? Think? You? Are?”

You emphasise each word with a sharp jab to Yoongi’s chest, driving your finger forward with so much force it must hurt. You keep it in place, keep it dug into the centre of his ribcage. There’s no laughter hidden in the corner of your lips. He’s annoyed you again, somehow, a familiar guest turned unwelcome interloper.

“You say that you know Hope and yet I just watched you treat him like dirt.” Your eyes are piercing, cutting through the soft frame of your curled lashes, boring straight into him. “You come into my workshop as if you’re meant to be here; like there’s something you’re owed. Do you want me to treat you like a child, send you to your room? Not let you back in here? Because I will.”

“You sent me your address,” Yoongi points out.

You let out a bark of laughter. “Please.” Your hand drops back to your side and you turn, stepping away. “I’ve sent this address to all my business associates. I can’t sell or buy unless people can find me. You’re the only one who’s taken this as an invitation to just turn up and waltz in. At least when Hope turns up he warns me beforehand. Oh, and he doesn’t say stuff like he’d rather blow his own brains out than be forced to see me. I know you just love being contrary but has it ever occurred to you to be more polite to people? You’d make a terrible waiter. You’d get fired on your first day.”

You’re in front of one of your cabinets. You reach inside for something, hefting it in your hands before returning, handling it in a way that’s completely unceremonious, dropping it to the bench at his side like you want to be rid of it. Like you don’t even want to hand it directly to him, to interact with him. “There. Nothing but a pleasure doing business with you, Yoongi, even if your customer service still needs improving.”

It looks like a flat, hexagonal panel, the same colour and material as his armour. Something to be locked into it, wired in, trailing veins of unattached tech spilling from it. He’s seen you working on this for a while, seen you draw up blueprints with a bruise fresh on your cheek, seen it turned in your hands as that mark had faded and left your skin. 

It’s not something he ordered.

“What is this?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “Auto medi-gel distributor. It syncs with your armour and senses when you’ve been hurt and disperses gel in the affected area. Your armour’s always been too lightweight to have extra mods on but I’ve been working on this for a while.”

It’s an astonishing piece of tech. Usually one that’s reserved for heavier armour, restricting and hard to move in but easier to mod—but this thing is slim, compact, the same technology crammed into a smaller package without losing any of its punch. He doesn’t know what materials you’ve had to use to circumvent this, the level of tech you’ve layered into this, the amount of time and thought you’ve put into this.

“How much is it?”

The wrong thing to say. The smile that spreads itself across your lips is an echo of its usual curve, brittle and flaking around the edges, a baring of teeth.

“It’s a gift, Yoongi. Usually when someone does something for you, you return the favour.” Your lips are still upturned but your eyes are unsmiling even when your tone seems whimsical and light. You’ve got on your usual flippant façade, but there’s a pointed undercurrent to it. “You know, I don’t understand you at all. You remind me that you don’t like me but then you always hang around. You kill someone who threatened me and pretend that you didn’t do it. You say you don’t like me, but I thought you at least respected me, and yet here you are. Lying to me and treating me like I'm a fool.”

“I do respect you,” Yoongi says. 

(Because he does, and as much as he would hate to inflate your ego, he doesn’t shy away from telling the truth.)

“Sure you do.” An unimpressed eye-roll, cutting under his words, knocking his feet out from underneath him. You don’t care to believe him. “This is my fault for not treating you the same as all my other business associates.  Next time you come in you’ll have to have an appointment, just like everyone else. It’ll minimise the amount of time we have to spend together.”

Yoongi doesn’t like you. He finds, though, that he likes the sound of this even less; finds it pulling at his brows, his mouth, impassive expression turned to one of disapproval.

And his mouth opens. The word falls from his lips before he has a chance to think—years of battle intuition, years of following instinct, moving as he needs to in the moment.

“No.”

A raise of the brows. A purse of the lips. Incredulous. “No?” you parrot it back, mocking. “Oh, okay, sure. Never mind. You’re welcome to come in whenever you want and act like you have free rein of the place. There’s nothing I enjoy more than your scowling presence.”

Sharp tongued, sharp eyed, narrowed at him: a confrontation. For all that you needle him you never mean it, really (even if it’s still infuriating, aggravating). But right now? Right now each of your words is barbed, your sarcasm a defence, an offence. You’re running your mouth not just to rile him, but to ward him away. 

“You’re really not as smart as you think you are, Min Yoongi.” You wield his name like a weapon. “You tell me right now why I should listen to you. What do you come here for? And don’t say it’s for my work because it stopped being just that a long time ago. And if it is just for my work then take it and go. Then I’ll take you off the security system and we’ll only see each other as much as is strictly necessary. In fact, you could pass your orders along via Hope—then we won’t have to even see each other at all. ”

“And then he’ll be the only one allowed free rein?”

It comes out before he’s even really thought about what he’s saying, which isn’t like him at all. Yoongi is two parts: pure, honed instinct, and careful, wary vigilance. He’s not like you, saying the first thing that comes to mind—not normally, anyway—but the words jump from his lips, from some near-silent part of him that balks at the idea. Of Hoseok stepping into your space the way that Yoongi does, appearing without warning, to be greeted with a curled smirk and glittering eyes.

“You’re a fucking idiot if you think that you’re not the only person with security clearance. My God. You’re infuriating. Seriously? I didn’t realise you were genuinely this dense. You’re the only one I’ve ever allowed in without prior agreement.” You emphasise this statement with another jab to his chest, your finger a sharp knife that cuts into him as you stab it forwards.

He catches your wrist. His grasp is firm but there’s no pressure to it; doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t tighten his fingers, just holds you in place. You’re staring at him with a challenge in your eyes, one that he finds himself rising to match, never one to back down.

“Is that so?”

Your hand unfurls, fingers splayed across his chest; he’s still holding your wrist, shifting with your movement. “Don’t be obtuse.” An irritated exhale. “Normally you complain whenever I talk and now you’re trying to get me to repeat myself. Again with the inconsistency, Yoongi. Make up your mind.”

He could do what you do whenever you’re feeling particularly aggravating. Play dumb, ask more questions, drag out the interaction until you’re bordering on snapping—but he doesn’t. He looks at the set of your jaw, the way you’re staring at him. Unflinching. You’ve never been scared of him, and you aren’t now, not with how he’s got a hold of you, how close he is to you.

He toes the line. Shifts closer. Notes the way your pupils dilate, how the tips of your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt; how the air grows heavier, a frisson of electricity crackling through it. Yoongi doesn’t like you, but he likes that feeling—how the tension in the air shivers from indignation into something different.

Because you’re still staring at him, and there’s still that hard set to your jaw, but there’s not just anger in your eyes. There’s that warm thing he’s grown used to seeing, smouldering in near silence until he’d coaxed it to full flame, thrown gasoline onto the coals when he’d shot plasma into the back of Tang Lee’s skull. He’d protected you even though he hadn’t needed to, doesn’t need to, but does anyway—because he trusts you and there’s no one else he trusts to keep you safe.

And there’s no one else you trust, either.

“You talk too much,” Yoongi says, like he so often does—but there’s no irritation in it, touched instead with a simmering heat, the faintest edge of a bite.

You tilt your head. There’s a provocation etched into the twist of your mouth, the way your lips lift. Because no matter how much you needle him, dig your fingernails into every crack of his armour and twist—no matter how annoying you are, how angry you make him—you know that he’s not mad. Not really. Not in a way that makes you afraid, but in a way that thrills you, makes you want to see him snap, to wipe away that level facade he maintains.

“Maybe you should shut me up, then,” you reply, a murmur. A challenge.

A beat. Yoongi’s fingers tighten around your wrist. A warning.

And in response?

You just smile.

The way your eyes widen just seconds later is delicious, though, when Yoongi lets go of your wrist—because he’s moving faster than you expected. Your surprise melts into delight, a spark of glee that says you’ve gotten exactly what you want when Yoongi threads his fingers in your hair, tilting your head back to bare the column of your throat. He holds you firmly in place, crowds you back against the workbench so hard its edge must be digging almost painfully into your back but not once does that glee dim, written over every line of your smile, eyes bright and teeth sharp.

Yoongi likes to take things slow. There’s the part of him that never steps into a situation without knowing every angle, every escape route, each one of his kills planned meticulously. But, he thinks, the two of you have been waiting long enough, and he’s never been patient around you—has found his composure worn thin faster than anywhere else, by anyone else. It’s this part of him, frayed into non-existence by you, that rises to the surface now, makes him move as quick as he does.

And you respond just the way he knew you would. When he presses his mouth to yours you kiss him back like you have a point to make (you always do), fast and almost reckless, all lips and teeth and tongue. There’s no finesse to it. When he presses his tongue into your mouth you part your lips so prettily, let him take his fill, slide your tongue against his and tilt your head to get even deeper—and just like always, you're vocal, letting out small noises that are caught and muffled in the kiss, lust filled. But when you try to nip at his lip with the edge of your teeth Yoongi tightens his grip in your hair and swallows down your gasp before he pulls away, holding you in place so you can’t chase after his mouth. Your lips are kiss swollen and under the bright lights above they shine, slightly parted, pupils blown as you stare at him. 

(You look good like this.)

Your eyes slide shut when Yoongi lowers his lips to your neck, across your throat. There’s nothing gentle about it. He moves with single-minded intent, lips and teeth harsh against your sensitive skin—and you take it all, little sounds falling from your lips as Yoongi drags his teeth towards the hollow of your neck. And when he takes his hand from your hair, takes both hands and digs his fingers into your waist and lifts you, you go so easily; a mimicry of your earlier position when he’d stepped in, perched on the edge of the table. Legs spread so Yoongi can stand between them. He’d be surprised at how pliant you are if it wasn’t so obvious that this is exactly what you want: lifting your hips so he can strip your lower half bare. 

Your bare thighs press against the surface of the workbench, tech displays coming alive under your body heat. You’ve shrugged your cropped jacket off and you’re just reaching for your top when Yoongi stops you; splays a hand in the centre of your chest and presses you back, slow but undeniable. You’re not the one setting the pace. He is. He’s the one in control, with you spread out in front of him, only a thin layer of fabric keeping you from being completely bare—thin cotton underwear, dark and damp between your legs, betraying your arousal.

“Wet,” Yoongi murmurs.

Your retort stutters on your lips when he drags his fingers upwards over your slit, barely dulled by the material in the way. “No shit,” you say, and then suck in a breath when he presses the pad of his thumb across your clit.

It’s no good, the fact you’re still talking. But that’s okay. Yoongi’s planning on changing that.

It’s lewd, the way your legs are spread, parting further at the urging of his hands. Your hands slide across the bench, papers scattering, palms flat on the work surface and white light shimmering on dark blue in reaction to your touch; an unnecessary distraction that you both ignore. There’s nothing graceful about this, the peel of underwear away from your core, already slick even with the barest of attentions; he drags his fingers down the inside of your thighs, all that soft skin, and then under, urging your hips up and towards his mouth. No foreplay to this foreplay, no dragging out this moment—he bites at that soft skin of your inner thigh, sinks his teeth into it and listens to the way you gasp in surprise—and before you have a moment to ground yourself, he presses his mouth to your cunt.

You’re wet and warm under his tongue and the smell of you surrounds him, musky and heavy, and he feels how your entire body goes tense as you arch your back. He’d normally take his time with this, have you strung out and begging, but he has different plans today—knows exactly what he wants from this, sucking your clit between his lips and feeling your thighs tighten around his head, legs slung over his shoulders as he listens to the way you moan. Each sound shudders out from your mouth like you tried so desperately to keep it in but couldn’t help it. Yoongi loves eating pussy anyway but this is even better, the way all your witty ripostes die in your throat before you can shape them on your lips, turned into breathy gasps instead. 

The taste of you fills his mouth and it’s so fucking good. You’ve been watching him, how his head moves between your legs, but he can tell you’re close; you’ve given up, eyes shut as you lean into the sensation building up in you, and Yoongi thinks he likes you better like this. Forced into speechlessness under his hands and tongue. Your pretty mouth softened from sharpness into urging noises of pleasure. He slides one arm across your stomach and holds you in place, a hard line that you can’t overpower and you’re left squirming in place, hips trying to kick up each time he draws his tongue over your slit, every part of you sloppy with your own arousal and Yoongi’s spit, flushed and lovely. One of your hands is in his hair and you’re pulling, pulling hard, unaware of how tight your grip is as you try to buck your hips and sob. 

You’re so sensitive, and it only takes one, two fingers pressing into you and curling just right as Yoongi slides his tongue over your clit before you’re cumming, hot around his fingers as you come apart all wet and messy. He’s never seen you so undone, back arched as you ride out your orgasm, hair swept away from your forehead as you throw your head back. Keeps his mouth open on you, feels you under his tongue, until you’re flopped on your back and your chest is heaving, legs untensed and loose over his shoulders.

You shift an arm. Your fingers barely brush the medi-gel mod you’d made him, a loose sheet of paper sliding away and joining the others on the floor.

“Just moved in and it’s already a mess,” Yoongi says, and he doesn’t just mean the paper; fingers and chin and mouth covered in your slick, your core soaked. He’s still knuckle deep and when he curls his fingers again your entire body jolts, your mouth parting almost wantonly before you seem to struggle back to reality, surfacing from a haze of arousal and post orgasmic bliss.

“That’s your fault,” you say, voice weaker than usual. “I’ll send you the cleaning bill.”

“Mm. Not my fault you’re a messy girl.”

“Fuck you.” The blunt words are softened by your breathlessness, your bonelessness; the way your breath catches in your throat when he calls you a messy girl, even if you try to hide it. Trying not to let him in on exactly how much power he holds in this moment. 

“I was planning on it,” Yoongi says, as calm as ever, even if arousal is simmering through his veins and gathering in his gut—has been this entire time, the taste of you on his tongue and the heat of you under his lips and the sound of you in his ears. “Want to make your workshop even messier?”

You dig your balls of your feet into his back, legs still over his shoulders. His fingers shift inside you and you shiver. “I don’t think so,” you say. “Bedroom.”

“So you’re giving me a tour, then?”

You don’t dignify him with a response, although the noise you make when he finally pulls his fingers out of you is more than enough to satisfy him. He’s still fully dressed and you’re only half so, and it would be comical if the sight of your bare legs and slick on your inner thighs wasn’t so hot, barefoot on the glowing and pristine (papers notwithstanding) floors as you reach for his hand and lift it to your lips, sucking his fingers into your mouth and licking your arousal off his fingers with your tongue, warm and wet, before you grab his wrist and pull. 

He watches the movement of your hips as you lead him, your bare ass. Shameless as ever. Confident in yourself, even now. It’s not until you’ve stepped over the threshold and into your new bedroom that your tattoos become visible, as bright as the low lights in the room, those geometric lines and stylised circuitry on your legs shifting as you step forwards.

Even with the relative darkness Yoongi immediately notices something. Cast over the back of a chair near the bed, there’s his jacket, blood stains at the edge of the sleeves gone. Cleaned. Yoongi shifts his hand so you don’t have your fingers wrapped around his wrist any more. Instead he’s the one shackling you, holding you in place as you look over your shoulder.

“Were you ever going to return that to me?” He tilts his head at the chair. 

You pause. Glance over. Look back at him, all amusement and provocation, recovered from your earlier breathlessness. “But Yoongi, I get so cold.”

There’s something about the idea of you in his clothes, clothes that you know he’s worn when he’s been getting his hands dirty—he ignores the curl to your lips and moves you towards the bed, ignoring the sound of your self satisfied laughter when he reaches for your shirt and pulls, with you lifting your arms to help him, grinning at him the whole time. Even when he’s thrown your bra aside and kicked his boots off and pushed you onto the mattress, trapped you underneath him, completely naked against his completely clothed body you’re still smiling, like the cat who got the cream.

You’re stunning. There’s no doubt about it. You always have been, annoyingly so, even when Yoongi’s wanted to wring your neck; not just because you’re pretty but because you’re intelligent and confident and in control, staring up at him without a lick of fear or concern, even now. Never with him, never. He can see your tattoos in all their glory, nothing hidden away from his gaze; he sees one he hasn’t been able to see before, a sunflower bursting across your ribcage, curved under the swell of your breast, glowing red and orange in the midst of all your other cyan and teal lines, glowing in the black light. He’s pressing you down, trapped under his body, and you’re just waiting. Waiting and still smiling, smirking, letting him take you in, preening under his attention.

He wants to eat you alive.

So he does just that. Shifts back down the mattress on his knees, keeping his hands on you, pulling his hands down the easing lines of your ribs and waist and hips, before a firm tug has you lifting up—your smug facade shakes when you’re left with only your shoulders and head against the bed, the rest of your body pulled towards Yoongi’s waiting mouth once more, held in place with fingers that dig into your hips, thighs soft against his ears, your hands scrabbling at the linen underneath you when Yoongi’s lips press into the crease of your thigh, off balance.

“Safeword?” He murmurs into your skin, and you pause.

“Hoseok,” you answer, and Yoongi responds by biting into your thigh again, soothing it with his tongue when you squeal.

“Shameless.”

You’re still wet from before, slick with cum, and Yoongi doesn’t hesitate before he dives back in. He can hear more than he can see the way your fingers curl into your sheets and rumple them in your hands, anchored helplessly into place by Yoongi’s mouth and the fingers cupped under your ass, digging into the soft skin, undignified and at his mercy. 

“Yoongi!” You gasp, almost a whimper as a breath gets caught in your throat. “Y-Yoongi—”

You’re so helpless like this. It’s a little hard for Yoongi to breathe, your legs tightening around him, but it’s worth it for the way he can see you shaking apart. He presses his tongue as deep into you as he can, sucks your swollen pearl between his lips and circles it with his tongue, notices the way you jolt at those wet kisses, still sensitive from before, and he doesn’t let up. Keeps going and going and going until you’re gasping for air, sensations rippling through your body as you buck and writhe; you’re trying to keep yourself together, he can tell, but you’re unravelling, smirk wiped off your face and your mouth in a pretty little circle whenever you choke out oh, oh.

You cum faster than he expects, shoulders lifting away from the mattress as you arch your back so far it must hurt and tighten your legs and he feels the way your pussy throbs under his tongue, practically gushing when you reach your peak. Your eyes are unfocused when they flutter back open but you’re reaching for him, for the waistband of his trousers, trying to touch the hard length of his cock—he’s been ignoring it, how he’s leaked so much precum he can feel how wet it is in his boxer-briefs.

He keeps ignoring it now. He catches your hands, stops you in place, stares you down with an unimpressed tilt to his brows.

“What,” he says levelly, “do you think you’re doing?”

“Want you in my mouth,” you say. You seem almost desperate for it, fingers flexing in his hold, letting your tongue linger against your lips longer than necessary. “I want your cock in my mouth, Yoongi.”

He tightens his grip around your wrists. And then, for the first time all night, he smiles.

“No.”

You look stunned. Just for a moment. Then you’re squirming in his hold, but you’re trapped, nowhere to go. “What do you mean, no?”

Yoongi’s still smiling, mirroring the self satisfaction that had been written all over your face earlier. “I mean no. You don’t get what you want. You get what you’re given.”

There’s nothing he’d like more than to sink into that wet heat, to see your smart mouth put to good use, lips spread over his cock, but this is better. Seeing the genuine frustration and disbelief written across your features. 

He doesn’t give you time to line up another angered retort on your tongue. Doesn’t give you time to breathe before he’s flipping you over, the wings of your shoulder blades and curve of your spine emphasised by the lines that are traced symmetrically and shining across your skin. They shift when you move, hips lifted from the mattress by Yoongi’s hands, on your hands and knees as he fumbles his waistband and zipper and pulls his cock free. He’s painfully hard, flushed head with precum that beads at the tip, and when he tugs you back he watches the way the head drags across the curve of your ass, leaving a shining line of wetness on your skin.

And when he sinks into you he barely gives you time to adjust, barely has time to adjust himself, to all this hot tight wetness after his cock’s gotten no attention at all—you let out a moan that almost sounds like you’re singing, long and high with pleasure, the slide eased from all your cum.

 You take it so well, always so good to him no matter how irritating you are, so lost in the sensations that you don’t say anything about the hard edges of Yoongi’s clothes whenever he drives his hips forward and it presses into the soft skin of your thighs. It’s messy and choppy and fast and you slump onto your elbows, entire body shaking as you take everything Yoongi is giving you. Caged underneath him when he follows you forwards, presses his front to your back, feels the way the sweat on your skin is caught against the fabric of his clothes. Grinds his hips deep and feels the way you gasp, sucking in a shaking breath, your entire body lost in it. He bites his lip and keeps his own sounds caught behind his teeth, not letting you know how you’re pulling him towards his own edge.

He’s not done with you yet.

Your clit is slick under his touch when he lifts his fingers to touch you, to layer another sensation on top of the cock inside you, and you’re sobbing. You don’t ask him to stop, never know when to quit, face every challenge thrown at you—and Yoongi can tell that you love it even if your body is crying out, that you love this oversensitivity, pulled taut and strung out. You’re beyond speech, words slurred, barely recognisable as his name and pleas of more, please, more. He can feel when you’ve crested the wave of too much sensation and fallen back into that rippling sea of pleasure, and when you cum it’s with a soundless moan, mouth wide open but no noise escaping. No more sharp retorts, no smart words, fucked into incoherency, trembling and quivering as you go tight around him and Yoongi struggles not to lose himself then and there, in your scorching, wet cunt, fluttering around him.

The noise when he pulls out is slick and lewd, just like all the other noises that have been filling the room, the slap of skin on skin temporarily halted when Yoongi rolls you onto your back. There’s sweat beading on your skin, shimmering, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes and glistening like tiny jewels in the multi-coloured low light of this room. Your lips are parted and your gaze is bleary and you’re everything Yoongi has never seen from you before, fuzzy and quiet, entirely pliant. When he reaches for you again, runs his hands over the rise of your hipbones and down the side of your thighs, you whimper.

“One more,” Yoongi says. “One more, you can give me one more.”

You’ve never known when to quit, and now is no different, even if you’re on the verge of being entirely fucked dumb. Those tears pool in your eyes and stream down towards your hairline, but you let Yoongi move you, try to help by lifting your hips but almost too gone to move at all. Yoongi almost cums when he sinks into you, your willing body; he thinks you’ve never looked better than you do now, smelling like sweat and sex and so soft under his hands, taking his cock like you were made for it, and you’re so gorgeous when you’re falling apart. 

The attitude you wear normally—the one that chafes at Yoongi’s nerve-endings—has been entirely wiped away, forced out of you by mindless pleasure. But still, you know what you want, even now, even when you’re barely coherent—Yoongi feels your hand slide across his and pull weakly, guiding it across your chest and up, circling his fingers around your neck.

He swears. Snaps his hips forward hard, watches the way your eyes roll back when he gives an experimental squeeze around your throat. Yoongi’s choked people before, knows exactly how much pressure to give, how much it takes to cut someone’s airways completely or how to just leave them reeling; he lets you linger on the edge of breathlessness, feels the way you go tight around him. When you orgasm it rips through you, your thighs tightening around Yoongi’s hips as you hit your peak and cum hard, and the feeling of it has Yoongi cursing and bending forwards to shove his face in your neck and kiss the salt-sweat taste he finds there as he falls off the edge. He cums wet inside you, keeps rolling his hips through it all, lets his cum mix with yours and watches the way you just keep taking it, even when your whole body is trembling from how much it is.

And when Yoongi calls you a good girl, you don’t snap back like you normally would, don’t deride his praise. You bask in it, as tired as you are, letting out a soft noise when he pulls his softening cock out of you, unbothered by the wet patches on your sheets and how the whole room stinks of sex. When he moves to lift you, to get you clean, you go easily and without argument, every one of your honed edges dulled, and you make no move to sharpen them again, to drag them over Yoongi in the way he’s so familiar with by now. Even when you’ve lifted out of your haze and you’re back in the moment, the way you watch Yoongi is no less calm than normal, but still different.

“Stay.”

He’s in the middle of reaching for his boots, discarded on the floor, a discordant note on the clear floor. You’re wearing clean underwear and a loose t-shirt and you’re looking at him with something verging on surprise, like you hadn’t expected to see him moving to pull his shoes back on to leave.

He hadn’t been planning to.

“Just moving them out of the way,” says Yoongi, putting them upright by the base of your chair, and then he makes his way back to you. You don’t attempt to hide your pleasure that he’s listened to you,  pulling him onto the bed despite the fact he’s still dressed.

“I don’t cuddle,” he says, even as you tuck yourself into the crook of his arm, and he shifts to make it more comfortable for you.

You press your face into the hollow of his neck, touch your nose against his throat, breathing in the smell of sweat that still lingers—because you’re shower soft and fresh but he isn’t, and weirdly enough, you seem to enjoy it. Seem to enjoy that contrast, the one that’s always existed between you, Yoongi immersed in blood and sweat and tears while you’re away from it, one degree of separation from it all. “You know, I like it when you do things for me.”

Normally he’d protest, say that he doesn’t do things for you, but the truth is that he does, even if he’s only just admitting it to himself. 

“Like that time you killed someone for me,” you say, and Yoongi’s fingers tighten, soft skin of your waist yielding under his touch.

“I kill a lot of people.”

You let out a laugh against his skin, quietly amused. “Just admit it. You like me, Min Yoongi.”

A pause. 

Then: “Against my better judgement, I do.”

And he does. Even if you’re irritating and maddening, he does like you, and not just because of the work you do for him. He thinks that even if you weren’t so good at your job that he’d find himself here anyway, caught in this push and pull you have, magnetised.

“No need to sound so begrudging,” you say, but there’s no real annoyance behind your words. 

Yoongi finds that he likes that note in your voice, like you’re indulging him and his stubbornness and you’re unmoved by it. He hums in response. Feels the way you shift back, lean on your elbows to look down at him, lips curled up at the corners.

“Kiss me.”

Not a question. A demand. Yoongi stares you down, just for a second, before he lifts a hand and weaves a hand back into your hair, tilting your mouth against his. He can feel your self satisfied smile against his lips and he doesn’t mind it at all, sees it spread across your face when you eventually pull back, all flushed lips and warm eyes.

You’re still sharp, a weapon in your own right, but you willingly hand yourself over to be held in his skilled hands, let yourself be worn smooth by his touch. He weaves his fingers between your own, your palm soft and warm against his, and he likes this. That you’re unafraid of what he is, that the fact he’s a killer isn’t something that scares you or thrills you.

Yoongi likes your work. He likes that he knows he can trust you. He likes that he knows of your loyalty, to the people you choose and to yourself, your unwavering principles, as unpredictable as they might seem. He likes that you’re unashamed to be yourself and to be confident, no matter how people react to that cockiness. 

What he likes even better than all that is this, though: the way you’re pressed against his side, evidence of his touch written into your skin. The feeling of your hand in his. Despite all the odds, all the months of drawn out and simmering exasperation and tension coming to a head like this, Yoongi likes you.

“I’m not going to give you a discount, you know,” you say suddenly, and for the first time since you met, Yoongi allows himself to laugh at you.

“I’d be offended if you did.”

(You’re loud. Cocky. Arrogant. You love to irritate him just for the hell of it, because you think it’s funny and you love knowing that you can rile him up—but he can rile you up too, and you both know it.

Yeah. Yoongi likes you.)

tagging: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove @gyukult  @swinginpicklesuitcaseapricot @kpopheart2 @loveyoongles @muzikabijou  @katbonv @jaxx-7 @yeojaa

#btswritingcafe #houseofddaeng #magicshopnet #btswriterscollective #btsguild #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #yoongi x you #bts #bts x reader #yoongi #yoongi scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist #let's see if this appears in the tags this time! fingers crossed! #wow can you believe I wrote like 4k words of smut or something close to that

[pixelated-pogues]

Sorrowful Endings (fezco)

Summary: You're moving away for college and choose to say goodbye. Pairing: Fezco x reader Prompt: “Don’t call me, I don’t want any contact with you. Warnings: Angst, cursing Gif Creds: @lola-lola

"I'm leaving in a few days," I murmur through the quiet of the living room, lifting myself off of his chest so that I can straighten up next to him and look him in the eye. Fez's eyes study me, a solemn look displays itself on his face while he puts the last of his blunt out on the small tray on the coffee table before mirroring my actions.

"Yeah," he hums, shooting one of his heart-melting smiles my way. "College baby, that's a big deal. I'm proud of you, always knew that you'd do something great with your life once you finished here."

"Thanks baby," he's met with my own melancholy smile as my hand brushes against his cheek to support my gratitude. "It is a big deal. It's just a little further away from you than I'd really like for it to be."

"I know ma, but we can make it work, right? I mean, I can take trips to see you on weekends that Ash is confident he can cover business back here. I'm sure it'll work out, ya know?" His confidence only makes the sadness in my heart grow. I want it to work, and I know the man would do everything in his power to work things out, but there's something in my gut telling me that a completely clean slate is the best way to successfully jump into my new beginning. As selfish as it feels to admit it.

"Fez, I just don't know how we're going to make this work. I mean, I'm moving four states over for school and you're going to stay just as busy with everything you have going on here. I don't want to give up on us, but I also can't stand the thought of being with you without physically being able to be with you. There's also just part of me that thinks I shouldn't go into this new season holding onto all of the things that make me feel insanely safe and content. I've got to be okay with letting go so I can grow. You know what I'm saying," I explain, picking at a loose strand on the old sweater he'd gifted to me several months back. We've tiptoed around the conversation for nearly eight months, ever since my acceptance letter came in the mail. Since then, I've been counting down the days until my life is uprooted and my new life begins. We're three days away from the big day and the conversation absolutely cannot wait any longer, though it's clearly the last thing either of us want to talk about as we spend our last few days together before everything changes.

"I think I know what you're sayin, ma," he nods, exhaling deeply. He glances at the floor before looking back at me. "You want to be able to grow without feeling like there are things pinning you to the floor, right? I get it."

"I don't want you to think that I feel like you'd be holding me back, because I don't," I promise, hooking my fingers under his chin so that he'll take in the sincerity etched across my face. "I just want to be able to wholeheartedly focus on what's in front of me, and I know I'm going to struggle to do that when my heart is four states away. I don't mean that I want it to end forever, hell, I don't want it to end at all. Just for a short while at least, long enough for me to spread my wings a little. For both of us to take our own time to grow and maybe somewhere in that process we'll be brought back together to reevaluate."

"Okay, so how do you want to do this," he questions, holding himself together while I fight to not fall apart. "I'm here to do whatever you need, but I need you to call the shots. I support you, ma, but I can't be the one deciding how this is gon' go because if it were up to me, I'd follow you over there."

"Maybe, don't call me, I don't want any contact with you," I state, allowing myself to wear my emotions on my sleeve so that he can physically see what this is doing to me. The tears rolling down my cheeks contradict the confidence in my tone as the words evaporate into thin air, leaving Fez's jaw slack while we wait for the next move. My statement was all I needed to say in order for me to walk out the door, but my feet remain planted to the store floor. I'm not entirely sure what I'm waiting for. No amount of words he could say will make me revoke that statement. Yet, I can't move as we're stuck in a chilling silence, just waiting. "At least not for a long while. It's gotta feel real and it won't feel real if we're still reaching out."

"That's what you want," it was more of a statement than a question, seemingly a playback of my statement in order for both of us to register the weight it truly holds. "Are you sure? This ain't just shit that you can say now and then come knockin on my door tryin to take back tomorrow, Y/n. So I need you to decide right now if that's what you really want n I'll let it be."

Time slows for a few seconds, the reality that my time with Fez is coming to a crashing, and rather tragic, end as we speak makes my heart shatter right here. Yet, I subtly straighten my shoulders, remembering all of the times that he told me to "own my shit and walk in confidence, always."

"I'm done," I confirm, my heart skipping a beat in my chest. The flow of tears is steady now, but I remain calm. This fucking hurts like hell, but it's what's right. "We're done, Fez. I mean it, please don't contact me. Letting go is hurting me enough as it is, if we're going to do this, we have to do it right. I can't have any sliver of what's over to cling to if I'm trying to move forward. It has to be a clean break-"

"Cold turkey," he finishes for me, sporting a lighthearted but tearful smile at my choice of words. It's a phrase I'd stolen from him awhile back. I can count the amount of times I've witnessed Fez crying in the past three years on one hand, so the steady flow of tears pouring down his own cheeks both breaks my heart and takes me by surprise. "I get it, Y/n/n."

"Cold turkey," I repeat, feeling my own saddened tears glide down my cheeks. We stay there in silence for several moments, basking in the moment, in our newfound end. "Hey, just because it's over now, doesn't mean it wasn't good. It's been fucking beautiful and I'm always going to cherish every moment of it, of us. I've never had anything bad to say about you, and that doesn't change here. I still love you more than you'll ever fully know. This is just one of the beautiful things we've gotta let go."

"Word," he repeats, wiping his eyes with a lighthearted smile before pulling me into his chest. "I'll always love you, Y/n. Whether our paths meet after this or not, you hear me? I hate that we've gotta let go, but I'm so proud of you for chasing the dreams you've always talked about. It'd be selfish of me to try to keep you to myself when you've got so much to offer the world out there."

Just like that, the conversation was over and so were we. It ended in us smushed together in the comfort of his couch, clinging onto one another until we both fell asleep, just gripping onto the last moments of us before I have to leave.

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

A/n: I'm sorry, I'd choose this man over leaving for college any day. I'm not sure why this is the route my brain wanted to go, but we're here soooo I hope someone else enjoys the brief moment of a sad ending with a beautiful human. Requests are welcome aaaand tag lists can always be added to so just say the word <3

Taglist: @milkiane @glodessa @goldenroutledge @curlyolly @styxiasstuff

#euphoria #euphoria fics #euphoria imagines #euphoria blurbs #euphoria season one #euphoria season two #euphoria fezco #euphoria fez #fezco euphoria #fezco #fezco fics #fezco imagines #fezco blurbs #fezco x reader #fezco x y/n #fez #fez fics #fez imagines #fez blurbs #fez angst

[spookysmujer]

Preciosa, O. Diaz

Summary: You find yourself caught up in a mess with the Prophet$.

warnings: assault, gun violence, attempt kidnapping, blood, happy!ending

word count: 2.9k

a/n: My first request in a long time. I had a lot of request in my inbox but one day they just went,poof. *sad face* So send some in, my requests are open!  Always usual, please consider: following the blog, heart/comment/reblog my work and turn on the notifications for when I post new content! Thank you!

anonymously requested

(Gif belongs to @merakiaes​✨)

 “Ay, you look so handsome, mijo!” Your mother exclaims, patting down Ruby’s tux. The look of embarrassment flushed his chubby face as you stifled a laugh, snapping candid pictures. Which only annoyed him more.

After a series of way too many pictures, the Martinez family stood in front of your house to watch him join his friends to head to junior prom. He looked relieved to escape the madness that is Geny Martinez, “Have fun, be safe and your sister will pick you up when you are ready!”

Your jaw falls as you cross your arms. Your father is laughing his way back into the house. “A ma!”

“¿Que? Your brother has been through a lot. Let him have his fun and when he is ready, then you will go to get him. I don’t want to hear it.” She points her finger in your face before marching off to scold your dad. 

The problem is that where Ruby and his friends went, trouble followed.

To help time go by quicker, you help abuelita with dinner. Help your mom with the twins as well as showing your dad how to pull up YouTube on his far too advanced phone. But even after all that as said and done, the clock only shows 9:30PM.

Well pacing back and forth in your room wouldn’t help either. An idea sparks in your mind as you power on your phone, seeing the brooding Santo on your lock screen. You smile small, your thumb running over the picture.

Oscar Diaz. How someone such as him, a certified street gangster, found his way into your heart. At first, you cursed that organ that pumps blood throughout your body. There was no way you could love him! But so it is told, you are his girl. Everyone knows that. 

“Hola mami, what got you calling me past your bedtime?” Oscar smiles, knowing you’d be rolling your eyes. He is right because you are rolling your eyes.

With how many times he made fun of you, his love language, it’s a surprise that your eyes aren’t stuck in the back of your head, “Ha ha, I have to pick up my brother when prom finishes but Ma gave him the OK to stay out as long as he pleases.”

“Ah, pobrecita. If only I was at home, I could keep you company.” He teases. A smile forming on your lips as you know the if only he mentioned is an actuality. You are dashing out of the door, barely getting out to a goodbye to your parents or Oscar.

He only lives a few streets over. You could practically make it to his house blindfolded at this point. The idea of spending the night with Oscar, who is usually busy at this time of night, has a stupid smile stuck on your face. 

One of the many unfortunate things about living in Freeridge is if you have more than one car in your household then you’d most likely park on the street and almost always not near your house either. 

You are focused on your phone texting Oscar to start popcorn cause to hell if you weren’t going to finish that movie marathon that got interrupted a few nights ago. It barely registers in your brain that a car is slowly rolling besides you. You finally look up and the green shine gleams under the lamp post. 

A pang hits your chest as you see the two men in the car staring at you intently. 

“What’s good with you? Walking to your corner for the night?” One says as the other laughs in pursuit, more sounds coming from the back seat of the car. You try your best to keep yourself composed.

You flash them a weak smile and continue you on, spotting your ride a few cars ahead. 

Prophet$. They were a menace to society. The truce between them and the Santos have been tested a few times but as far as you know, it still stands.

After not answering them, the car comes to a halt. It’s pointless to run back to your house or to your car. These are grown ass men, they would get you before you even had a second to call for help. Oscar always reminded you to show no fear. The more intimidating you present yourself then the less of a chance they would keep messing with you. 

But giving as this is Freeridge, the odds are never in anyone’s favor.

“I’m talking to you!” He steps besides you, slinging his arm around your shoulder. You immediately shrug it off and step away. He laughs as two more exit the car, the driver staying put. You swallow thickly as you only think the worst.

Is this what your mother meant when she said, That boy is going to drag you down the wrong road one day and when you end up hurt, I don’t want to hear it!

One of them approaches you until your back hits the chain link fence. Your two hands grasping onto it. He is now standing mere inches from your face as you turn yours in the other direction, his breath fanning across your face. It sent a shiver through your spine. “You smell sweet. Come take a ride with us, show you how real gangsters roll.” 

His voice coarse. It has your skin crawling with bumps as you try to keep your trembling voice from spilling through your lips. Assert your dominance, hold your ground. Don’t let them think they have won.

You clear your throat and turn your face towards him. He tilts his head in curiosity, a small grin plastered on his lips. You straighten your back and move to cross your arms across your chest. 

“I’m good. Can you back up please? I don’t like people all up in my business like this.” A strong and steady voice, body language present with confidence. The Prophet finds it amusing as he takes a step back, looking to his left and right at his comrades.

They laugh and watch their friend as he continues to eye you down. A moment or two passes before the one who approached you begins to step back, this signals the others to fall back as well. And for a moment you were almost in the clear. But when you turn to look down the street if anyone is around, the street light hits the shine on your chain’s pendant. 

When you look back to make sure they leave first, you see that one hasn’t walked back to the car. “Yo,” He calls out and the others stop from getting in. He points to your chest and you follow, looking down at the pendant. “That cross looks awfully like what all those Santos rep.” 

Crap.

“It’s a cross. I believe in God and all that. If you know who that is.” You spit fire and hope they just carry on and leave. But like you know, the odds are never in your favor. 

He chuckles to himself, “Nah, that one. That one is the exact one those trick ass Santos rep. Which means you run with them, which means we have a problem.”

“Yo, check this.” One of the Prophet$ step forward and hands him a phone. He looks down and then back up at you. You swallow thickly, it feels like the air is becoming too thick to inhale. Then he shows you what he is looking at which confirms that the air is, in fact, much too thick to be breathable. 

On the screen is a candid shot of you and Oscar outside of Dwayne’s. Oscar leans against his car and you with your back pressed to his front. It was a night you can’t forget, the night you finally gave into being his girl and he couldn’t keep his hands off you. 

The tough girl facade begins to slip. You are sure they can see the fragile person beneath the surfacing beginning to claw her way out. Your hand clenching into a fist.

“You Spooky’s girl.”

It’s all a blur. One moment you try to make a run for it. Then next you are getting yanked back from your waist being pulled flush against one of them. You’ll give it to them, they aren’t stupid to draw much attention by clamping their hand over you mouth, though that didn’t stop you from trying to make noise anyways. 

You are thrashing in their grasp. It’s useless, just one of them is three times your size and there are three of them against one of you.

“The trunk! We got what he’ll give them stash houses for, we bout to make dollas!” One laughs and the others follow in pursuit. Now the panic has set in. Your heart hammering within its constrictive restraints of your chest. The trunk is opened by the driver, two of them trying to move you in.

You try to bite down on his hand but it proves impossible with how hard he has his hand pressed against your mouth. Think, think, think. Your legs are scooped up to haul you in and you use the split second advantage to fly your head back. The contact hits his nose and sounds off with a crunch. He lets out shrill as he lets go, dropping you.

 You kick your legs to get out of the others grasp, scrambling up from the asphalt. It scrapes against your skin, burning as nerves are exposed. But victory is far from sight as you barely get on your feet when your hair is grabbed and you’re yanked back down. As if you are a feather to them, he pulls you toward the car and lets go. Your face makes contact with the tail light. It causes your bottom lip to press into your teeth too harshly, you taste iron nearly on impact. Your jaw aches as he grabs you by your hair again. And yet again, you are shoved harshly into the car’s exterior. It was your nose turning to crack under pressure. 

“I don’t like when females don’t listen to me. Now, listen to me.” He pulls out a gun, with his other hand holding your hair. You are on your knees trying to lessen the grip he has by holding his wrist. “Your boyfriend got  a lot of territory here and we want in. He don’t have manners when it comes to talking so I have to be more aggressive, as you can probably guess. I ain’t no woman beater, but I’ll be damn sure to be heard. All you gotta do is listen and you walk.”

You stop struggling in his grip. The tears and blood running down your face. You can’t trust Prophet$, they’ll do anything to get you to crack. They play dirty, don’t ever give in. And don’t ever snitch, you die before you snitch.Oscar would say. 

“Puta de madre!” You spit in his face. He wipes it in disgust as he looks to the others, dropping you and cocking his gun. Oh, Y/N, when are you gonna learn to keep your mouth shut?

He points the gun to you, no remorse in his eyes. “Wait!” You cry out.

“You’re right about them. The Santos. They are nothing but ratas. But you want to know what rats and Santos have in common?” He scoffs, but proceeds to give you the time to tell him. You look at the street corner to see Sad Eyes and four other Santos coming out from the dark. You look back at the man holding the gun at you, “They’re always roaming in the streets.”

“Oh shit!” The driver calls out.

Bullets rain as both the Santos and Prophet$ begin firing at each other. Your arms are covering your head with your legs curling into the fetal position. Eyes closed shut as sounds of panic spill from you. Tires screeching sounds in your ear. “Y/N, hey, you okay?” 

You’re too afraid to unravel yourself right away, Cesar kneels down beside you, you feel his hands on your arms. Slowly, you move your arms and look up to him. He winces upon seeing your bludgeoned face. 

When your dad would complain about how too far advanced technology is these days, how it has all these unnecessary features, you sometimes would agree. But it saved you tonight. Shortcuts on apple products can do about anything. Sometimes as simple as pressing the lock button a certain amount of times can do a task for you.

Three rapid clicks, pause, two more rapid clicks, hold for 3 seconds.

It was to text Oscar and Cesar a green heart emoji. That was a signal for trouble with the pinche Prophet$. It sends your location as well. Just in your luck, Cesar and your brother were walking down the end of the opposite street. 

When he got the alert he happened to be in front of the house that belonged to the girl Sad Eyes is seeing. As if the universe set this up perfectly in your odds, after all, Sad Eyes happened to be there, along with a few Santos. 

Cesar helps you sit up, he is careful not to add anymore hurt to you by moving at your pace. “You okay?” He asks you and Ruby stands a few feet away, eyes wide and feet glued to the ground. 

Oscar appears from the corner, his red impala coming to an abrupt stop. Any more tension that you had finally dissipates as he emerges and jogs to you. He doesn’t say anything to you as he tells Cesar and Sad Eyes to escort Ruby back home. 

“I got her. Go.” Oscar tells Ruby as he helps you to the car. But your brother can’t seem to move. He is scared and worried for you despite Oscar’s reassurance. “Hermano, I’m good. I promise, just a few scratches. Go, go home and stay there. And please, don’t tell mom or dad. Or Abuelita!”

After a few more moments of hesitation, Ruby compiles and follows Cesar down the road. You watch them as you wait for him to be out of sight completely before groaning in pain. You lean against the passenger side door for a moment before Oscar helps you in.

He has you pressed against his side as he makes the short drive to his house. “Ay dios mio.” You say with a sigh, seeing your abuelita’s car parked near the curb of Oscars house. Of course he called her, she is always the one to patch him up so it’s fitting in the moment.

 Even with the dangers, such as this one, of dating Oscar, Abuelita never gave you worries about it. She even encouraged it. “Ay, mija. Com’n, let me see.” Oscar moves you into her arms and into the house. 

There were no words of worries, or blaming nor were there any threats towards Oscar from Abuelita. One might think she didn’t have a care for you because of that. 

“And make sure she sleeps. Give some tequila and she’ll be right out, you know how she is with hard stuff. Can’t believe she comes from my bloodline!” You chuckle as Abuelita winks at you. She caresses your cheek once more as Oscar trashes the bloody gauzes.

You limp your way to her before she is out the door. You were curious, “Howcome you're not kicking his ass, hm? The last boyfriend stood me up and you shot up his place. This one got my life hanging on a thread here and nothing?”

Abuelita gives you a genuine smile, “I know true love when I see it. Every beast needs his beauty. He is a good man, I know he would burn this town before he lets anyone hurt you again. Now, go rest or else I will smoke your stash. Who am I kidding? I already did. Buenas noches!”

You laugh at the crazy old bat. When you turn, Oscar is sitting on the coffee table. He looks to you with soft eyes, “I didn’t snitch, ya know. Code and all.” 

“I knew you wouldn’t. I should have picked you up. I-I’m sorry, preciosa.” He sighs, his chest rising and falling. The sight is for sore eyes. You’ve made your way over to him, standing between his legs. Oscar leans his head against you and holds onto your legs, fingers gripping your thighs.

The pain in your face begins to subside the more you feel him. The comfort and familiarity settle in your bones. “Please, please forgive me.”

Oscar falls to his knees, peering up to you. Your heart aches to see him in such a fragile state. Even with what just went down, you weren’t mad at him nor were suddenly scared to be with him. Your hands find their way to his face to keep his gaze on you. You tug slightly and Oscar gets up, he stands tall to you by more than 5 inches. 

He dips his head down to lean his forehead on yours, his nose bumps yours and you wince. And he tries to pull away but you hold him put, “No, no don’t. Please, I want you right here. Right here is perfect.”

The moment burns into your memory.  

taglist: @clemmingstylins0n @fairygardenss @princesstiffxoxo @firebenderwolf @mbaku-babygirl   @roury66  @lillict @tinylumpiaa @starrynite7114 @aneitii @b3mybunnybaby @kkim120 @ladylj @vayagrxce @irenne-stans​ @boujee-bitches @blessedboo @lidumiw @morenokatt @diamond-3 @doyunhokpop @conejamala10 @cococruzgirl @dracosafety @lovesanimals  @pissrots  (please let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

#oscar diaz #oscar spooky diaz #oscar diaz imagine #oscar diaz fic #oscar diaz x reader #oscar diaz x you #oscar diaz x y/n #spooky diaz #spooky imagine #spooky fic #spooky x you #spooky x y/n #spooky x reader #spooky diaz imagine #spooky diaz fic #spooky diaz x reader #spooky diaz x you #spooky diaz x y/n #omb #on my block #netflix on my block #omb imagine #omb fic #on my block im #on my block fic #spookysmujer

[carters-things]

Is this what you wanted?

James Wesley x Gn!reader

Summary: Wesley is busy but you're determined to get your way.

Warnings: This is not quite smut but its a little spicy so read with caution. 18+ I guess

Masterlist

GIF by @daredevil-account

Wesley has sat at his desk reading and signing paperwork for the last hour. And in that time you have done nothing but sit across from him and watch him. Watch his eyes dart across the papers, his hands gliding along the page in sync. The longer you sit there the more you want him. All of him.

“Tell me you’re almost done here” You say as you stand from your chair, beginning to pick up and inspect objects around the office. Somehow you think that in doing so he won’t pick up on the desperation radiating from within your bones.

“I wasn’t done five minutes ago when you asked and I’m still not done now.” He says without lifting his gaze from his work, his tone cold as his annoyance grows equally with your persistence.

“Ok, but how much longerrrr” You draw out with a whine, like a child not getting their way.

“Stop asking, and sit down.” He snaps, giving you a look of aggravation as he pulls his glasses off. He pinches the bridge of his nose before taking a deep breath in, slowly releasing it. He puts his glasses back on his face and adjusts them. His grip on the frames is a little tighter than usual, showing you that you’re starting to make progress on breaking him down. You walk around to the back of his chair and slowly run your hands from his shoulders down to his chest. Your fingers find their way behind his tie and fiddle with the top button. He ignores your escalating attempts at distraction, refusing to give you your way without you asking for what you want. You continue your mission of stirring a reaction from him, at this point you don’t care if it’s good or bad you just need him.

“Jamiieeeeee.” Nothing

“Wesleyyyy” you drag out again, still nothing

“Wesssss.” His focus stays unmoved from his paperwork, but his head cocks slightly to the side. You’re on to something now.

“Wessie” He immediately dropped his pen to the desk before lunging after you, backing you right into the wall. His jaw clenched so hard you could hear the slight grind of his teeth. His hand reaches up and grabs your jaw, as he pulls in a deep inhale of frustration through his nose, loosening the tension of his tie on his neck slightly in a desperate attempt to get relief from how worked up you make him feel.

“Don’t ever call me that again.” He growls at you, his eyes moving between your eyes and your lip that is currently bit between your teeth. You can see him slightly bite the inside of his cheek as he holds your body still against the wall of his office. “What’s my name?” He demands, his lips just a breath away from yours.

“James.” You breathlessly whisper out, as he swallows your words. Your hand reaches up and grips his wrist to keep it in place. He keeps grip steady with the given permission as his other hand grips your waist. You can see his mind running through all of the things he wants to do to you, but he remains still and silent, his breathing getting slightly heavier.

“Go ahead, do what you want to me James. Have your way.” You plead as your hands reach for his belt. A small shiver runs through his body as you loosen his belt loop and pop the button open on his dress pants. You were the only one who could make him weak in the knees by a simple act. His heart begins to beat faster as the passion inside of him bubbles to the surface. He finally closes the gap between your bodies as his lips crash into yours with such frustration and hunger behind each kiss. His teeth nip at your bottom lip before trailing to your jaw, then down to your neck, stopping at your collar bone. Your head leans back against the wall as the slightest moan leaves your throat.

“Is this what you wanted, pet?” Wesley says through his trail of bites and kisses slowly moving your shirt out of the way to continue down your body. You nod your head as your breathing gets faster at the slow burn of Wesley’s touch. He stops his trail moving his trailing hand back up to your neck, his fingers moving your jaw to bring you face to face with him once again.

“What have I told you about using your words?” His voice is low and raspy as he tries to contain his growing frustration with your lack of obedience.

“Please.” You beg for his lips to return to your body that is melting within his grasp. “I want you.”

#james wesley #james wesley x reader #james wesley x gn!reader #james wesley x gender neutral reader #james wesley x you #james wesley smut #daredevil #daredevil fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #netflix daredevil #carteranne

[ricciardonorrisleclercgasly]

Home Again || Sebastian Vettel

Not my gif

Requested by: @formulapierre

Pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Reader

Warnings: None!

Find my prompt list here.

***Requests are Open***

Find my masterlist here.

After spending far to long apart, you decide to surprise Sebastian at the paddock but he has a bigger surprise for you.

Prompts used:

F1 -  "My home is with you"

F13 - "I don't want to be your boyfriend anymore, I want to be your husband"

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

"I miss you" Sebastian frowned through the screen. You always tried to travel with him to all his races but sometimes your work just wouldn't allow it and you ended up spending weeks apart, this was one of those times.

"I know Seb, I miss you too" you said stroking you thumb over the screen wishing that you could be together. "6 days baby"

"That's 6 days too long" he said frustratedly "I hate having to leave you alone." You could see the genuine sadness in his eyes, in the whole 4 years of your relationship this was the longest you'd had to be apart. "I have to go, I love you Y/N"

"I love you too Sebastian" you said blowing a kiss through the screen. Sebastian mimed catching it and pressing it to his lips.

You led in bed twisting and turning all night, your bed was never as comfortable without Seb in it. Your big house creaked in the wind and you had never felt more alone. After a bad night or interrupted sleep you had made up your mind. You packed your suitcase and let your office know you would be working from home for the next week, ordered a cab and headed to the airport. You didn't want to be away from Sebastian for any longer. You text his assistant to let her know you were travelling over and to organise a car for you, but to not tell Sebastian you wanted it to be a surprise.

The flight only lasted a couple of hours and you were already landing. Checking Seb’s calendar you knew he would be busy at free practice right now so you headed to the hotel to freshen up before heading to circuit. The car that Britta had organised was ready and waiting for you and the hotel had a key ready and waiting for you when you arrived. You let yourself into the room and unpacked your suitcase, touched up your hair and makeup and changed into some nicer clothes.

'P2 babyyy' Seb’s text message flashed on your screen, signalling that the last practice was finished. You text your driver and headed downstairs so you could get to the paddock in time to have lunch with him before qualifying started.

'I'm sorry I missed it, I'll definitely catch you in qualifying' you text Sebastian back with a smile.

You arrived at the paddock and made your way through security trying to avoid the media as much as possible, you didn't want the surprise to be spoilt especially at the last minute.

"Y/N? I wasn't expecting to see you here this weekend" Charles, Sebastian's team mate said giving you a quick hug as he saw you walking towards the Ferrari hospitality hub.

"Shhh" you hushed the young Monegasque "It's a surprise for Seb, we've been apart too long" you said. Charles pouted in a sign of admiration for the bond you and Sebastian had. You walked together into the canteen as you scanned the room, you saw Seb sat in a quiet corner with Britta, looking over some papers, facing away from you. You caught Britta's eye and a huge smile stuck across her face, you signalled for her to be quiet as you snuck up behind Seb. You quickly put your hands over his eyes making him jump, "woah what the hell" he said pulling away from your hands and turning around to see who it was. "You're kidding me!" He exclaimed with a big grin on his face, he jumped out his seat and threw his arms around you picking you up and spinning you around in his embrace, "Y/N I can't believe you're here, I've missed you so much" he said peppering kisses all over your cheek, jaw and neck. You kissed him passionately ignoring the people around you. "I thought you had to work liebling" he said sitting back on his chair with you sat on his lap. "I sorted it, I knew you were sad about how long it would be until you were home, so I thought I'd surprise you"

"I don’t need to be at home. My home is with you and wherever you are is home to me"

You kissed Seb's nose and slid into your own seat, Britta had brought some food over for you so you could eat together.

After lunch you headed into the garage with Sebastian whilst he got set up for qualifying.

"You're going to do great baby" you said kissing him through his helmet.

"I will now that you're here, you've always been my good luck charm"  

You left Seb to finish his preparations for qualifying and went to sit in the back of the garage. You pulled out your laptop and got some of your own work done whilst you waited for it to start. The excitement in the garage grew as the cars got ready to go out. You sat on the edge of your seat, eyes glued to the screen as you watched Sebastian tear around the track.

It was a difficult qualifying but he had managed to secure p3.

As soon as he got back into the garage he jumped out the car and came to find you.

"I'm so proud of you!" You said wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him gently.

"I couldn't have done it without you" he smiled into your lips.

Later that evening you and Sebastian were back at the hotel room, you had ordered room service and were sitting on the balcony eating your dinner.

"I still can't believe you're here" Sebastian grinned, holding onto your hand.

"I didn't want to leave it any longer, you're my boyfriend and I've missed you" you said.

"Well I've been thinking" Sebastian said shifting nervously in his seat, you gripped his hand tightly, "I don't want to be your boyfriend anymore, I want to be your husband" he looked up at you with his ocean blue eyes, "Y/N will you make me the happiest man on earth? Will you marry me?"

"Oh Seb, a million times yes. Of course I will marry you" you said getting out your own chair and sitting on his lap, kissing him passionately.

"I don't have a ring yet. I was going to wait until I got back to Germany, until I saw you, but since you were here I couldn't wait any longer, I love you liebling"

"I don't need a ring to say it, I'm just happy to be yours. Ich liebe dich auch"

Sebastian scooped you up out of the chair and carried you into the bedroom, wanting to give his wife to be the most perfect of nights.

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