#obviously. i would still be incredibly open to meeting someone organically | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

let-me-write-shit · 4 years

Note

Could u do one w famous!reader (singer and actress) and she’s Brazilian and they met at late late show or idk some other talk show?? Thank u love ur writing

A/N: Thank you so much for the request, @lebortoletto, and sorry it took so long! Hope you like it!!

Word Count: 4,746

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The Late Late Show

Y/N always loved coming on James Corden’s ‘The Late Late Show’. His team was always super organized and kind, and James sometimes treated his guests with a meal at a restaurant after the taping since it was usually filmed during dinnertime, and they always had a lot of fun on-set. James was one of the few television hosts whom Y/N would consider a friend.

Of course, being an actress provided Y/N an opportunity to meet and make friends with hundreds of other celebrities, and she considered herself to be amongst nearly all groups of celebrity friendships, but there were some more notable people which she hadn’t had the pleasure to meet, yet. One being Harry Styles.

She’d wanted to meet him since the days of One Direction, but their paths somehow never crossed, which was odd considering nearly all of her friends were mutuals with him. They followed each other on Instagram and Twitter, and would occasionally like the other’s pictures or tweets, but that was about as far as it went. She didn’t have the courage to message him. But that ended today. Both of them would be appearing on his show together.

She and her team arrived early, being escorted to a private room. Most of her team went to the main backstage room while Y/N got her hair and makeup done in her private room. There was still some time left to spare by the time they were finished, and Y/N, along with her PR person, decided to greet everyone backstage and have a quick snack before she changed clothes. She bumped into Reggie and a few other members of James’ team on the way back, smiling and chatting with them while they walked down the hall. As soon as she entered the room, she heard her name called out.

“Y/N! Hello!”

Y/N turned her head in the direction of the voice and smiled when she saw James Corden in the middle of a conversation with Harry Styles and someone else she hadn’t recognized, presumably on his team. She made her way over, noticing Harry holding a small, half-eaten sandwich, and trying to keep her composure.

“Hello, so good to see you again,” Y/N grinned, taking Jame’s hand and pecking him on each cheek before turning to Harry, heart pounding, “Hi, how are you? I’m Y/N.”

“Good, thanks, I’m Harry,” his voice was deep and muffled, trying to introduce himself with a mouth full of sandwich. He leaned in for a one-arm hug and pecked either side of her face. Once they pulled apart he had dramatically swallowed his food and smiled sheepishly, “Sorry,” he chuckled, “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“We were just talking about you,” James interrupted.

Your expression changed to one of surprise before Harry chimed in, holding a finger up and nodding, “Yeah, I’m a big fan. Salacity was incredible.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” Y/N blushed, looking between the two of them, “Well, I’m obviously a fan, too. Who isn’t?”

“Obviously, you mean me,” James joked, flicking his imaginary hair back.

The two laughed while Y/N nodded, “Obviously.”

Y/N continued on, asking James about his family, and attempted to remain calm while Harry’s overwhelming presence barely a foot beside her lingered. She could feel the warmth radiate from his side, fighting the urge not to look over at him every five seconds, though she couldn’t help but feel his eyes occasionally glance her way.

Since James was so close with both Harry and Y/N, it seemed to be easy to hold a conversation. But when James was ushered away by the crew to start prep and begin filming for his show, it left Harry and Y/N an opportunity to talk. They still had a bit before they would be called out.

“So, I heard you’ll be in the new Marvel film,” Harry turned to her.

Y/N’s mouth fell open, smirking unsurely. That news hasn’t been released yet, and as far as she was aware, not even her biggest fans knew about it. “How did you hear that?”

He grinned, looking down and then back up at her, “Uh, Alexa may have mentioned it.”

“Alexa Chung,” Y/N repeated, rolling her eyes with a smirk. Alexa Chung was a supermodel and one of Y/N’s closest friends. She shook her head, muttering, “I knew she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Yeah, I mean the contract is still under negotiation, but it’s looking good.”

Harry smiled, “Congratulations. I’m sure it’ll be amazing. Can’t wait to see it in theatres.”

“Thank you,” Y/N nodded.

Soon they were joined with more people from the crew of The Late Late Show, as well as more people from their own team as they were told the order of operations and how things were going to run tonight. James had a few segments he had to do on his own before interviewing the two of them, then on to a game, and a small break before Harry would perform.

They listened, intently, a handful of m&m’s in her hands. She noticed Harry shifting in her peripheral and when she turned to see what he was doing, he was already looking at her, pointing at her hands and mouthing, ‘throw me one’. Y/N giggled, picking up a red chocolate candy and scanning the circle of people to make sure no one was staring at her before quickly flicking it across the circle. Harry jerked to the left, trying to catch it in his mouth, but it just bounced off of his chin and to the floor. Only one girl seemed to notice and chuckled.

Harry turned to her, mouth ajar and brows scrunched up, pretending to be indignant and mouthing, “What was that?”

“Another,” Y/N mouthed, grabbing a blue one, this time. Once again, she scanned the circle and chucked the m&m higher.

This time, Harry hardly had to move. He opened his mouth and caught it, smiling and chewing on the candy. “Nice throw,” he nodded, approvingly.

After the meeting, Y/N’s Publicist urged her back towards her private room so she could get changed. She slipped into a sexy red pantsuit that plunged down her neckline and flared at the wrists and ankles, pairing it with a pair of matching red high-heels. Again, she made her way backstage where Harry was, talking to some more people, and when they both saw each other they froze, eyes widened for a moment before their smiles turned into laughter.

He made his way over, now wearing a white button-up underneath his red suit and matching red pressed pants and red shoes. “You copied me!”

Y/N shook her head playfully, joking, “We should swap our suits mid-show and see if anyone notices.”

Harry laughed, “Yes! I can wear yours for the performance!”

The two were greeted by another crew member and led to the side of the stage where they had to remain silent. They looked at each other and back to their crew, silently shimmying and to the sound of James’ voice before their names were called and an eruption of screams and claps echoed through the air from the live studio audience.

Harry let Y/N walk out first and followed her towards the stage as they smiled and waved to the crowd before stepping up on the platform to greet James with a friendly hug and peck on the cheek, sitting side-by-side on the couch.

When the cheers died down, James turned to the two with a grin and said, “It’s great to have both of you back on the show. What is this?” he motioned towards their outfits, laughing, “You’re wearing the same outfit! Did you plan this?”

They both laughed and Harry joked, “Yeah, I rang her and asked what she was wearing and went out and bought the same exact thing.”

“I wanted to give you a heads up so you could match us, too, but Harry told me not to because you would outshine us,” Y/N played along, making James belly-laugh along with the audience.

“I was this close to being upset with you both for not including me,” James laughed, settling down, “You two have never actually met before, have you?”

“No,” they both shook their heads, looking at each other for a second with a smile, “First time.”

“That’s surprising because you both seem to have a lot of the same friends.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah, we seem to run in the same circles, but never at the same time.”

“I think he was just avoiding me, really,” Y/N nodded, making the boys laugh.

Harry chuckled, “yeah, I see her at a party and I duck behind the trash cans,” he did his best impersonation.

James laughed, turning towards Y/N, “You must have been partying a lot this past weekend after your big win.” Y/N smiled widely while the audience, along with Harry, clapped loudly. Cheers, again, echoing from the crowd. James continued, “You’re new movie, Salacity, was nominated for a bunch of awards, but you made history as the first Brazilian to win an Academy Award for Best Actress. What was that like?”

Cheers erupted again and Y/N bit her lip, nodding and looking up at everyone. This never got old. “Thank you,” Y/N grinned, turning back towards James, “Honestly, I think I blacked out when they called my name.” Everyone laughed as she continued, “It was so surreal. I’ve always dreamt of winning an Academy Award but never thought in a million years that I would be the first Brazilian to win. I’m incredibly proud and grateful and just so honored to even be in the same room as all of those talented people. I’m very lucky.”

“Well you deserved every bit of it,” James nodded, earning a voice of agreement along with more cheers from the audience, “Salacity was also nominated for Best Original Song, which was written and sung by you, is that right?”

Y/N nodded, “Yeah, Harry’s not the only talented musician here.”

Both of them laughed as jokingly threw his hands up, stood, and pretended to walk off set. When he plopped back on the couch he said, “First you steal my outfit, then you steal my job?”

“I’m so sorry. I’ll let you open for my next tour,” she joked back.

She felt silly for being so nervous when she woke up this morning. Truth is, this is one of the easiest interviews she’s done. Normally she struggled for the right words to say or with getting a feel on whether she needed to be more professional or if she could let her silly flag fly. Because she knew James so well and got along with Harry so quickly, it made things a lot easier.

They discussed Harry’s career for a bit before circling back to Y/N as James said, “Now, we had your counterpart, KJ Appa, on our show last week. Such a nice guy, by the way.”

“So sweet,” Y/N nodded in agreement as James continued.

“And he had nothing but good things to say about you. He even said that you were one of the best on-screen kisses he’s had” James admitted, making the audience awe as Y/N blushed and smiled. James carried on, “But he did mention a particularly….awkward moment between the two of you on set. Care to elaborate?”

When Y/N’s eyes widened and shifted in her seat in embarrassment, James laughed. She looked at Harry beside her to see him curious and she began to explain, “Well, as you know, Salacity is a very, uhm, how do you put it?”

“Erotic?” James offered, laughing again.

Y/N nodded, chuckling, “Yes, there’s a lot of sex scenes. So, anyway one the very first sex scene we filmed, I’m in this sexy, lacey black lingerie, basically strapped onto this harness contraption in the air and KJ’s character has to come in from behind me, but the harness that was holding my arms snapped, tore off my bra, and I was dangling by my legs upside down with hundreds of crew members watching. And KJ, the sweet guy he is, sees that my bra came off and panicked, and he jumped in, practically hugging me as I was hanging upside down to cover me. But he didn’t realize that the only thing he was wearing was this sock that covered his dick because we were just about to film this sex scene, and it was all up in my face.”

Everyone burst into laughter as Y/N explained, “That poor guy was just trying to help, but they got me down pretty quickly. But it definitely lessened the tension for the rest of filming. We got closer after that.”

“Can’t get much closer than that, can you?” Harry joked, making her laugh, as well.

When that portion of the interview had finished, cameras cut and their team had rushed over to do a few quick makeup and hair touch-ups, laughing and joking with each other about how well it was going so far. They were then directed towards a different area of the stage, sat around a table with rancid smells lingering around.

“Have you ever done this before?” Harry asked her as they were getting re-wired and James was getting prepped.

Y/N shook her head, pushing her hair behind her back and screwing up her face, “No, and I might vomit just looking at all this stuff.”

Harry nodded, “I’ve got an extra toothbrush you can have afterward.”

James came back and they were given two minutes to get situated before the cameras focused in on them. Reggie and the band played the theme song of Spill Your Guts or Fill Your Guts, while Y/N rang her fingers and Harry looked between her and James. Cheers and claps sounded and James smiled teasingly at the two.

“You both look thrilled to be doing this,” he said, sarcastically.

“Oh, yeah, can’t wait,” Harry retorted.

Y/N pursed her lips, shaking her head, “I must have been out of my mind when I agreed to this.”

They laughed as James directed their attention to the table, spinning it, “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got here. We’ve got 1,000-year-old egg, Fish eye and bird saliva, cow tongue, salmon smoothie, cow blood and pork tongue jelly, bull penis, hot dog water, which is the absolute rankest thing I’ve ever had, and giant water scorpion.”

“Why?” Y/N groaned, sitting back in her chair in disgust.

Harry chuckled and James laughed as he explained, “So here’s how this game works. We are gonna ask each other questions, okay. The questions are written here and we have not seen them. We have a choice. We can either answer these questions truthfully, or, we have to eat the food that the other person chooses. Okay?” Harry and Y/N nodded in understanding. “Alright, ladies first. Y/N, you are going to choose a food for Harry that he has to eat, should he not answer the question.”

She glanced and spun the tabletop in search of food, bending down and taking a whiff of something awful, she gagged, making them laugh, turning the tabletop until something was placed in front of him, “I’ll go with the fish eye and bird saliva.”

“That’s the one I was least looking forward to,” Harry groaned.

“Were you looking forward to any of them?” James shot back, laughing. “Alright, Y/N, what is your question for Harry.”

Y/N turned her card over in her hands and scanned it before chuckling, blushing, and looking up at him, “Harry, backstage you mentioned you were a big fan of my new movie. How much of it had to do with my sex scene, and what did you think about it?”

“Which one?” he joked, smiling, making everyone in the audience gasp and giggle.

Harry blushed, straightening out his suit, a lopsided, shy smile still stretched on his face, “Uh...I mean, even without the sex scenes it’s a brilliant movie. But, uh, yeah. They were very….Oh god,” he slapped a hand on his forehead, looking down and making the audience laugh. Y/N shook her head in amusement as he attempted to regain composure, “Yeah, they were very realistic.”

“How many times did you rewind those scenes?” James teased.

“No, no, no, that wasn’t the question. It’s my turn now,” Harry waved his finger, making everyone laugh again as the band played and Harry spun the table. “James, I’m going to give you….well, I know how much you love hot dogs, so I’m gonna give you the hot dog water.”

“You dick,” James groaned, taking a sniff and gagging, “That really, truly is the worst thing we’ve ever had on this show. Alright, then, what’s my question?”

Harry picked up the card and grinned, “James, you have had a lot of big-name celebrities on your show. Who was the biggest disappointment?”

The crowd ooed as James’ face fell, shaking his head and looking back at the producers, “Who wrote these?”

“Come on, don’t be a pussy, answer it,” Y/N joked, making everyone laugh.

James shook his head, “I can’t. I can’t,” and he picked up the shot glass and tipped it into his mouth.

Everyone gasped and he immediately reached for the bucket and spit it all out, “That is horrible!” he exclaimed, rinsing his mouth out with water, “Why do we still have that? Alright, Y/N, I am going to pick for you….” he spun the table around before grinning and halting a pink, meaty cube in front of her, “Cow blood and pork tongue jelly.”

Y/N winced, poking at the large cube and gasping, “Oh my god, why is it so hard?”

“That’s what she said,” Harry chimed, making everyone laugh.

“We all know how you feel about my movie, Harry,” shot back, making everyone burst into laughter and Harry blush.

Harry hit his face for a second before James continued, snorting, and looking up at Y/N, “Y/N, you’ve been rumored to have very famous exes. Between Timothee Chalamet, Robert Pattinson, and Taylor Zakhar Perez, rank them from best to worst in bed,” Y/N’s mouth fell as the audience gasped and laughed.

“Pattinson’s gotta be the best, hasn’t he?” Harry assumed, making Y/N hide her face.

“Now, this is not to say that any of them are bad. Maybe they're in the top three,” James suggested, “But of the top three, who is the worst,” he laughed.

Y/N uncovered her face and looked between the two men, reaching for her fork and knife.

“Oh god,” Harry winced, as James shouted, “No! No!”

She dug her fork in and sliced a corner off, “I never kiss and tell,” placing her knife down and taking a deep breath before hurriedly putting it in her mouth. The texture was what she imagined dog food tasted like, and she gagged, grabbing her tin can and spitting it in before swishing her water around in her mouth and spitting that out, as well.

“That was disgusting,” Y/N blotted her mouth with the towel.

“I can’t believe you’ve done that,” James shook his head.

“And I’m not doing it again,” she took another sip of her drink, “Is it my turn now?”

“Yeah, Y/N, you go ahead and choose something for Harry to eat if he doesn’t answer the question.”

She spun until she landed on the 1,000 year old egg. James announced what it was as Harry nodded and said, “Alright”. Y/N picked her card, turned it around, and said, “Oh, no.”

“Oh, God, what is it?” Harry sat up straighter.

“Harry,” Y/N started, “You and Niall are the only remaining members of One Direction who are not parents. Rank the members of One Direction from worst to best parents.”

Without hesitation, Harry stabbed his fork into the egg and shoved it in his mouth. Everyone gasped and Y/N pulled away, covering her face with the card and using it as a sort-of shield. He made a show out of slowly chewing it, holding back a gag. He used his water to swallow it down and stuck his tongue out to show that he had finished it.

“No way,” Y/N shook her head, nose scrunched.

“You are insane,” James shook his head.

“Tastes exactly the way you think,” Harry took another sip of water. “Right, James. I’m going to choose for you…...the water scorpion.”

“The giant water scorpion. For reference, this is what he’s chosen for me,” James picked up the stiff, hard, black bug and showed the camera. “Go on, what’s your question.”

Harry cleared his throat, picked up a card, and chuckled, “James, I’ve been on your show for years, and even taken over for you twice. Who is your favorite member of One Direction.”

A smile slowly spread on James' face and he shook his head, staring off at the audience as they screamed and laughed. “I can’t choose that,” James breathed, turning to face him.

“Well, you have to, or else you’ll be eating a giant water scorpion.”

“Oh, come on, we all know it’s not Harry,” Y/N joked, earning an amused glare from Harry.

“Excuse me,” Harry said, “I happen to know, for a fact, that it is me. Go on, James. Tell ‘em.”

“You think it’s you, do ya?” James questioned, looking between them before finally picking up the water scorpion, “You keep thinking that,” he joked before taking a bite of its head and chewing. He laughed mid-chew, spit it out in his bucket, and took another sip of water.

“How dare you,” Harry joked, indignantly.

James laughed, turning the table, “Y/N, It’s my turn to ask you a question. But first, I’m going to give you the salmon smoothie.”

“Ugh,” Y/N sniffed it’s pungent aroma, sitting away from the glass of pink, chunky fish.

She looked up at James as he scanned the card and laughed, “Y/N, you were nominated for a lot of awards this year. Who has won against you that didn’t deserve to?”

“Oh noooo,” Y/N trailed, throwing her head back, causing James and Harry to laugh.

“No, come on, we were all shocked on at least one of those categories,” James offered. Y/N shook her head, taking hold of the glass.

“Chug, chug, chug!” Harry chanted, compelling the audience to join in.

“Fuck off,” Y/N mouthed to Harry, making him laugh as she took a swig of the monstrous drink.

The second it hit her tongue, she heaved, quickly grabbing the tin and spitting the contents in as James called the end of the game. She took several sips of water, gulping it down to alleviate the lingering taste in her mouth. They called for a wrap, and Harry immediately dug out a packet of gum from his pocket, offering one to each of them while more crew rushed up to them.

Y/N thanked him, shoving the wrapper in her suit pocket, and after they were briefed from the crew, they had about fifteen minutes to spare while they set up for Harry’s performance. People from each of their teams tried to talk to them, but Y/N had something else in mind.

“Follow me,” she told him, grabbing his arm and jogging through the halls backstage. He chuckled, confused, but intrigued, following closely behind her until they reached the door of her dressing room. “Give me your suit jacket.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised and mouth formed an ‘O’, realizing what she was doing. With a grin, he unbuttoned his suit and shrugged it off, carefully handing it over to her. She shot him a smile, which made him grow steadily more keen, watching as she slipped into the room and closed the door behind her, disappearing. He waited, leaning against the wall for what seemed like a little longer than necessary for switching jackets. When she emerged wearing his jacket, his smile widened.

“Looks better on you,” he smirked.

She smiled, passing him the clump of red fabric that was her top, “Let’s see if we can say the same about you.”

He slipped his arms through the sleeves of her jacket, and although there was plenty of room in the arms because of the flare, the chest and waist were a bit tight. He made sure not to tie the sash too tightly and straightened it out, “How do I look?”

She giggled, flattening the collar of the jacket and joking, “Beautiful.”

They made their way back towards the main area of the backstage, surrounded by their teams and crew, laughing about the jacket change and prepping Harry some more as he rummaged through a small travel-sized toiletry bag for the disposable toothbrushes and toothpaste, and the two of them brushed their teeth.

Eventually, Harry was ushered to another stage where he and a band were situated. Lights dimmed and shone strategically on him as he was announced and began to play. Y/N, never having been to a Harry Styles concert, and a fan of his music, watched from the side of the stage, arms crossed and leaning against a large black case of some sort. He looked over at her a couple of times, trying to hide a coy smile, he danced around the stage and used the sash on her jacket like a rope, swinging it around.

When he finally finished, she, along with the studio audience, clapped and cheered for him. He thanked them, clasping his hands and bowing a few times, humbly repeating, “Thank you,” while James announced it was a wrap. Y/N joined Harry on the stage where the two of them, along with James, greeted people in the audience, signing pictures, papers, and phone cases, just chatting with the fans and taking selfies with them.

James, Harry, Y/N, and their publicists spent about an hour and a half to two hours after the taping to sit down at a nearby restaurant for a bite to eat. They were seated at a private table, enjoying some more banter and fun. She had a feeling that Harry was flirting with her, or maybe she was just hoping he was. He started it off by sneakily stealing bits of fries off of her plate throughout the meal as he sat across from her, and she would reciprocate by ‘accidentally’ stepping on his toes under the table.

“Hope I didn’t scuff those Gucci loafers,” she winked, smirking.

As much as she didn’t want the night to end, there weren't many excuses she could make to prolong the conversation, and everyone else was very clearly tired aside from the two of them. Y/N stayed towards the back of the group as they made their way back outside, and Harry slowed his pace and hung back until he was walking side-by-side with Y/N.

“I guess I should give this back to you,” he slipped the jacket off of him as they exited through the back, letting the cool LA air swirl on their faces.

Everyone was giving hugs and saying their goodbyes. Y/N looked down at her jacket in his hand and she leaned in to kiss either side of his face, lingering a little longer than normal. When she pulled away she shook her head and lightly pushed the jacket back towards him, “No. Keep it. An excuse to see you again.” And as she began walking backward to join her group, she called out, “check the pockets.”

His toothy smile turned into a furrowed eyebrow. Confused, he dug his hand in either pocket of the jacket until he pulled out what looked to be the gum wrapper. But, upon closer inspection, he noticed a series of numbers written in black ink. Her phone number. He looked up just in time to see Y/N opening a car door.

“Call me!” she shouted, smirking, before getting in and closing the door.

Harry’s smile grew even more, clutching the red jacket tighter and slinging it over his shoulder, making sure to carefully store the gum wrapper in his wallet and watching as her car drove off down the street and out of view.

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wh0re-4-techno · 3 years

Text

10. After ((PROFESSOR TECHNO))

Description: Waking up at his house, his bed. You take a shower and in the meanwhile he cooks for you. But leaving to go back to the dorms, where Minx is waiting ever so patiently for you.

Warning(s): Nothing much, just talks about sex.

Words: 3786

Last part :: Next pert

This morning an alarm would typically start ringing to wake you up along with Minx throwing something or yelling at you to turn it off as it was the weekend. But that never came to be.

The peaceful silence lingered, relaxing as nothing was distancing you or waking you up. Rolling around in the blankets that covered you, starting to open your eyes as it did seem to be the time you would normally wake up at. A bright light was flashing your face. You quickly close them again. Shield yourself from it and slightly dig your face down into your pillow.

But it wasn't your pillow, the case was a different color from yours. It seemed softer then normal and smelled nicer, why does it smell like Techno...

This isn't your bed.

You shoot open your eyes. Feeling the blanket that surrounded you was nothing like your bedding. Soon realizing you were also naked, not even underwater covering you.

It all came rushing back to you like a flood. You had totally forgotten about last night, holy fuck. You actually slept with your Professor, it was incredible, but still shocking to say the least. "Good morning darling." His voice was deeper then his monotone regular voice, still half asleep. How you could just listen to him in this state for hours on end without getting tired of it.

You take a deep breath, calming yourself down and preparing to see him after what all happened last night. Slowly turning to him. "Morning Techno." Just seeing his face put a smile on yours, his hair was fluffy and messy, he looked groggy. He had a small smile on once he heard your reply as well. "How'd you sleep?" He asks genuinely. "Pretty well actually, you?" You leaned in closer to him, your faces were only a few inches away. "Same here darling." He placed a kiss on your nose

The both of you laid in the silence, it wasn't awkward or nervous, but it was calming. Taking each other's company. Just being with him brought you so much joy.

Sooner than later you knew you had to get up. You didn't want Minx to worry about you, but knowing by now that she already was worried that you didn't come back to the dorms last night. But on the other hand she most likely knew you got railed. Deciding that it was probably best to get up and get your clothes. Shifting over, you slowly pull away from him. His hands on your waist start to grip. Pulling you back down on his bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" He looked like he barely moved a muscle, still half asleep. Butterflies start to flutter in your stomach by his voice alone. "It's a Saturday angel, we could stay in bed all day if we wanted." He lightly kisses your shoulder, sighing in content. But it was true, you and him could spend the entirety just lazy in his sheets, that would be the dream. "I would love that- trust me I would. But I really should be getting home." You turn over, facing him. It was the sad truth.

He smiles, knowing that you couldn't but wanted too. He kisses you one last time before letting go of you.

You pull away, your feet touch his hard wooden floor. While standing up you see a small pile of clothes, it was your dress and underwear. "I got our clothes last night when you passed out." He told you, lightly chuckled. He did wear you down last night.

But as you reached down to pick them up, it soon hit you that you must have looked like a wreck. Knowing that you had dry cum on your thighs and just felt like washing off the sex you too did. "Actually, can I take a shower?" You ask while grabbing your panties and bra was the first thing. Then there was your half ripped dress. You totally forgot that he did that, you obviously aren't going to walk in your dorm and see Minx with a ripped dress, she already knows that you got laid, but this would make her tease you endlessly.

"Yes, the shower is on the left." He sees as you hold the dress in your hands in dismay. "In my closet, you can take a shirt or sweater to cover the rip in the dress. Again I'm sorry and I promise I'll buy you a new one." He awkwardly tells you it was his fault. But you were glad that he did offer to buy you a new one, which you definitely take up on that. And now you can bring home one of his sweaters, maybe wear it to class as a little fun way to remember this moment.

With your clothes in hand you start walking over to his bathroom, which he pointed too as well. "Thank you so much Techno." He smiles with a nod, getting out of bed finally when you close the door.

Stepping into his bathroom. It was quite beautiful.

The walls cover all the walls with dark green, emerald green ceramic field tiles. White subway tiles only broke it up with a large mirror that hung from them. The sink was a plain white, the sink handles were gold. And the shower was open with a side of glass.

Placing your clothes down on the floor, already naked you head to the shower.

-----

With your freshly clean body and now with clothes that covered you, you head towards his closet.

Opening the doors to it the first thing you see is his multiple suit, all of it organized with matching pants. He had quite a lot of them as well, probably 10 different styles with different patterns. On the other side was a few blank tee-shirts, and at the end were sweaters and sweatshirts. Running your fingers along them, they all seemed soft. They had unique patterns that reminded you of a father or grandpa style of sweaters you might find at a thrift store.

Picking a brown with burnt orange that had random shapes in squares. Once pulling it over you and the ripped part of your dress it felt warm. It had his signature scent that hooked onto it. Definitely keeping this.

Walking out of his room, along a small hallway that was littered with pictures of him and supposedly his father. Some of them were from when he was a little kid and others as recent. Each of them had an adorable smile accompanying it. With each step you gaze at them all, learning small details about him as you go along.

Hearing his voice that lead you through his home. "I forget to ask you how you like your eggs in the morning!" He laughs at his joke, walking to the kitchen where he was playing music from him phone while pancakes lay beside the counter as he has eggs on the frying pan. "I hope you like them scrambled." He turns to you as he hears you enter the kitchen. A smile with a slight awkwardness to it, worried that you might not like them. "That's fine Techno." He sighs with relief.

Placing a pancake and eggs on the side of two plates, he hands you one. With a simple thank you, you head to the small dinner area. He had a basic wooden rectangle table with the legs point at an angle.

Music continued to play as Techno brought his phone along with him, a soft melody playing over. Maybe it was classic or French classical music, but it was soothing. Once you are about to sit down Techno comes from your back, placing a hand on your waist. Twirling you around so you face him, your plate still in hand.

"Care to dance darling?" He asks, putting down his phone on the table, as well he took your breakfast and put it down too. You giggle at his question, "Now?" You play with the thought in your head, it wasn't necessarily weird to ask for a dance but right now? It kind of threw you off. "If you care too." He was such a gentleman, why couldn't you've met him when he wasn't you Professor.

But nonetheless you take his hand. A smile grew on his face.

You place your hands upon the back of his neck as he holds you with his hands on your waist. Both of you slowly dance with the music. You stare up with doll eyes at him, which he adored.

"If I would have known you can cook, I would never leave." You tease with him, but it had some truth to it. The breakfast he made smelt truly amazing. He chuckles softly. "You're welcome to come over whenever you please darling and stay however long." He says with a loving tone that was sweet and caring. Leaning closer to him as the soft song playing in the background, fading away as he sways with you.

"But just not tomorrow." With a small chuckle you question him, "Why is that? Having someone over?" You speak honestly, it didn't necessarily upset you that he could be seeing someone else. You too haven't made it official, but it still hurts if so. "Only my father angel, if you want you could meet him." He was asking you to meet his dad, already? You only have had one official date with him. And you were also relieved that he wasn't going out with someone else, you smiled at that. "You, of course don't need to meet him just yet." He quickly tells you as he suspected you worried over meeting him so soon.

You pat his shoulder, "Can I meet him any other day, I have plans tomorrow with Minx." He nods, it was probably best you didn't meet him just quite yet. "Who is Minx?" He asked. Totally forgotten to tell him that she was your roomie. "She my roommate and friend." He 'oh' in realization. "I think she would like you." You pull him closer, embracing each other.

----

Stepping out of his car, you put your arms on the lowered windshield and look at him.

"So I was hoping to know when you want to go on our next date?" He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing back loose strains. "I was thinking soon." He winks at you, blush rising to your cheeks. He always and forever is able to make you blush.

You lean in more, "Then it'll be soon. I would love another tour of the house." This time it was you winking at him and he was blushing. He grips on the steering wheel before telling you, "I'll text you later." You back away, "Have a great rest of your day Mr. Blade." You giggle while stepping on the pavement, already turning to go to your dorm. "You too darling." You continue to walk with a grin on your face.

You stand in front of the door with your key in hand. You weren't ready for Minx to pounce on you with a shit-ton of questions, but you had to go in some day. And today was that damn day.

You slot in your key to unlock it, but it was already unlocked. Turning it open, your eyes looked over quickly to see if anyone was in. Thankfully it was Minx, sitting on her bed with a cup. She didn't even bother to glance up to see whom walked in, "Did you bring the food already?" She questions out to you, you stand confused for a few seconds. Unaware what she was talking about in the first place.

Finally she looks up from her phone, her eyes widening when she spots that it's you and not who she originally thought it was.

She rush's to find a place to set down her drink. Quickly she stands and goes for a hug. "You said you came yesterday night! You know how scared I was?" She wacked your side arm, you fake an "ow" but she knew you weren't hurt. She looks you over, a cold stare the entire time. A cheeky smirk on her lips, "Who sweater is that?" She cheeky asks, knowing damn well it was your dates. "I think you know who it is." She lets go of you, looking at you. "I actually don't know, you know why?" She asks, somewhat annoyed, you Linda liked to mess around with her. "I don't." She softly grunts, "Because you haven't told me anything about him!" Once again she hits your arm, this time it was starting to hurt.

"Okay, let me change first." You tell her, starting to remove your shoes along with your sweater. Taking it off the reaction on Minx face told you everything, fuck you forgotten about your dress situation. "You slut! Look at you, growing up so fast." She runs her finger under her eye, fake crying. "I mean you got hickeys all over you." She looks closer. You fake a laugh with a scrunched up annoyed face.

Rolling your eyes at her, "Turn around so I can take this off!" You start lifting off of your body. "I mean just finished the job and rip if off." She teases. Going to your closet you pull out pajamas pants and you just throw on the same sweater you wore before.

"Tell me everything, like every single detail!" She quickly grabbed your hands, excitement running through her and it was painfully obvious. She pulls you back to her bed, both of you sitting facing each other while criss-cross. "Before I tell you, who were you expecting before I came in?" You didn't want to tell Minx about your sex with a guy if anyone could walk in and interrupt, plus you didn't want everyone to know either.

She chuckles, "I forgot to tell you, Schlatt is getting us food." She tells you, before throwing her hand slightly up in the air. "Don't worry I told him to get you food as well!" You nod, but Minx pulls you back into the conversation you were having before with a little nug.

You sigh before asking, "What do you want to know?" Placing your hands on your knees. "What's his name, first of all? How tall is he? Is he Blonde or Brunette? How old is he? Literally everything you know about him, I want to know. Just in case." You rolled your eyes at her, that was a lot of things she wanted to know that you didn't know if you could even tell her or not.

Breathing out as you think of what to tell her, she shifts her head to look at you closer. Pleading for you to say something already. "Com'on Y/l/n!" She was so impatient when it came to these topics.

"His name starts with a T, that's all what I'm going to say.." Minx throws her head back with another frustrated groan. "Why can't you tell me his name?" She lifts herself back up to look at you. "It's confidential." You giggle, which she didn't take very lightly. "Uh huh sure." She sounded so pissed off at you, it didn't really upset you. Rather it was fun to play around her, knowing what she wanted.

She looks at you with half lidded eyes, "He is around 6'3. And he is a brunette." She slowly but surely started to smile, finally getting what she wanted. "Do you really want to know how old he was?" You question, you didn't care about the age difference but that doesn't mean the Minx wouldn't. What if she makes it into a big deal and you already know she wouldn't let it go till you or she died. "Yes I really do!" She wiggles her eyebrows.

"He's 32." She slightly backed herself, just thinking of what that meant, more accurate how much of an age gap that really was. "32 huh. Okay, okay." You could tell that she was doing the math in her head.

And once it clicked and cane together she had a stupidly huge grin plastered on her lips. "That's a 11 year age difference. You know that?" You simply nod your head to her question. She started to laugh, quitely covering her mouth with one of her hands. With a lil gasp she started to ask you, "Did he ask you?" She couldn't ask fully before laughing again.

"Did he ask you..." She bends forward getting closer to your face, "..Who's your daddy?" She mocked with a wink, Minx couldn't help herself but laugh in your face. At how unamused you were with a stone dead look on your face. She reaches out to your shoulder, lightly apologizing for laughing so much. "You're despicable." Scoffing at her, pushing away her hand. Facing away and ready to get off her bed to go towards your pathetic bed that you wished it was his. "Wait, don't go!" She begs, still sticking out her laughter.

"Who do you think I am?" You grind down on your teeth, still shocked that she would even ask that. "I'm not sure anymore, if you told me you liked older dudes whom you can call "Daddy" in bed than I would have gotten you laid so much earlier than this." Wide eyes you stare blankly at her, unsure what to say after that. What could you say to that?

"Who likes to be called Daddy in bed?" Schlatt's voice echo through the small dorm, this the reason you didn't want to talk about this in the first place.

You turn back where you heard Schlatt. "No one!" You quickly spill out, looking at him. He wore pajama bottoms, which were a blue plaid and a white sweatshirt with some nonsense written on it. His hair was messy and his mutton chops flared out. "Why are you still in pj's?" You hop off of Minx's bed, through what she was going to mock you about next. "Because it's 10 and a Saturday." He stuck his hand through the bag, pulling out a fry and eating it was a swift bite. "Why are you still wearing pj's?" He asks you back, "I just got here." You give him a quick hug.

He hands you a bag, supposedly your food. "But let's not change the subject here ladies. Who likes to be call "Daddy"?'' He starts heading to Minx's bed where you sat. Minx starts chuckling again, she was trying not to so desperately, but it wasn't helping her. "Y/n went on a date yesterday with this guy named T." He also hands her a bag of food, ready to jump on her bed. "And he's 11 years older than her and I'm just poking fun at it." You go to your bed and sit across from them. Minx is still giggling while pulling out her meal, Schlatt titles his head. "Look y/n some guys liked to be called Daddy in bed and I won't kink shame you-" He tells you, but midway starts to laugh as well. He couldn't even take himself seriously.

"Oh my- I am done talking about my sex life with you two!" You were so fed up with talking about it, if all they were going to do was tease you. Minx calms herself, "Oh stop it, we're done okay!" She breathes out, Schlatt still is chuckling at the situation.

Letting themselves calm down, you take your food out and start eating. But that was stopped once Minx told you, "I actually have a photo of you too last night." You froze, what did she just say. Pulling out her phone, she shows Schlatt first as he was right neck to her. Which he stares down slightly puzzled at first, looking up at you and back down to make sure it was you.

A million and one question fly through your head, does he know Professor Blade? Shit.

He gives the phone back to Minx, who is standing up from her bed to show you the same photo. "He looks good, but I feel like I've seen him before." He questions, taking another bite of a fry. You couldn't say anything to that.

She shows you the picture on her phone, it was you and Techno standing outside last night. He was wearing that damn tux that made you simply melt.

"Why'd you take that?" You spoke softly, the playful smile of her face slowly starting to slip. She questioned as to why you were so petrified at one photo. "I just wanted to know what he looked like and he dresses quite nicely for a girl." She chuckles, trying to lighten the atmosphere that was becoming a little too overwhelming.

You stiff out a laugh, you had to play off before they started to get worried, which they were already questioning as to why. But you think of something to distract them from that. "Sorry I haven't gotten that much sleep." Trying to make something up to get them to stop thinking how weird you just got. But it wasn't wrong, you didn't get much sleep last night.

"Not with Daddy keeping you up." Minx takes a bite of her food, still playing with that damn "Daddy" thing. You didn't even know if he even liked calling him that and you weren't even sure how to talk to him about that. "How many times did you get it on?" Schlatt asks nonchalantly, like it wasn't a strange thing to ask his close friends. "I never told you I called him "Daddy". I didn't even call him that, can we drop that please." To tell off Minx and somewhat Schlatt to drop it. "Fine." She mutters. "And to answer your question Schlatt, 3 times." You look up already knowing that Minx was going to have a field day with this, but you weren't ready for what Schlatt says.

"Foxy." He simply says, you chuckle at his response. But to Minx, she throws her bad to the side. "Did you really! Now you have to tell me everything!" She quickly says, ready to hear the whole thing. "Not when I'm eating!" Schlatt shouts, putting his hands over his ears. Shielding himself from all this. Today was going to be long, especially when you're stuck with these two.

Taglist:

@roygbivvie @alexandrium @aplainart @sadassflatass @sugarcoated44 @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @sammyxn @bbnoloves @l-O-ser @elly-isabelle @fudrudy

#mcyt #mcyt fic #mcyt fanfiction #technoblade #technoblade x reader #professor technoblade x reader #professor technoblade #techno #techno x reader #x reader #professor

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eldritchqueerture · 3 years

Text

Hello! This is a project for @summer-in-the-archives-event that I worked on with @horizonindigo! We came up with the idea together and based our individual works around the poem I wrote, included in the fic. You can find their absolutely amazing art here!!

I freaking loved working on this one and I got more and more excited as we progressed. I also surprised myself with the poem itself a bit, definitely didn’t expect it to end up quite as cool, if I may say so myself. It was incredibly fun to write.

Big shoutout to @sunflowers-and-frogs for beta reading, I love you bestie <3

I would like to thank all the mods that made this event possible! It’s my first time taking part in anything like this and it was really, really fun, so THANK YOU <3 Love you guys :3 Anyways, enough of my rambling kdfjgkjsdfg

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical The Lonely Content (The Magnus Archives), Kissing, Excessive Tea-Making, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Poetry, Love Confessions Warnings: self-esteem issues, typical Lonely content, discussions of free-will and determinism, graphic kiss

Summary: As Martin fights the remnants of the Lonely's influence on their ride to Daisy's safehouse in Scotland, he focuses on his feelings for Jon to keep him tethered to reality. He watches Jon be himself in the safety of the cottage, share these small intimacies of domesticity and the words come to him as a poem weaves itself into the pages of his notebook...

He feels the taste of salt in his mouth, as he looks out of the car window at the rapidly falling away landscape, covered in the darkness of the night. He feels Jon’s presence next to him, focused on driving but glancing every so often at him with concern. Martin feels like he should say something, somehow fill the silence that has befallen them, but no words ever find their way to his mouth. He stays quiet, watching the trees pass them by, trying to ignore the anxious churning in his stomach. He’s always been pretty good at filling awkward silences with chatter; at least before the Lonely. Now… he can’t help but feel bothered by Jon’s presence, even though he did all of this for him, even though this is what he’s wanted all this time; it’s like a splinter, prickling at his mind, almost causing him physical discomfort. He swallows and feels the salty taste on his tongue; he discards the thoughts and tries his best to breathe through the discomfort, instead focusing on the sensation of Jon’s warm hand on his.

Martin used to be the warm one; he’d always been generating heat and his mind goes back to the early days in the Archives when the basement was cold in the winter and both Tim and Sasha used to gravitate towards him with their respective cups of tea during breaks. Now his whole body is cold, the chill of the ocean breeze and fog having settled in his bones so deep he thinks he’ll never feel warm again. The thought isn’t sparking any emotions in him though. It’s just a thing that he’s learned to accept, just as the fact that he’ll always be alo—

“Do you want me to put on some music?” Jon asks with another one of his glances. Every time, he raises his eyebrows a bit, and tilts his head to the side; Martin expects the concern in his eyes, but he sees something else there as well. He’s been afraid to put a label to the expression for the fear he’s reading him wrong, but the bolder part of his mind tells him it’s fondness.

Jon’s hand is warm, and his thumb grazes the skin of his palm just a little, as if not sure he’s allowed to. Martin looks down at their hands and feels warmth spark in his stomach; he smiles.

“I’m sorry I’m—I’m not really good at the whole, uh… small talk thing,” Jon adds with a flush, turning his head back to the road. “I should probably be talking about something, though, to, uh… to keep you here. I suppose.” He visibly cringes at his words.

“It’s—It’s fine, Jon,” Martin chuckles, and Jon relaxes, fixing him with a quick smile of his own. “I’m just… you know.” He looks down at their hands again and has a brief feeling they belong to someone else. Not him. Never him. “I’m not quite… out of that. Yet.”

Another look of concern. Martin feels heat prickling at his cheeks and he’s a little bit glad, because at least it’s a feeling. He interlaces their fingers and looks out the front window.

They spend the ride in relative silence. Jon tries a couple more times to start small talk and fails; they stop at a gas station at one point and Martin takes out his notebook when Jon disappears inside the station to pay for gas. He flicks through it and his eyes stop at an unfinished draft; he started writing it shortly before Peter took him down to the Panopticon, but he’d only managed to get a few first lines down. Despite still feeling the cold in his bones and his mind being clouded by the remains of the fog, words come to him, and he starts scribbling. He continues to do so even when Jon comes back with tea and an assortment of snacks, blushing just a little bit when Jon shoots a curious look at the notebook. He doesn’t ask and Martin is thankful for it. He’s not the sort to show his drafts to anyone, especially to the subject he’s writing about.

It’s 1am when they arrive at the cottage; they’re both exhausted and they quickly take their bags inside and lock the door. The cottage is small and practical, just Daisy’s style; it’s also quite dusty from months of abandonment. Martin yawns as he opens one of the bags to get the essentials. They should leave unpacking and cleaning for the next day.

He hears Jon’s footsteps on the wooden floor coming back from the initial run of the house and he turns to tell him that, but the somewhat sheepish look on his face stops him in his tracks. Has he ever seen Jon look sheepish before?

“So, uh, obviously this was Daisy’s safehouse when she was, well… Avoiding people,” he says, not meeting Martin’s eyes.

“I hope ‘avoiding people’ doesn’t mean killing them in this context,” Martin snorts, not sure if he’s entirely joking. The humour is lost on Jon, however, as he looks at him confused for a moment before he processes Martin’s words.

“Oh, no, no, I-I don’t believe she, uh… She just slept here.” Jon shifts awkwardly. “And that means there’s uh, there’s only one bed.”

Martin’s eyes widen and his lips form a little “Oh”.

“Of course, if you’re not comfortable with sharing, I can just take the couch, you need some proper rest and I’m used to running on low sleep” —Jon averts his gaze as he speaks. He grabs his bag and walks over to the couch, and Martin wants to stop him talking and just say that they should share the bed, but his voice seems to have left him at this crucial moment. He just stares as Jon places the bag on the couch and looks back at him, aware of the silence. “Martin?”

Martin swallows, a familiar cold freezing his toes. He feels the damp sand underneath his bare feet and a chill runs down his spine. He blinks and tightens his grip on the bag he’s been holding. This is real, he is real, Jon is real.

“You need good rest too,” he finally manages to say, and he’s surprised by how clear and normal his voice sounds; it makes Jon relax a bit. “We should share the bed, if-if you are comfortable with that.”

A small smile appears on Jon’s lips and a warm feeling fills Martin’s stomach again; he knows the smile is for him.

“Okay,” he says softly and picks the bag up.

They manage to keep the awkwardness of it to the minimum; they’re both very tired and at one point it just doesn’t matter anymore. Jon hands Martin a separate blanket and he pushes the disappointment down into a void inside him where he keeps feelings to come back to when he’s alone. It would be foolish of him to hope for cuddling since they haven’t talked about anything yet.

He expects to fall asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow, but he finds himself awake in the darkness after goodnights are said (Jon’s voice sounds so soft and tender Martin has forgotten all about his earlier disappointment). He’s laying on his back, eyes closed, and he feels Jon’s presence on his right. His breathing is steady, not yet slow enough to indicate sleep, but calm and relaxed. Martin peeks out through half-lidded eyes – he hasn’t gotten used to the darkness as much yet, but he can see Jon laying on his side, facing him, his eyes closed and his hair loosely framing his face. One of his hands rests close to his head on the pillow. Martin blinks, fully opening his eyes now and smiling softly. As his vision clears, Martin notices Jon frowning ever so slightly, and he wonders if the faint lines between his eyebrows smoothen when he’s asleep.

“Is watching people sleep a usual activity for you?” Jon whispers with amusement as he opens his eyes and Martin gasps with surprise and looks away, feeling heat prickle at his cheeks.

“Wha—uh, no! No, of course no—Sorry, I—” He rambles, and he thinks he might just die from embarrassment when he hears Jon laugh quietly.

“It’s fine, Martin.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “Really. I-- Sorry, I thought a joke would, um… lighten the mood somewhat.”

Martin risks a look at him and wonders if the red on his cheeks is visible through the darkness. Jon looks at him with that expression again, something Martin would very much want to classify as fondness if it didn’t feel so impossible. But now that he thinks about it… Would it really be thatfar-fetched? Jon had gone into the Lonely just to get him out. Would he have done that for anyone else? Martin rolls his eyes at himself in his mind, of course he would. He did go into the Buried, and it was for Daisy, a person who has threatened him multiple times, kidnapped and almost killed him. If Jon was ready to lay down his life for her, out of all of them, it shouldn’t be surprising he would do the same for his assistant; it says nothing about his feelings on the matter.

Martin’s memories of the Lonely are hazy. He remembers the cold, the dampness, and the loneliness. He remembers his thoughts, the lonely ones, and how they felt both alien and familiar at the same time. He remembers the comfort, the feeling of fitting in, but also the pain and the fear, just before they were numbed by the cold and the fog that made him forget. And then suddenly, Jon was in front of him, looking at him with desperation on his face, tears in his eyes glowing with a green light. Was it Jon calling for him, or just the Beholding?

“What are you thinking about?” comes Jon’s voice and Martin realizes he’s been staring into the air for a while. He blinks and looks back at Jon.

“Uh…” He searches for words before he gives up on trying to come up with an excuse. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Why did you do it?”

Jon blinks at him a couple times and rises to lean on his elbow, to better look at Martin.

“What do you mean?”

“The Lonely,” Martin says, not meeting his eyes. Jon is wearing a blue t-shirt with a logo of a band Martin doesn’t recognize; the shirt is loose and it uncovers one of Jon's shoulders which would probably be distracting if Martin’s mind wasn't chilled by the remnants of the fog. “Why did you come for me?”

Even without looking at him, Martin sees Jon’s forehead ripple. A while passes as Jon searches his face and the thought that he shouldn’t have asked starts creeping up to Martin’s head. Shouldn’t have brought any attention to the subject, he should just be glad, he should—

“I care about you, Martin,” Jon says in a very gentle and quiet voice, like he’s afraid anything louder would take away the meaning of his words. Martin looks up at Jon and the hint of that intense blush from before makes it back to his face. “You’re… You matter to me. You will always matter to me.”

Martin can’t stop a small smile appearing on his face and Jon mirrors it.

“Thank you,” Martin whispers, feeling a warmth settle in his chest, finally driving the cold away.

“Anytime.” Jon lays his head back down and settles back with the right hand near his face. “Sleep well, Martin.”

Martin closes his eyes contentedly and he curls up on his right side, facing Jon, as if trying to keep this warm feeling from escaping his chest too soon.

“You too, Jon.”

---

Martin wakes up alone in an unfamiliar bed, the smell of foreign covers filling his nostrils and for a second he panics. He opens his eyes and the memories come back to him; their late arrival at the safehouse and laying down to sleep next to Jon.

He sits up, looking at the space Jon had occupied. It’s vacant now, just the curled up covers he left behind, but it manages to bring a blush to Martin’s cheeks, nonetheless. It feels so… intimate to know that they slept next to each other. It makes him feel warm and cosy.

Martin gets up and goes to the bathroom before he finds Jon in the kitchen. He’s humming quietly as he finishes cleaning the table and he looks up when Martin enters.

“Good morning, Martin.” He smiles and Martin’s afraid he’s going to melt. He takes a quick look around and notices that their sparse kitchen supplies are mostly unpacked, and the kettle is already on the stove.

“How long have you been awake?” He asks; some of the shock must have made it to his voice because Jon looks amused.

“Two hours or so. I’ve always been a morning person.” He shrugs and finishes cleaning the table. “Tea?”

A smile lights up Martin’s face and he gets swept up by the familiarity of the activity, while Jon busies himself with fixing up some breakfast. As both of them work in the kitchen, Martin notices the casual brushes of their skin and touches of the shoulders. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it consciously or if it just happens naturally, but he knows that Jon’s open demeanour is drawing him closer than before. He wonders if he’s been like this ever since he woke up from the coma, and there was just no one to appreciate it.

The morning is relaxed, the casual conversation flowing a lot smoother than the day before, and after breakfast they set out to clean the whole cottage and go down to the village to buy some actual supplies. The village is small, but the local shop provides all the essentials they need; for a moment Martin forgets about everything outside of that village and shopping for groceries with Jon, as if this is their life now, in the Scottish Highlands, living together in a cottage. They talk about cooking dinner, and the cows they passed on the way, and Martin thinks he could get used to that.

The bubble bursts when they finish up and Jon decides to call Basira. She picks up after a while and updates them on the absence of both Jonah Magnus and Daisy. Basira says she’ll send some statements up to them when the Institute stops being an active crime scene, and a shadow passes over Jon’s face. Wrapped up in a conversation about their taste in dinner dishes, it was almost too easy for Martin to forget food isn’t the only sustenance Jon needs. He finds it easier to forget things ever since the Lonely. They walk back to their cottage in silence, Martin grabbing Jon’s hand as soon as he lets go of the phone.

When they get back, Jon declares he’s going to take care of unpacking and cooking, and even though Martin knows Jon to be stupidly stubborn, he’s surprised by the strictness with which Jon insists he sit back and relax. Martin doesn’t really complain; he’s spent his entire life caring for others and, to be honest, it does feel rather good to be on the receiving end for once. He watches Jon from the couch for a while, before he takes out his notebook and looks over the poem he wrote in the car.

Wisps of mist conceal my eyes

A lone indulgence to lose one's face

And soothing a part inside that cries

With chilling sadness and numbing grace

The steadfast rhythm of waves ashore

As ocean breeze leaves a taste of salt

The words forgotten, erase what I swore

Until I hear your voice once more

I wondered many times what it might be

That we finally took to calling "us"

What would be left if we broke free

Of dread and horror's eternal grasp

The Eye looms aloft, ever-present dread

Watching all, eternal lids apart

You made your choice unaware you were led

By strings of web, against your heart

Jon starts humming under his nose in the kitchen as he cuts something on the board; the water in the kettle boils slowly and fills the air with a quiet whistle. Martin smiles while shooting a subtle glance at Jon; he seems to notice his gaze and falls quiet, but a smile lights up his face when he sees the fondness on Martin’s face. For all this talk about Jon “losing himself” in the role of the Archivist, this seems as human as you can get. Martin never favoured the approach the other archival staff took to the knowledge of the significance of Jon’s position, and he often wondered how they could look at him and see a monster. Of course he made bad decisions, but so did everyone. They’ve seen or read about so many avatars giving into the powers that fed them and yes, maybe Martin is biased, but Jon was nothing like them. They’ve all been caught in this huge web of statements that turned real; the more they struggled to break free the more tangled up they became, and it wasn’t Jon’s fault that he ended up in the centre of it. He knows Jon tried to make right choices every step of the way. Can you really blame a human being for failing to completely resist something that’s beyond mortality and human reality? One way or another they ended up here, together, and yes, maybe the Eye and the Lonely are still looming as very tangible threats, and Jonah Magnus is nowhere near being stopped, but at least they’re together now. Martin remembers thinking the Unknowing was the endgame, the last chapter of this horror for them, and he remembers the hopelessness of their story getting a bad ending that essentially pushed him into the Lonely; now he feels a different kind of an end approaching – he dares to be hopeful. Maybe everything works out in the end? Maybe, if they were safe and happy, it wouldn’t actually be the end of the world.

Martin looks down at his notebook and starts writing, sticking the tip of his tongue out in concentration.

What is a monster? Where is the line

That would separate us from the world

All I know is our paths align

And we together can battle the cold

You cut through the curtains of mist and See

The green glow fades when our eyes meet

My lips form a soft and quiet plea

To be loved has never felt so sweet

To be loved is a new feeling for me

I only know how to love from one side

But with you I hope we can once be free

Maybe ignore the whims of the tide

Although I know we're not nearly through

I taste and savour your voice, your breath

If only for a moment, we can start anew

And I will follow you even to death

As he stares at the last word of the finished poem, his hand with the pen hovering over it, he registers that his eyes have watered a bit. He blinks the tears away quickly as Jon sits down on the couch next to him, looking at him with a gentle worry. Martin looks up at the two mugs of tea he’d placed on the table.

“Did you make tea?” He asks with mock bewilderment, and Jon scoffs at him.

“I know how to make tea, Martin.” He nudges him with amusement, that gentle worry not quite gone from his eyes. “What are you writing about?”

Martin falls quiet, pressing the notebook to his chest in a knee-jerk reaction.

“Thought you didn’t like poetry,” he huffs out a laugh that’s only a little bit self-conscious. Jon shrugs, reaching out for his mug and taking a sip.

“I don’t understand it. And yes, I have been known to dislike it at times, but… Maybe I could be swayed to give it another shot.” Jon rolls his eyes fondly and looks at Martin out of the corner of his eye, a look that says ‘for you’. Martin grins, heat pricking at his cheeks once again.

“You see, i-it’s all about emotion.” He places the notebook gently on his lap face down and reaches for his own mug. “You w-want to put all of your emotions into words in a-an artistic way, that has a rhythm and, uh, and feels alive. And you want your, uh, your readers to feel that, that emotion through your words.”

Jon listens attentively and his eyes aren’t leaving Martin’s face; at one point Martin gets distracted by it and forgets where his explanation was going. Jon’s gaze has always been intense, in different ways throughout the time they’ve known each other. At first it was judgemental, the gaze of his boss, full of unmet expectations; then it was piercing, watchful and suspicious; as time passed, it seemed to gain more and more weight of the Beholding, something Tim always complained about. After Martin had joined Peter Lukas, the rare glances he got from Jon were full of yearning that Martin didn’t understand at the time; didn’t want to understand. Now, it’s that gentle fondness, interweaved with something intangibly sad and Martin feels an urge to hug him, to bring him close to his chest and never let go; to bury his face in Jon’s hair and protect him.

They move to place their mugs at the table at the same time and snort, amusement quickly turning into a fit of laughter. Jon throws his head back a little with it and Martin wonders if he has ever seen him laugh so openly before. He didn’t think it was possible for him to fall in love with the man even more, but once again, his heart proves him wrong. He stares at him with a lovestruck expression and thinks they should really talk about it. Martin doesn’t know where to start though and Jon seems to be thinking in a similar direction because his expression shifts into gentle seriousness.

“Martin, I…” He starts and bites his lip. “I need to apologize.”

Martin straightens a little; it’s not exactly what he expects.

“I—The way I used to treat you…” Pain and guilt flash through Jon’s face as he looks away for a moment to gather his thoughts. “It was not okay. None of it was okay. And I’m—I’m really sorry for that. It doesn’t—I know it doesn’t change anything that happened, but I” —he sighs. “I really am sorry. I hope I can, somehow, uh… somehow make it up to you.”

Martin reaches for Jon’s hand, and he looks down in surprise; Martin sees his eyes start glistening.

“I’m sorry for everything that happened to you.” He continues in a whisper and his eyes are locked on their touching hands. “I’m so sorry about the Lonely. I’m sorry that you’re trapped in all of this with me, and I would understand if you decided to leave—”

“Jon.” Martin squeezes his hand and Jon’s eyes shoot up to look at him.

“I’m sorry, that’s not an apology,” he sighs again. “I just… I’m sorry, Martin. About everything.” His other hand grips Martin’s. “I’m glad you are still here. I’m—I’m so glad, you d-don’t even know,” he laughs.

“I think I do.” Martin smiles gently. “Thank you for saying that. I’ve—I've forgiven you for a lot of it a long time ago. A-And the rest just isn’t your fault.”

Jon frowns.

“The Lonely was always there,” Martin shrugs. “Peter Lukas was just… a catalyst, I think. But now I have you.” His finger grazes the outside of Jon’s palm and his heart flutters in his chest when he sees that small smile appear on Jon’s face. “And you can’t be blamed for Elia—Jonah’s games. We’re all just… a bunch of people who didn’t know what was going on until it was too late.”

Jon’s eyes fall as he nods slightly.

“He’s still up to something,” he says quietly.

“Figures,” Martin laughs bitterly. “But we’re here now. And frankly, I don’t really want to think about him when we’re finally…” The word ‘together’ gets stuck in his throat, as if it would breach this fine line of ambiguity they’ve drawn between themselves. Jon seems to fill it in and his eyes land back on Martin.

He’s never wanted to kiss him more than he does right now. Jon's eyes are wide and glistening with something that looks suspiciously like hope, and his fingers gently graze the outside of Martin's palm. Warmth spreads in his chest and his eyes flutter a little, not breaking the eye contact. He wants to pull Jon close to his chest, to run his fingers through his hair and feel his breath on his own skin. To really feel like he's there, next to him, with him.

Before he can follow through with any of that, something sizzles in the kitchen, loud in the silence, startling them both.

“Food!” Jon chuckles slightly before he jumps to his feet and rushes to the kitchen, while Martin snorts and follows him. Jon stirs the pan with curry and sighs with relief when he sees it's not burned. He turns down the heat anyway and checks on the rice.

“Jon, this smells amazing,” Martin says, peeking into the pan with cheese and spinach. “I didn't know you could cook.”

“Well, contrary to the popular belief I was a functional human being. For a while,” Jon snorts and leans against the counter to look back at Martin. “It's Palak Paneer, my grandma taught me when I was a child.”

“It looks fantastic,” Martin grins, and Jon rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.

Even though the moment's lost, the remains of the feeling can be felt between them as they prepare the plates and take the food to the table. They easily fall back into usual chatter and, as soon as they’re finished, Martin jumps to wash the dishes. Jon relents after extensive affirmations from Martin that he's alright and he can definitely take care of a couple dishes in the sink, and he drops onto the couch with a content sigh instead.

Martin finishes up with the dishes and dries his hands on a towel.

“Do you want some tea?” He asks and hangs the towel back on the rack. When there's no response, he turns to the couch. “Jon?”

Something sinks in his stomach when he sees that the object that consumes Jon’s attention is the poem he’s finished; he scratches his neck, as his cheeks take on a pink tinge. “Oh…”

He walks up to the couch, unsure, trying to gauge Jon's reaction. His face seems tense, he squeezes the notebook in his hand so hard his knuckles go white, and his eyes are focused at one point on the page.

“Um... Jon?” Martin asks weakly, his heart drumming in his chest so loud he's sure both of them can hear it.

Jon jumps to his feet, startled, and looks up at him with eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. Martin instinctively raises his hands in a placating gesture, as Jon registers his presence, looks down on the notebook in his hands, and quickly puts it on the table as if it stung him.

“Martin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look, it was just there and—”

“Hey, Jon, it’s alright!” It’s maybe a little not alright, since the poem is nothing short of a love confession and a wish Martin had no right to assume would ever be true, so Jon reading it is less than ideal. Martin rushes to gently place a hand on Jon’s shoulder but when he recoils from the touch, Martin withdraws his hand, cursing everything about himself.

“No, I, uh…” Jon runs his hand through his hair, eyes darting between Martin, his hand, and the notebook frantically. “I shouldn’t have— uh, it’s—it’s your private business, what you write about, so—”

Martin is sure he’s tomato red on the face by this point and hopes against hope that the afternoon light filtering through the curtains obscures it just a little. Jon, on the other hand, doesn’t have the embarrassed blush that usually darkens his cheeks; instead he breathes fast, his hands shaking ever so slightly. Martin sees him hunch just a little, making himself smaller.

“Um, yeah, I, uh—” He starts fidgeting with his fingers. Did the idea of—of love frighten Jon so much? He was stupid to leave it out in the open and now Jon knows, and it’s not how he feels, so he hates him… “I’m sorry.”

Jon’s eyes snap to him, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“For what?”

Martin huffs out something like a pained laugh.

“Th-That’s not exactly how- how I wanted to tell you.” He wrings out his hands and shoots Jon a pleading look. What’s done is done and the only thing he can hope for is for Jon to let him down easy and never speak of this again.

“Tell me?” Jon looks down at the notebook again and there’s the worry again, stark on his face. He breathes out, slowly, and looks at the floor. “I don’t—I don’t even want to think this is a possibility…”

Martin doesn’t need to imagine what it would be like to be stabbed, if he wanted to - he’s pretty sure the acute pain of his heart shattering in his chest is close enough. His mind tries to catch up to the emotions, slow them down just a bit, because something seems off, and isn’t this a weird way to reject someone you must have known had a crush on you? But his throat tightens with the swell of pain and shame and Martin blinks away the tears welling up in his eyes.

Jon sighs and plops down on the couch, hiding his face in his hands and pushing his glasses up to his forehead.

“We d-don’t have to talk about it, if—if you don’t want to,” Martin says quietly. He sits down next to Jon, careful not to touch him in any way, and puts his hands between his knees.

Jon lets out a bitter laugh.

“Isn’t that what they—the Web would want? Just… mindlessly follow, go with the flow until something… irreversibly bad happens?”

Martin turns to Jon with a frown.

“Wh—What?”

Jon looks at him with something glistening in his eyes and Martin can see the lines of pain and misery written on his face like they belong there.

“The web,” he says faintly. “Strings of fate. I—” He lets out a breath. “Was I just being manipulated this whole time? Was I ever really—Did I ever have a choice?”

“Jon... what are you talking about?”

“You—You said I was...” He reaches for the notebook and points at a verse with his finger. “’Made your choice unaware you were led by strings of web against your heart.’ How—W-Why did you say this?”

Martin stares into Jon's green eyes with concern, yet parts of his heart start to weave themselves back together. However confused and worried Jon seems to be, none of it is directed at Martin; he looks at him with desperation, almost pleading, and he realizes they’ve been having two different conversations at the same time.

“Oh-Oh, God, Jon, I-I didn't mean—I just, it's a-a metaphor, just that, you know,” he takes a breath. “It does remind me of a web, the-the way we got caught up in Elias' plans.” He looks down, his cheeks burning as he remembers why Jon would get caught at this specific phrase. “I'm sorry for, uh, using that, it was just the first thing that came to my mind and—”

Jon exhales next to him and Martin risks a look up. The uneasiness isn't gone from his face but he relaxes just a little bit, enough to stabilize his breathing.

“I'm sorry for this… this whole thing, Martin.” He gestures at nothing in particular and it's his turn to look at the floor, as if it's all of a sudden the most interesting thing he's ever seen. He starts fidgeting with the notebook. “I'm just—What if it’s true?” His voice goes higher at the question and he closes his eyes. Martin squeezes his arm. “What if I am just... Just a puppet? An inhuman, helpless puppet in the hands of—Of some spider pulling the strings?”

A tear rolls down Jon's cheek and Martin grabs one of his hands. It’s small and still shakes a little; he tries to put all the protectiveness he feels into this small gesture. Jon doesn’t recoil this time, instead taking a moment to watch Martin’s hand clasp around his.

“Jon,” Martin starts softly. “You're still you. You're not some—Some spider puppet that can't make choices.”

“But what if—”

“You've made a choice to go into the Lonely for me.” Martin bumps their knees together lightly and Jon looks up at him. “I don't suspect any webs would need me alive to push you into it. It was You.”

Jon looks him in the eyes and Martin barely stops himself from reaching up to his face to wipe away his tears.

“Or it just makes us think that we have a choice but are ultimately helpless against fate and everything we do is determined by intricately crafted circumstances,” Jon whispers. “Maybe free will is a lie.”

Martin blinks.

“Jon...”

“Maybe I was never able to stop it. Any of it.” Jon’s voice grows more horrified and even though his eyes are directed at Martin's face, he seems to be looking somewhere past him. “Maybe nothing we try to do really matters.”

“Jon.” Martin’s voice gains a bit of force, even though he feels all but sure. “What do you see?”

Jon frowns. “What?”

“Look at me and tell me what you see?” The force is gone; the sentence sounds more like a feeble suggestion than a request, but Jon's eyes refocus on Martin's in a frown of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“We're here now,” Martin says quietly. “And yeah, maybe our decisions are all predetermined or whatever. I still think it matters that we try. I think our experience matters. And you're not a-a monster without free will, Jon. You care about people, and you’ve sacrificed a lot for other people. You've made your own choices and, no matter if they were good or bad, they were still yours. And I think that matters.”

Jon blinks at him for a moment, then his shoulders slump with a sigh and he interlaces their fingers. Martin doesn’t miss it and he feels warmth in his chest.

“I've always been afraid of—of my will not being my own anymore,” he confesses quietly. “Of, uh... of not knowing the difference.”

“I get it,” Martin nods. “If it’s any consolation, I see a lot of Jon in you still.” Jon looks up at him with surprise and Martin gives him a half smile. “I see a very changed Jon but it's still Jon.” He strokes Jon's palm as his heart picks up the pace. “The same Jon I've first fallen in love with.”

Jon exhales softly, his face caught in a soft surprise, and Martin smiles around the dull ache in his chest.

“You don't have to say anything. I'm sure you've known for a while, but I just... I wanted to say it.”

With every second that passes in silence, however, Martin's cheeks grow hotter, and he concludes that this might have been a mistake.

“I-I'm sorry. M-Maybe I shouldn't have said that, I… I don't want things to get weird or anything, so, uh, we can, we can just forget—”

“Martin.” Jon says his name in a soft and kind of inquisitive way that makes his heart bounce around and transforms the ache in his chest into swirling butterflies again. Martin looks up and Jon’s head is tilted to the side, his face still wet with tears, but he notices something hopeful glitter in his eyes. “I love you too.”

Martin frowns, suddenly wondering if he isn't dreaming. Is Jon really saying what he thinks he is? Did he hear correctly? Maybe he misheard—

“I have for a while,” Jon's voice is still quiet and soft. “I didn't want to say anything because I thought it was too early after the Lonely and you might not feel this way anymore, but...”

Martin swallows, acutely aware of how loud his heartbeat is. He squeezes Jon’s hand and smiles slightly.

“I... I didn't know,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to cooperate.

“As soon as I woke up from the coma, I wanted to tell you,” Jon says. “I thought I was too late; that it took me too long to stop denying the feelings I had because I didn’t know how to deal with them, and I'd missed my chance.” He laughs bitterly.

“So that’s what it was about,” Martin whispers, as Jon's actions towards him throughout his time as Peter Lukas’ assistant start falling into place. Jon looks at him with a frown, so he adds, “The ‘let's gouge out our eyes and escape'.”

Jon scrunches up his nose and clears his throat.

“Yes, well. Yeah.”

Martin chuckles quietly.

“I don't think I would have lasted in the Lonely if I understood then. But then again. It didn't really matter in the end. It didn't help.”

“But it was your choice,” Jon echoes Martin's words from before and their eyes meet again.

“Yeah. It was my choice.”

They stare into each other's eyes for a moment, losing track of time, before Jon smiles slightly and looks back at the notebook.

“I really am sorry for not asking your permission, though,” he says. “I got so caught up in the metaphor I didn’t even finish it.”

Martin blinks, the warmth from his chest spreading to his cheeks again.

“D-Do you want to?”

Jon smiles softly, this new smile that Martin has only seen in the past couple of days, always directed at him.

“If you’d let me.”

Martin needs to look away, unable to handle the affection in Jon’s eyes. He mumbles an ‘okay’ with a smile that’s not entirely under his control and gets up.

“But I am making that tea whether you want it or not, waiting for someone to finish reading something is a torture.”

He hears Jon laugh as he heads back to the kitchen.

When he comes back with two steaming mugs, Jon is waiting for him with a smile and his nervousness dissipates with his next words.

“I like it,” Jon says. “Apart from the, uh, web metaphor, obviously. It's hopeful.”

“Y-You do?”

Martin swallows; the pleasant tingling in his stomach is back. He places their mugs on the table and reaches out to join their hands again. Jon intertwines their fingers immediately and caresses the outside of Martin’s palm with his thumb.

Jon looks down at the verses again and smiles softly, almost sheepishly, a familiar blush darkening his cheeks.

“I—I don't know if there would be anything for us outside of. You know. The fears and all that,” he grimaces. “At least, for me. But, uh…” He looks at Martin again with a hopeful expression that makes Martin melt a little, and he gently caresses Martin's cheek with his free hand. “I really like the thought of it.”

Martin's brain might be short-circuiting at this moment and all of his thoughts take form of fuzzy static.

“Me too,” he says, suddenly breathless. Jon's hand rests cupping his cheek and, are they a bit closer than they were a second ago? Jon's gaze slides down Martin's face to his lips and he feels he might faint right there and then. He doesn't, instead gathering up his courage to take a breath.

“Can I kiss you?” Jon asks first and Martin feels his lips form a grin.

“Please,” he breathes out; the next second their lips meet, soft but urgent, desperate and sick of waiting. Martin's hand dives into Jon's soft hair, fingers scraping the delicate skin of his head and earning him a low sound from Jon's throat. They pull each other closer and find a rhythm to lose themselves in for just a moment; the sensation of Jon's tongue swirling in his mouth, of his slender fingers on his cheek and his neck, the pressure of his body against his chest; all of it making Martin dizzy with happiness.

Martin pulls away when his lungs painfully remind him breathing is still a necessity and he opens his eyes to look at Jon – His soft lips, his nose, his pockmark scars, and his eyes, green yet with no trace of Beholding in them. He takes him in whole, with all of his flaws and all of his virtues, and he feels seen in return, seen by the man he loves and who loves him. The weight of it all hits Martin like a crashing wave and he pulls Jon in for a tight embrace.

“I love you,” he whispers against his shoulder, and he feels Jon's arms tightening around his torso.

“I love you too, Martin.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #summer in the archives event #niki.writes #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin

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erule · 3 years

Text

Not Spider-Man | Part 2

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: you have a crush on Spider-Man and you're trying to find out who hides behind the mask.

Warnings: none

A/n: I’m not very satisfied of how this chapter turned out, but the best (or worst) part still have to come, so be ready. It’s gonna be a mess. This is becoming a series (not too long tho). Enjoy. 🤍

💌.

➻ read part 1 here!

Story continues under the cut!

The day you had met Spider-Man was the best day of your life yet, no lies. The school had organized a trip to Washington and you were ready to spend three days with your best friends. You fell asleep on Peter’s shoulder on the bus, you visited the city, took a lot of pictures with Ned, that was extremely happy to be there and some with MJ, that seemed the exact opposite, but deep down, she was glad to be there with you all. Anyway, it was almost night, when you, Ned, MJ and Flash were going to a party of some college guys. Peter hadn’t agree to go because he didn’t want to disobey to your teachers, but you knew that he would have come around, sooner or later. Anyway, long story short, the police arrived at the party, because some old lady complained about the noise. You were in the bathroom in that moment, so you came out from the window, falling on the grass. It was dark and you couldn’t find your way back to the hotel. Your phone was dead, obviously, so you couldn’t even call your friends, that had disappeared. A part of you hoped that someone could save you like Prince Charming or Peter Parker, but you were completely alone, in Washington. You were about to ask some guy for his phone, but then, you heard a strange noise behind you.

“Hey! Need help? You seem lost,” a guy said. You turned, only to see Spider-Man, in flesh and blood, standing in front of you.

“Spider-Man? What are you doing here?” you asked, astonished.

“I… uh… was on a mission with the Avengers, when I casually saw you and wondered if you needed some help,” he answered. Your cheeks seemed to become too hot all at once.

“Oh… well, actually yes. My phone died and I have no money to take a taxi. I have to come back to my hotel or my teacher will freak out,” you said.

“So, you’re a rule-breaker, eh?” he joked. Mocked by Spider-Man. Maybe you could have put that skill in your curriculum.

“I should have stayed. My friend, Peter, he remained, saying that parties with college guys are no fun, when you’re younger than them. He was right. It was very boring,” you said.

“He seems a wise guy.”

“Sometimes. Don’t tell him, though!” you warned him with a smile. He nodded.

“Your secret is safe with me. Now, I’m gonna take you back to your hotel. Do you want to walk or fly?”

You chose the latter. And then, you found yourself having a terrible stomachache next to the hotel’s backdoor. Spider-Man’s hands were trembling, so you took them in yours.

“I should have warned you. I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be. I had fun,” you said, caressing his fingers.

He looked at you through the mask and even if you couldn’t even recognize the shape of his eyes, you felt his gaze burning every fiber of your skin that he was analyzing. Maybe to understand if you were alright. Or maybe because he found you pretty. No, it had to be the first option.

“I wish I could stay with you more,” he said.

“Then, stay,” you almost prayed him, but he shook his head.

“I can’t. I’m sorry… superhero stuff,” he said, shrugging.

“I see. Thanks, Spider-Man,” you said. “You really saved me.”

He nodded, leaving your hands.

“See you around.”

And then, he left.

When you opened your eyes, you found out that you had just fainted. Someone was calling your name on the other side of the rubble. You were confused and your head hurt a lot. You finally recognized Flash’s voice, that was calling out your name. He was stuck because a piece of the ceiling hurt him and now he couldn’t walk.

“My phone doesn’t work here. I’m gonna find Peter, don’t worry,” you said, trying to reassure Flash, but in reality, you were actually trying to reassure yourself.

Suddenly, someone opened the door and your eyes grew wide, when you saw who did it. Your heart began to race in your chest, seeming capable to run out from your rib cage.

“Spider-Man?”

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, offering his hand to help you stand up.

“Yes…” you answered, your voice low. Your throat seemed incredibly dry.

“Spider-Man? Hey, nice to meet you! I’m Flash!” Flash said, still covered by the ruins.

“We’re gonna call the paramedics! Stay there, Flash,” Spider-Man said.

“Not that I could go anywhere…”

Then, Spider-Man brought you outside, still holding your hand. You didn’t notice at first, but when you did, you felt your entire face burning. He turned to look at you, even if you weren’t able to see his eyes through the mask. There were some teachers saying to the other guys to go away as soon as possible from there. They had to evacuate the building.

“There’s something going on, here. Look for your friends and then go home. Tell your teacher about Flash, she’ll call the paramedics to help him. Stay safe, okay? I’m gonna understand what happened here,” he said, but when he was about to leave your hand, you squeezed it. He stood still, giving you attention, even if you couldn’t say anything about his expression.

“Peter?”

He gulped, shaking his head.

“N-no, my name is not Peter, I’m Spider-Man. Just Spider-Man,” he replied.

“Flash caught you. I know that you’re Spider-Man, Peter. Please, I’m not mad, but I just wanna know why… Why didn’t you tell me?”

He took a step back, leaving your hand. You suddenly felt cold, like every source of warmth was expired from your body. He saw his Adam’s apple through the thin material of his suit. It was like you could see his face, now. He had problems swallowing. That was your answer. Flash was right. Peter was Spider-Man.

And the worst part was that you were in love with him.

Main Masterlist

Peter Parker Masterlist

Tom Holland Masterlist

#peter parker x reader #tom holland x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker ff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #erule's masterlist #peter parker #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu #spiderman x reader #spiderman fanfiction

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lavenderbexlatte · 4 years

Text

play you on repeat

stray kids 11.8k words female reader insert FemDom!Reader x Sub!3RACHA EXPLICIT/NSFW

🖤 warnings: unprotected sex, degradation 🖤

Series Masterlist (Parts 1-7)

connect with me! / masterlist

The three of them follow you all the way to the front door in a line like little ducklings, eager-eyed and silent as you part the crowds of students and friends on your way outside.

You only see those eager eyes when you turn around on the front porch of the random house that's throwing this party. Changbin stands just behind you, Jisung after him and Chan bringing up the rear.

They really want more, then. Their instant agreement kind of surprises you; it's one thing to flirt or make out with someone at a party, but it's another thing entirely to invite random classmates home for an orgy. But you're not crazy or stupid enough to let the chance pass you by. You're all in.

"Okay, boys," you say, "Where are we doing this?"

"Me and 'Bin live together," says Chan quickly.

You regard him coolly. "Just you two?"

"Just us," he nods.

That's promising. You live independently but you have roommates, and while you're sure you could sneak one hookup into your room, three of them might turn some heads. Your roommates are patient, but not that patient.

So you smile at them. "Okay. I trust you three aren’t gonna try any dirty tricks on me?"

"Dirty tricks?" Changbin repeats.

You shrug. "Stealing my wallet. Selling me into indentured servitude. Harvesting my organs. The usual nightmare date stuff."

"Why would we do that?" Jisung asks, looking amused but also concerned.

Is he worried that you don't trust them? That's kind of cute.

You just smile wider. "We don't know each other very well, I’m a woman and you’re three men. You guys might be dangerous."

It’s obvious that you’re teasing them. You can't help but laugh a little, saying it, since you’ve actually been alone with the three of them before, for your school project some weeks ago. Besides, the most unpredictable and potentially dangerous person here is you. That's already been proven. The three of them seem just as amused as you, though, so you've succeeded in breaking any tension that was gathering.

"Did you guys drive here?" you ask.

"No," says Jisung.

"Neither did I," you say, “I was planning on getting drunk.”

"No worries. Called a cab already," says Chan.

His cocky attitude is back as he waves his phone in your direction, the screen showing a little animated car tracing its way to your location. When did he order a ride? More importantly, at what point did he assume you were gonna wanna go back to his place? He's right, of course, and you do want to, but come on.

"Presumptuous," you tease.

He shrugs. "Well, 'Sung has roommates, and I figured you wouldn't want three near strangers at your place."

The flash of his eyes lets you know that he’s feeling quite high and mighty for having made up your mind for you. Oh, you're going to have to break this attitude ASAP.

You set about thinking of exactly how to do that as you meander toward the road to wait for the car, trusting that someone will tell you when it arrives. You stand on the sidewalk in the dim circle of light cast by a streetlamp. Chan wants more, right?

So do you. Three boys...three boys who are all partners, it seems. There's gonna be some finagling tonight, some organization needed. You ponder exactly what you want from them. The options are endless, truly. This is going to be very, very good.

When the car pulls up, Changbin comes over and slings his arm around your waist, like he's the one taking you home and not the other way around (figuratively, at least). You look at him, amused, relishing how you can almost meet his eye with the small difference between his height and yours.

"What's this?" you ask, gesturing at his arm around you.

"I'm being gentlemanly," he pouts, bottom lip pushed out exaggeratedly, "Don't kill the vibe."

He's being silly, you realize. That firm confidence from before is gone, replaced by what seems to be an eager desire for you to like him. He's in luck, then. You already like him.

You climb into the back seat of the small black sedan, scooting all the way over to the far window seat. Chan follows right behind you, settling in the middle with Jisung after him. Changbin is up front with the driver. You can tell that the boys would rather have you in the middle seat by the way that Chan and Jisung are playfully glaring at each other, but you much prefer to have your own space by the window. Nobody likes the middle seat.

The boys busy themselves with their phones on the ride, but you just watch the boys instead. You can tell that they know you're watching. Jisung meets your eye once and looks away quickly, grinning, and Changbin is just barely resisting turning all the way around to look at you head-on. You think you know what you want to do with those two, since they're pretty communicative and easy to read, so you study the real predicament.

Chan.

He's got pretty hands, you notice, as he taps away at his phone. He also has one of those dorky leather phone cases with wallet pockets. You just can't get into those; young people use them a lot, now, but you always associate them with dads and teachers and stuff. Old people. Chan's is full of cards, his student ID and a credit card and others. You peer closer at his driver's license with its tiny picture of him. His curly hair is blonde in the photo, which is cute.

You notice something else, too - his birthdate. Chan is in your year in school, but you never knew...

"Are you...are you younger than me?" you ask him, delighted.

He blinks at you. "How old are you?"

You tell him - a year or so older than him. It's not much, but definitely something in a society that puts so much emphasis on age. It also puts you at the oldest in this group by a bit of a margin, considering Changbin is a couple years younger than Chan and Jisung is younger still.

"That makes me the noona tonight," you tease.

Chan gives you an alarmed side-eye, his pale cheeks blushing furiously and his pupils blown big. He's into the noona thing, too? You wonder exactly how many little one-ups you're going to have on him tonight.

So you're the oldest. Hm. You grin to yourself. So they thought they were bagging a shy, quiet submissive, and instead they got you.

The ride to their place is short, and you're surprised when the cab pulls up in front of a small one-story house instead of an apartment building. Not many students around here have homes, since housing prices in the city are predictably sky-high and out of the average student budget. The boys get out of the car right away, thanking the driver, but you take your time. You study the house, the cars in the driveway (two of them, one silver sedan, one black mid-size SUV) and the neat front garden.

"A house," you say mildly.

Changbin looks embarrassed for the first time that night, as he stutters, "My family - I'm - we have-"

"Fucking PILES of money," Chan finishes for him, grinning, "I pay him rent, can you believe it?"

"I didn't want him to pay anything but he insisted," Changbin says.

"I'm not a freeloader," Chan insists.

"You think I'm gonna make my own boyfriend pay rent when I could buy him his own house?" Changbin grumbles, heading up the front walk.

Jisung has already let himself into the house uninterested in the conversation. He doesn't live there, you remember, but obviously he's no stranger. You follow Changbin inside, vaguely aware of Chan coming after you. It's a cute house, you admit to yourself, as you step in the door and kick off your shoes.

It does look like a house where a bunch of boys live, though. An artists' den. There's music equipment strewn all over the small living room; Bluetooth speakers, a midi board, a full-size electric keyboard, a drum pad. Propped on a small table in the corner is a silver slab that you realize is a YouTube subscriber award plaque, and there’s a Soundcloud affiliate certificate next to it.

"The rumors about you guys are true, then," you say, mostly to yourself, not even thinking.

Changbin looks at you, confused. So does Jisung. Chan just smiles lopsidedly.

"What rumors?" Jisung asks.

"Oh." You can feel your face heating up. "Just that you guys are...musicians."

You were actually thinking about their minor celebrity status, their Soundcloud rapper status, but you don't know if that will come across as...like...offensive? Is it rude to call people Soundcloud rappers, since that’s kind of become an insult? They're obviously even more well-known than you thought, if the 100k subs plaque is anything to go off. Not just campus royalty, but actually somewhat famous. It’s bizarre.

"Musicians," Chan repeats, amused.

You kind of hate the expression on his face. He's still holding onto that weird confident charm from the party, the face that you assume he puts on in these situations to pretend he's not one good hair-pull away from whining and begging.

"You can't pretend that you don't know," you say, more aggressively than you mean to, "On campus, with everyone from school…you guys are super...popular."

It sounds so stupid to say, like you're the ugly duckling in a bad teen movie. 'You can’t like meeeee, you're soooo cool and popular!'

"Are we?" Jisung asks, looking genuinely surprised.

Oh my God. You want to facepalm. You want to grab one of them and shake them.

"You literally tried to seduce me in there," you point out, "Would that have worked if you weren't popular? That's something popular people do. Use their, like, social standing to get people to sleep with them."

"That would make us pretty shitty people," Chan says delicately. "Imbalance of power and all that."

Oh. You didn't mean to accuse them of anything. You open your mouth to apologize, feeling incredibly out of place, but Jisung interrupts you, completely unbothered.

"It's only worked once before, anyway," he says.

"...Picking someone up?" you ask.

Changbin nods, "And that only worked because Felix already had a crush on me and Chan. We just had to sell him on Jisung."

"Hey!" Jisung pouts.

Chan pets his hair placatingly, and Jisung shrugs him off in favor of heading for the kitchen, mumbling about being a fucking catch. But you’re focusing on a different bit of what Changbin told you.

"You guys fucked Felix Lee?" you ask, incredulous.

“Maybe a month ago, yeah,” Changbin says.

The cute, freckled face of dance team captain Felix Lee swims in your mind for a moment, followed by the memory of his chiseled abs from a performance earlier in the year. He’s a rising sophomore, but solidly half of campus has a crush on him. Damn, THOSE are their standards, and they wanna fuck YOU? You gotta start giving yourself more credit.

"So, we're popular," Chan muses.

"You had to have known that," you shake your head, "Literally everyone knows you. First years are so thirsty for you. That's why I was so-"

You cut yourself off. They don't need to know that you were flustered when they approached you, back there. They don't need the ego trip.

So you just affix your best innocent smile to you face, looking the three of them over. Chan, leaning against the back of the couch. Changbin, lining up all four pairs of shoes (theirs and yours) by the front door. And Jisung, returned from the kitchen with a bottle of water that he's chugging like a dying man.

"You didn't invite me over to talk about your social status," you say instead.

"We sure didn't," Chan agrees.

"First things first, then," you say, "Boundaries. You guys have any hard limits? Safewords? Musts and don'ts?"

"Nope," says Jisung, taking another sip of the water to punctuate it.

"No musts or no don'ts?" you ask.

"Yes," he quips.

You can't help the way your smile grows. "Alright. Anyone else?"

"No serious degrading," Changbin says, very very quietly.

“Praise motivated, huh?” you coo, “Cute.”

Changbin looks slightly embarrassed, but his eyes are sharp and engaged as he adds, “And no digs at my size.”

You grin. "Size or size?"

"Either!" he pouts.

"Sounds fair to me," you say.

You fix your eyes on the last one: Chan, still looking only mildly interested and very calm. But you can see the very tips of his ears going red, and then it spreads down his cheeks, and then down his neck as you watch him.

And finally, he says, "I'm not good with praise."

Jisung laughs, loud and ridiculous. "That's an understatement."

You smile warmly at Chan, not wanting him to back down if this is a legit thing for him, "So does that mean no praise?"

"No," he says immediately, "Just that...if you - I get all-"

"Flustered," you finish for him. "Good to know."

You pause for a second, wondering what kind of hard limits you'll need to bring up to them tonight. They don't seem like the kind of partners to push you into anything, if they way they're already tiptoeing around is any indication.

"I don't like hitting in the face," you say, after a moment. "Or blood."

Changbin gives you a look. "Is that the kind of stuff you do on your first night with someone?"

You laugh, "No, not usually. But some people have really specific fetishes, and I live to please. Gotta lay everything out before we start."

Chan nods sincerely, like he knows exactly what you're saying, and Jisung follows suit. You're satisfied that you've covered your bases now. And besides, you really want to get started. You have three beautiful men here to play with.

So you say, "Okay. Who's first?"

You're still smiling, but you let some of your pent-up excitement leak into it, wondering if any of them will take the bait. You wonder if they're starting to think that you're some kind of super strict domme. Very serious, or very demanding, or something. You've had that problem before, with people crumbling before you even get started since you're so blunt about boundaries. Some people take that to mean that you like rigid roles and rules and set scenes.

But that's not really true. After the communication is solidified and you trust your partner, you like to just...let go.

Much to your amusement, the first one to crack is Jisung.

He practically bounces up to you, his face so perfectly cute that you wonder if he practices the look in the mirror. It's equal parts funny and ironic, since he's the youngest and also, from what you've seen at school, the one who wants to be taken most seriously.

"I'm first," he informs you.

You smile. You can't help it. His expression is so open and happy, even though his eyes are a little nervous. It's just so much. You gently nudge Chan away from the couch, and pat the back of it gently, invitingly. Jisung seems to understand you immediately and hops right up, balancing himself on the frame and the tops of the cushions, his legs dangling down the back of the couch. You settle yourself between his legs, standing purposefully, spreading your hands across his back to support him gently.

He leans back a little as if to test you, and you hold him up easily. It's not so much that you're strong, but that Jisung's so lean and slim. And even if he did fall, it would just be the short drop onto the seat of the couch. His eyes go wider as he realizes what kind of game you're playing with him. It's a signal, and you figured he'd be smart enough to pick up on it.

"I've got you," you say, very softly, into his ear.

Even if you look unassuming, even if they're taller and louder and bolder than you. Even if you're a gentle dom who puts up with some antics.

You're in control.

When you pull back and look at him, you swear you can see the little cartoon stars blooming in his eyes. He definitely got the message loud and clear.

He nods, almost imperceptibly, and says, "I know."

And you kiss him. He deserves it. A proper kiss, not like the teasing you'd done to him at the party. You let him lick into your mouth, scrape your teeth gently over his soft bottom lip. He's a good boy, you decide. Certified good boy.

Jisung leans back a bit more as he pulls away from you, and he lurches, loses his balance. He doesn’t go anywhere, since you're still holding him up securely, but he looks spooked. It fascinates you, how quickly he's fallen into the game of it. There's no risk if he falls, and yet...

"Can I-" he asks, " - can I touch-"

"Yeah," you say, cutting him off.

And then he's gently holding your face with one hand, the other arm draped over your shoulder, fingers playing with your hair. His body is much more relaxed as he kisses you, and you relish in it.

Oh, he's a sweetheart, you realize. Not a pushover or anything; he's still cupping your face and smiling into the kiss, confident and comfortable. But a good boy.

"You're so pretty," you say.

Jisung honest to God whines against your lips at the praise.

"It's true," you say, amused.

"He likes that a lot," comes Chan's voice.

You jump, having nearly forgotten your audience again. The other two are standing just beside you, watching intently as you work over their boyfriend.

"Being called pretty?" you ask him, as if Jisung isn't even there.

Chan nods.

"Well, he is," you affirm, leaning in to kiss Jisung's nose, trying to get your groove back.

Honestly, it’s a struggle to keep up with the fact that you’re trying to dom three people at once. You know you’ll do fine. It’s group sex, not a goddamn triathlon. But it’s useful here that you prefer domming psychologically, rather than with lots of physical force. You don’t know exactly what these three are used to, what they’re comfortable doing. A first-time with three people at once probably isn't the best time to fly in with a strap-on and demand people obey you.

So doing this the old-fashioned way, with simple baiting, praising, awarding, withholding…that’s gonna be the way forward.

“Who’s got the best bed for a foursome?” you ask, still holding up Jisung but looking expectantly back at Chan and Changbin.

Changbin nudges Chan with his elbow, "D'you think you could handle moving your pillow fort? For sexy purposes."

"Pillow fort?" you repeat.

"I have a lot of pillows, it's fine," Chan defends. "No big deal."

"He makes a nest with them," pipes up Jisung, "Like a crib."

Chan glares at him, "I'm sorry, I didn't know it was Put Chan On Blast Night."

"Okay, whose bed is biggest?" you ask instead, deigning not to comment on the pillow thing any further.

"Changbin's," says Jisung.

"Then we can go there."

"Yes, ma'am," Changbin says easily, and he turns on his heel to head for the bedroom door on the right side of the house.

It's a small house, so he's quickly out of sight. Chan follows after him. You unwind your arms from around Jisung's little waist, and he lets himself drop dramatically backwards onto the couch cushions. You follow Chan, and Jisung chases after you.

Changbin's room is painted an off-white, the bedding rich dark blue against neutral wood furniture. It's extremely well-done for a college boy's room. You're impressed. It might even be more cohesive than your room. Now, at night, with just the soft light coming in from outside in the gap of his slightly-open blackout curtains, it looks impossibly atmospheric.

"Hold on," Changbin mutters, as you take in the space.

There's a soft click, and a set of fairy lights come on, strung around the perimeter of the room. They're an interesting color array, purple and blue and cool white. It's bright enough to see what you're doing, to see each other, but dark enough to set the tone. Yeah. They have a lot of sex in here. You're kind of excited to be part of it.

"Is there anyone-" you start, before your mind can filter the thought, and you stop.

But all three of them are just looking at you, standing there in a little line. You walk deeper into the room. You can do this. And so you swallow that last trace of lingering shame and ask them outright.

"Is there anyone who doesn't wanna fuck me?"

Jisung and Changbin break out in raucous laughter, and Chan just regards you.

"Why would we not want to?" Chan asks.

"I mean," you huff feeling petulant despite yourself, "Some people have no interest in the P in V stuff and would prefer something else, shut up!"

"You ask a lot of questions," Chan shoots back.

"I'm being considerate," you reply.

"No, I think we're all on board," interrupts Changbin, as if to head off a real argument.

You have no intention of fighting, though. You wonder what kind of people these three have hooked up with in the past. They obviously have no communication difficulties with each other, and yet they're (well...Chan is) being so difficult with you.

"Perfect," you say, "'Bin, c'mere."

Changbin shuffles nearer to you, leaving the others behind, and you look him over carefully. He's broad and strong, much bigger than Jisung. Your approach to him has to be a little different, you think. You make a quick decision: he's gonna be your ally tonight.

You lean into his ear and whisper the plan you've been making up on the fly. He listens. And when you've finished, Changbin grins conniving and bright.

"Does that sound good?" you ask him.

He nods. "I think they'll like it."

"Like what?" Jisung asks eagerly.

"Don't worry about it," you reply.

"I'm gonna worry about it," says Chan.

That dude. So neurotic. You really need to figure out what his buttons are, so you can know which ones to press and which to avoid. It's gonna take more than a little hair-pulling to figure out, you wager.

"'Bin, give me a hand?" you say, gesturing at your top.

Changbin gives you a winning smile and looks gloatingly back at Jisung, then at Chan, and then he reaches down to leisurely unbutton your shirt. You never wear button-downs, but you're glad you did tonight. They make undressing so much more...cinematic.

You shrug off the shirt when Changbin's done, the final button falling open, and you move next to strip off his t-shirt, too. He wears those things tight. He always has; you can't even count how many days in class you've spent staring at the muscular span of his shoulders. This one is the same, clinging to his form ridiculously, like he's trying out to be Captain America's body double.

When the t-shirt is gone, you're greeted with a thick, toned upper body that dips into solid, narrower hips. Not quite cut, no chocolate abs or anything, but he's got some impressive working muscle under his deep-toned skin. Beef. He's beefy.

"Wow," you say appreciatively, running your hand from his collarbone all the way down to his belt.

"What about us?" Jisung asks.

"Patience," you murmur, "Don't you want Changbinnie to feel good?"

Jisung pouts, but says, "Yes..."

"Then you can wait your turn," you say plaintively.

"Can I kiss you, noona?" Changbin asks.

You look at him, amused. "So you heard that conversation."

Changbin shakes his head. "I knew before. Chan-hyung always calls you-"

Chan squeaks, mortified, cutting him off, but you've heard plenty.

"Oh, he always calls me noona," you purr, "Before he knew how old I was?"

"Yes," Changbin says.

That's interesting, to say the least. It means that their approach to you from the start was to defer familiar respect and treat you like an elder, rather than a peer. Hm.

You get a little closer, bringing your face up to his. "Do you talk about me a lot?"

"No," Changbin breathes, "But when we do-"

"Dude!" Chan hisses.

"Don't listen to him," you soothe Changbin, giving Chan a little wink over your shoulder, "Thank you for telling me."

You kiss Changbin, since he did ask so nicely and gave you a wonderful tidbit about Chan. He's a good kisser. Needy; he's pressing you backwards with his enthusiasm. You reach to put your arms around his neck, but then you reconsider. Instead, you fold yourself against his chest, palms flat on his pecs. It gives the illusion that you're much smaller than him, even though admittedly he's not a very tall person.

The change in his body language is instantaneous. Your hunch was right - he likes feeling big. He did say not to make digs about his size. Well, you certainly won't about his height. But his size...

You move down and begin unbuckling his belt.

"How come only he gets to get naked?" Jisung complains.

You glance at him, hands busy unbuttoning and zipping down Changbin.

"I'm not stopping you," you reply, "You could undress without permission. But you'll miss out on all the fun if you just go off on your own."

Jisung blinks doe eyes at you, and Chan huffs out a laugh.

"Some dom you are, yeah?" Chan scoffs.

You shrug. "I can't make you do anything. I'm not gonna force you."

"No?" Chan says.

"That's the fun of this stuff, isn't it?" you say.

You ruffle Changbin's hair playfully, and motion for him to continue undressing himself. Willing all the grace you know you possess, you walk over to Chan, keeping your motions fluid and careless. You want him to see exactly what kind of dom you are.

"The fact that you don't have to listen to me. That's the fun," you say, "You don't have to. But you will. You wanna be good."

Chan swallows hard. "I..."

"I'm sure you like being good," you continue, cupping Chan's face in both of your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes. "You're gonna be good for me, aren't you, peach?"

"Yeah," he says, so quietly that you think you've imagined it, his cheeks burning red.

"I'm sorry," you hum, "I didn't hear that. Yes...?"

"Yes, noona," Chan says.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, noona, I'll be good for you."

"I thought you would be," you say, satisfied. "Go sit on the bed. Against the headboard."

He looks like he wants to complain about that, but you shrug again, punctuating that you're truly not here to force anyone. Domming is about control, not force. If Chan wants to turn over control to you, he will.

And he does.

He scrambles up the bed and sits with his back against the headboard. You can feel his eyes on you, and Jisung's wide, wide eyes, as you return to Changbin.

Changbin is down to his boxer-briefs, and God, he's good-looking. Solid and masculine. You kind of just want to have your way with him and be done with it. But that's not the plan.

“Jisung,” you say.

He jumps, not expecting to be addressed. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay bottoming tonight?”

“’Course,” he affirms, “Always. For who?”

You glance at Changbin, who nods, and Jisung smiles his biggest, most genuine smile, crooked front tooth and all.

“I like this plan,” he says.

That assent is all you need to hear.

“Is there lube?” you ask Changbin.

He turns away, presumably to grab it, and you snag Jisung by the wrist and tug him toward you. Jisung's wide smile is distracting, as you have him lie down on the bed. Changbin's bed is a king, you think, a really really big mattress with plenty of room to use. But when Jisung sprawls out easily, the top of his head is close to Chan.

"You have one rule, up there," you say to Chan, "No touching."

"No touching...him?" Chan asked, pointing at Jisung.

You smile. "No touching. Him, me, 'Bin, yourself. No touching."

Chan looks wide-eyed, almost hurt at your words. You can't tell exactly how he's feeling, so you move around the bed until you're right in front of him, and take one of his hands in yours.

"Is that okay?" you ask, "Are you okay with that?"

"I'm okay," he says.

You look at Changbin, waiting by Jisung's knees at the edge of the bed, and at Jisung himself, watching you upside-down.

"Can I implement the traffic light system?" you ask them, "It's the easiest safeword system for me, I think, with so many of you."

"You mean the color thing," Changbin clarifies.

"Yeah," you nod.

"We've used that one before," says Jisung agreeably, "We don't usually use any safewords but we can do that.

You turn back to Chan. "Does that work for you?"

He smiles, and it warms up his face all the way to his eyes, so you relax.

"Yeah, that works well," he says.

"Good," you say, "So. Color?"

"Green," says Chan.

"Great."

You lean in and kiss him for his trouble, realizing with a thrill that you've really only kissed him one other time. He's damn good at it, too, eager but gentle with just enough pressure. You pull back right as he starts to really melt against you, and drop his hand back onto his lap, in favor of returning to Jisung where you've left him.

Jisung, for his part, is lounging back on his elbows, just watching you, and you nudge his knees farther apart as you settle in between them. You can feel Changbin's warmth behind you again as he hovers, not quite touching you.

"Noona," he whines.

You glance back at him, his chin at your shoulder.

"I know," you tut, "You're already doing a good job for me, gorgeous."

He beams at the praise, and repeats, "Noonaaaa."

You smile to yourself at the lilt in his voice. "You can touch, baby."

There are suddenly lips against the side of your throat, Changbin trailing kisses across your skin, and hands on your waist pulling you back gingerly, as if he's afraid you'll tell him off for being too greedy (which is a good and valid worry). You lean away, down toward Jisung, and coax him upright to peel the baggy t-shirt off him. As you get the garment over his head, you're surprised to see firm abs and pecs. Jisung is small and thin, but apparently very, very muscular. Huh.

"You've been holding out on me," you chide him.

"Don't think about it that way, noona," Jisung says, "Think of it as a nice surprise."

You huff out a laugh. He's being kind of mouthy, but it's cute, so you're gonna let it slide. Mostly.

"Are you in any position to be telling me what to do?" you tease.

Jisung shrugs, lips pursed. You tickle your fingers down the hard line of his abs, grinning when he jumps and squeaks under your touch.

"'Bin?" you ask.

"Yes?"

"Who here is overdressed?"

Changbin hums against your skin, mouthing at the soft juncture of your neck and your shoulder, and says, "Jisungie, noona. And you."

"Not Chan?" you ask lightly.

Changbin grins. You can feel the flats of his teeth against your skin.

"Not unless you say so, noona," Changbin says.

"Good call, gorgeous," you say, leaning back into his touch.

He's hard against your ass, you note. Perfect. You go for Jisung's skintight jeans next, unbuttoning and peeling the black denim down his slim thighs. He's so dainty, all thin graceful limbs, his frame small but masculine and defined. You can see his cock twitch with interest as you get the jeans all the way off, his boxers beginning to tent.

"Excited?" you ask, letting your hand trail over him, gently feeling the outline of him through the thin fabric.

"Yeah," he says, shameless.

"Who should get undressed first?" you ask Jisung,

Jisung must register something in your tone, as his big eyes look from you, to Changbin, back to you.

And then he says, "Me, noona."

"Oh," you purr, "Good boy."

You free him from his boxers, and it's not a surprise when you're met with a pretty, proportional cock, flushed and lovely. You're hit with the urge to feel the weight of him in your mouth. And fuck, this is YOUR game, isn't it? So you lean down and do just that, taking his head between your lips.

Jisung gasps, high and pretty, and you can see Chan's face above you darken. He looks...jealous?

"Peach, you okay?" you say, coming off Jisung to speak.

Chan looks at you, puppy-eyed.

"I want..." he trails plaintively.

"I know you do," you agree. “Don’t be greedy.”

He's still sitting obediently, hands balled into fists atop his thighs and not touching anything. He's the only one fully dressed, and you can tell that it's driving him crazy. He can wait. You know he can.

So you nuzzle against Jisung's stomach indulgently and ask him, "Who next?"

Jisung pauses, comprehending what you've asked, and then he says, "Changbin-hyung."

You place your hand over Changbin's where it still rests in its spot on your waist.

"You heard him, Binnie," you say, "Go 'head."

His warmth vanishes from behind you for only a few seconds before he's back, his now unencumbered cock brushing against your shorts. You grip Jisung's length again, pumping him for a moment, looking down at him with a glint in your eye.

"Here's what's going to happen," you say, standing up properly, "I'm going to prep you for Changbin, baby. And Changbin is gonna have some fun of his own while I do it."

Jisung nods his understanding at your words, his expression delighted, and Chan is all but panting as he sits pretty for you. There's a lovely flush creeping from his ears toward the neckline of his button-down shirt.

You shuck off your own shorts, left now in just your bra and panties. As you look down at yourself, you realize that while they are not a matching set, your underwear ARE about the same color, which you count as a personal victory. It's the little things.

"Hand me a pillow, peach?" you ask Chan.

He nearly topples over in his eagerness to give you a pillow from the head of the bed. You have Jisung raise his hips, and settle the pillow under him, angling him up for better access. He doesn't seem the slightest bit self-conscious, on display to you like that. You almost hate how attractive that is.

"Everyone, color?" you ask.

"Green," chirps Jisung, almost before you're done speaking.

"Green," Chan agrees.

"So green," Changbin groans from behind you, where he's still grinding against your ass.

"Wonderful," you murmur.

You turn your attention fully to the boy beneath you. Jisung is impeccably groomed, maybe even better than you, you think. There's a neat thatch of hair around the base, and he's all but hairless everywhere else. It's impressive.

You trail your hand over his balls, his perineum, to his hole, and he chokes out a moan as you just graze the thin skin there.

"Are you sure you're ready to go, Jisungie?" you ask, and he nods eagerly.

"I wanted to bottom tonight anyway," he informs you cheekily.

Chan laughs, which melts any of your lingering worries that you've overwhelming or neglecting him.

"That's true," Chan says softly. "He told us before the party."

"You guys are so much fun," you say.

The lube is laying on the comforter next to you, so you pick it up, pop the top, and coat two of your fingers in the stuff. You lean down over Jisung again, knowing how obscene you must look together, him all spread out for you and you draped over his lithe little body. You're sure both Chan, in front, and Changbin, behind, are getting an eyeful of the two of you.

"I'm gonna start," you warn Jisung.

"Finally," Jisung teases, "I was beginning to think - shit-"

He's cut off as you ease your index finger past that ring of muscle. The slide is much easier than you expected, but he still whines out in a pitch higher than you would have thought.

"You do this a lot?" you ask him, only half-teasing, slowly pumping your finger and relishing in the easy way he takes you, "You're so open."

"I do, yeah," Jisung agrees, breathless.

"And here I thought you were the bottom of the group," you say to Chan, letting a little bit of bite into your voice, wondering if they're at all into that.

Chan's flush picks back up, and he stammers, "I - mean-"

"He can be a great little hole, too," Jisung says, casually, "I wrecked him a couple days ago, didn't I, hyung?"

Still blushing furiously, Chan nods.

"Interesting," you say simply, turning your attention back to Jisung, "Hey, what happened to those pretty sounds?"

You curl your finger slightly, and Jisung lets out another gasp.

"That's more like it," you praise.

You almost wish you had a strap here, so you could do the next part yourself, too. But your actual plan is gonna be just as much fun, so you can easily be content with this.

"Noona," comes Changbin's voice.

"Yes?" you answer.

"Can I...I mean..." Changbin trails off, seeming embarrassed.

"Can you?" you prompt, amused at his sudden shyness.

"Can I make you feel good, too?" he asks.

"Oh, baby," you simper, "Of course. So good, asking for permission."

Changbin laughs breathlessly, and so does Jisung.

"Isn't he good?" you ask Jisung.

"Good," Jisung agrees, though he nearly chokes on the word.

He seems to be ready for another finger, so you draw out and press back in with two, this time. At the same time, you lean down to take his length back into your mouth. Jisung whimpers again, starting to press his hips down against your hand.

As you're bent over at the waist, pleasuring Jisung, you feel tentative fingers pulling your panties to the side. You wonder if you're going to get the warm press of a cockhead, or-

"Oh," you breathe, pulling off Jisung's cock again to collect yourself as the unmistakable trace of a tongue wanders up your core.

Changbin pulls away just as quickly as he began, and you all but groan in frustration.

"Come on, gorgeous, don't be shy," you urge.

And the tongue returns, more eager this time, as Changbin settles himself fully between your legs. You steel yourself to enjoy while also focusing on the task at hand, prepping Jisung, and keeping your wits about you. Changbin definitely doesn't seem like he's only a sub, and neither do the other two, honestly. They seem like switches, if you had to hazard a guess. It would be in poor taste to let any of them turn the tables on you, now, wouldn't it?

Your mind wanders a little as you scissor and work your two fingers, Jisung trembling and whimpering praise under you, Changbin's plush lips against your clit. How the fuck did you get here?

You're kind of floored to think that maybe an hour ago, you were at that party, bored, barely buzzed, and anonymous, or so you thought. Plain old you. And now you're here, sandwiched between two of the hot, popular guys from Physics class with the third one watching you and white-knuckling the sheets.

A surge of power sweeps through you at the thought. You're here. You have this. You deserve this. And you're gonna have a good fucking time.

"I'm ready!" Jisung is sputtering, "I'm - I'm-"

"Ready," you finish for him, bringing your focus back to the moment.

There's arousal building low in your stomach. Changbin is good with his mouth. You kind of wish you could see him while he's doing this.

"Ready for what?" you ask Jisung.

"More!" he whines, “More, Jesus, two fingers is basic!”

You pull your fingers out, which just makes him whine louder, to reapply lube. This time, you push in with three, and Jisung keens long and low.

"You know, Changbinnie," you say, making sure to keep your voice measured and casual, "You're gonna need to get wet to fit inside Jisungie's pretty hole."

Changbin pulls himself up at your words, leaving your core wet and exposed and distinctly throbbing, and he leans forward to take the lube from you. You stop him before he can take the bottle.

"That's not what I meant," you say sweetly.

There's a fraction of a second while he catches up, and then Changbin groans openly against your shoulder blade, as you continue to work your fingers steadily in and out of Jisung.

"Noona, we have condoms in Chan-hyung's room," Changbin says, "I can go-"

"No," you say, "No need."

And that's all the permission Changbin seems to need, before he's lining himself up.

"Can I?" he asks.

You coo. He hasn't missed a single beat, sweet and obedient and so ready to be good for you.

"You're so good, gorgeous," you say, "Yes, please."

He sinks into you quickly, no preamble, and you can't blame him for being eager because you're secretly just as ready for it. He's thicker than you expected, but you should have expected it, considering the rest of his body. You find yourself panting against Jisung’s hipbone, your fingers pausing inside Jisung as you enjoy the delicious stretch.

“Can I move, noona?” Changbin asks, sounding punched-out already.

“Take it slow,” you instruct him, “This is just a warmup for you, you know.”

Changbin whines under his breath but obeys you, pulling out agonizingly slowly. As you try to keep your head clear, you notice Chan shifting on the bed ahead of you, and you have an idea.

“Okay, peach,” you say, keeping your voice level, “Why don’t you come over here and have a good look?”

“A look?” Chan repeats, “At…”

You smile to yourself. “At whatever you want. Jisung is a pretty picture, I’m sure you know that.”

“And you, noona,” Changbin cuts in.

“And me?” you say, amused.

“Pretty,” says Changbin, by way of explanation, as he keeps up his slow, slow pace.

“Thanks,” you say, arching back against him, figuring he deserves a little reward.

You nod at Chan, encouraging, and he crawls off the bed and comes around behind you. You’re sure he can see everything from where he is - your fingers disappearing into Jisung’s heat, Changbin’s cock disappearing into you. The combined power of Changbin’s steady pace and Chan watching it all is a little overwhelming. You need to narrow your focus or else someone is gonna come before you intend it to happen, and that someone might just be you.

You gently pull your fingers out of Jisung’s hole, leaving him complaining behind you.

“It was just starting to get good, come on!” Jisung whines

“Patience, baby,” you say, giving Jisung a playing smack on the meat of his thigh.

You turn your head fully to look at Chan. He’s staring, transfixed, down on the place where Changbin’s cock is slowly working in and out of you. And now that your brain isn’t focusing on being careful with Jisung, the arousal is really catching up with you. You’re getting close.

Really, you reason, what’s the harm in having a little more fun for yourself?

“Jisungie,” you say, “You wanna give me a hand here?”

He looks rightfully confused, until you reach up and snap your own bra strap against your skin. Then Jisung winks at you, and reaches around to push-pull-snap open the hooks in the back in one fluid movement.

“How’d you get so good at that?” you ask him, amused. “None of your partners wear bras.”

Jisung looks offended. “Who says I don’t wear ‘em?”

“Good point.”

You shrug off the garment, now only in your panties, which aren’t doing much of anything anymore since Changbin’s fucking you around them. Jisung’s eyes are following your breasts as you readjust yourself, sitting up more and shifting your weight onto your knees. Man, your core is gonna be killing you tomorrow…

“Lock it up, baby, shit,” you tease Jisung, “How long has it been since you’ve seen tiddies?”

“That weren’t on a man? I don’t even know.”

“Hm.”

You reach down and start drawing lazy circles on your clit, and you can feel yourself clench down on Changbin at the stimulation. He gasps, and you tut at him.

“I know you can wait for me, gorgeous,” you say.

He whines, “But-”

“Changbinnie. You’re gonna let me feel good, aren’t you?” you ask him. “Don’t I deserve to cum first?”

“Yes,” he grinds out.

“Noona, can I do it?” Jisung asks suddenly.

You’re still hovering over him, all but laying on top of him, and you look down at his face. His eyes are fixed on your fingers, rubbing yourself through your underwear.

“Do what?” you ask, just to be difficult.

“Make you cum,” Jisung answers.

You take your hand off your clit and reach out to thread your fingers through Jisung’s, leading him back to the front of your panties.

“You and Binnie need to work together for this, huh?” you say, “One of you isn’t good enough? It has to be two?”

“I’m good enough,” Changbin argues.

“Shush,” you admonish, “Then prove it.”

You let your hand fall away again, as Jisung takes up the task. He slips his fingers down your waistband, circling hard and tight over your clit. Changbin, obedient to the end, is still somehow keeping up those slow, deep strokes that you demanded. And you have to admit: they’re determined to prove it.

“Jesus, noona,” Changbin whines.

“You’re not gonna cum yet,” you instruct.

“I know.”

Jisung meets Changbin’s eye over your shoulder; you can tell that’s what he’s doing from the smirk on Jisung’s face and the muttered shut up that Changbin stifles into your neck. He gets up on his knees, and you find yourself pressed between them, your forehead against Jisung’s breastbone as his fingers work under you. You glance up, intending to tell Jisung off for making his next move on his own, but the vision you see knocks that idea right out of your head.

They’re making out over you.

It’s so beautifully desperate, Changbin biting and panting into Jisung’s mouth and whining under it all as he fucks into you, Jisung with one hand fisted in Changbin’s hair and the other still dutifully circling your clit, wet and dirty. As you feel your peak coming on, you remember the last member of your party, poor Chan, still relegated to his spectator’s spot behind you all, still under orders not to touch. You look up at him, and God, you wish you had looked sooner.

Chan is standing there, hands cemented at his sides. He’s flushed from the tips of his ears all the way down his neck, to his chest, creeping under his shirt, and his eyes are hungry. But he’s being good, no matter how much he wants to move.

He’s still being good, and that’s what sends you over the edge. You drop your head back down against Jisung’s chest, and gasp and shake your way through your own orgasm. Changbin lets out a moan that borders on a shout, as you surprise him with your clenching walls, and he slows down even more, just grinding into you. There’s something so bone-deep satisfying about it, all three of the boys with their eyes on you and unable to do anything without your permission. They just have to watch and hold back.

You wait until you can speak properly before you say anything to them.

“You didn’t cum, did you, gorgeous?” you ask, swiveling your oversensitive pussy back on Changbin, spots swimming in your vision from how hard you came.

“No, noona,” Changbin says, and his voice is thin with strain but confident.

You know he didn’t, but it’s satisfying to make him say it. He’s holding still now, just standing there stuffing you full. That orgasm cleared your head a bit; you feel more centered than ever. And you feel a little bit bad for Chan, honestly. He’s gotten the least attention from you so far.

“I think Channie really wishes he was you two right now. What d’you think, peach?” you ask, directing the last part at Chan.

Chan doesn’t answer right away, which is just as well, because you can see his erection straining against his dark jeans. His eyes are fixed between your legs, where you can feel your own wetness inching obscenely out around Changbin’s cock.

“I asked you a question,” you say, louder, and Chan looks at your face instead of your pussy.

“I think I’ve been good, noona,” Chan says quietly.

“Let’s get a second opinion, hm?” you say.

You peel Changbin’s hands off your waist and scoot away from him, pulling yourself off his dick, and push Jisung away to give yourself some room. You settle beside Jisung, who sits back down against the mattress and leans on his elbows to look at the rest of you.

“But noonaaaa,” Changbin whines.

“You got some already,” you admonish. “Don’t be greedy.”

Changbin pouts at you, and you reach out and squish his cheeks in your hand. He just lets you do it, and you lean in and kiss his lips. He deserves it, and more.

“So. Consensus,” you say, “Has Channie been good?”

“Not as good as me,” Changbin mutters.

You laugh, and turn to Jisung expectantly for his answer.

“I think so,” Jisung says, “He listens to you much better than he listens to me.”

“How honest,” you say.

You turn and swing one leg over Jisung’s torso, only hesitating for a second as you factor in your body weight on top of his dainty little body and then deciding it doesn’t matter. You sit up straight, facing Jisung so that you can see his expression, trapping his bare cock between your folds, still kind of covered in your stretched and soaked panties, and his stomach.

“Oh, Jesus,” Jisung wheezes, throwing his head back.

“They’re really roasting you,” you say to Chan conversationally, as if you’re not torturing Jisung in the same moment.

“I’m used to it,” he replies, giving you a sheepish smile that shows his deep dimples.

His casual admission is strangely charming, and it makes you smile back. You grind down on Jisung just for a second, just to hear the noise that he makes. He doesn't disappoint, a whine coming up from his chest as his hands scrabble at the sheets. He doesn't touch you, even though you haven't said that he can't. The faultless obedience is thrilling.

"Are you ready for a little more?" you ask Jisung, nodding toward Changbin.

"A little?" Changbin protests.

You send him a wink, realizing the stupid joke. "Oh, come on, that wasn't a dig."

"Thin ice, noona," he mutters.

You raise an eyebrow at that. "Excuse me?"

"Biting the hand that feeds you, hyung," Jisung sing-songs, tilting his head up.

"Jisungie, you talk too much," you tease.

You shift over Jisung so that the head of his cock prods at your entrance. You're still wet and messy from all of their handiwork, and Jisung keens.

"We don't need him, do we?" you nod over your shoulder at Changbin.

"I mean, I was looking forward to the dicking, but - oh shit" Jisung moans, as you reach down and pull your panties aside properly, and let the very tip of him slip inside you.

"This isn't the plan," Changbin complains.

You smile at him sweetly. "I just don't want anyone to forget who's in charge here."

You climb off Jisung, leaving him whining in your wake, and move up to the spot at the head of the bed where you'd sat Chan earlier. The three boys watch as you settle cross-legged, casual as anything.

"I think," you say, resting your chin in your hand and your elbow on your knee, "I think that I just want to watch for a while."

All three of them, Changbin and Chan standing side by side and Jisung sitting half-upright, look at you with matching wide eyes. You tut, looking right back at them and silently making up your mind.

"Come here, peach," you say, making grabby hands at Chan.

He complies easily, coming back up the bed toward you, and you uncross your legs to make some room, patting the mattress in front of you. Chan pauses, kneeling between your open legs, and you turn him around gently by the shoulders. You sit him down with his back pressed to your chest. He's still fully dressed, even after everything that’s gone on, and his silky black shirt is cool and soft against your bare skin. His broad shoulders cover you entirely, but he melts against you, sliding down a little so that his head rests at the crook of your neck, curly black hair against your cheek.

"Jisungie, Binnie?" you say, "I want you to put on a good show for me while I give this poor baby boy some attention."

You let your hands wander to the top button on Chan's shirt. It's not the top button, really, because he's got the first three undone already to show a span of pale toned chest. So you unbutton the next one, and crawl your fingers down to the next, too.

"So I can," Changbin starts, "I can-"

"Yes," you nod, "But neither of you can cum until I say so. Okay?"

"Okay," says Jisung eagerly.

"You have to earn it," you warn, "A good show."

Jisung and Changbin look at each other, significantly, like they're silently concocting their own plan. You decide you can get a hand on that ball, too.

"Channie, wouldn't they be pretty if they kissed for us?" you ask, murmuring right into Chan's ear.

He nods eagerly, and you pop another shirt button. You glance down at Chan's torso, completely bare to you now, all pale smooth skin and chiseled abs. So you ease the silky shirt off his shoulders, down his arms, and discard it off the side of the bed.

By the time you look back up, Jisung has Changbin pinned to the bed, straddling his waist and kissing him right into the mattress.

"Oh," you say mildly, "Promising start, hm?"

You stroke up and down Chan's abs with your fingertips, and he laughs gently.

"They're always like this," he says.

"Thirsty?"

"Out of control," he corrects.

Jisung breaks away from Changbin's mouth, frowning at Chan. "You love it, you asshole. You're just as bad."

Chan nestles back into you more and doesn't say anything, but you can see an answering half-smile creeping over his face. Changbin takes advantage of the distraction to flip Jisung over onto his back, finally flexing the strength you know he has, and bends Jisung nearly in half. His knees are up by his shoulders, and his face is more than a little alarmed.

"Hey, I'm not that bendy!" Jisung protests.

"Yeah, you are," Changbin shushes, "Do you wanna cum or not?"

You grin. "Come on, then."

With a big upside-down sigh, Jisung looks at you, while Changbin digs around in the sheets for the lube.

"You see what I have to deal with?" Jisung asks you, "They're so good and nice for you, and for me? This disrespect. I don't even know - OH-"

Jisung cuts off, and it's obvious what's happening from the way Changbin's hands fly down to Jisung's hips and Jisung's back arches up to meet him. You hum your satisfaction, taking in the blissful expression on Changbin's face, and the sweat already beading at Jisung's hairline.

But you quickly realize that you can't see nearly well enough. They're laying up the bed properly, feet at the foot and Jisung's head against the mattress near yours and Chan's intertwined legs. But if they were perpendicular to you...

"Okay, gorgeous," you coo, and Changbin's head snaps up at the sound of the pet name, "Turn around on the bed so that I can see exactly how nice Jisungie fits around you."

It takes a second, but Changbin processes your words with a slow blink, and grabs Jisung's hips to unceremoniously turn them ninety degrees. Now they're laying across the bed widthwise, and you have a delightful view of Changbin's thick cock sinking into Jisung smoothly. He's set a brutal pace, snapping against Jisung's narrow hips with a force that makes you clench around nothing. He’s obviously making up for the painfully slow pace you made him take on you. It's quiet enough that all you can hear is the perverse squelch of lube and the tiny breathy sighs Jisung makes every time Changbin bottoms out.

"Jesus," Chan breathes, and you nearly jump out of your skin; despite the weight of him on you, you've all but forgotten about him while you're taking in the view in front of you.

"How do they look?" you ask him, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair.

"So good," Chan answers, "So - ah-"

You tug his curls gently, and Chan arches his neck back so that his head rests fully on your shoulder.

"Noona," Changbin says with an edge of desperation in his voice, pulling your attention back to him, "Noona, I'm not, I can't-"

"You gotta hold on for me, gorgeous," you coax.

Changbin nods, digging his fingers into Jisung's hips and making his poor boyfriend squeak at the added pressure. He sits back on his heels, pulling Jisung with him, so that he’s almost upright, giving you a delightful view of their bodies meeting. It makes you groan to yourself, waves of arousal peeling through your gut.

You reach down to undo Chan’s belt and jeans, and it only takes a moment to rid him of those, too. He’s ridiculously hard in his black boxers, and as you palm him through the fabric, you have to admit that he’s the biggest of the three of them.

“Who’s gonna cum first?” you ask Chan.

He drags his eyes away from the sight of Jisung’s arched back, the faint bruises forming under Changbin’s hands, and looks up at you.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs.

“I think Jisung’s earned it,” you decide, “Peach, you wanna give him a hand?”

“Not him,” Jisung gasps.

Chan looks affronted. “Hey!”

“Noona please,” Jisung begs. “Please!”

“Oh, you want me?” you ask, smirking.

Jisung nods, gasping and screwing his eyes shut as Changbin keeps up that punishing pace. You can have mercy on him, can’t you?

Chan leans forward so you can wiggle out from behind him, and you sit back on your heels beside Changbin and Jisung. The view is even better up close: Changbin’s muscles bunching and expanding, Jisung rocking up the bed with every thrust. Changbin’s gorgeous face furrowed in concentration. Jisung’s rim contracting obscenely around the cock still working in and out of him.

You feel delightfully gross, wonderfully perverse and voyeuristic, and you lean down to kiss Jisung. He kisses back like he’s starving, panting into your mouth.

“Pretty boy,” you say, right against his lips, “Do you want to cum?”

Jisung nods, his eyes barely focusing on you, the attention going right to his head. “Yes, noona!”

“What do you need to cum?” you ask him.

“Your…hand, noona, or your mouth, please,” Jisung whines.

You smile at him, leaning in for one more kiss. “You can cum when you’re ready, baby.”

“Yes, noona.”

One down, one to go. You shuffle so that you’re sitting face to face with Changbin and he all but falls forward to kiss you, his hips not even stuttering as they drive forward. His singular focus is impressive. You let Changbin press messy open-mouth kisses against your lips, your cheeks, as you finally wrap a hand around Jisung’s cock.

His whole body jumps when you start jerking him quickly. It only takes two, three, four pumps before Jisung is babbling, begging for your permission even though you’ve already given it.

“Noona, I’m going to – please let me cum, I need it, I need-”

“Go ahead, pretty baby, cum for me,” you say.

That’s all it takes for Jisung to come into your hand with a shout, loud and high-pitched and cracking in the middle. His voice is a rush of power, like adrenaline in your veins, and you keep up your pace, stroking him through his orgasm. You look to Changbin next, watching him as he throws his head back and moans openly at the feeling of Jisung coming around him. His eyes are wide open, still, and he finds your gaze as he finally begins to lose his pace. This is the second person’s orgasm he’s had to ride out, poor thing. It almost makes you want to keep going, see how long he can last…

“I-” he stutters, “I want…”

“Ask nicely,” you instruct.

“I want to cum, noona,” Changbin pleads.

“That doesn’t sound like asking nicely.”

Changbin makes a tiny sound of despair, and tries again, “Please, may I cum, noona? I’ve – God – I’ve been good, haven’t I? Please?”

He’s beautiful, begging so nicely for you. You bring up your hand that’s covered in Jisung’s cum and nudge the dirty fingers against his lips. Without hesitating, Changbin sucks two fingers into his mouth, his tongue working between the digits.

“Filthy,” you coo.

Changbin just whines around your fingers.

“Who are you cumming for, Binnie?” you ask, taking your hand back.

“You.”

“Hm?” you feign ignorance.

“You!”

“Who?”

“You, noona,” he moans.

“Okay, gorgeous, you can cum.”

“Thank you.”

With a final moan that sounds an awful lot like your name, Changbin cums, making Jisung whine out in his high, cracked little voice at the feeling of it. You lean back, just watching and enjoying, as they both come down.

Two down, one to go.

Chan is still waiting for you, though you wouldn’t doubt that he’s a little less patient than he was at the beginning of the session. He’s sitting back against the headboard again when you turn around, just watching you. You notice that he’s actually sitting on top of his hands, and you smile disdainfully at him.

“Oh, peach,” you say, “Are you so fucking desperate that you have to sit on your pretty little hands, to keep from disobeying me?”

“I’ve listened to you, noona,” Chan says.

“Is it so hard for you to be good?” you chide.

“It’s not!” he insists weakly.

“Shit, I think we could go again,” Jisung comments offhandedly, breaking your train of thought.

You look at him, suppressing your smile in favor of a cool stare. “Can you not let me deal with our sweet peach for two fucking minutes?”

“I’m just sayin’,” Jisung defends, holding up his hands in surrender. “Refractory period? Great.”

You decide to ignore Jisung and his big mouth. Chan deserves some undivided attention, and you planned right from the start that you’d have him like this.

Rolling your eyes in Jisung’s direction, you crawl over and take hold of Chan’s boxers, and pull them down his pale pretty legs and off. He looks distinctly shy when he’s finally fully naked for you, so you return the favor by slipping off your ruined panties. You can feel two sets of eyes on your ass as you maneuver yourself onto Chan’s lap.

You’re delighted to find that if you sit up perfectly straight, you’re taller than him. Tall enough that he has to tilt his head back to look at you. He’s all wide brown eyes and handsome flushed skin, and you stare down at him fondly.

“What do you want, peach?” you ask.

“You…” Chan trails.

You walk your hand up his shoulder, up into his hair, and tug at the back of his head. He tilts his chin up, leaning into the action, exposing his long beautiful neck to you. You can’t help it – you lean in and indulgently bite into the skin on the side of his throat.

“What about me?” you ask against his flesh.

You can feel Chan swallow. “I want…to fuck you, noona.”

“I know you can ask nicely.”

As you trail down and add another bite under the first, leaving your mark behind on his porcelain skin, Chan shows you just how well he can ask.

“Please, noona,” he breathes, “I can make you feel good, like Changbinnie, better than Changbinnie, wanna fuck you so good and fill-”

He cuts off with an embarrassed whimper, as if he’d almost let something slip. Unluckily for him, you have a pretty good idea what he was about to say.

“Oh, peach, you’re dirty,” you purr.

“I’m sorry, I-” Chan sputters, but you cut him off.

“No, no, no, no,” you shush him, “I like it.”

You lift yourself up slightly so that you can reach down and line him up with your pussy, and without preamble, you sink down on him. You know you’re still wet and sloppy from before, and Chan groans shamelessly as you settle your hips firmly against his.

“You can have me, but you’re doing all the work,” you inform him.

Apparently, that’s no problem for Chan, because he plants his feet on the mattress for leverage and begins pistoning upwards into you. You rise onto your knees slightly to meet him, making him work harder, rise higher to chase what he wants.

His pace is brutal, his hips moving precise and intense against yours, and you’re shocked to feel a second, penetrative orgasm rising on its own. You’re still so sensitive from cumming the first time, you know you’re not going to last very long. But Chan is having a similar problem.

“I’m not…I’m not going to last, noona, I’m-” Chan moans, sounding embarrassed by it.

You coo at him. His self-consciousness, even this far into a scene, is so endearing.

“Did you get all worked up watching Jisung and Changbin have their fun?” you ask, patronizing.

Chan nods, throwing his head all the way back as he chases his high, driving into you hard. “So good, noona, it was so good…”

You glance over your shoulder at the other two, the mention of them making you wonder what they’re up to, unattended over there, and you’re met with quite the scene.

“It seems like they’re enjoying us, too,” you say.

Chan brings his head forward again with what seems like a tremendous amount of effort, and peels his eyes open. When he sees his boyfriends behind you, his breakneck pace finally stutters.

“Fuck,” he groans, “Oh, Jesus Christ-”

Jisung is standing beside the bed, bracing himself against the wall like he’ll collapse if left only to his own strength. Which is valid, because Changbin is knelt between his legs, Jisung’s cock down his throat and Jisung’s hand on the back of his head, guiding him.

“They weren’t kidding about being ready another round,” you joke, and to your utter delight, Chan laughs.

“And I wasn’t kidding about – noona, fuck,” Chan whimpers, “I’m not – can I cum, noona?”

You hum. “You wanna fill me up, peach?”

Chan’s breath hitches at your words, and if it’s even possible, he begins fucking into you harder. He’s hitting you just right inside, cockhead brushing against that delicious spot and making stars dance in your vision. You can count on one hand how many times you’ve cum just from a partner like this, and you’re salivating at the idea of it. You’re so damn close.

“Yes,” he whines, “Noona please let me, I’ll make you feel so good, I promise, fill you up with my cum and – and-”

“You’ve waited long enough for me, peach,” you say, reaching up to cup his face in both of your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Cum.”

On command, like the good boy he is, Chan cries out, high pitched and absolutely beautiful, and cums. And then, surprise of surprises, he snakes one hand down between the two of you and finds your clit, rubbing into the poor sore nerves like he might die if he doesn’t make you cum.

And you do. You can’t even choke down the squeak of “Chan, oh, fuck!” as you clamp down on him, pleasure bursting behind your eyelids like fireworks and warming you all the way down to your toes.

As your orgasm fades and the world comes back into focus around you, the first thing you see is Chan’s self-satisfied little smile. That smug bastard…

You grin back at him, pushing him away by the chest, “Shut up.”

Gingerly, you climb off his softening cock and off his lap entirely, to throw yourself down haphazardly on the bed. Chan collapses across you, landing heavy over your legs and making you protest for your poor ankles.

“I can confidently say, that was fantastic,” comes Chan’s muffled voice, facedown in the mattress as he is.

“Seconded,” says Jisung.

You tilt your head back to see Jisung and Changbin peering down at you, both looking heavy-eyed and swollen-lipped. They look as drained as you feel, and just as satisfied.

“That was a hell of a show, (Y/N)-noona,” Changbin says.

“Glad you liked it, I worked really hard,” you tease. “Does anyone need water? Food?”

“Cuddles,” mumbles Chan.

“Yeah, you have to stay the night, noona, aftercare and cuddling is non-negotiable,” Jisung agrees.

Changbin nods. “We’re even better at that than the sex.”

It shouldn’t be as touching as it is that they want you to stay. But fondness wells up in your chest, soft delight that they seem to enjoy your platonic company just as much as your sexual company. But this bed is disgusting. Changbin needs to wash his sheets, there’s no way you can sleep here in the miasma of lube and bodily fluids.

And besides, the four of you need to talk about all of this at some point. You’re still their classmate, after all, at least until the end of the semester, and an impromptu hookup like this can lead to some real awkward class meetings. Some pillow talk, some cuddles, and some Gatorade are all in order here.

So you smile, wide and honest and mischievous, and stand up on shaky legs to head for the bedroom door. The boys look confused at your seemingly sudden departure, and you cock a thumb at the other bedroom, across the hall.

“Now, Channie, where’s that pillow fort I heard so much about?”

#stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #3racha #3racha smut #3racha fic #bang chan #han jisung #seo changbin #reader #reader insert #kpop #kpop fanfic #sub!idol #fem dom #dom reader

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my-writings-and-musings · 3 years

Note

Can I please have a short story of the prompt of the human reader being used as a sheild, and the human has a communicator allowing the bots to trace their signal? And can I please have ratchet, tailgate, cyclones, and drift for this?

I have headcannons for now because I'm spread really thin lately, but I hope you like it! Also I love this prompt in particular because every bot on the ship needs to be told how special and wonderful they are, and what better way to show them than by shouting their praises at an enemy with ample swearing?

Part One: Here!

Part Two: You're Here!

Ratchet

·Your relationship to the medic had allowed some of the restraint he needed for his high stress job to rub off on you, but that's also true of his testiness, so when you reach your breaking point it's quite the sight. The bot that kidnapped you for a ransom learns the loud way just how passionately you adore your grumpy bot when they crack another joke about Ratchet's age and you simply lose it. Held back by your chains, you crack that the bot who kidnapped you couldn't accomplish what Ratchet has if they had a billion years to do so, and what right do they have to insult when they look the way they do? "Call him old all you want, he looks better now than you ever have and ever will!"

·Perhaps it's the fact that the tiny human just insulted their appearance of all things, but the bot is frozen at the communicator, and somehow that makes you angrier. It's clearer to you now than ever before why Ratchet hurls wrenches at the bots that annoy him; nothing would be more satisfying than the "thunk" of a well aimed projectile at this jerk's head. As it stands you're willing to settle for using your words as the only weapons you have. Laughing bitterly, you ask your captor if they're only able to win an argument with bots that can't fight back, which would explain why they need you as a shield AND the corpses they keep as company. The last dig actually gets them moving towards you with a threat, but when they refer to Ratchet as your "rusty old paramour" you get a renewed burst of rage and go off once more.

·"Are you seriously trying to insult Ratchet of all bots?! Do you have any idea what he's capable of?! How many lives he's saved?! What have you accomplished lately, huh?! Besides EXTORTION?!" Feeling a tad bit flushed, it's impossible not to go all out in your tirade, especially because it feels so darn good after suffering in silence for so long. It doesn't hurt that you have so much material to work with either. This raging jerk is living in a corpse filled lair and kidnapping humans to ransom them off for cash, and they're going after one of the greatest medics the Autobots ever had? Cutting them down to size should be classified as doing the universe a favor! If you weren't so incredibly frustrated, and dangling from chains, you might have found this enjoyable.

·"Seriously! Ratchet does more good for the universe in a week than you could do in a lifetime! Plus, you think age is holding him back?! The bot walks right off the battlefield after carving up bad guys like you, only to waltz into the medibay to patch up everyone else, on a daily basis!" Though not impressed, it does appear that your captor is rethinking some things, and perhaps actually realizing they've made a pretty formidable enemy. Had that not been such a flagrantly obvious fact you'd have been satisfied. Instead you just keep going, your intense love for your docbot mingling with your frustration to pour forth in a never-ending stream of loving threats. Only a total power outage cuts off a tangent about how Ratchet's age has not impacted his ability or endurance in "other areas" of your relationship either...

·The darkness is broken by flashing lights and the crackle of energy weapons firing all around, and you just manage to catch some familiar colors flashing through the dark before a very welcome red and white frame swoops in to carefully slice you out of the chains with a laser scalpel. There's just enough time to catch a smile overflowing with emotion before you're taken into gentle hands, and as Ratchet takes you back to the ship you get a glimpse of your very roughed up kidnapper being cuffed by the remaining crew. Your partner takes you straight to the medical bay, fussing over you all the way and asking a thousand questions about your wellbeing, but without any of his usual gruffness as he does so. In fact, he's probably the softest you've ever seen him. The smile never once leaves his face as he insists on getting you fed and rested and to bed where he pulls the covers over you himself.

·In the aftermath he almost seems to melt in your presence, losing most of his grumpy persona every time he's with you no matter how long or difficult a day he's had. Though you obviously don't mind, a couple bots let you know that when you were kidnapped he was the closest to losing control anyone had ever seen him. He'd been shouting and cursing until you had interrupted the latest communication with your captor, at which point he'd been so shocked others had needed to rush in and take advantage of the prolonged signal. Evidently, hearing you defend him as you did had rocked his world in the best possible way. Between working a stressful and often thankless profession, and not ever hearing you shout in such a way before, he's been touched to learn he could be loved by someone who appreciates him as you do. It's enough to keep even the worst of grumpy days from affecting him.

Tailgate

·Truth be told, your greatest concern when you were kidnapped was for your tiny SO, as his propensity for panic could result in some very unpleasant anxiety attacks while he and the others try to rescue you. That worry on his behalf turned to fury when your kidnapper refused to stop mocking the little bot for everything from his size to his age and even for supposedly choosing an organic solely to be taller than someone. It's enough to make you see red, and your limit is quickly reached as a result of the cowardly bullying. Your explosive bout of rage is a scream of frustration that quickly morphs into an unstoppable tirade that pulls no punches. Has this big jerk been planning this for any length of time you ask, because if so, you know a couple of sparklings that could think of more mature insults!

·"Really?! You make fun of bots for being short?! He's also blue, you want to pick on him for something arbitrary, why limit yourself?!" You know it's not the smoothest insult, but darn it all, you can't bring yourself to think straight with all this rage. This bot needs to hear what an absolute creep and bully they are, because seriously who gloats like a real life cartoon villain? When they leave the communicator and try to get in your face you're only further incensed, channeling your tiny partner's courage as you wish beyond the telling of it you could punch the jerk into silence. "If there's gonna be insults, how about I open the floor to some genuine digs? Because your ugly mug is a GOLDMINE of material, okay?! Seriously, does Unicron ask YOU for beauty tips?!"

·There's sputtering in response, which you just take as a go ahead to tear them apart, because at this point you're not sure if you can really stop. After all, record shattering hideous face aside, what does this bot actually have to offer? Tailgate has saved millions! Faced with multiple varieties of death, he took out the guy hellbent on committing species wide genocide, and he doesn't even brag about it! You rub that in your captors face with all the pride you have for your partner spurring you on, hoping that you get a chance to tell Tailgate what a source of inspiration he was in these moments. At the very least you'll have to tell him how your captor froze at the enraged shouting. "Plus, Tailgate has actual friends! People LIKE him, unlike you, who I'm guessing doesn't entertain often based on the corpses you leave lying around!"

·A last ditch attempt to shut you up with a few lame threats just gets you laughing, in part because you can't believe this bot ever thought they were going to succeed at this. "You didn't even bother to check up on who you're making an enemy of, did you? I doubt it, because if you did, you'd know Tailgate has made paperweights out of bots much tougher than you!" Perhaps it's a little macabre, but it's endlessly satisfying to see your captor flinch as you describe what an absolute powerhouse your partner is, particularly how he uses his small size to levy his strength in the most destructive ways possible. It's delightful enough that, as you begin to brag about the benefits of his size relative to yours and his strength working together in more intimate settings, only something like an earthquake stops you.

·Chained as you are, there's no way to get a clear look at your captor as they attempt to flee, but thankfully the ground stills just in time to let you see the cavalry arrive. Lost Light bots pour in to stop the automated defenses from doing much at all, and in a brilliant blue and white blur your kidnapper is punched full to unconsciousness by what might as well have been a meteorite. It's only when said force of nature runs to free you and a tearful blue visor meets your eyes that you recognize Tailgate. The minibot gets you down in a hurry and embraces you in as tight a hug as is safe, talking a mile a minute about his worries and how sorry he is you had to go through all this. After assuring him he doesn't have to beat up your captor any further, you let him carry you back to the ship, getting nuzzled all the while.

·In between far more frequent cuddle sessions from the absolutely enamored Tailgate, you get pulled aside by a couple bots who just want to let you know what an impact your brave speech had on the minibot. While inconsolable during your kidnapping, to the point of swapping between rage and tears every few minutes, he'd been visibly awed once he heard you go off in his defense. That makes you understand everything far more clearly; this bot has been unsure of his self worth for so long, so hearing you face down a much larger foe because you love him so much that their taunting him drove you to frenzy... Knowing he's loved like that changed his entire worldview. You can see it in his visor every time he looks at you, and feel it in every buzzing hug, how grateful he is to have found someone who loves him.

Cyclonus

·Dating a bot capable of triggering enemy surrender with a glance requires a strong will, mostly to endure the endless questions from bots confused as to how you got Cyclonus to ask you out, but today you find yourself facing a whole new level of irritation. Though the bot that kidnapped you is obviously no match for your towering partner, they still mock the big mech through radio like they're some kind of badass, taunting him for debasing himself and growing soft by dating a fleshy. Regardless of how hard Cyclonus has worked to open up to you, hearing the personal jabs makes something within snap and go nuclear, resulting in a war cry your partner would be proud of as you rattle your chains for emphasis.

·"Can you just CAN IT with the insults?! We all know that if this fleshy wasn't here as your shield, you'd be fleeing to the other end of the galaxy!" You waste no time getting right to the heart of what's so infuriating about your captor; their spineless and cowardly nature is so obvious beneath the sneering mockery it makes you literally sick. Seeing how completely they freeze at your jab just proves your point in your mind. What, were they just expecting you to be quiet forever after dealing with THEM for the past few hours? Was the idea of resistance that surprising to them?! The calm maturity you picked up from Cyclonus is matched only by the capacity for righteous fury learned from the same source, and it's the latter that breaks out in glorious fashion.

·"Oh, what, nothing to say? No moronic insults for someone who can actually talk back? Do you need your debate opponents to be silent so you can think of a rebuttal?!" Your almost sarcastic jab actually earns you a demand to be silent, but it's so lacking in authority you can only laugh, despite not feeling any less furious with the situation. It's bad enough to be kidnapped and chained up, but by someone this incompetent? Being a tiny fraction of their size doesn't make you feel any less embarrassed for having been caught by them. It's enough frustration to make you snap again when they start coming in close, especially as another insult is levied at Cyclonus for having chosen a human so unpleasant due to his age and miserable attitude. The words are little more than kerosene on your already burning anger.

·"Do you really think you get to accuse Cyclonus of having a miserable attitude, you inept excuse for a kidnapper?! I'd rather have a conversation with these corpses than you! Not to mention, Cyclonus isn't limited to insulting people whenever he talks, unlike you!" The tirade is perhaps nonsensical with how passionately you begin to praise your partner's command of verse, but you're far too lost in your genuine adoration to care, especially as you begin to relay how wonderfully enticing his singing is to you. Every time your captor tries to command silence you just jump to yet another feature that makes your heart flutter, riding on the high of how incredibly good it feels to rub it all in their flustered face as you go. An attempt at describing his passionate grasp of verse around specific topics is stopped only by a door flying off its hinges in a burst of shattered metal.

·Security forces do nothing as a hulking purple figure enters through the smoke of considerable destruction, and your captor is left paralyzed with fear as they're hefted up by a clawed hand, one you're so relieved to see you can't help calling out their name. Cyclonus is content to toss the criminal to the rest of the crew as they arrive, and actually smiles once he beholds you safe. Freeing you of your bonds, he doesn't drop the chains until they're wrapped about your captor for some poetic justice. After that, you're carried to the nearest private spot on the ship and embraced without hesitation, the giant arms that have held you before almost shaking as he whispers how grateful he is to have you back. For an instant he sheds genuine tears when you hug him in return.

·Though the intensity of his emotions isn't as extreme as when he rescued you going forward, the big bot is far more open about his feelings than ever before, even showing them in full view of others. Surprised but not at all displeased, you are however quite thrown for a loop when someone recounts how incredibly worried he was during your kidnapping, in that he had to be convinced not to go after you alone and gouged some unfortunate furniture as he listened to the communications. Yet the moment you started your tirade, he was shocked to a whole new kind of silence. It's obvious that he hadn't even been able to process it at first, but now is fully overwhelmed and grateful for your love as he never was before. Hearing himself defended by someone he adores more than anything changed his perspective of himself, as well as his outlook on life, for how could he not see the beauty of a universe that had given him you?

Drift

·Sort of an interstellar hippy in his own way, Drift has taught you a lot about remaining calm through meditation, saying that a clear mind and control over anger is key to surviving high stress situations. The same philosophy is what he instructed you to use when others mocked his past, as he claims to be used to it and doesn't want anyone angering you on his behalf. This doesn't stop you from simmering in your current situation, dangling from chains as you might be, and admittedly being kidnapped tends to shorten one's fuse. Perhaps that's why you explode so dramatically when your abductor opens up the communication line just to mock your partner by claiming he hardly should be upset by an organic dying, considering his past, and that this current "relationship" is probably just a redemption stunt. That final mistake sets you off on a legendary tirade.

·"Are you KIDDING me?! You want to talk about STUNTS you wannabe kidnapping loser?! Do you have a projection disorder or something?! Because unlike you, Drift doesn't actually have to PROVE anything!" Never in your life have you wished to be the same height as the bots to this degree, granted though it's only because you want to strangle this jerk purely for the satisfaction of throttling them. Drift has worked to be better, and jabs about his past hurt him deeply, despite what he says. What right does this loser have to use that against him? You're so worked up fear isn't in your catalog of emotions when your captor tries to threaten you with physical harm. All you see is an overhyped grifter who got lucky, and you make that abundantly clear.

·"What, are you going to try threatening me, really? Am I supposed to be afraid of bluster now?!" The sight of a tiny organic growing red in the face with rage actually seems to give the bad bot pause, in part because you're so flushed they have to wonder if humans have a secret explosive ability that you're presently charging up. Admittedly you do feel like you might pop, but that's only because it's impossible to unleash all of your anger in a way that's truly satisfying, and you're left with spouting all the very justified insults that spring to mind. One particular thing that galvanizes your anger; how is this jerk pretending they would stand a chance against Drift?! The bot may be a literal ray of sunshine to you, but you're well aware of what he can do to enemies, and you doubt your kidnapper is in the dark about your paramour's combat prowess.

·"Would you be playing the big tough bot if he were anywhere near here?! Or if you didn't have me as a shield?! Because I doubt you'd last a moment in a one on one!" You shout, your tone of vitriol somewhat humorous considering that the point is a very valid one. While not afraid of Drift in the slightest, you know being on his bad side can be fatal in impressively short order. Perhaps that's why his soft approach to your relationship is even better. It's so special to you that in your current state you can't help but brag aggressively, going on about what a wonderful bot he is and that this loser could never hope to best him in combat or personality. Seeing them rethink it all just adds fuel to your fire, but before you can really get going on how Drift's gentle mannerisms extend to the bedroom you're interrupted by a cacophony of unfathomable origin.

·One of the entrances to the room you're in is sliced open by what you swear has to be ten swords at once, but as soon as it's down and the wielder charges in, you see only two held by a very angry looking Drift. Though accompanied by ample backup, he's an army of one as he reduces the security to pieces and almost dices up your captor. Only some obviously difficult self control lets him immobilize the bot instead. Not wasting time, your partner leaves the bad guy for the others to hurry to your side, his expression beaming with unmatched happiness and relief as he cuts you free and catches you in cupped hands. Shameless kisses and a million questions about whether or not you're hurt are your prelude to an open embrace. Never minding public affection in the past, he's still at a new level all the way back to the ship and in the days that follow.

·It's impossible not to go an hour without a loving nuzzle against your forehead, and whenever you aren't looking Drift is in the corner of your eye with an absolutely lovestruck expression on his sweet face, to the point you halfway imagine there could be hearts in his optics. Rodimus himself tells you in confidence that the unshakable ninjabot was barely able to keep himself steady after your kidnapping, obviously holding back a hurricane of pain and grief within his spark, but that changed in a flash as soon as he heard you. Accustomed to being derided, he'd been unprepared for such a passionate defense from anyone. Hearing you shout his praises had nearly driven him to tears. The pain of his past and the exclusion he faces for it has worn him down, to the point he often believes himself to be irredeemable, but you've made him have hope for himself for the first time in eons. Your love makes him see what he's done right, and from now on, he fully intends to give you and himself more to be proud of every day.

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magicforjournals · 3 years

Text

The Green Dress (A Story About Loki) Chapter 4 : A God’s Lips

RE-UPLOAD - Last upload was missing some parts, my bad!!

Warnings : Explicit (18+)

It’s early in the morning, way earlier than you usually wake up. You barely slept last night; nerves, anticipation, fear even, just twisting your insides and preventing you from getting any kind of rest. You know you’ll eventually have to get up and get ready for work but, you’re just lying in bed, still shell-shocked at the conversation you had with Loki last night.

After receiving his email, you had sat in the shower, letting the hot water hit your skin, for what seemed like hours. Had Loki just asked you on a date? That… That meant he wanted to see you again, he thought of you just as much as you thought of him. He craved your presence just as much as you craved his. You had revelled in the thought of being important to someone like him, a literal god. Finally, you had gathered all of your strength to get out of the shower, grab your phone and sit on your bed to reply to his email. You felt it impersonal to accept an invitation to a date over email and had decided to give him your phone number instead, offering him the option to call you. Within minutes, your phone rang. Heart pounding and hands shaking, you had answered his call. The sound of his soft, deep voice through the phone made you shiver and instantly soak. You wanted him, you needed him. Your conversation, although brief, had been wonderful. You both had agreed that you would be making dinner, and he was to meet you at your apartment at 6 o’clock. You could barely utter a word when he wished you goodnight and sweet dreams before hanging up. You had laid back on your bed, trying to catch your breath. You had just invited a god to have dinner in your home. It wasn’t just any god, it was Loki. Loki who had kissed you with such passion, it had left you weak in the knees for days. Loki who, by only speaking, could make you so incredibly wet. You had slid a hand down your body, imagining it was his hand instead of yours, grabbing your breast, rubbing tight circles on your clit. It didn’t take long for the orgasm to rip, burning hot, through your entire body, making you spasm in pleasure as his sultry voice still rang in your ears, and you had to bite down on your pillow to muffle the loud moan that escaped your lips as you came.

As you lie there thinking about last night, you tell yourself it’s only a couple of hours before you get to see him again. Jumping out of bed, newfound energy bursting through your veins, you get ready in a flash, speeding through breakfast and cleaning up. You call yourself a taxi and get to school way too early, eager to start your day. As promised, your car is waiting for you in the parking lot, however, you see Nat getting out of it as you start walking to the school entrance.

“You’re here early”, she says as she catches up to you, following you inside. There were usually no visitors allowed unless the principal approves it, but since the school is funded by Tony and that Natasha is an Avenger, they never had a problem with her coming in before or after classes. Regardless, she never came during school hours, knowing her presence would be a distraction for the kids.

“Yeah, I could really sleep last night,” you say with a smirk.

“Oh…” She says, intrigued. “Oh, I know that face! What happened?!” She then presses you.

“Well….”, you tease, walking into your classroom. “Loki emailed me last night to ask if we could have dinner tonight.” Nat’s mouth falls open as she hops on your desk, her usual spot to sit.

“Did you say yes?” She asks.

“Yeah, he’s coming over tonight. I’m making him dinner.”

“Holy fuck, you’re joking!” Natasha screams so loud, you have to shush her. “You’re having dinner with Loki Laufeyson TONIGHT.”

“I know, I know. Be careful, he’s the god of mischief,” you say, mimicking her.

“Oh, well yeah obviously! I’ll have my phone with me if there’s any problem, just use the emergency button.” She reminds me. “But I meant you’re having dinner with the man who pinned you against a wall four days ago and kissed you like you’ve never been kissed before. The same man you told me you could not stop thinking about.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, your face turning red.

“Are you excited?”

“I’m nervous! I haven’t been on a first date in almost a year Nat! What if he doesn’t like me anymore in the end? There’s something different about him and it terrifies me. If you think about it, I’m just a simple mortal.” You tell her.

“Please, you’ll be just fine. Loki seems very interested in you.” She reassures you. “And you know, I was thinking last night… Loki has been good for a while now… maybe being with you would really change him. I know I have some preconceived notions about him, but everyone is allowed a second chance. I was, so was Bucky and Bruce too…” She trails off. Talking about him was still a sore subject. Bruce had been missing since Sokovia and it had left a gaping hole in our hearts, especially Nats. Over the years, you had watched their relationship slowly flourish, they were quietly flirting and often seeing each other in secret. He was the first man she ever let get herself get close to, and he cared so deeply about her and was terrified of ever losing her. And when he never came back, and when no one could find the Quinjet, Natasha could barely leave her bed. Getting her back on her feet was one of the hardest things you had ever done.

“Hey,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around her, rubbing her back.

“He’ll come back when he’s ready, just give him time.”

“I know,” she says, hugging you back. “I just miss him.” We all did.

You stay like that, holding each other in silence for a while.

“I should go,” Nat says, hopping off your desk. “You call me tonight if there’s anything, right?” She adds, looking you in the eyes.

“Yeah, of course! How are you getting back?” You ask.

“Sam is picking me up, he’s on his way now,” she replies, checking her phone.

“Say hi for me! I’ll call you later ok?”

“Will do! Keep me posted. Love you, bye!” Nat yells as she walks out. You giggle to yourself, unpacking your stuff and getting ready for the day, Tuesdays are your favorites.

The day flew by so fast, it left you a little dizzy. Your students left a while ago and you were finally done cleaning up the mess of the day. You look down at your jeans and there are some mud stains all over them, the WWII reenactment of the day having left its mark. Nonetheless, your students enjoyed it, and you tell yourself to add the activity to the memory board you have in class. As you glance in its direction, you see that the clock above is showing 3:45, and you panic. You didn’t realize how long you had spent cleaning.

You pack up your things as fast as you can, almost running to your car. You need to get home quickly, Loki is coming over in two hours, and you have to make dinner and get ready. You desperately need a shower after running around outside in the mix of snow and mud all day.

Getting home in record time, you drop your bags by your desk. Running to your bathroom as you throw your hair in a bun, you take the fastest shower you’ve ever taken, scrubbing down as quick as you can. Thank heavens you had washed your hair the night prior. Once you get out, you check your makeup for any touch-ups and add a small line of liner and lip gloss. Shaking your hair out of its bun, you like the way it looks and decide to leave it as is. Still wrapped up in your towel, you make your way to the kitchen to start prepping the food that needs to begin cooking immediately. You get everything else out and organize your kitchen. Again, you thank your lucky star that you’re a neat person and you don’t need to clean your apartment before Loki gets here. With most of the dinner cooking, you head to your bedroom to get dressed. Opting for black lace underwear, you open your closet and sigh loudly. What are you going to wear? Why hadn’t you picked out an outfit this morning? You had all the time in the world to get ready? Grabbing your favorite pair of light jeans, skin-tight and which do wonders for your ass, you start browsing through your shirts to find something… anything. You suddenly hear something bubbling and grab an old band shirt you usually sleep in, slipping that on before running to the kitchen to make sure nothing is burnt to a crisp. You’re not the best cook in the world but you can manage to whip up a couple of great meals. Thankfully, nothing was burning, but there were a lot of dishes to take care of.

You were washing the last bowl when you heard the building’s buzzer ringing. Your head whipped around towards the digital clock on your microwave to see it showing 6 pm on the dot. SHIT! You didn’t see the time fly by, and Loki was already here AND you were not even dressed. Shit, shit, shit, shit… Ok, it’s ok. You walk over to the intercom and buzz him in. A little time goes by and you hear a shy knock against your door, making your heart almost jump out of its cavity with how fast and hard it’s beating. Hand on the door handle, you take a deep breath before opening the door.

There he was, standing in front of you, handsome, beautiful as ever. His dark hair combed back, as it was last time you saw him, his green eyes sparkling with joy, his devastatingly stunning smile. He was there. Right in front of you.

“Hi,” Loki says, his smile widening. “These are for you”, he adds, handing you a bouquet of white and pink lilies.

You gasp. “Oh thank you. How did you know lilies are one of my favorite flowers?”

“I guessed, a very fortunate guess as it turns out to be.” You think you might as well die, combust on-site, from how warm he makes you feel.

“They’re beautiful, thank you so much.” You repeat. “Please come in! I’m so sorry I’m not dressed yet, I just finished the dishes.” You apologize, cheeks burning red as he steps to stand in front of you in the entrance.

“I think you look perfect,” he whispers, stroking your cheek slowly. You sigh in content, eyes closing, as soon as you feel his skin against yours, unknowingly leaning into his hand. You both stand there, taking in each other’s presence, for what seems like hours.

“Let me take your coat,” you whisper softly, looking up at him.

“It’s ok darling, get those flowers in some water,” Loki whispers back, your knees buckling under the weight of the nickname.

You slowly nod against his hand still on your face and regretfully make your way to the kitchen, Loki following closely behind. He takes off his coat and hangs it on the back of one of the barstools, as you’re putting the flowers in a vase. Pretending to be focused on the flowers, you let your eyes wander his body, starting from his thighs - the rest being cut off by the counter -, up his waist, stomach, broad shoulders, arms, and back up to his gorgeous lips you crave to kiss, his nose you want to feel nuzzled in the crook of your neck, and his eyes… your own forest you’d run through forever. How could one being be so beautiful? Loki was breathtakingly beautiful, tearing your eyes away from his face was a strenuous feat. Turning your attention to your dinner, you opened the oven to check on the food. You jump and gasp when you feel Loki moving closer behind you, his hand snaking up your hips.

“Do you need help with anything?” He asks, his sultry voice making you dizzy and immediately wet.

“N-no, I have it a-all under control,” you stutter, shooting up from your bent-over position. Loki’s hands are still on your hips when you turn around to face him, resting your hands on his firm chest. You’re standing so close to each other you could tilt your head up and kiss him if you wanted to… and you desperately want to.

“I… umm… should go get dressed.” You choke out. “Can you… keep an eye on the... uh… oven?”

“Of course.” He replies, one hand moving to your hair, tucking a strand of it behind your ear.

You give him a smile and head towards your bedroom, where you collapse on your bed as soon as you reach it. Holy shit, this man is going to be the death of you, with his voice, his touch, and his eyes. Every time he spoke, the heat in your belly sparked up to a hellish blaze, making you weak in the knees. He’s waiting for you out there, don’t be a coward, get up, you finally tell yourself. Taking your shirt off, you walk to your closet to figure out something to wear, yet again.

“Oh! I am so sorry, I should have announced myself,” Loki says from your bedroom door, and you jump, grabbing the closest piece of fabric to cover yourself up.

“Oh God!” You scream, your hand flying up to your chest, heart pounding. With a single step, Loki crosses the distance between the two of you, his palms up as to hold you, but he stops himself.

“Hey - hey there, it’s just me. I am so sorry I scared you darling.” He whispers softly, trying to calm you down.

“I- uh, it’s ok. I just didn’t hear you coming.” You say, trying to slow down the cascading beat of your heart. And then it hits you. The piece of fabric you had grabbed to cover yourself with was the cream coloured blouse you had bought months ago but never wore for the simple reason it was way too sheer. So sheer in fact, it meant that Loki could clearly see through it, he could see your naked stomach and black lace bra. You could feel his gaze on you as you turned bright red, scrambling to find something else to cover up with.

“I-I’m sorry, I-I didn’t realize you could see everything.” You apologize profusely.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his tone of voice stopping you in your tracks. You turn to look at him and you see his eyes exploring your body, admiration pouring out of them. He steps closer to you, grabbing the hand you were using to search with, and running his up from your wrist to your shoulder, slowly tracing your collar bone, before making it way up your neck, gently across your cheek and getting lost in your hair. You moan softly under his touch, the blouse falling quietly on the floor as you reach for him with both hands.

Before you know it, your lips meet, sending jolts of electricity through your body. You reach your arms up and wrap them around Loki’s neck, pulling him closer to you. Your sudden burst of passion makes him groan under your touch and he deepens your kiss, teasing the tip of his tongue in between your lips as he pins you against the wall, igniting a burning desire in you. You feel his hands slide from your hair slowly down to the small of your back, resting there for a moment before cupping your ass and he lifts you up in his arms. You gasp against his mouth as you wrap your legs around his waist, surprised at his strength. He keeps kissing you as he walks you over to the bed, laying you down gently. For a moment, you’re both just staring at each other, eyes full of desire and catching your breath.

“Are you sure?” Loki asks, brushing hair out of your face and then carefully brushing his thumb against your swollen lips. You part them, taking his thumb in your mouth and slowly sucking on it as you nod. The soft moan that comes out of his lips as you suck on his digit sets off an even hotter fire through your belly. Loki crashes his lips against yours, his hands roaming your body. He moves his mouth to your neck, kissing and biting love marks all over it, as you fumble around with the buttons on his shirt, the task being a lot more difficult with this man’s lips all over you. As soon as the shirt falls open, you’re frozen, your eyes roaming his strong, sublime body, hands running over the contours of his stomach, absolutely mesmerized.

“You’re so beautiful,” you echo Loki’s words.

Capturing your lips again, he starts kissing down your neck again, making his way to your chest. Slowly running his right hand up your body, he cups your breast as he licks the other one through the lace of your bra and you’re moaning, your back arching under his touch.

“That’s where you’re wrong, you are beautiful,” he whispers against your skin, making you shiver. “So beautiful, how could I ever live without you anymore.”

Loki begins kissing his way down your stomach, undoing your pants slowly and brushing his lips across your lower stomach. You whimper as he pulls your jeans off and comes back up, hooking his fingers around the waistband of your panties, kissing your thigh as he slides them down too. His hands are back on your inner thighs before the rest of him is, and you’re throbbing, clenching, soaking even more, just knowing that his fingers are inches away from where you need him most.

“Is this ok?” he asks you softly, feeling his hot breath between your thighs.

“Yes.” And his tongue is on you, parting you so incredibly slow, you think you might pass out. You’re wet, you know that, and he knows that too as he moans against you, licking small little circles around your clit. You’re trying so hard to stay quiet, every bone in your body fighting against the urge to scream out his name. You feel his nose pressed up against you as he’s devouring you like you’re the last meal he’ll ever have, his hands gripping and squeezing your thighs, your hips, your waist. He slowly retreats, letting his fingers tease you for a little as he flashes you a quick smile, eyes burning with desire, and you feel a thick single finger slide excruciatingly slow inside of you.

“Fuck!” is all you can manage, every other word and sound stuck in your throat.

Loki starts pumping his finger, in and out, out and in, getting faster and faster, adding a second one and sucking on your clit so hard, you’re about to cum. You grab fistfuls of his hair as you arch your back into him, begging him to keep going, to lick you more. You scream as you cum all over his fingers, the orgasm sending violent spasms throughout your entire body. As you’re trying to catch your breath, his mouth leaves you, making it harder for you to breathe, and he kisses you. He tastes like you, and all you can think about is wanting to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. Sitting up on your elbows, still kissing him, you bring him closer to you, sliding your lips from his mouth to his ear, catching his ear lobe in between your teeth and whispering softly, voice still rough from your orgasm.

“Please… let me touch you.” He groans against your neck and flips you, so he’s lying on the bed. Loki grabs your face and kisses you passionately as you unbuckle his belt and take his pants and briefs off. You’re astonished at how big he is, thick and long, already hard for you. You kiss his stomach as you slide a hand down, wrapping your fingers around him as he throbs, and slowly start pumping your fist. The sound that makes his way from his chest and out his lips is almost enough to make you cum again, and you slide your mouth down, licking that small bead of precum from the tip and wrapping your mouth around him, sucking softly. Loki moans your name, grabbing a handful of your hair, as you start bopping your head, accentuating your movement with your hand. Before long he’s pleading for you to stop, his hips spasming, making him thrust into your mouth. Retreating with an audible pop, you giggle as you take your bra off before climbing on top of him, his dick throbbing against you. As Loki wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, he flips you again, running his hands along your curves while a happy moan escapes you. Slowly, he slides the tip of him between your lips and you gasp at how thick he is, but you’re still wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. You hold there for a moment, gazing in each other's eyes and in one swift movement, he buries himself deep inside of you, a growl slipping through his lips.

“F-fuck darling, you feel so good.” He moans as he starts to thrust in you, shattering your entire world. You can’t formulate words, all you know and all you’ve ever known is that nobody has taken care of you like Loki is doing right now. You want this moment to last forever, him inside of you, your bodies interlaced, lips pressed against each other’s, your choked out breaths matching the beating of your hearts to the rhythm of your desire for one another. Everything you’ve ever known ceases to exist, but the two of you, in that moment, as Loki makes love to you passionately. He’s rolling his hips, hitting a spot in you you didn’t know could get you so close to the edge of insanity so fast.

“Loki, fuck! I-I’m gonna…” you start.

“Wait for me,” he moans out after you, pumping his hips harder into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other lost in your hair. “Fuck”. And you do, until his last powerful thrust and you cry out as you feel him explode inside of you, your orgasm ripping your body to shreds from the sheer intensity of it.

You stay lying there for a while, him still inside of you, your arms wrapped around him, as his head rests against yours. Gently, he rolls off to the side, pulling you into his and kissing you deeply. You sigh in pure bliss as he kisses you, resting your hand up his sweaty torso, following the movement of his breaths.

“I think we might’ve overcooked, possibly even burnt, the food,” he whispers in your hair, and you feel him smile.

“Worth it to me, was it not to you?” You tease, kissing him again.

“I’m hurt you would even question it, my beautiful girl,” his reply sending butterflies through your stomach as he kisses you back with infinite softness.

You are lost in the moment, wishing you could forever just kiss this God’s lips.

Taglist : @kingtwhiddleston

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#loki x you #loki smut #marvel #natahsa romanoff #mcu #marvel fanfic series #reader insert #green dress #green dress a story about loki #tom hiddleston #avengers #sam wilson

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

Text

Irreverent Pt. 58 - Golden Age

Title: Irreverent Pt. 58 - Golden Age

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~5K

Irreverent Series Masterlist

You stare at the closed door to McKinney's office, shifting once again in the seat. You'd been there for what felt like hours, though reasonably speaking it was closer to thirty minutes. Beside you, Aaron sat stoically calm, his shoulders pressed to the chair, back straight. He eyes you when you shift and reaches out, placing a hard on yours that was sat against the armrest. You meet his eyes for a second, knowing he was simply trying to calm the anxiety in your bones. It was no use – your gaze wanders back to the heavy closed oak door once more.

You'd arrived at McKinney's office early that morning, as directed to in the email sent by Gladys. Both Rossi and Aaron had received similar instructions and when you'd arrived, Gladys had waved Rossi into the room, stating that the Director would like to speak to him on his own first, and asked you and Aaron to take a seat.

You knew that McKinney and Rossi went way back. They'd done training together and worked in organized crime for a couple years before going their separate ways. You can only imagine that McKinney wanted Rossi's take on Pierce's take down and to perhaps run his ruling for you by someone whom he trusted and who would be able to comment on you personally. That was your hope, at the very least.

You knew Aaron thought the same as you, because he hadn't seemed put out by being told to wait. He too recognized that McKinney not delivering judgment against you in one fell swoop could only be a good thing. It meant he was thinking it over, getting other opinions. He'd had time to evaluate through the course of events and the idea was that he would see greater value in keeping you – see that everything you'd done had been strategic and purposeful.

Gladys had directed you both towards the coffee in the little waiting area outside the office, which you'd both politely declined. Now she was clattering away against the keyboard and fielding pretty much nonstop phone calls.

You turn your stare from the door, back to Aaron, whose eyes are fixed on you. He prompts you with a slight raise of his eyebrows, his hand still blanketing yours, thumb running back and forth soothingly.

"We should take another vacation," you whisper conspiratorially, speaking as though the idea of you two going on vacation together might scandalize someone listening in.

He bites back a smile but you can see the amusement dance across his eyes. He knows you're trying to distract yourself. Your shoulders are still taut and you've barely glanced away from McKinney's door since the two of you sat down. "Where'd you have in mind?" he asks, leaning down towards you and matching your covert tone. If a distraction was what you needed, then he'd play along.

"Bora Bora is nice this time of year. Hawaii maybe. Somewhere tropical with a childcare center," you joke, easily planting images of you and him on a beach by yourselves into Aaron's head.

"Better yet, an adults only resort," he smirks back, sitting straight once more, his eyes facing straight.

You're the one who has to bite back the smile now. He'd responded with barely a glance at you. Onlookers might've thought he'd commented on the weather. Only you could guess at the thoughts running through his mind right then – waves and sand, you in skimpy bathing suits, the two of you alone without having to worry about waking Jack up...

God it had been forever.

You can feel yourself become heated and have to stop that train of thought short, reminding yourself that you're still seated outside the Director's office, awaiting what is at best a disciplinary hearing and at worst a dismissal notice.

"We'll go," he promises, squeezing your hand gently.

You nod, leaning against his shoulder ever so slightly before straightening back up once more. Aaron had been quiet that morning, which you're chalking up to the solemnity of the occasion. The previous night had been quite a lot and you know that you're both still feeling a bit raw from it all. Better – in many ways. Stronger too. However that didn't mean that you expect everything to be washed away overnight. You imagine there's quite a few more conversations like that in your future. The work needed to help you both feel whole once more.

Already, you feel his eyes on you a lot more than ever before. Trained on you when you leave a room. Searching yours when you enter. Eyes trailing over the length of you. Ensuring that you're alright. Making sure that you're safe. Confirming that you're there.

*------------*

The door to McKinney's office opens and you both watch as Rossi exits. He turns to the both of you, obviously in attempt to speak, but before he can, he's directed by Gladys towards the door taking him outside of McKinney's lobby. Following her instructions, he walks out, nodding at both you and Aaron, his face betraying nothing.

"Agent Hotchner, the Director will see you now."

At Glady's instruction, Aaron stands rebuttoning the bottom button of his jacket, and with a quick, reassuring smile towards you, strides through the doors to McKinney's office, closing the door behind him.

"Agent Hotchner," Director McKinney stands to greet him, motioning towards the chair in front of his desk.

"Director."

Aaron takes a seat, sitting up incredibly straight, shoulders rigidly tense. He knows that McKinney asking to speak to him before he speaks to you has certain implications. Implications which, he fears, don't bode well if McKinney's goal is to prod at you choosing to reach out to him and the team rather than your direct supervisor on the project. If you would go around him once, chances are, you'd do it again.

Try as he might, Aaron hasn't been able to determine what exactly McKinney aims to get from speaking with him first. He hadn't been your superior on the assignment. Your personal relationship with him effectively negated anything Aaron could say in your favor.

"Aaron, I will cut straight to the chase." McKinney speaks authoritatively and plainly, his eyes focused on Aaron, betraying nothing of what he's thinking. Even to an experienced profiler such as himself. "Agent L/N broke numerous rules regarding the chain of command, defied security clearance protocols, and acted alone – entirely against Bureau training and procedure."

Aaron stays silent. McKinney hadn't said anything that wasn't true and they both knew it.

"However," McKinney continues, "I must concede that she drew results and ultimately is the reason why the threat to the Atlantis program was eliminated."

Aaron offers only a short nod in response, choosing to hold everything else close to his chest until required otherwise.

McKinney shuffles, placing his hands on the table and leaning in closer. "If this was one of your agents – and you did not share the personal relationship that you do in this situation – what would you do in my position?"

There it was.

Aaron would like to think that Director McKinney was being sincere in asking him. That asking him wasn't some sort of trick question, aimed towards discrediting you.

With a quiet shift, Aaron meets McKinney's gaze head on, and begins to speak slowly. "Director, I've made the mistake before of not trusting one of my agents. I vowed to never make that mistake again. Agent L/N, she's proven – time and again – that she makes the right decisions, no matter the complicated subject matter or the potential personal nature of the circumstances."

Aaron stops there. Less was more. He wanted to make sure whatever he said to McKinney would be impactful. Display the full breadth of his faith in you.

McKinney has a thoughtful look on his face as he contemplates Aaron's words.

In the silence that follows, Aaron's eye is drawn to the Director's American flag pin on the left jacket collar. He's never seen without it. While Directors in the past have worn the pin for formal events – public speeches, Congressional hearings, White House balls – McKinney is always seen with his. Aaron recalls in the early days, when McKinney had first taken the reins, the pin used to be different. It used to be a pin of the Bureau seal. Sometime after the events of September 11th, it had changed. Replaced by the American flag pin, proudly displayed no matter where he went.

Aaron sees McKinney's shoulders move up and then back down as the man releases a large breath, nodding as he does, seemingly having reached some sort of conclusion. Aaron is at a loss to determine which conclusion that might be.

He doesn't share his thoughts with Aaron.

"I've forwarded the video that Agent Garcia shared, on to the Director of Interpol," McKinney informs him. "They will be conducting an internal investigation. Agent Easter has already been stripped of all privileges and is currently on a suspension until further determinations regarding his negligence on the Atlantis case along with the results of the internal review can be made."

Aaron's glad to hear that Easter wouldn't be getting away entirely scot free. He has a strong feeling that, had things not happened exactly the way that they did, you wouldn't have reported Easter for what he did to you. Aaron – fortunately or unfortunately – knows you well enough to realize that there was a small part of you that considered what Easter had done, to be some sort of favor to you. Making you understand what was at stake. Preparing you for the worst. He doesn't need to hear you admit to it, in order to know that. Anything he said to the contrary would only result in you doubling down and insisting, that without him threatening Jack and Aaron, you might not have realized exactly how grave of a danger your role could pose to them.

You could be quite maddening in what you chose to direct your fury at. Easter lying to you was unforgiveable. Him torturing you – apparently par for the course.

"Thank you." Aaron nods his gratitude to McKinney, knowing that he is also being effectively dismissed as the Director moves to stand.

Standing as well, Aaron meets McKinney's outstretched hand across the table, shaking it quickly, before turning away and exiting the room.

*------------*

The door closes behind you with a heavy thud.

Aaron had nodded you in towards McKinney's office, electing to ignore Gladys's gesture to exit via the lobby and taking your recently vacated seat. He wasn't about to leave. He'd be there, waiting for you.

"Good morning Director." You offer a small smile and nod your greeting to McKinney, taking the seat in front of his desk.

Your shoulders are pulled back straight, you're meeting his unreadable gaze head on. Aaron hadn't been able to provide any insight into McKinney's thoughts before you were ushered in, so there you sat, awaiting the gauntlet.

You're fairly convinced McKinney will fire you. Aaron disagrees but you've had the unshakeable apprehension in your bones, that's grown into a nebula of dread. No matter your brave words to Aaron about saying no to Director Richards' offer and taking a break if you were indeed terminated, the actual thought of being dismissed is terrifying. What on earth would you even do? There were only so many bake sales to host and field trips to chaperone before you went postal.

"How are you doing?" he asks, leaning back in his chair and appraising you.

You feel McKinney's eyes run over you in an inspecting manner, lingering on your face. You know him well enough to recognize this as genuine concern on his behalf. Garcia had mentioned that she'd sent him the video they'd all seen of what Clyde had done to you. You're aware that McKinney would shoulder some of the blame for that on himself.

"Better," you answer cautiously, figuring that was close enough to the truth without being a mere perfunctory response.

He eyes you once more, letting the quiet wash over you both, forcing you to linger in that awkward tension of being examined by him. The seconds go by, marked by the loud click of the seconds hand on the clock mounted to the wall.

Deciding that he'd made you suffer long enough, McKinney leans in again, fingers interlaced on top of the desk carefully, deep set eyes focused on you alone. "So, you have a job offer from Artie?"

Who the hell was Artie?!

At the confused look on your face, he clarifies, "Director Richards – Arthur and I go back. Did you know that?"

You can see the suppressed smirk hidden beneath a veneer of professionalism as McKinney leans back in the chair once more, having left you to silently ponder at the incredulity of anyone referring to Director Richards as Artie and the sheer surprise at McKinney knowing about the job offer. When you'd considered them speaking, you hadn't thought that Richards would mention that. Though, it made sense. Tell your current boss that you have another offer. Make you look bad to McKinney, as though you'd been soliciting an offer from the CIA. Ensure that you'd want to leave for the Agency instead, by souring your relationship with McKinney.

"You call Director Richards…Artie?" It was the only thing you could think of to say, at a loss for much else.

"You think you're the only one he takes to fancy French restaurants?" This time, McKinney's words are accompanied by a real smile, one that you can't help but return.

*------------*

Aaron starts when the door to McKinney's office reopens and you exit. He'd had his gaze locked on the door ever since you disappeared behind it, anxiously awaiting the final decision. Despite his relatively good meeting with the Director, he didn't know what to expect as the outcome.

Your eyes lock with his, your expression entirely unreadable. Silently, you motion towards the exit with your eyes, the message clear. Whatever happened, you two wouldn't be discussing it there.

Aaron quickly stands, nodding towards McKinney's assistant when she looks up at the movement. He's quick to follow you as you make your way down the hallway, deftly moving past anyone in the hallways. He's loathe to ask what happened. The journey from McKinney's office has his heart beating fast, as he reckons with what news could have led to you moving through the hallways at such a pace, him struggling to keep up as you maneuver through a break room full of people, finally arriving at an unused office, into which you slip with him close behind.

You wait for him to enter, before shutting the door while he turns to look towards you. You've turned as well, back pressed against the door when Aaron finally has the chance to assess you properly.

Your eyes dart around the room, not meeting his. Your lips are pressed together.

Aaron feels the pit in his stomach tighten into a lead ball, weighing him down. It would be alright, he reminds himself. He had known you being let go was a possibility. The two of you have planned for this.

He releases a deep breath before he speaks. "What did McKinney say?"

Your tongue peaks out, running over your lips as you tilt your head to meet his eyes finally. Apprehension exuding from you as you nervously fidget with your hands. He sees you force yourself to swallow before you reply.

"He told me that I can hand in my official resignation from the BAU to you."

Aaron closes his eyes. He had thought, after his conversation with McKinney, that the Director had no intention of letting you go. He'd never been quite so off on reading someone.

Opening his eyes, he looks deep into yours. "Alright," he nods, attempting to reassure you as well as himself. "We knew this could happen." Already a thousand different scenarios are playing in his head – telling the team, next steps for you, what you're going to want to do after you grow tired of the break, maybe he needs to take a step back as well…

"We can appeal it, sweetheart," he reminds you. The two of you had discussed that as a possible option as well. He walks towards you, wanting nothing more than to hold you close to him again. "We can appeal – Rossi, Morgan, hell even Strauss would put in a good word for you. McKinney's word isn't final, and – "

Aaron breaks off his mile a minute speech, distracted at the sight of a smile twitching at your lips. Why were you smiling?

"He told me to hand in my letter of resignation to the BAU," you repeat yourself as he falters, trying to understand what you're saying. He asked you to give him the letter of resignation from the BAU…

"I'm getting my own team, Aaron," you whisper, as if you could scarcely believe it yourself.

You were getting your own team. You were getting…your own team.

"You're getting – " His mouth can't seem to quite get the words out as he watches your face split into a grin that his is slow to mirror.

Of all the possibilities that you'd considered, this had hardly been one of them.

"I'm getting my own team," you repeat, eyes focused fully on him. You have the largest smile he's ever seen on your face. He can feel that pit replaced by this bouncy feeling in his chest as he looks at your face –the bubble of the moment broken by the laughter and squeal that follows as he sweeps you into his arms.

This was good.

You were happy.

*------------*

"I think this is the last box," Aaron says, striding into your office, eyeing you cautiously as you're balanced atop your chair, trying to hang up some of the frames with your certificates on the wall.

You mutter a quick thank you, concentrating on hammering the nail in without hurting yourself by falling off of the wheeled chair. Aaron moves to start putting the books he'd brought up into the bookshelves, hovering close to you in case you did end up slipping.

It had been a week since McKinney had offered you your own team as a counter to Richards' offer from the CIA. Turns out, as long as you get results, the government tends to look the other way when you break any number of clearance regulations. Your conversation with McKinney in his office that day had been entirely centered around what he could do to ensure that you stay with the Bureau.

Intelligence and Threat Assessment, or the ITA, was a group within the Bureau that examined any number of domestic and international threats, analyzed changing political spheres, and partnered with the Justice Department, Congress, and external organizations to spearhead the American democratic manifesto. In short, that was the group that determined who was and wasn't an enemy.

McKinney had offered you your own team within that umbrella to tackle special cases that rose to the level of further assessment by or direct involvement of the Bureau. The sight of your name, followed by the words Unit Chief would never get old.

You'd had a busy week, settling back into regular life, catching up with everyone, and ensuring that you were spending time with Jack and Aaron once more. In that time, you'd also put out the word that you were building a new team and connected with the Bureau Human Resources department. Interviews were being set up. Thankfully you had one team member picked out – from your office, you can see the bullpen where your team will sit, Anderson's desk the only one occupied so far.

"So Strauss is retiring," Aaron comments idly, opening yet another box of items for you to decorate your office with.

You hum, encouraging him to continue, as you carefully get off the chair and grab one of the boxes, setting it on your desk. You'd long shed your blazer and the heels had come off ten minutes ago when Aaron had left to grab the last of the boxes. It was late anyways and you two were the last ones left, as you'd insisted on wanting to be all moved in so you could get a head start the following Monday. As soon as the two of you were done moving you into your new office, you couldn't wait to get home and sink into the tub.

"Rossi thinks it'll happen by the end of the month," he continues, handing you the box cutter you'd been searching for.

"Well, your only real competition could be external," you remark, handing him back the box cutter. You know that Aaron wouldn't have commented on Strauss's retirement if he wasn't considering the Section Chief position. With your new role keeping you closer to home a majority of the time, it would make your home life a lot more stable.

He makes a disbelieving sort of noise at your comment that has you smiling and rolling your eyes.

"Oh hush," you chide him, continuing to move things off of the box and into the shelf. "Now, if we have to consider the hiring committee for the position, then it'll be Wilson and Shaw – both of whom already like you – "

Aaron smiles as you start to lay out all the details for a role he's only mentioned in passing, but he knows that you will take entirely seriously. It's what you did. You planned and you executed and you achieved at a rate that was entirely remarkable.

" – Adams is a total pushover, and Rossi can probably help you out there –"

He smiles, nodding along to your strategizing, knowing you'd have Dave over for dinner soon enough and run Aaron's odds for getting the position by him and ensure that Dave would throw his weight around as needed.

"Davidson is the only one on the committee that'll pose any real issue, I suppose. I'm guessing you two haven't made nice yet after the Atlanta case?" You quirk a brow in his direction, asking a question that you already know the answer to. Really, it's your way of making sure he feels like he's part of the process, despite you being full systems ahead from the get go.

Aaron's forehead crinkles as he shakes his head.

"Yeah, I figured. Well, it's nothing to worry about. I heard from Lisa from research that he has a new girlfriend – one that drives his ex-wife entirely insane. Garcia can do some additional digging and get some more dirt."

He makes a face at you, which you elect to ignore, continuing on with your plan for targeted subterfuge.

"We can have them both over for dinner. I just got that new shipment from the Napa winery and we can ask Eric to cook for us again. He can make that dessert, and based on what Garcia manages to find, Davidson shouldn't be terribly difficult to persuade. After all, how could anyone not love you." You throw him a coquettish smile and wink, your arms laden with books that you'd lifted out of the box.

Aaron can feel himself grow warm – you tend to have that effect on him with only the smallest of gestures. The ever faithful butterflies, his constant companions in the early days of the two of you entering into this relationship, have infiltrated his stomach with a vengeance.

"Once you're Section Chief, we can figure out Department Chief next. Carlton won't be around forever," you forge ahead, intent now on your plan to launch his career to the next phase and the next after that. Pretty soon you'd be planning world domination with him by your side. You'd manage to convince him that it was alright because he'd be the one in charge and he makes good decisions so why wouldn't the entire world simply bow to his will. No matter how ridiculous the notion or how bizarre the proposition, your faith in him was unyielding.

Aaron reaches into his pocket, feeling the sharp edges of the box there. It's been on hand this entire week since your return, just waiting for him to find the right time. His heartrate picks up, his hand grasping the box tight.

Your back is still turned to him as you continue to arrange the books on your shelf in order of subject and size, going up on the tip of your toes to reach the top shelf as your voice carries on. Something regarding convincing Carlton that he would be well suited for a jump to the West Coast offices, leaving the pathway wide open for Aaron's surge to the top.

"Do you remember," he interrupts, watching you carefully, "a while back, you said something to me. Something along the lines of, Director Hotchner has a nice ring to it?" He does his best to keep his voice casual, regulate his breath as he speaks.

You pause, the memory of that afternoon flitting into your mind. So early in your relationship, back when you'd thought that maybe, that would be something appealing to a man like Aaron – ambitious and righteous, wanting to protect and serve at the highest of levels. That had been before – before you'd known, that for him, the BAU was the chance to put away monsters. It was a personal mandate that he couldn't disconnect himself from. Contending with the bureaucracy and politics that came with truly running the entire Bureau was not something that he found at all appealing. Despite all of your planning and machinations, you knew already that the best you could hope for with him would be Section Chief. He'd never leave the team further than that, no matter the number of steak dinners you served up.

"Yeah, what about it?" you ask, a bemused smile playing at your lips, wondering why he'd ask you that. He'd shot it down then, and you knew for a fact that it wasn't something he was about to begin entertaining now, despite the Section Chief role being a shift away from the BAU directly.

"I can't help but agree with you."

His voice was closer than it had been before, you can feel him right behind you. There's a prickling at the back of your neck, your brows furrowing in confusion as you attempt to decipher the meaning behind his cryptic words.

You turn, eyes widening at the sight in front of you.

Bent down on one knee, with the most beautiful ring in his hand. The gold in his eyes warm and sparkling for you. A hopeful smile on his face as he watches yours.

You could scarcely believe it as you struggle to meet his eyes, trying to string together something that sounded vaguely intelligible, while your lungs struggled to pull in enough air to keep you standing.

Your mouth feels dry and you have to force yourself to take a deep breath, licking your lips as you do. You push away the first question that comes to your mind – Are you sure? Of course he was. There was no doubting it. No doubting him.

When your eyes finally do meet his, your breath hitches, overwhelmed by the surrounding quiet, only the sound of your breath and your heart and the wondrous, exuberant buzzing of the sparks surrounding you in anticipation of the inevitable.

"You really think I'm going to be Director one day?" Your question is accompanied by an incredulous sort of laugh, the kind that causes his heart to skip a beat at the mere sound.

"I really do, sweetheart." His words carried with them a promise – he was pledging himself to you and anything you set out to achieve.

You feel yourself bound towards a feeling you haven't felt much as of late. Elation – that euphoric ecstasy that courses through your veins and causes your chest to beat wildly. You can do nothing but smile big and nod hard, for once, words completely failing you.

Aaron needs no further encouragement besides the sparkling note of your laugh, the effervescent joy of your nod as you reach for him and he rises. He's quick to slip the ring on your finger before his mouth meets yours, hands winding around his neck and pulling him as close as possible.

Hearts beating jubilantly in sync at the feel of his lips against yours and his arms around you, yours around him, and that persistent and everlasting feeling of belonging to one another in every manner possible.

When the two of you finally break apart, breathless, matching grins on both your faces, you can't help but ask. "How long has Jack known?"

He smiles, his eyes twinkling. "Since Paris."

You let out a breathless, short laugh. You can scarcely believe he'd been able to keep it from you that long. Though, looking back, a number of instances with Jack made a lot more sense now. The faint memory a shopping trip with him, sometime after Paris, when Jack had been quite taken with the window display of a wedding store.

"We might have to do a reenactment for him," Aaron jokes, keeping you close to him. He weaves his fingers through yours, admiring how the ring sits perfectly on your hand, sparkling just right in the light.

You laugh, tightening your hand in his. "Let's go home then."

Everything else could wait.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #irreverentseries #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #hotch x you #hotch x reader

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stxrrywildflower · 4 years

Text

family

pairing - bau team x teen!reader

summary - you never knew something so good could come out of something so bad

warnings - kidnapping, injuries, cursing

word count - ?

requested by @marvelxmendes

by the urgency of hotch’s message, the team knew they were in for a tough case.

another key factor in their suspicions was the fact that garcia was seated, not presenting the case. instead, hotch stood with the remote in his hand, a serious look on his face.

“four bodies have been found in indianapolis. all of the victims have been either teenagers or young adults. another person was just taken, nineteen year old victim. the time between the abductions and killings have been becoming shorter. wheels up in thirty,” hotch announced.

with that, the team grabbed their bags and took off to the airport. the flight over was spent reviewing the case and bouncing possible theories. emily and rossi were sent to talk to the victim of boy who was just taken. hotch and j.j. were due at the police station while morgan and spencer were going to the latest crime scene.

just hours into their individual assignment, the body of the latest victim was found. the unsub wasn’t slowing down and if anything, was becoming more and more violent.

examining the body was incredible difficult for everyone. the local police had all refused as the boy killed was very active in the local community. hotch and rossi remained at the station while the other agents headed out to the crime scene.

“victim was david mitchell. he was staying with his mom. she worked almost all day,” one of the cops informed.

“well the unsub is obviously going after people who are alone. makes it a lower risk,” morgan concluded.

after a few more minutes of examining the body, the team all headed back to the police station. they didn’t have a ton of information to go off of. all they knew was that they needed to act quickly or else more people would die.

____

stepping into your home, you used your foot the close the door behind you as your arms were filled with groceries. the only sound throughout the house was your shoes scuffing against the floor.

you were only 17 and a senior in high school. your parents ‘worked’ leaving you alone almost all of the time. they had people check in on you and showed up sometimes, making it semi-legal. it had started a year and a half ago. you were shocked at how quickly you adjusted to being alone all the time. honestly, it didn’t feel much different then when they were actually around.

as you turned on the tv to the local news station, you began putting the groceries away. “in regards to the recent murders, the fbi have arrived and are working with the police to catch this criminal. all residents are advised to be on the look out for any suspicious activity and keep their doors locked at all times,” one of the reporters spoke. you peered around the doorway, double checking that your doors were in fact locked.

once you put everything away, you headed upstairs to your room. in an hour, you were due to meet a classmate for a study session. if you were being honest, you didn’t really need a whole study session. you were already accepted to georgetown in washington d.c. for college with a pretty large scholarship. however, you were always willing to help someone study.

it was when you opened your closet and looked in the mirror that you noticed the presence of a figure in the corner of your room. you could barely turn around before the masked figure was rushing towards you. his hand clamped over your mouth. “you scream, i take this knife and stab you. you hear me?” he whispered harshly.

tears began to flow freely down your cheeks. in an effort to save yourself, you bit down on his hand hard. the man was wearing latex gloves allowing for you to tear through them. a metal taste was then in your mouth, letting you know that you had broken the skin.

the man clutched his now bleeding hand, allowing for you to slip out of his grasp. you took off running towards the door. just as you thought you would finally be able to escape, a sharp pain in your shoulder stopped you.

you fell to the ground, screaming as you clutched your shoulder. the man pulled the knife out of your body just as you fell. “fucking bitch,” the man spat. he then raised his foot and kicked you hard in the head, knocking you unconscious.

the local police chief rushed in, clutching a phone in his hand. the teams eyes all darted up. “we think the unsub may have another girl. a local student just called in about y/n y/l/n. they were supposed to study together but y/n never showed,” he informed everyone. “she could have just forgotten,” morgan offered.

“y/n isn’t like that. kid’s had a tough life. but, she’s a straight-a student, set to be valedictorian, and always helps any kids who need help. hell, she’s even helped my son in math,” the chief replied.

“tough life?”

the chief nodded, “her parents work almost all the time. they pop in every once in awhile but y/n is basically on her own. friends and neighbors always check in on her to make sure she’s okay.”

“all right, we’ll all head over to her house. try and find out anything we can. it’s the only lead we have right now,” hotch ordered.

after arriving at your house, the team exited their cars and made their way up to the front door. j.j. stepped forward, knocking on the door. they waited all of two minutes before agreeing to enter. suprisingly, the door was unlocked, adding to the teams growing suspicion of your kidnapping.

spencer, morgan, and emily all headed up the stairs while the other three agents took the first floor. “we have blood!” morgan called as soon as he entered the bedroom. the team regrouped upstairs. blood was on the floor right by the door.

“signs of struggle,” emily spoke as she kneeled down, “it’s fresh.”

“well we know the percentages of kidnappings with minors. take a room and find out more about y/n’s life,” hotch once again gave out orders.

j.j. and emily found themselves in the hallway leading to the living room. “look, there’s no family photos. not even any in the past. all of them are of y/n, her friends, and then accomplishments,” j.j. pointed out.

that was common throughout the house. every room had the basic furniture but but besides that, it didn’t feel like a true home. even your room was incredibly bare. “hey look at this,” emily called, taking one of the frames off the wall.

“an acceptance letter to georgetown. practically a full ride,” emily said as she handed the frame over. “what have you two got?” rossi asked, entering the room. “she’s incredibly smart. already had plans for college. other than that, this house lacks any family value.”

“same for upstairs. everything has been modified for a single person living here,” rossi added.

“we need to find her,” j.j. blurted, her heart already aching for you. obviously, with the fact that you were currently in the hands of a killer but also with your current life. growing up with parents barely in your life was tough, no doubt. by the looks on the faces of the team, they all felt the same way.

when you woke up, your entire body ached. your head was pounding, no doubt from being knocked unconscious with a swift kick to the head. through your blurred vision, you managed to make out your surroundings. the room itself is was a simple square, no windows with concrete floors and walls. you were tied a metal chair which was then bolted to the ground.

naturally, you began to thrash around. you instantly regretted it as your shoulder began to throb once again, the stab wound still bleeding slightly. the ropes that retrained your hands grinder against your skin, creating burns on your skin. your body felt like it was on fire.

“don’t get to comfortable girl,” a new woman called, making you jump slightly, “the fun hasn’t even started.”

the team worked almost nonstop for three days. for a short period of time, they had thought the unsub had already killed you. however, they had received a lock on your hair, letting them know that you were in fact alive.

it was around 10pm when they had a break in the case. garcia had been doing excessive digging and somehow managed to find a warehouse. it was only secluded location in the area which was the best lead they had. after putting on their vests, the team quickly got into their cars and began the drive.

your head hung loosely, no strength was left in you to even pick it up. your eyes were slits, only open enough to see the floor below you. the once grey color was now stained red from blood. some areas were slightly darker, due to the fact that you were practically waterboarded. the stab wound in your shoulder was even worse now. hours ago, you had lost feeling in it entirely.

it turns out you were taken by a man but he was apart of a pair. the man had sat back and watched while the woman tortured your excessively. she only showed up for a few hours while the man stayed with you 24/7.

various cuts, some shallow and some deep, littered your body. a concussion was already inevitable, as you have had one since the first day you had been taken. your left wrist was no doubt broken. the woman had decided to experiment with hammers. your hand was the first thing she hit.

when the sirens had began blaring outside the warehouse, the mans face shifted to panic before completely changing back. “one more for good measure,” he smirked, grabbing a large knife from the rack. suddenly, he plunged the knife into your side. thankfully, he didn’t hit any major organs. blood gushed out of the wound, now soaking your shirt. you couldn’t even cry out, all you could do was hope that the sirens got to you in time.

a cloth was harshly placed over your mouth before being tied around the back of your head, silencing you. the man then pulled your hair, bringing your head up to face the door. “they may get me but they will never get her,” he whispered harshly. your eyes widened at knowing your one kidnapper would still be at large.

the doors suddenly slammed open. two women rushed in, one blonde the other with dark hair, along with two men, one extremely muscular and the other as skinny as a twig. the cold metal tip of a gun was pressed into the side of your head. fear coursed through you.

“put it down,” the muscular man ordered.

the gun was jammed further against your head. pain exploded as your already damaged head was hurt yet again. the muffled discussion between the fbi agents and the man went on for a few more moments.

finally, the man stepped back. you thought that it would be over and you would finally be saved. however, the man pulled the trigger, sending a bullet towards the agents.

the bullet wizzed passed your ear, creating a ringing that no doubt made your ears bleed. another wave of pain exploded from your left ear as well as your head. turns out that the bullet had grazed your ear and head, making more blood flow. another gunshot sounded, the man behind you dropping dead.

the realization that you almost just died finally set in. your eyes widened once again as your breathing became heavier and faster. the one blond woman rushed over and went to untie your legs. a burst of adrenaline came over you as you did everything in your power to push her away. when the cloth around your mouth dropped, you let out a loud sob as tears freely flowed down your cheeks.

“get away, get away!” you screamed as you jerked around.

the blonde woman’s face fell. she stepped back to stand by the other woman. hesitantly, the two male agents stepped forward.

“hey, i’m agent morgan and this is doctor reid. i’m going to take this ropes off of you. is that okay?” morgan asked. you nodded, pressing your lips together. as morgan went to begin to untie the ropes, reid kneeled down beside you.

“help is on the way. but now i need you to breath with me,” reid started, motioning with his hands to get you to follow his breathing pattern. you did as he said, your eyes still continuing to dart around the room. “he can’t hurt you anymore,” reid reassured you.

you jumped again. “p-” was all you could get out before a series of coughs racked your body. your uninjured hand clutched your side. morgan kneeled down beside reid. “what?” he asked.

“partner,” you slurred, eyes finally closing as you fell unconscious.

the second you passed out, morgan and reid immediately went into action. morgan layed your body to lie on the floor as he started applying pressure to your hip. spencer moved your head into his lap, his knee against your shoulder to help with the injury there while his hands were pressed against your head. “you think she has a head injury?” morgan asked.

spencer nodded, “definitely.” meanwhile, emily and j.j. rushed outside to find hotch and rossi. “unsub is dead. y/n is hurt pretty bad but she mentioned a partner,” emily informed the other two agents. “it’s most likely a woman. she freaked out when i went near her but are much better with reid and morgan,” j.j. added, “most likely a dominant and submissive type.”

the ambulance pulled in a minute later. the emt’s rushed in, your body being placed on a stretcher and moved out of the building quickly. the team regrouped outside of the warehouse, all at a stand still on what to do.

“alright, emily and i will head back to the police station. you four go to the hospital. we’ll need to interview y/n after she is treated,” hotch ordered. from there, they all went there separate ways.

at the hospital, you were rushed into a quick surgery to repair both your hand, and stitch up the stab wounds as well as the other cuts on your body. it only took three hours after your initial admission for you to be back to your room and set to wake up any minute.

the four agents stood outside of your room, glancing in through the window to where you were. “poor kid,” morgan spoke. “have you had any contact with her parents?” reid asked from his seat.

j.j. shook her head, “yes and no. the first time i called when she was first taken they didn’t even pick up. just now they did answer but said they wouldn’t come home.”

rossi scoffed at that answer. “can’t that be classified as child neglect?” the senior agent questioned. “she isn’t 18 yet, not a legal adult,” morgan piped in.

“all i know is that y/n can’t be under their care anymore,” rossi concluded.

“what are you thinking?”

rossi shrugged, “not sure yet. we just need to wait for her to wake up. then we can talk.”

twenty minutes later, you began to stir. in an instant, nurses entered your room, changing out your iv’s and helping you wake up properly. they left you alone for a few minutes before the team would come in, no doubt to interview you.

you toyed with the fabric of your hospital blanket as the door opened. in walked morgan and reid since they were the most familiar. “hey y/n, how are you feeling?” reid asked.

“whatever they gave me is helping. thanks for saving me,” you smiled slightly. “it’s what we do. now there’s two of our agents outside. they aren’t going to hurt you. is it alright is they come in two?” morgan asked, his voice soft.

nodding, you adjusted yourself so you were sitting up better. the woman from before and an older man were the next in your room. “hi y/n, i’m emily and this is dave,” she introduced. you instantly felt a lot more comfortable around the people in your room. your eyes flickered down to your casted hand before looking back up.

“what do you want to know?” you asked quietly.

“what can you tell us about the woman who hurt you?” emily asked. you visibly flinched when she mentioned the woman. “i think her name is ashlyn. i overheard them talking. she-” you got choked up slightly. after taking a deep breath, you continued, “she did most of the beating and torture. he just stayed with me and watched.”

rossi sat down in the chair by your bed. “we are going to do everything in our power to find her. i promise,” he spoke. “you promise?” you questioned. “i promise,” rossi reassured you.

you were released from the hospital the next day. the team was still in town as the second unsub had yet to be caught. j.j. was in the room with you while you were getting ready to go. the memories were still slightly blurry but you had apologized profusely about screaming at her. the profiler and brushed it off, saying that it was okay. just after slipping your t-shirt on, you turned to the woman.

“my parents?” you asked.

“i tried calling them-,” j.j. started. as soon as you heard her words, you broke down. “of course they’re not here,” you seethed. j.j. shot you a sympathetic look. “they’re never here. i need them and they leave me in the fucking dust!” you yelled, allowing yourself to curse them out.

you collapsed against the bed as you began sobbing. all your emotions combined with everything that had happened in the last few days came out. j.j. stepped forward hesitantly, moving to sit beside you much to your suprise, she hugged you. you rested your forehead on her shoulder, feeling instant comfort from having someone there for you.

back at your home, reid and morgan stayed with you with the other agents visiting and checking up on you. hotch was the one you had seen the least. after introducing himself, he had to leave pretty quickly due to something about the case.

it was almost two in the morning when you were gently shook awake. with tired eyes, you turned on your lamp to see morgan and reid already dressed and putting on their vests.

“did you find her?” you asked, incredibly hopeful.

morgan nodded, “we have a lead. we all need to be there though. but i do have someone for you to talk to while we are gone.” you shot the agent a questioning look as he handed you a phone. “hello?” you spoke tentatively.

“oh my gosh hi sweetie! my names penelope. derek has been telling me a ton about you,” the woman on the other end greeted.

you instantly smiled at penelope’s voice. as the two of you began talking, morgan and reid slipped out of the room.

when they returned, you were in the kitchen, still talking to penelope and getting a glass of water. “we got her,” reid revealed. you gasped, your hand moving up to your mouth. as a natural reaction, you hugged the agent as a thank you.

you were now finally safe.

the team stayed in town for two more days. they may have lied a bit to do their paperwork there but the real reason was to keep an eye on you. when it was time for time for them to depart, you had almost cried.

after hugging each agent individually, you stepped back onto the foyer of your home, rubbing your fingers over your cast. rossi, however, remained behind. you turned towards the older man, confusion written over your face.

“are you staying?” you asked.

he nodded, “i have a few vacation days. the doctor didn’t recommend leaving you alone.” deep down, you were greatful for his presence.

one night, after a traditional italian dinner, rossi sat you down. “i know this is a sensitive topic for you but we need to talk about it,” he started, “you cannot he under the care of your parents anymore. it’s child neglect and you are not safe there. now, you’re almost 18 and heading to washington d.c. in just a few months. how would you feel about being put under the care of one of us on the team?”

after noticing your slight uneasiness with the question, rossi spoke up again, “i know you’ve only known us for a short period of time but i’m going to be honest. we don’t get cases involving teenagers a lot. we just want you to be safe.”

tears welled up in the corner of your eyes. you couldn’t help it honestly. knowing that there were people out there that actually wanted you to be safe and take care of you made you extremely emotional. “i would love that,” you concluded.

____

the team is as incredibly active in your life from that moment on.

they had suprised you at your graduation, cheering for you as your name was called and after your valedictorian speech. when the official procession was over, you had practically ran over to them, accepting hugs from all.

a week after that, you were put officially under rossi’s care. your birthday wasn’t for another two months making the process easier. with the information presented to the jury, it was no doubt that your parents were deemed unfit to take care of you anymore. you cried when the judge had made it official, hugging rossi over and over as you thanked him.

just two weeks later, you had packed up your things and made the official move to washington d.c. the house remained under your parents name. all you packed was all of your clothes, personal items, and toiletries. there wasn’t a single thing in that house that was yours.

when rossi showed you your room with the promise that you could decorate it anyway you wanted, you hugged him once again. it almost felt like you were starting over and you were extremely thankful for that.

despite him and the team being away often for cases, rossi has always called to check up on you. team dinners became more and more frequent with you meeting the teams extended family also. you eventually became the go to babysitter for henry and jack.

sure there were countless nights you had woken up crying, memories about your kidnapping coming back to you. rossi or whoever was around was always there to comfort you and help you calm down. the past two months were a mess but having the team by your side to celebrate all of your little victories and help you overcome your challenges almost made it all better.

they were your family after all.

#criminal #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #derek morgan #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #jennifer jareau #david rossi #penelope garcia #teen reader #bau team #bau team x teen reader

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need-a-fugue · 3 years

Text

Trustworthy (Chapter Two)

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years teaming up with Santiago Garcia on every mission you had a hand in coordinating… and the past several months plotting with him to take down the biggest bad to hit your radar. But even all your time at the DEA and all your experience in the field couldn’t have prepared you for this.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (slow burn)

Warnings: Language... shitty language. And maybe sheer size? This one’s nearly 6,000 words... I may have gotten a little carried away. 😬

It began as a drunken joke, a flippant what if…

“If no one else is gonna do it,” you’d slurred out, voice barely above a whisper despite the cantina being utterly empty aside from the two of you, “we should take the motherfucker out ourselves.”

He’d laughed at the time, and promptly cut you off before insisting on walking you home. He helped you along the uneven streets of Leticia, held back your hair as you blew chunks into a dark alley, even slept on your couch that night just to make sure you didn’t die in your sleep. That’s what he told you, anyway. But you suspected that Santiago stuck around that night because he just couldn’t get your words out of his head.

You hadn’t been so drunk that you’d failed to notice the way he went eerily silent following your seemingly ludicrous suggestion. You hadn’t been so far gone that you’d missed the sudden glint to his eyes, nor the crooked smile that wrapped around his face as you said the words, “I want Lorea dead.”

That next morning, he brought it up casually, asking – before you even had the chance to brush your teeth – if you remembered what you’d said. When you told him you remembered every part, he simply told you to go on, nodding slowly along as you dove headfirst into a painfully impulsive proposal, your words still tinged with a lingering, drunken idealism. You spilled out the disparate thoughts you’d been harboring for months, if not longer – the ones that together formed little more than the ill-conceived beginnings of a damn stupid plan – only to discover that they were precisely in line with what he’d been contemplating as well.

By the end of the week, you were introducing him to your longtime informant, a woman who’d worked for Lorea in some capacity for years. A gorgeous woman, whom you’re almost entirely certain Santi fell into bed with later that same night. And after just a few months of nearly constant off-the-record investigating – both of you becoming utterly consumed by the thought of bringing Lorea down – that crazy, ridiculous, fucked-up joke you’d made had become a highly illegal, morally questionable, might-just-get-you-fired-and-thrown-into-a-federal-prison plot for ending the reign of one of the premier drug traffickers in South America.

You’d started it. There was no denying that. You’d started the whole damn thing.

For nearly three years, you fought the good fight with Santiago Garcia down in Colombia. He was one of just a handful of people there whom you trusted. He actually was one of just a handful of people there you even really knew.

If you ever got to chose an advisor to head up a mission, he’d be it. Any raid that fell within your purview, he’d help to organize. Intel was slow in coming, CIs dropping off, bosses telling you not to leave Leticia and to remember to stay in your lane? No problem. Garcia to the rescue.

He was able to operate largely independently – unlike poor, bound-by-the-rules-and-regulations-of-the-DEA you. Local cops and the surrounding military actually liked him and never balked at bringing him in, mostly because he was more than capable of playing along with their bullshit. Hell, he was so good at it, that for the first few months you knew him, he had you convinced that he either completely bought into the very obvious corruption surrounding that Amazonian paradise, or – if he really didn’t see it – he was dumber than a fucking box of rocks.

But Santiago Garcia never missed a damn thing. And while he might have seemed to have written off the actions of certain officials or the peculiarities you both encountered, he never ignored – nor forgot – the individuals he suspected of collusion. He was just smart enough to know when to act.

You, on the other hand, well, you never were very good at not calling people out. For all your life, if you saw something that seemed funky, you’d say something… immediately. If you ever suspected someone of lying, plotting, taking bribes, just plain being dirty, you’d raise an accusing finger high. Hell, that’s the main reason you got sent down to that southernmost point of the country, transferred away from what you saw as being the real goings-on, to simply help keep an eye on the drug runs taking place at the border.

Santiago taught you to quell your initial reactions of raising a stink when you believed something was amiss. He urged you to stop seeing the word in a never-ending list of black and white rules. He showed you how to keep from boiling over and calling people out, a thing that undoubtably kept you from getting yourself reassigned somewhere you’d be less of a nuisance… again.

He also fed you intel, shared specifics of his suspicions, and helped get you into military-run raids where DEA might otherwise have been shut out. And in the time in between – when you would normally just stalk around your small apartment all alone or perhaps stalk about the city… also all alone – he provided friendship, that not-so-tiny thing you’d been lacking ever since getting transferred from your post and away from the workmates and friends you’d had for years in Mexico.

He was fun and sharp-witted and outgoing, eager to make friends with just about anyone. He invited you out for drinks, dancing, into local card games. And though you often wondered why – did he feel sorry for you because the local police and military alike treated you like a damn leper? Was he trying to show others that you were alright, despite being a gringa DEA agent? Did he simply want to fuck you? – you’d be lying if you were to say that you didn’t feel damn lucky he’d stumbled into your life and forced his friendship upon you.

And how did you repay him? For all of the invites he’d extended, all the drinks purchased, all the intel he threw your way, all the military-run raids he somehow managed to get you in on? All of the trust and faith he invested in you?

You’d set him on a path to ruin.

000

The bar was much larger than you’d anticipated, the quick drive-by you did on your way to the motel earlier this afternoon making the freestanding structure – out in the middle of nowhere, like everything else in this Bumblefuck, USA town – appear small. Maybe it was because the massive parking lot dwarfed it. Maybe it was because you were only half awake, at best, and just didn’t notice the size of the place. Maybe it was because Santiago drove past it at 65 miles per hour, alerting you to it – that’s where we’ll meet up tonight – just as you flew by, allowing little more than a meager glimpse.

Regardless, you expected… less.

But the place is huge. There are two bars on either side of the sprawling building and tables flanking the wide-open center, which you could only imagine would at some point be flooded with drunken townies, eager to dance the night away.

When you first arrived – well over an hour ago – it had been just you and a handful of incredibly loud bros populating the place. You took off for the far bar, ordered yourself a drink, and slinked into a large table in a dark corner, eager to remain invisible until Santi arrived with his friends… his crack team. But – just as you’d come to expect from Garcia – he was nearly an hour late, and by the time he and his brothers-in-arms strolled in, you’d already been spotted by the douchebags at the bar and had to fight off the advances of two separate assholes, each of whom only approached you when making their way back from the bathroom.

“I’m sorry, bonita,” Santiago had proclaimed with a wide smile and a not-at-all-stifled laugh after you told him of your troubles. He turned to face the group of strangers at the bar, caught the glares of a few of them, and shouted over a simple dictate to, “Fuck off!”

And that had been the cap to your introduction to your new co-workers. They strode in, all smiles and laughter and blooming drunken glows, coming from what must have been a great fight night, undoubtably made all the better by being together once again, only to be forced to shake hands with you… a jetlagged stranger, washed out in the low light, obviously frazzled by having a guy fresh from the men’s room – who probably didn’t even bother to wash his hands – wrap an arm around your shoulder and tell you that the bathroom door locks… in case you wanted to check it out with him later.

They took your uncomfortable story in stride, exchanging pleasantries and apologizing again for their tardiness – well, Will apologized at least – before grabbing some drinks and then plopping down at the isolated table you’d chosen.

For a bit, the group of them just talk to one another, tying up loose ends to the conversations they’d been having before arriving. You catch snippets of nah, man, she’s gone… didn’t work out and do you have any idea how expensive kids’ soccer is? as their conversation flows around you, seemingly oblivious to your existence. For those first ten minutes or so – save Santiago’s paltry threat shouted across the bar and Benny’s rather flirtatious introduction – the whole team settles in around you and acts as though you aren’t even here at all.

The only exception during this time is the pilot, Frankie Morales – had Santi called him Fish? He keeps quiet as the others speak, cracking a smile at their comments every now and then, but mostly nursing his beer and awkwardly picking at the label in silence. Every so often, he steals a glance over at you, as if to say, yeah, I know you’re here. His eyes are warm and friendly despite the otherwise utterly unreadable expression planted on his face.

Maybe you’re simply intrigued by the fact that he’s the only one actively acknowledging your presence, or it could be that you’re just rather curious to figure out what his placid expression is hiding. Or perhaps you’re merely a fan of the subtle beauty that his sharp profile paints on the background of the dark, seedy bar. Whatever the reason, you find yourself not just staring but gazing at the man long after he looks away.

“So, shoot me straight,” Will says suddenly, nudging your shoulder and tearing into your thoughts as he turns to face you. Your eyes bounce wildly away from Frankie’s face, a heat creeping up your neck as you light on the patient smile of the man next to you. “That file… it’s your work, right?”

“Hey,” Santiago scoffs from across the table, leaning over to backhand his friend in the chest. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Will’s face cracks and a deep rumble of a laugh spills out of him as he bites out, “It’s good work. Too good to come from your sorry ass.”

Santi scoffs, his hand flying to his heart with a wounded quality. You simply shrug, small smirk perking your lips as you feel some of the initial tension of the gathering – and the strange concern that you might actually have somehow become invisible – finally start to lift. “He helped,” you say, tone coy.

“Oh, c’mon,” Santiago gripes, giving you a slightly irritated, definitely amused look. “Half that intel came from me. The PNC, Colombian military, they barely even acknowledge you’re there.”

You interrupt with a snort and a scathing, “Yeah… it’s really fucking annoying when people do that,” before choking down the rest of your beer.

If he understands the jibe about your current situation, he doesn’t let on, instead pushing his point that, “None of them would’ve given you jack shit.”

“And the one informant who actually got all this started?” you counter, accusing brow raised high. “Who’s informant was that?”

His face begins to blush, just a bit of redness seeping into his cheeks, as he reaches out to grab your empty bottle. “She was mine in the end,” he mutters, shoving back from the table and rising from his stool. “I’ll get the next round.”

“Yeah,” you call out after him. “You owe me more than just a beer for stealing my CI!”

“I’ll get you a shot too!” he throws over his shoulder, never looking back as he makes his way to the bar.

You turn back to the men surrounding you, each of them now eyeing you warily, and a part of you wants to go back to when they ignored your presence entirely. Tom – what did Santiago call him? Redfly? – is the first to break the awkward silence, ticking his chin in your direction. “So,” he starts before pulling a long breath in through his nose. “DEA.” He overenunciates each letter and states rather than questions your affiliation, despite there being an inquisitive – or is it accusing? – glint to his eye.

“Yeah,” you say with a lingering nod. “Yep. DEA.”

“They teach you about this kind of thing?” Will asks, his drawl deep and languid. You turn to look at him, the imposing man by your side, and feel your shoulders tighten all over again when you see that the stern expression he had worn when first shaking your hand has returned. But then something lightens, the corner of his mouth ticking up just a bit, his gaze softening as your eyes meet. You’re certain that he can sense the rise in tension, understands with just a glimpse of your face that you’re way out of your element here. Intimidated. Nervous. And while the softening of his countenance doesn’t wipe away your anxiety completely, you do at least appreciate the attempt.

Ben, the tall, younger man flanking your other side, must notice the unease building up inside you too. He leans in and bops you with his shoulder, a light, buoyant laugh bursting out of him. “Aw, hell,” he emits breathily. “Leave her alone. If Pope trusts her, she’s got to be good.”

“Not saying she’s not good,” Will intones, shooting you a quick wink that, oddly, really does manage to set you at ease. “Just wondering how much experience she has with ops like this.” His eyes start to sparkle as they lock onto yours once again. “So, sweetheart, you ever pull a recon mission deep in the jungle?”

You offer an evasive shrug and release a tightly held breath. “I got lost in a corn maze once. Had to find my way out on my own. Probably would’ve starved in there if I hadn’t had the presence of mind to bring a funnel cake in with me.”

On your left, Ben snorts out another laugh, and across the table you see Frankie try to maintain that straight, impassive face. But Will’s deadpan expression doesn’t shift in the least. “Well,” he says with a sigh, bringing his nearly empty beer bottle up to his lips. “I guess that is pretty damn close.”

“Ha, ha,” Tom mocks. He waits to go on until you look his way, and once you do he levels you with what can only be described as a fatherly stare – oddly disappointed and imploring, stern and warm all at the same time. “We’re all very glad to hear that you have a sense of humor.”

“Very glad,” Ben interjects with a wide grin.

“But,” he continues, “You’re not gonna go in there and be part of this unless you can convince us that you’re capable.”

Santiago’s voice cuts in then, sounding over the clink of beer bottles as he lays out the next round on the table. “She’s capable,” he states simply before sliding back into his seat next to Frankie. “We’ve been on…” he glances over at you, “how many raids now?”

“At least a dozen,” you answer.

He gives a firm nod and lets his eyes drift between the men at the table. “She’s done good every time. Stays outta the way, does what she’s told.”

Your brow wrinkles and tugs tightly together, deep frown taking over your face. “Jesus, Garcia. I’m not a fucking dog.” He gives a quick laugh, but says nothing, prompting you to defend yourself. “I’ve worked with military advisors for years. Most of my career has been spent working alongside foreign armies and police forces. I’m not just some kind of desk jockey, I promise you that.”

“This is different.” The words flow across the table, the deep rumble sliding just beneath the reverberating bass coming from the jukebox in the corner. You look up and lock onto Frankie’s eyes, note immediately the hesitancy building behind them. He raises his brows as he looks at you, almost into you, and says simply, “This isn’t a raid. This isn’t some amateur hour bullshit put on by the local cops. And you won’t have the military or CNP or the US government at your back if something goes wrong.”

You nod, wanting – for some inexplicable reason – to pull your gaze from him, but finding that you just can’t. “I know. I get that.”

“Do you?”

Santiago gives his friend a little shove, just enough to cause him to look his way, breaking the odd hold he has over you. “She’s a good shot,” he tells him, tells all of them. “And she’s done enough undercover work for me to know that she sure as shit can keep her head.” He looks over at you again – “I still don’t know how you managed to get out of that shit in the comuna last year.” – and then gives a wry little laugh as his head shakes absently.

“Alright,” Tom mutters just as he slams down an empty bottle and reaches over to grab a new one. “She follows orders and keeps her cool… at least we can work with that.”

Benny nudges you with his elbow and when you look up at him you’re met with the widest, sunniest of smiles – never mind the deep split in his lip from the fight that he claims to have won just a few hours prior. “Hear that? That’s just about the best kind of approval you’ll ever get from Redfly.”

“Approval?” Tom shoots across the table. His voice drops an octave as he aims a serious stare over at you. “I’m still not convinced that we can actually trust you.”

“Jesus,” Santi breathes out with an annoyed air. “You really think I’d bring her here… hell, you think I’d have put all this together with her if I didn’t think – know – that she can be trusted?”

He shrugs. “You haven’t really known her that long,” he mutters thickly, his expression slipping back into something wary as he folds his arms across his broad chest and falls into a speculative silence as he mulls over his friend’s words.

You watch him closely, trying to discern what exactly he’s thinking. But long before you’re able to draw any sort of conclusion, Benny bumps you with his shoulder again and says simply, “Don’t worry about it, darlin’. He’s onboard.”

There’s a part of you that balks at the darlin’, just as you had almost called Will out on his use of sweetheart. But the truth is – both times – the names are uttered with a casual, even reassuring, cadence that you’re certain holds no demeaning intent. And you’ve been in enough male-dominated circles over the years to be able to discern at least that much. Even the way Ben’s looking at you now – genuine grin and kind eyes – seems to hold no innuendo. So you let it slide.

“How long did it take him to trust you?” you ask, the tension in your shoulders lifting when a throaty chuckle bubbles out of him.

“Oh, I don’t know that he does. I don’t know if Tom really trusts anyone.”

A snort of a laugh rings from the other end of the table, surprisingly coming from the Doubting Thomas himself. “You’re so full of shit,” he mumbles as he sits back upright and grabs his beer. He takes a giant swig and tacks on for good measure, “Besides, nothing wrong with being… cautious. My being – ”

“A distrustful prick,” Santiago interjects brazenly.

“Whatever you want to call it,” he counters with a faux-saccharine lilt. “It’s saved all your asses more than a time or two. Hasn’t it?”

There’s a quick round of almost wistful snickers from nearly all the men, each seeming to light onto a particular memory, their gazes faltering and ticking briefly off towards nothing. The exception is Frankie, who simply stares down at the battered beer bottle in front of him, sticker half peeled off and clinging to his fingernails as he continues to work at it with a frown. “What about this informant of yours,” he says, low voice slicing into the newfound silence. He shifts nervous eyes over to the man at his right. “You’re sure she can be trusted?”

Without hesitation, Santiago nods. “I’m sure of it. And besides, we’re not basing all of this just on her word. You read the file, right?” He glances over at you and ticks his chin in your direction. “We checked it out. We’ve been out there enough to get a lay of the land. We’ve seen the deliveries of cash coming in… and not going back out.”

Will speaks next, his words soft and slow. “Could all be a setup… a giant, well-planned setup.”

You shake your head. “No. No, it’s legit.” Five sets of eyes turn to you, drilling into you for something more substantial. But the truth is, all that you have is in that file. And, yeah, it could be an elaborate setup. Or – more likely than that – just a really, really bad idea. But your gut says it’s neither. Your gut says that this whole damn thing is the only way to put an end to Lorea’s ever-growing cartel.

Tom’s eyes narrow at you once again, suspicion still lingering in his glare. “How’d this all happen, huh? How’d you even get involved with this… this shit-brain scheme?” he asks before the serious countenance begins to crack and he blows out a harsh chuckle. “How’d Pope sucker you into all this?”

Santiago answers before you get a chance to even open your mouth. “I didn’t sucker anybody into anything. And I don’t use the same callsign down there, so…”

Your eyes flash over to meet his, face splitting into an insolent grin. “Pope…” you mutter, popping the p at the end. “How exactly did you get that name, anyway?”

He rolls his eyes. “You don’t need to know.”

“He spent his first firefight hailing Mary through the coms,” Will chimes in with a teasing lilt. “All damn night.”

“I was nineteen.” He defends… almost whines. “You wanna tell her how you got Ironhead?”

He shrugs and takes another pull of his beer. “I’m not embarrassed.”

Frankie smirks from the other side of the table as he issues out under his breath, “You should be.”

Your eyes bounce eagerly back and forth between the men, silently pleading for someone to tell you the story of Will’s ridiculous moniker. But it seems that you’ve once again gone invisible.

“Hey, he held that record for a solid decade,” Benny mutters beside you. “And I’m pretty sure that dipshit, MacCovey, cheated to take the title.”

“How can you cheat at that?” Frankie asks with an incredulous laugh.

“He cheated.”

“Cheated at what?” you blurt out, eager to just hear the tale. “Ironhead’s a title? With a record? For what?”

Will pivots in his seat, flashing you a smug grin as he rather haughtily announces, “Record for the most concussions sustained during basic training. And no one can take Ironhead away from me… especially not some hardheaded kid from freaking New York.”

“How do you know he was from New York?” Santi asks.

Frankie cocks his head at his friend too. “You met him?”

“Didn’t he die?” Tom interjects, confusion suddenly weaving through the lot of them.

“Did he?” Will asks. “Shit, guess he wasn’t that hardheaded after all.”

Benny leans forward to address them all. “He didn’t die. Just lost a leg. Roadside bomb.”

“Shit,” his brother repeats solemnly.

“Was supposed to be his last tour too. Well, guess it still was.” He looks down for a somber beat before lighting on Frankie. “And I heard that he never actually hit his head when he fell off that tower, so… cheated.”

Throughout all of the back and forth, you just sit, eyes wide, expression both amused and deeply concerned. “Jesus,” you finally breathe out once everyone falls quite. You turn to Will, look a little closer at him as though you might be able to discern some of the damage done so many years ago. “Are you… okay?”

He lets out a hearty laugh and raps his knuckles on his skull. “Nothing to worry about here,” he tells you with a wide smile. “Ironhead, remember?”

Tom snorts and shakes his head skeptically. “Tune’ll change when that CTE shit kicks in… start wandering around the neighborhood, talking to yourself, picking fights with people in grocery stores.” He stops short and flashes a shit-eating grin. “Oh wait…”

The joke – if there even really is one – is lost on you. But Will must get it, because his face flashes in irritation, a mere, “Very funny,” falling from his lips as he brings his beer bottle up to meet them.

You let out a sigh – “I’m confused.” – and choose to ignore Tom in favor of getting more of the story from Ironhead himself. “Did you get concussions on purpose? Why does this seem to be some kind of source of pride?”

“It wasn’t on purpose…”

“What about that full can of soup you tried to crush on your head?” Frankie interjects with a raised brow.

“Yeah, alright, there was that one,” he concedes.

Your forehead furrows deeper. “If you were always getting hurt, why didn’t they call you something like, Falls-a-Lot or Unlucky Charms or just Blockhead?”

He stares at you for a long moment, face hardening into a stoic set. “Wasn’t Tom asking how you got yourself into all this? Wasn’t that what we were talking about?”

You offer a nonchalant shrug. “Don’t think we were really talking about it…”

“She basically started it,” Santiago states simply. “I mean, I was in the minute she brought it up, completely in. But it was her shit-brained scheme from the get-go.”

“Really?” Tom smarts, skeptical look once again riding his face as he takes a pull from his beer.

“Look,” you begin, tone painfully sincere, “I’ve been on the losing end of this battle for years. And the people down there, the families… the kids he recruits…” You stop for a beat and slowly, bitterly shake your head. “Lorea, and all the others like him… It’s their turn to lose.”

Tom nods, his gaze never breaking from yours. “You do realize you sound just like him,” he mutters, ticking his chin towards Santi. “Seriously,” he begins, stare serious, but tone glib. “Did you two hatch this crazy little plan together in bed?”

You glance over at Garcia, quickly taking note of the burning blush creeping up his neck as he hides beneath his baseball cap and tries not to laugh. Then, on their way back to Tom, your eyes light on Frankie. He too is ducking his head. But he doesn’t seem to be laughing like the others. Rather, from what you can make out beneath the shadow of his hat, he looks… embarrassed. No. Dejected.

Your heart skips a beat and you blurt out suddenly, “We’re not sleeping together,” a little too loudly to come across as anything other than agonizingly defensive. The laughter intensifies and you clear your throat before going on to say, “Garcia’s usually too busy fucking his informants to ever even think of giving me the time of day.”

Benny just about loses it, his body pulsating with fits of giggles as he leans back a bit and reaches out to give you a high five. You oblige, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you see Santiago shift across from you. He peers at you from beneath the ballcap, eyes dark and smile wide as he says, voice deep and honeyed, “Oh, bonita, trust me, I’ve thought about it.”

You roll your eyes and tip back the nearly empty bottle to your lips, draining the last dregs of your beer before rising and stating, “I’ll get the next round… as long you guys promise to do nothing but regale me with embarrassing stories about Pope for the rest of the night.”

000

Jetlag. It’s something you’ve experienced countless times over the years, hopping from place to place, office to outpost to field. And yet you’ve never really managed to get used to it, the bone-deep fatigue kicking your ass after each and every trip you’ve ever taken. A full day of travel, and now a full night of drinking, and by the time the lot of you stumble out of the bar, you’re barely able to put one foot in front of the other.

“Lightweight, huh?” Benny jokes as he pushes past you on the way to his car.

You grumble under your breath, something akin to, shut the fuck up, though your words aren’t all that put together right now either. But Ben doesn’t hear any of it anyway, he’s already giving his brother an unforgiving shove in the nearly empty parking lot and laughing maniacally as he dodges the lazy retaliatory punch.

“Don’t mind him,” Frankie mutters from behind you. You stop and turn, squinting through the harsh halogen light piercing your eyes as you look up at him. He notices the pained grimace you give and lets out a light chuckle as he takes your elbow and swings you back around to lead you to the car. “You seem more tired than drunk to me,” he says with a lilt as he easily slips his arm beneath yours for a little extra support.

Without thinking, you let your head tip to the side and rest on his shoulder. “Soooo tired,” you bemoan. A deep rumble of a laugh pulls from Frankie’s chest, reverberates up and through his entire body so that you feel it vibrate into you. It makes you smile. It makes you tuck yourself in a little closer. You stumble a bit, your toe catching on a crack in the pavement, and before you can even think to right yourself, his arm pulls away and reaches around, the warmth of his hand splaying across your hip as he steadies you. “Maybe a little drunk too,” you admit with a sigh.

If he thinks it’s odd that you’ve burrowed so close to him, or if he’s the least bit uncomfortable with your fingers now clinging to the back of his shirt, or if he’s irritated at having to slow to a crawl to help you to Santiago’s car, he doesn’t show it. Instead he easily slows his pace to match yours, giving your hip a little squeeze as he says, “Hey, sorry about earlier.”

Your shuffling stops as you pull back to look up at him with a confused frown. “You mean telling that story about Santiago’s ex? I don’t think I’m the one… to apologize…” Your brow furrows even deeper as you try to sift through what you just said, trying to determine if it makes any sense.

He lets out another low laugh, the sound quickly becoming a new favorite tune. “No. I mean about…” He hesitates for a moment, the smile slowly melting from his face. “When I was… questioning you. Whether or not you’re up for this. And, you know, whether or not you’re getting played.”

“Oh,” you bark out, far louder than intended. “Yeah, no.” You wave it off and waste no time at all – fatigue and alcohol both wiping away any embarrassment you might otherwise feel at plastering yourself up against a near stranger – falling back into him.

He chuckles again as he hikes you a bit higher and leads you over to the tiny blue rental car in the corner of the lot. “It’s just… I know you put a lot of work into gathering the intel. And I know this is… important to you. Or you wouldn’t be here. But still…”

You turn your face into his shoulder, his chest, unabashedly breathing in the musky scent from the collar of his jacket as you mumble into him, “I promise not to fuck it up. At least not too bad.”

“Hey!” Garcia calls out from the car, swinging the back door open as you two approach. “You getting handsy with my girl?”

Frankie snorts out a laugh, incredulous, almost sardonic, and not nearly as endearing as the ones that have been rumbling into you for the last however many glorious minutes it’s been. “Not your girl,” you mutter blandly. “Too risky… too many possible diseases.”

“Hilarious,” he deadpans, standing back as Frankie helps you into the car, his palm pressing gently on the back of your head to make sure you duck inside safely. “She took like five Xanax on the flight in,” he tells his friend with a snicker. “Probably shouldn’t have let her drink so much on top of that.”

“Hate flying,” you breathe out as you settle back, harshly tugging at the seatbelt to your left.

Frankie shakes his head in amusement as he watches you grow increasingly frustrated with the non-cooperative seatbelt. “How can you hate flying?” he asks, crooked smile stretching across his face.

You stop the infernal struggle and collapse back into the seat, “Fucking hate it,” coming out of you in a petulant whine.

“Alright,” he murmurs amid a snicker as he leans into the car, easily tugging the seatbelt out and reaching around to buckle you in. Your eyes droop further, slipping closed as he pulls back out of the car, fading into the night. “You guys good?” you hear him ask, the deep tenor of his voice sounding even more melodic when penetrating the dark.

“Yeah,” Santiago tells him, fatigue drowning just that single word. “We’re over at the Motor Inn. Just a few miles up. Listen, Frankie… thanks for this. Really. This…” You almost open your eyes again, want to just to see if the expression on Garcia’s face matches the earnestness in his tone. “This isn’t just a standard op, you know. To me. To her. This is… just�� thanks.”

“Yeah,” he replies simply. “Well, uh… I’ll see you Thursday.”

The only other sounds you hear before slipping away entirely are the door gently closing beside you, the engine starting up in a soft roar, and Santiago muttering, seemingly to himself from the front seat, “I am not carrying your ass to bed.”

Taglist:

@tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @icanbeyourjedi @greeneyedblondie44

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x you #triple frontier #santiago pope garcia #will ironhead miller #benny miller

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ahsxual · 4 years

Text

Sassy Girl

Pairing: L!Joker x Fem!Reader

Summary: J finally took you to a meeting with his men. After seeing you agitated, he decides to confront you about it once you leave.

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Sir kink, spanking, dom/sub, vaginal sex, nipple play, degradation, rough kissing, slightly exhibitionism, dirty talk, breath play (nothing too serious), sassy reader, swearing

Word Count: 3,3k

A/N: soo me and @harlequinjoke were role-playing about L!Joker and Harley Quinn, and I really liked the idea, so I decided to write something about it <3 It's my first time writing about J (internally shaking). I got inspired by the incredible, unique and talented @jokerslilhyena, so I hope I get more comfortable with time writing him, because I REALLY love that chaotic bastard 💜💚

Gif Credits: @antonija89

You and J had an uncommon relationship: you weren't considered his girlfriend and vice-versa, however you were together. It was a totally different experience dating someone so chaotic as him, someone so dangerous and unpredictable. In the beggining, you actually were scared that he would hurt you, however he has proved the opposite: whenever you argued, he would break the first thing he found, scream or even leave for a long time... but he never would lay a hand on you and would always come back, eventually. However, he never apologized, not directly. He was extremely aggressive and reckless towards others, but with you... he wasn’t any of that. Of course he was very proud, would still throw tantrums here and there and sometimes he seemed indifferent, especially when the subject was about affection. Nevertheless, he loves you in a way that, even if it’s strange and unreal to others, he still shows you that he cares for you, that he doesn’t want to make you feel bad and he does anything to protect you from the rude and injustice world you live in. For you, it’s his "special" way to love and honestly, you are fine with it, since he always comes back to you and keeps you alive and safe.

Sometimes you wondered how did you get where you were, having a "relationship" with the one and only prince of crime, the one that everyone fears with all their being. But you, you were unordinary and different from others... and that's what caught his attention. You knew you wouldn't be judge by him, wether it was physically or mentally.

You always had a thing for villains, J being the most dangerous and strategically intelligent of them all: you saw J as someone who doesn't care about other's opinions, someone courageous enough to prove and make the world wrong, someone who isn't afraid to express himself and be the way he was meant to be... the way life made him. You deeply admire all those features about him: his confidence, his intelligence, his insight...

Today was an unexpected day: you wanted to see how J worked, how he organized and "planned" his ideas, how the "bad guy" life was. J, of course, didn't let you go... at first. He said that it didn't make sense for you to join him and he didn't want to get distracted by you, but you knew that was not the whole truth. J didn't want to show his only weakness to others, especially to dangerous people. As intelligent and practical he could be, he was just one man, so he avoided dealing with even more problems, mainly because you were the one who would be in danger. Nevertheless, you insisted, telling him that he didn't need to present you as someone he was having a case with, just a girl who wants to be apart of his "plan".

J knew you would bother him about that until he accept it, so today he finally gave you the answer you were dying for to hear.

"Oh... really? You won't argue with me about this anymore?" you were surprised for him letting you go.

"What do ya want me to do, huh? You were pressuring me all the time about it, so this is the only way to ah... end this." he was obviously annoyed, but he wanted to do that favor to you too. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as he thought, and it would be one time only, so it was not a big deal.

"Thanks, J! I knew you wouldn't be such a daddy, it means a lot to me!" he smirked before you hugged him by the neck, something he was not expecting. He just tapped your back with his gloved hand in response, a gesture meaning you were welcome.

"Come on bunny, I can't be late. The boss have always to show up before his ah... employees." he joked, earning a laugh from you. You quickly put some comfortable shorts and a top that slightly showed your cleavage.

"I'm ready, time to go!" you said excitedly. J noticed that your outfit wasn't the most appropriate, but he didn't have time to tell you to change into something that wouldn't show too much skin. He thinks that you should cover the first piece of your neck's skin, to the tip of your toe. J was a possessive man to that extent... and you were a teasing to that extent too.

When you entered J's stolen car, you noticed how the back seats were spacious... immediately your dirty thoughts signaled their arrival, which made you unconsciously bit your lip slowly. Your clown didn't miss it, being as observant as he was, and instantly thought this wasn't a good idea... at all.

"Ya better stop doing that with your ah... lip, doll. Ya better behave or I will make ya be sorry later." he said in a serious tone. The sexual tension between you two was always evident, something that both of you loved and needed: J could have his way with you, respecting your limits obviously, and you would just enjoy the sex as much as he did, since no other man could dominate and have his way with you the way he did... you were his little masochist, his strong woman that simultaneously was so easy to break. He was obcessed with you: you were his drug, his only weakness, his vicious, his significant other... you just completed him, even though he never told you that, he definitely proved it to you everyday.

You usually have an answer for everything he says, but now you remained quite to not make things worse for both of you. You had to keep that fire inside your core hidden from his men or there would be consequences... after all, he is a man of his word.

You finally arrived to the place where the meeting would occur: it was an abandoned building as expected; around it, was nothing more than grit and some old and rotten cars; the sky was almost black, the stars and moon being the only ones lightning the establishment; there were two men located at the front door of the same big building, and surely there were others in the rear entrance. You couldn’t deny you were feeling nervous. As much as sometimes you wished, you couldn't be completely fearless like J.

"Don't worry doll, ya don't need to be afraid. If something goes wrong, we ah... always have a backup." he confidently said, showing you the inside of his coat covered in bombs and grenades. You laughed once again.

"Sure you do, J. You wouldn't be you if you didn't have it." you said while winking at him. He smirked before getting out of the car.

You knew from now on, until the meeting is over, he would act differently: he couldn't have the reputation of being a murderous clown with a soft spot for his little bunny. No one would take him seriously once that was revealed, and you understood it perfectly.

Once you arrived at the front door, where the two men were, they looked strangely at you and then at J.

"Will ya stay there looking at me like the ah... dick heads you are, or ya will let me pass already, huh?" J was expecting this reaction from them, yet his acknowledge didn't prevent him from being annoyed: he wasn't in the mood to give explanations to anyone, mainly to his temporarily needed men. The two men looked at each other, before nodding towards their boss and letting you both pass the tall, rigid door.

The moment you entered the room, you saw all of his men in their seats, already prepared for their meeting with their boss... and his company.

"Who's that?" a man asked boldly.

"She's our ah... tonight's special guest. She will help us with our mission by dealing with the ah... cops." he lied, successfully convencing them. He knew they wouldn't be suspicious about it, since that was his task. You sitted right next to him, noticing the side glances from some men.

While time passed and J talked about his "plan", you deeply admired how attractive he looked: he was so confident, fearless, so right about what he was saying and doing... it made you think how is it possible for a single man to be so strategic and dominant with others... and when J was with you, it was impossible not getting completely horny, feeling hot as hell and being completely at his mercy, gladly. He obviously noticed your long glances in his direction and felt how your legs would rub shamelessly against each other under the table, where only he could catch your signals, since you were almost glued to each other.

"Any questions about what I just said?" he asked after explaining everything that should be done. His men just nodded in return. "Good. Tomorrow morning, 9:30 am. I will be ah... extremely upset if any of you arrive late. And trust me, gentlemen, you wouldn't like to see me mad." he then got up, grabbing your arm and pulling you in front of him while you were walking, which surprised you. Once you approached the car, he opened the back door and pushed you roughly into the back seat, making you lay down with him above you after removing his long purple coat covered in grenades into the passenger seat.

"Now, now... would ya explain me what you were ah... doing back there, huh? Ya seemed very... restless during the reunion, don't ya think... bunny?" he whispered one of your favorite nicknames given by him into your ear, being so close that you could see every little and precise detail on his face: you could feel his hot breath against your skin and see his pupils dilating more and more by every passed second. J decided to confront you about it, wanting you to admit everything you did back there right in front of his face... and you would be the best liar if you said he didn't give you chills all over your body, especially making your core dripping from excitement and eagerness.

"I-I wasn't doing anything, I was just listening to y-"

"Ata-tada, ya don't wanna go that way, doll. You ah... know very well that I don't like when people lie on my face, especially you... not-one-bit." he madly said, pressing firmly the last words with his skilled tongue. Oh, how you loved seeing your psychotic clown having his way with you...

"What do you want me to say J, huh?? That yes, I was feeling horny like a goddamm whore just from seeing you leading those assholes, that I couldn't stop looking and admiring you?? That I couldn't even countain myself from touching myself like a fucking needy virgin?!" you couldn't take it anymore, so you spelled it out so he could make a move as soon as possible... because you knew very well: if you aren't honest with him and don't tell him what you desire, he will tease until you cry and beg desperately for him to touch you... and when that happens, J won't do anything until you admit it. That's how provocative and bastardous he was... but you loved it. J seemed pleased with your answer, since he grabbed you hardly by your hair and pushed you for a clumsily and rough kiss. You wanted to test his limits a little further, so when you felt his tongue against your lower lip, you didn't give him the permission to explore your mouth like he wished. By this, he bit your lower lip hard enough to draw some blood, showing how you couldn't be in control. If you even tried, you would suffer the consequences. You groaned while you tasted your own blood, seeing his face lighten once he saw and tasted the blood himself. His eyes were totally dark now, just like his soul and heart: you knew how much he loved pain and blood, something that was fully attached to his being.

"Ya really know how to make me crazy, Y/n. And ya know as well that has ah... price to pay, dontcha?" you simply nodded, wanting to feel the little pleasure he was giving to you. Suddenly you felt your neck being forcely grabbed by a gloved hand. "I want a strict answer." he said with a deep and low tone, making goosebumps all over your skin.

"Y-yes..." you moaned quietly.

"I couldn't hear ya. Yes what?" he asked even more serious now, pressing harder into your neck, but not enough to cut your air completely. The car door was still open, so if you spoke or moaned too loud, his men would hear you.

"Y-yes Sir!!" you shamelessly spoke loudly. J didn't closed the door for some reason, so why would you care?

"Hmm that's what I like to hear, my good little obedient girl..." he then rubbed his hips hardly into yours, moving his lips towards your neck while sucking and biting until it was red and purple. "You look amazing with those painted on ya, doll. The purple ah... suits you perfectly." he praised you, slowly moving to your already harden nipples. J grabbed your top and ripped it off, but you couldn't care less about it. Luckily, it wasn't your favorite. You didn't own a bra, grabbing his attention immediately. "Hmm someone hasn't been behaving like they should. Ya know what happens to ah... naughty and miss-behaving girls, dontcha doll? Huh?" he dangerously spoke, while pinching your nipples hard enough to give you immense pleasure and the right amount of pain.

"N-no sir, I don't..." you eagerly answered, afraid and excited at the same time about what it would happen next. He smirked at you, his yellow teeth now red from your blood, a view that would give nightmares to anyone, but it only made you wetter. J slowly approached you, whispering dangerously into your hear.

"They get punished." the only thing you knew was being brutally turned over, making your ass being exposed after he ripped your shorts as well.

"No, p-please sir!! I promise I will be a good girl..." you cried, which didn't affect him at all.

"Too late for apologies now, sweet cheeks." suddenly you felt a hard spank into your right ass cheek. "Count until five to me, doll. If ya don't, I will start over... you already know the rules." you knew you had to endure your punishment or it would be much worse. Obviously he was doing this because he knew you liked it as much as he did: if not, you would never be in the position you were right now. You didn't have a choice but to count every spank he gave you, involuntary missing on the fourth, which meant he would have to do everything over again.

"Five!!" you screamed, your ass now painted in red and some shades of purple. You felt the burning sensation so intensely, you could swear your butt was actually on fire. Yet you wouldn't complain, since you loved the feeling of burnt skin after his spankings. "P-please sir, just fuck me, I'm begging you!! I-I will do anything to please you, anything!!" you cried harder, both of you knowing those tears were nothing but a reaction of the pleasure you were feeling and wanted to feel. J thought for a moment if he should make you beg for him a little more, or have mercy. After all, he was just eager was you were, yet he loves to play with you first more than anything.

He suddenly pressed his cock against your dripping entrance, without give you time to adjust to him. It wasn't too much hard to take him, since you were so wet, he could slide inside you extremely easily. But that didn't prevent you from feeling the pain right after, when he grabbed your hips harder than ever and fucked you faster than the light itself. His nails were breaking your skin with each deep thrust he did, more blood flooding down your thighs. J thought in taking his knife to cut you, but he preferred to do it when the two of you were in your house by yourselves, where he had the whole time he needed to really play with you.

"F-fuck!! Please J, don't stop!!" he loved how easily it was to make you cum. You once told him in your first times it would take time for you to cum, because you were shy and insecure at the beginning. But ohh, how that changed... for better, surely. And you know he was the responsible for making you feel comfortable about it: J is the only man who gives you pure pleasure, without making you feel ashamed. After all, he is not a monster like everyone, incluinding batman, thinks. He's just... a man ahead of the curve.

He grabbed your hair forcely with his left gloved hand, while his right one came directly to rub your clit hard.

"Cum for me, you fucking slut. Show me how such a needy whore you are, let me feel ya squeeze my cock hard while I fuck ya until you can't fucking walk tomorrow." he groaned into your hear, his tone much lower than before. That was enough to make you cum right there, even if he wouldn't touch you at all.

"Ohh f-fuck, I'm gonna cum J!!" you moaned loudly before cumming hard on his thick, merciless cock. You felt his dick twisting inside you, while his pace became sloppy, faster and harder, a sign that he was about to cum.

"I'm going to fill that fucking tight pussy and you will keep my cum inside of ya, do ya hear me?!" he loudly demanded, wanting to hear your response before he cums.

"Y-yes sir!! I-I will keep every last drop of you inside me, please just cum inside me, please... I'm begging you!" and that was it. J came deeply inside you while groaning like a wild animal.

The two of you laid there to get some air, him being on top of you, supporting some of his height with his elbows to not crush you. You gently massaged his back in a comforting way, your code to let him know you enjoyed your moment and were okay, that he didn't hurt you badly.

"Wow, that was... amazing. I should come to your meetings more often." he laughed at this, finally looking into your eyes.

"Ya really aren't innocent as ya seem to be doll, and I really like to see that ah... sassy side of yours. We should discuss that after our... second round when we get back home, huh? I mean, if ya can be able to speak after that." you playfully punched him on his arm while laughing, already feeling excited again.

"We will see about that, then. Let's just get home now, can't wait for that promised second round." you winked at him, earning a big smirk from clown.

"I'm sure they know now that ya aren't just some ah... chick apart of the mission."

"Well, at least they know now that they don't have a chance with me, even if they tried." after hearing that, he kissed you passionately in his own way, grabbing your ass in the process, before moving to the front seat so he could drive home to where both of you will continue your so promised round two.

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vodkassassin · 4 years

Note

Ok let me set the scene: SQQ had grown used to his multiple layers of clothes, and it was never a problem untill the day he and (your closen love interest) decided it was time for papapa, que the twenty minutes of SQQ instructing how to carefully take off his each and every layer. The steamy vibes slowly disapear. The curtains close.

I know you wanted this to be steamy, cousin, but I slapped platonic cucumberplane onto it instead and it turned into a big Mess of Feelings instead of romantic comedy 😅 my bad! @overlordmoth

—

The first time Shen Yuan is forced to attend a inter-sect banquet is memorable, if nothing else. It doesn’t even have anything to do with the event itself, but what happened afterwards.

The food was alright. He’s been spoiled, he thinks, by his adorable disciple’s god-tier cooking, because though the organization committee had gone all out and hired the fanciest of catering staff, the food itself was… he wouldn't go so far as to call it disappointing, per say, but it had been a bit bland when he’d tried it. He finished off his meager plate of appetizers and resolved not to touch any other dish thereafter. He’ll just eat a meal when he gets back to his peak.

Luckily, inter-sect conferences aren’t a constant occurrence. They only happened once every few years, as a way for the many sects of xianxialand to share information and gossip. Shen Yuan has had two years now, to get used to being Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu, and he’s grateful for the extra time he was given to learn his character before he was forced to debut into such a public setting, where Shen Jiu has long-since created himself a reputation.

Much like the reputation amongst his own sect, everyone in the cultivation world seems to know how Shen Jiu had been. Tonight is the first time since his fever (and Shen Yuan’s transmigration) that Peak Lord Shen steps into the limelight and shows exactly how drastically he has changed in character.

It doesn’t go as terribly as he expected it to, honestly.

When he’d first entered the hall, the amount of stares that had immediately zeroed in on him and began dissecting his every movement was… overwhelming, in a way. Shen Yuan is used to stares. He has to be, just to walk around his own peak. His disciples are nosy, gossipy young masters and maidens. For all that they seem to admire and respect him, there is never a single moment when Shen Qingqiu does not feel their eyes following him as he walks from one classroom hall to the next.

The banquet is much the same. Instead of his disciples, however, these are matured (in a manner of speaking) cultivators of sects not his own. Which means Shen Qingqiu has to be on the lookout and watch his own back.

Or he would have had to, had his fellow transmigrator not been in attendance as well.

He supposed he’s lucky, that all the peak lords were required to attend this ridiculous party.

He spends the first ten minutes or so proving to these cultivators that, though Shen Qingqiu has obviously changed, his tongue is still just as acerbic and barbed as it had been before, perhaps even more creatively so now that he’s changed. It puts strained, polite smiles onto the faces of men and women who had approached him in attempts to size him up and find a hand hold for themselves.

Joke’s on them.

As pleased as he is to discover them just as easily taken down a peg or two as his own sect members, Shen Qingqiu grows exhausted of this game rather quickly. Once he sends the last cultivator away with their tail between their legs, he snaps his fan closed with a flick of his wrist and turns on his heel before the next can even think to approach him.

It’s out of character, apparently, for Shen Qingqiu to throw the towel in when the first hour hasn’t even passed. Raised eyebrows and confused eyes follow him as he steps off to the side and sidles up to where the only other millennial in this world is leaning against the far wall of the hall, cradling a cup of tea in his hands and staring at the floor likely in the hope that no one will come speak to him.

As much as he whines that he never gets as much attention as the other peak lords, Shang Qinghua always prefers the sidelines. All the better to remain unnoticed, that he may more efficiently observe their guests without them realizing that the An Ding peak lord’s eyes see far more than any of them could ever think.

When Shen Qingqiu leans his back against the wall beside him, Shang Qinghua gives a startled jolt. His tea sloshes in its cup, thankfully not spilling over, and he raises wide eyes to meet Shen Qingqiu’s look of ridicule.

“Ah….” For once, his friend seems lost for words, and Shen Qingqiu resists the urge to frown at him. “What’s up?”

“If I’m going to make it even a single hour in this party, much less the full ten it’s scheduled for, then I’m going to need someone to listen to me complain.” Shen Qingqiu begins succinctly. “As my bro, that’s your job.”

Strangely, Shang Qinghua seems to perk up at this. He swirls his tea around — and from the sharp scent that wafts upward to Shen Qingqiu’s nose, tea isn’t the only thing in that cup — and casts Shen Qingqiu a cheerful smile.

“A party isn’t a party until you’ve made fun of every single partygoer behind their back at least twice,” his fellow peak lord agrees.

Shen Qingqiu smirks at him.

He snaps open his fan to cover it when he hears a few murmurs of shock from the people who are still watching him like hawks for any sign of difference between him and Shen Jiu. It’s so fucking tiring.

Shang Qinghua huffs a quiet laugh and shoots him a look of sympathy.

“How many bodies do you think you can help me hide before someone notices that guests are beginning to disappear?” He asks nonchalantly, and his mouth curls into a more genuine smile behind the safety of his fan when Shang Qinghua’s shoulders start to shake with laughter.

“Don’t ask me that,” the slightly shorter man breathes out in mirth, eyes bright. “Between the two of us, we can absolutely make it happen. It’s best not to even tempt it.”

“As you say,” Shen Qingqiu sighs despondently, fluttering his fan before his face. It’s beginning to grow a little too warm even in the huge, cavernous banquet hall. That’s what happens when you shove an entire crowd of people into the same room together. It gets stuffy.

The banquet passes a little quicker than it would have otherwise, with Shang Qinghua by his side to exchange quite jokes and banter with. A particular, good-natured target for them both is Liu Qingge, who’s squirelled himself into a different corner of the hall with three jars of alcohol and whose grave glare is enough to chase off anyone who’d wish to speak with him. The poor man just isn’t built for socializing. At least it’s clear that there’s someone who’s having a worse time here than Shen Qingqiu is. It might be mean, but it makes him feel better nonetheless.

It’s nice to have someone who actually understands every meme and pop culture reference Shen Qingqiu slips into his mockery of the banquet guests. The only issue is having to smother his real, genuine laughter when Shang Qinghua comes back at him with something actually hilarious. It would surely rock the cultivation world to its very foundation if Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu burst into laughter in the middle of an inter-sect banquet for all to see.

Even with the allowances he’s slowly acquired for himself in the time since he disabled the OOC lock, his martial siblings would certainly send for Mu Qingfang to check him over.

Still, the comfortable atmosphere of mockery aside, several hours is still several hours, and by the time Shang Qinghua is down to the dregs of his seventh cup of tea (plus the obvious pick-me-up he adds to it), Shen Qingqiu is incredibly fucking done with this entire farce.

Opening his fan to conceal his face, he leans over slightly into his friend's space and quietly says, “You wanna blow this popsicle stand?”

The clear effort it takes Shang Qinghua not to wheeze is gratifying. “Are we even allowed to do that?”

“We’re peak lords,” Shen Qingqiu says, shrugging his shoulders lightly. “We can do whatever the fuck we want. And, speaking as a millennial — who’s going to stop us, really?”

Good thing they’d dissolved into speaking English three hours ago. If someone heard the cold, and graceful Lord Shen verbally curse then he’d probably be forced to undergo another test for possession with Wei Qingwei when they all got home. Annoying as hell, those things. They took hours and he wasn’t even allowed to read to pass the time!

“Point,” Shang Qinghua admits.

“Plus,” Shen Qingqiu raises his fan up a bit higher to hide his entire expression and makes a face. “I, uh…. need a favor, from you.”

Shang Qinghua blinks over the rim of his teacup at him. He stares at him for a long, wordless moment, and then his eyebrows shoot up.

“The peerless peak lord Shen,” he says lightly, mouth quirking, “needs help—?”

“Airplane.”

“—from little ol’ me?”

“Imma gut you,” Shen Yuan mutters, fan fluttering.

Shang Qinghua beams at him. He pushes up off the wall and steps over to the nearest table to set his now-empty cup on its surface.

“Yeah, okay,” the man says.

Appeased, yet miffed, Shen Qingqiu raises his chin up and snaps his fan closed sharply enough to make a noise. “Good.”

They leave. There’s a multitude of stares that follow in their wake, from both strangers and their own martial siblings across the hall, but neither of them pay them any mind, aside from the way Shang Qinghua’s shoulders raise defensively almost on instinct. A nervous habit that the man will probably never rid himself of.

Three minutes later, they’ve closed themselves away in Shen Qingqiu’s guest quarters of the venue — the conferences are to last for at least three days, minimum, so each sect has their own pavilion for the overnight stay — and Shen Qingqiu stands grumpily in the middle of the room while Shang Qinghua collapses against the bed and laughs himself silly.

“Y-You need me to—?” The man wheezes, one hand pressed over his mouth as tears prick the corners of his eyes, his other arm holding his side. “To—?”

“Yes, it’s very amusing,” Shen Qingqiu deadpans, eyebrow twitching. “And what a friend you are, to laugh in the face of my plight. What, do you expect me to ask anyone else? Who would you suggest? Yue Qingyuan? As if! Of course I need your help, idiot!”

“I’m sure Sect Leader would be very obliging if you were to ask,” Shang Qinghua giggles from where he’s curled up on top of the blankets. He waggles his eyebrows. “Very obliging.”

“You disgust me,” Shen Qingqiu sniffs. He tugs at the front of his robes, and casts his friend a helpless look. “Seriously, how am I suppose to get out of this — this death trap?!”

Because, for such a fancy and important occasion as an inter-sect conference opening banquet, the guests are of course expected to wear their most formal robes. And, in xianxialand, formal robes mean layers. Layer upon layer upon layer. And extra baubles on top of that, like multiple-section headpieces and jewelry and gauzy, sheer, bedazzled over robes.

Truly, the opulence and over-the-topness of the cultivation world never ceases to make Shen Qingqiu raise his brow.

“I get what you mean,” Shang Qinghua chortles. “Stop your bitching, bro, I know how to escape these things, no problem.”

He hops up from the bed and makes his way over, reaching for the outside clasps of the over robe without even asking first. Shen Qingqiu does mind, holding his arms out to give his friend better access. Honestly, there is never any dignity lost between the two of them, what with their modern sensibilities. Not that Shen Yuan ever had much dignity to begin with, being a lifetime recurring hospital patient in his last life. As Shen Qingqiu, peer immortal master that he is, however, he at least has to pretend he does.

With everyone other than Airplane, that is.

“Thanks,” he says, grumbling but grateful, as Shang Qinghua carefully but without ceremony shucks off his outer robe and the one underneath it.

The man steps closer after laying those out on the bed, and tugs at the ties of the belt that hold the next robe closed. After a series of finger gymnastics that Shen Qingqiu can’t really make head nor tails of, his friend reaches up and pulls the silk down from his shoulders and reaches a hand inside to pull at the smaller ties hidden within. Which is absolutely ridiculous. Shen Qingqiu had seriously felt like he was putting together a piece of IKEA furniture when he’d originally gotten dressed. Overly complicated, the instructions were all in Swedish, and it was nearly impossible to accomplish on one’s own. But, he‘d done it!

Dismantling it all, however, was another thing entirely, and he thanks whatever higher power there is, that Airplane is here to lend him that hand without any of the awkwardness that someone with ancient Chinese sensibilities would bring.

“Thank god these things are only like, twice a decade,” he groans, leaning back so his fellow transmigrator has easier access to free him of the next stifling layer. “If this body didn’t have that handy cultivation temperature regulation magic bullshit you came up with for that scene in chapter one-hundred twenty, I’d be sweating buckets right now. Next time I get an invitation to a banquet, I’m refusing, no matter how much Yue Qingyuan puppy-dog eyes at me”

Shang Qinghua directs an odd, slanting smile down at the belt he’s working free, nimble fingers pulling and tugging gently at the ties so they don’t accidentally tighten instead of loosen.

“Yeah,” he says, quiet. “... I’ve never been a fan of banquets either.”

Shen Qingqiu holds back a scoff. And then lets it free, because there’s nobody here but Shang Qinghua, who knows him and won’t ever begrudge him for showing actual emotion. “I can’t imagine anyone being wrapped up in thirty layers and expected to socialize with sharks for ten fucking hours and actually enjoying it.”

Shang Qinghua ducks his head down, smile disappearing. He tugs the ties free and reaches up to slip another layer off of Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders, but he keeps his eyes lowered. Shen Qingqiu pauses, frowning at him. Something’s off.

“...Airplane?”

“It’s not that,” Shang Qinghua shrugs helplessly, tugging at the ties of the next robe without much effort to pull them loose. There’s a slightly uncomfortable expression on his face that makes Shen Qingqiu frown deepen. “I actually don’t mind all the layers. My parents dressed me in hanfu all the time when I was a kid in my past life, so I was already used to it before I even transmigrated. The food at banquets is really good, too, and the socialization isn’t so bad once you look at it as just a political pissing contest. Banquets could be fun, really.”

“But they’re not,” Shen Qingqiu guesses, and reaches out to clasp his friends hands in his, pulling them away from his belt. They twitch in his hold, like Shang Qinghua wants to fidget, a nervous tick.

He’s only half dressed at this point, but right now he’s more concerned with the shuttering expression on Shang Qinghua’s face than anything else. “Not for you, at least. Why?”

Shang Qinghua glances nervously up at him from beneath his lashes, only to look back down again and grimace. “They’d be a lot of fun, if I wasn’t… me, I guess? Today is the first time I’ve actually enjoyed a banquet since I first started attending them as a head disciple.”

Shen Qingqiu presses his lips together as his friend lets out a mirthless, unamused laugh. He squeezes the hands he’s holding, and Shang Qinghua‘s shoulders droop.

“It was also the first time anyone’s actually stuck by me and actually talked to me, though, so,” the other finally glances up, an odd and fragile smile on his face as he chuckles weakly. His eyes are shining a bit damply, and Shen Qingqiu locks his teeth together when he sees it. “I guess it makes sense? Banquets are a lot more fun when you’re not, um… totally alone the entire time! Haha…. who knew, right…?”

Shen Qinghua shakes his head slowly. He ignores his state of undress and reaches out to draw his friend into his arms.

Sometimes, Shen Yuan wishes he’d transmigrated into Shen Jiu’s life earlier than he had. Sure, the cons far outweigh the pros, in such a situation, but at least his friend would have had someone in his corner for all the times that their martial family had snubbed him. Airplane may have brought the anxieties and insecurities of his past life along with him into this one, but Shen Yuan doesn’t doubt for a single second that in the decades that Airplane has been Shang Qinghua, they have been made much stronger (and oftentimes crippling) by the actions of the people who are suppose to stand by him and have his back.

It’s infuriating, when he lets himself think about it for too long, so usually he doesn’t. And then it smacks him right in the face, like now, and Shen Yuan feels nothing but bitter resentment toward those people who are supposedly his friend’s martial family.

Shang Qinghua makes a quietly surprised sound, but doesn’t protest. In fact, the other melts against him, hands coming up to grasp at the front of his robes, and he tucks his face into the junction between Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder and neck. He sucks in a slow, stuttering breath that makes him tremble, and Shen Qingqiu reaches up one hand to bury into the back of his friend’s hair, curling his fingers into the strands.

“It must’ve been extra rough when the original goods was still around,” he comments quietly.

Shang Qinghua shudders, and then nods his head against his shoulder. “H-He was a real jerk, but usually he was too busy verbally flaying all the guests from the other sects alive, to pay me much mind. Thankfully.” The An Ding lord lets out a wet chuckle.

Shen Qingqiu allows another frown to cinch at his brow as he pets his hand through his friend’s hair. “And none of the others ever…?”

“Why would they? I’m just — I’m just… An Ding.”

Shen Qingqiu tightens the arm that he has wound around Shang Qinghua’s waist, and his scowl depends when he feels his friend shake.

The door opens then, because of course it does. Someone peaks their head in, and who else is it going to be but Yue Qingyuan, looking for his precious Xiao Jiu, who apparently isn’t one to leave a banquet early when there are still guests left to verbally knock down several pegs and cripple the self esteem of?

The sect leader opens his mouth, and closes it. Shen Qingqiu watches impassively the journey of emotions the man’s face undergoes as he takes in the scene of a half dressed Xiao Jiu holding a trembling Shang Qinghua in his arms. Yue Qingyuan’s face is pale and there’s two splotches of bright red on both his cheeks. He looks both mortified and horrified in equal measure.

Shen Qingqiu wraps his arms tightly around the other transmigrator, holding the still-trembling Shang Qinghua to his chest, and narrows his eyes at the sect leader viciously.

“Leave,” he snaps. His best friend doesn’t deserve having anyone spying on this moment of real vulnerability.

Yue Qingyuan beats a hasty retreat. The door closes softly behind him.

Shang Qinghua gives one last shudder, before going lax in his arms, letting Shen Qingqiu hold him up with his strength alone. The An Ding peak lord reaches out his arms to wrap them around Shen Qingqiu and return the hug, clutching tightly at him.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” the man says, voice slightly choked, and Shen Qingqiu swallows thickly. It’s clear that Shang Qinghua is talking about more than just tonight’s banquet.

“Me too,” he says, and finds that he actually means it.

#svsss prompts #scumbag villain self saving system #shang qinghua #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #vodka answers #vodkassassin fanfiction #overlordmoth

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