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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 14.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex/voyeurism/exhibitionism as usual, semi-public sex, foodplay, a lot of sloppy making out, creampie is not the only type of dessert involved, very soft dom!jin, sub!reader, unprotected sex but who’s surprised, dom!hoseok, waxplay, painplay, very explicit discussion about consent since waxplay is technically edgeplay, restraints, cuffs, flogging, hobi in his element is a kink in and of itself, degradation, discipline, subspace, scratching, rough sex, hoseok going the extra mile honestly, still unprotected sex, cumshot

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and sponsored by the red room

FAN FAVOURITE

On the sixth Day of every Week in the game, the Audience Fan Favourite vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the elimination vote, which is taken on the seventh Day of each Week.

The vote is at the end of this chapter.

DAY TWENTY

Though it’s the weekend (as if that has any real significance when you aren’t really working) you wake up tragically early, before the sun’s even risen.

Unsure of what woke you, you rub your eyes and duck your head out into the hallway. To your surprise, there’s the distinct yellowish glow from a light on downstairs. It’s hard to walk down the stairs when your head is full of cotton, your eyes still bleary and your mouth constantly stretched in a yawn, but finally you stumble down into the main space.

Frozen, with a metal spoon hanging out of his mouth and his eyes wide and red, is the oldest man of the house. He leans dejectedly against the kitchen counter, haunting a tub of ice cream that’s definitely not intended for one person. You quickly realise what may have woken you is the obnoxious whir of the microwave, something in a covered glass jar twirling round and round inside.

“What-” you swallow and clear your throat when the word comes out croaky, “what are you doing here so early? Are you okay?”

Still startled by your presence, he blinks a few times and removes the spoon from his mouth, letting it clatter to the table. “I’ve been better.”

Your face drops in sympathy, ignoring the freezing tile on your feet as you approach him. Without waiting for permission, you wrap your arms around his waist and pull him close to you in a tight hug. “What’s up, Jinnie? You can be honest with me. If you let me have some of your ice cream, of course.”

That manages to pull a weak laugh from him as he hands you the spoon and ruffles your hair. “I am, as it turns out,” he explains, “incredibly stupid.”

“Ah.” You dig into the tub of ice cream one handed, dislodging a chunk of what looks like brownie. “First of all, I disagree, but more importantly, why do you think that?”

“Do you have an hour?” Jin sighs at the poor attempt at lightening his own mood. “To tell you the truth, and this may come as a shock to you, but-”

“Is this about Yoongi and you fucking?”

Jin pulls back, staring you down with a bewildered expression.

You swallow a cold mouthful, furrowing your brows apologetically. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted. Go on.”

“I- How did you- Who knows?”

You hum for a minute, tapping the end of the spoon against your lips. “Oh, I’d imagine everyone,” you summarise. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit.” You wince as you recall a few particular evenings. “Nor is volume control.”

“Right.” Jin has the good grace to look sheepish at that, but gently tugs the spoon back. The microwave beeps noisily behind you, and he curses, rushing over to pull the jar out. “Anyways, yes, Yoongi and I have been casual for a short time now, but things are messy. And I suppose I sort of thought they were good messy, but last night I realised how very not-good messy they were. I haven’t been fair to Yoongi. Or you.”

You tilt your head, watching him uncover a lightly steaming jar full of what looks and smells like caramel. “Me? What does this have to do with me?”

Jin opens his mouth, grimaces, and closes it again. After a few moments of silence where he stirs the sauce and tastes a bit of it, he finally faces you to speak. “After the fight, you didn’t really...say anything about what you found out. My feelings for you, I mean. Not that you were at all obligated to, of course, but I wanted to give you space. And… I wanted to have space too, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so when Yoongi expressed interest in me, I thought him and I could help each other out.”

He pours some of the sauce directly into the tub of icecream, but then puts it down and rests his forearms on the countertop, really leans his whole body weight onto them like it’s hard to stay standing. “Yoongi has feelings for me,” he explains. “I don’t know if you know that too, but- yeah. He said- even as recently as yesterday, he said he was fine, but I should know better. It’s irresponsible of me to take his words as gospel when I can so clearly see, as his friend and as a trained therapist, that he isn’t okay.”

You want to wait until he’s said his piece, but your chest feels hot, like your ribs are smouldering coals. You can’t stop your tongue. “I don’t need space.”

Jin blinks, caught off-guard. “Huh?”

“I don’t need space,” you repeat in a warm voice, “I don’t want you to be distant. Fuck Yoongi if you want, but don’t do it just because you’re avoiding me. You’re right; that isn’t fair to either of us.”

“I know,” he concedes, shoveling another spoonful of melted ice cream and sauce into his mouth to buy him some thinking time. “It’s getting out of hand, too. Just yesterday Jungkook asked to join and- God, this is such a mess. I should end it, shouldn’t I?”

Your tongue tingles with the urge to press about Jungkook. Feeling like that isn’t really Jin’s priority right now, you change tact. “Do you want to end it?”

Jin furrows his brows, deep in thought. Clad in blue and white striped pyjamas, his face seems far too serious for his attire, but it’s clear this is really eating away at him if he’s up so early thinking about it. Had he even gone to bed at all? “I don’t want to,” he admits, “being with Yoongi is so easy. And not like- not logistically, I’m not saying Yoongi is easy, but… God, I don’t know how to say this without it being soppy. It feels right. But at what point do I stop doing what I want and start thinking about others? I need to do what’s best for Yoongi.”

It’s hard conveying any semblance of intelligent thought when you probably have not even half of the whole story, but you do your best for him. “Is that a decision you should be making on his behalf, though? I feel like you should be having this conversation with him.”

Jin sighs, placing the spoon down so it doesn’t clatter. “Here’s the thing. I’ve been going over and over it in my head. My reasons for sleeping with him aren’t all noble or genuine or even fair. And I know he has feelings for me. I think if I let this continue I’ll be hurting him. So surely ending it is the right thing to do?”

You mull it over a moment. “It seems like you already know the answer, Jin,” you offer up softly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Jin bites his lip, eyes distant. “If I text him, if I tell him that we need to talk, or that we shouldn’t do it anymore, then… You said you didn’t need space. So can we talk? About us?”

“Of course,” you reply immediately, though your heart rate quickens at the thought, “that’s probably for the best, too.”

“Alright.” Jin wipes his hands on his shirt pants, whether it’s to get off the stickiness of the dessert or sweat you don’t know, but soon enough he’s slipping his phone out and hunkering down on the kitchen tile floor.

You join him, scooching up so that your shoulders bump. With your back against the cabinets and your lower half on those icy tiles, normally you’d be shivering. But Jin’s body is like a radiator, and he leans into you as he unlocks his phone and pulls up Yoongi’s contact.

For his privacy, you try not to look, but you can’t help but notice the name for Yoongi is Min City, and that their recent texts are calls for late-night rendezvous. Jin takes a deep breath, his thumbs hovering over the keypad. “What do I even say?” he muses out loud. “I’m a therapist; why can’t I even work out a good ‘we should talk’ text?”

You hook your hand under his arm, tucking it to your side. “Start off by apologising for texting him at ass o’clock in the morning,” you jibe.

Jin pauses. “I’ll probably rephrase,” he admits, “but that’s solid.”

hey yoongichi, sorry about texting you so early. |

“Okay, what next?” Jin says in a shortened breath.

You let out a light laugh. “This is your message,” you remind him, “but fine. How about this? Tell him that you’ve been thinking a lot, which you have, and that you just can’t keep sleeping with him in good conscience because you don’t feel like it’s wise. And maybe, like, tell him to come find you when he reads it so you can have a proper chat. It shouldn’t just be done over text, you know?”

“That’s true… Okay, here goes.” Jin swallows hard as he types away, and were it not for the fact that these were your friends who were involved, you’d laugh at the cheesiness of the moment. Like something off a trashy k-drama, though your life felt more and more like one every day anyway.

hey yoongichi, sorry about texting you so early. i’ve been doing a lot of thinking after our talk, and i just really don’t think us doing this is a good idea anymore. please let me know when you get this. we can talk it over a bit. |

“Is that all I need?”

You shrug. “I guess so. Unless you wanna add an ‘xoxo’ to the end of it.”

Jin bites his lip. “That may send mixed messages.”

“It was a joke, Jinnie,” you protest, shoving him playfully. “Anyway, are you gonna send i-”

A loud ding cuts you off, echoing slightly in the otherwise silent house. Above the box of text Jin had been crafting, a new strip of grey appears.

The both of you freeze, staring in disbelief at the screen. “Did he just..?” Before you can even finish that sentence, a second chime rings out again, and the screen shifts to display more grey, slightly smaller than the first.

“Looks like,” Jin murmurs, scrolling up to view the new message. “Holy shit.”

I’m sure you’re still asleep jin-hyung, so just text me when you get this but yesterday i was lying when i said i was fine, because i’m really not and jungkook has really helped to give me a little perspective so i’m sorry if you still need someone to distract you but i’m not gonna be that someone anymore

No hard feelings btw, i still feel the same way about you but i don’t think we should have sex for a while, i just need some distance. I like to think that you’d want me to put myself first and i’m doing that now. I hope you can understand

“That… I guess that’s that sorted,” Jin says slowly, tapping the screen to delete his message. “Should I reply now?” He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head as he locks the phone. “No, I’ll wait until later. He won’t be expecting a reply now, anyway. Hopefully he can get some sleep.” His eyes turn sad. “Do you think he was up all night stressing about that?”

“Hey,” you warn lowly, “don’t guilt yourself. The two of you can straighten things out later, and sleep better tonight. Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.” He releases a slow breath, his body heavy with unshed tension. For a moment, the two of you stay silent, you giving him time to process. When he speaks, he shuffles his whole body around to face you. “I know why you’ve been so hesitant,” he announces suddenly.

You frown. “Wait, what? Hesitant?”

“Yes,” he insists, “you haven’t really talked at all about if you return my feelings. I used to feel really confused and hurt by it, but I get it now.”

Your stomach rolls strangely, a feeling like being caught red-handed. “What do you mean?”

“Last night,” he explains, “I came up to tell everyone that dinner wasn’t far away. You weren’t in your room, and Taehyung wasn’t in his…” He trails off meaningfully, and realisation settles in your bones, not shock, but resignation.

“Oh.” You swallow, sitting up so you’re no longer leaning towards him. “You saw us? In Jimin’s room?”

“I won’t tell,” he begins automatically, “and it’s okay. I see that you’ve been answered for already. I’ll respect that.”

“It isn’t like that,” you say reflexively, “we - god, we weren’t supposed to let anyone know, I can’t believe we didn’t lock the door - but we aren’t together together. It would be too messy, and it was putting a strain on our relationships with everyone else, you know?”

Jin frowns, like he’s trying to work it all out. “So it isn’t a romantic relationship?”

You smile thinking of Taehyung’s loving brown eyes and Jimin’s gentle embrace. “It’s a promise,” you explain softly, wrapping your arms around your torso. “We aren’t making any commitments or ties now, and we obviously can’t be exclusive, so it’s a promise that once we’re out of here, we’ll try and explore our feelings. Do it right.”

The therapist takes in a deep breath, nodding. “Then where do I fit into all of this? Does that mean I have a chance?”

“I-” You bite your lip, avoiding his imploring gaze. “It would feel wrong getting into a relationship when I’d decided that I wouldn’t do it with them. If that makes sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” he assures, “but that’s not what I mean. I don’t need to be in a relationship with you to treat you right, Y/n. I just want to know if there’s a chance in hell that you return my feelings.”

You lift your eyes at this, staring at the way his soften in response. Your heart thuds in your chest and there’s a liquid relief pumping through your veins that he’s willing to stay by you. If you didn’t already know it before, those sensations certainly make it clear. “I like you, Jin. A lot.”

He smiles in relief, a small and sweet one that makes his eyes crinkle. Rather than responding verbally, he slips one large palm around the nape of your neck and pulls you in for a kiss.

Eyes slipping shut the moment he comes close, you reach out blindly for him and fist your hand in the thin fabric of his pyjamas to steady yourself. His lips are so plush, and moving so slowly, that it feels like they could slow down time itself. There’s no urgency in the sensual way he kisses you, but you can nonetheless taste his elation sweeter than the remnants of caramel on his tongue.

In that same way, you have no idea how much time passes with your mouths locked together, slowly warming the kitchen floor with your body heat until your skin feels on fire. Even the slightest details, like his fingertips on the back of your neck and your inner wrist make you dizzy.

You break apart for air, still clinging to him like you’d drown without his touch. Panting, you try to slow your racing heart. Your lips still tingle, and reach up to brush your fingers against them in wonder. “Oh, wow,” you whisper dumbly.

Jin smiles, then, a brilliant one that warms his whole face. “Wow,” he repeats. “I’ve been waiting to kiss you like that for a long time, Y/n.”

Barely able to think, you find your eyes slipping down to his lips, how swollen they are, dusky pink. “You can do it again, if you want.”

Jin goes to lean forward, but halts, looking up to the countertop. “One sec,” he hedges, “I’m determined to continue my opportunist streak.”

“Your what?” You chuckle at first, but as he reaches up and drags the jar of caramel sauce down, your eyes quickly widen in realisation.

Jin catches your look, sending you a wink. “Open up,” he instructs, and you drop your jaw without hesitation, anticipation heightening your senses.

When he tips the lip of the container forward, and you feel that warm sweetness burst on your tongue, you moan, tilting your head back so it pools in your mouth. But instead of stopping, he continues to pour, until you feel it threaten to spill out. “Too much,” you try to say, but you can’t move your tongue or lips enough to enunciate it.

Jin only pulls the jar away when it begins to drip down your chin, and like a man starved, he leans in and licks into your mouth without abandon.

You moan as you feel his tongue cut through the molten sugar, running over yours, over your teeth and lips and even ducking down to messily swipe up the stickiness on your face. No matter how much he ravishes you, the moment you begin to kiss back, your tongue lifts and a thick wave of hot caramel slips between your mouths, no doubt getting on your pyjama shirt.

Jin doesn’t seem to care; on the contrary, he moans and clasps your face in both hands, nipping at your lips and deepening the kiss more than you even thought possible. Slowly, the sweetness of caramel gives way to his own taste, and you’re left licking each other filthily, entwined together on the kitchen floor.

Once your chest is aching with a lack of oxygen, you pull away with a gasp, wincing at the weird feeling of caramel on your chest. “So messy,” you groan, “sorry, I didn’t think you’d pour so much.”

Jin’s eyes just light up with mirth. “Messy is the point, baby. We probably have, what-” he pauses to consult the time on the microwave, “two hours before the early risers are up? Why don’t we make an even bigger mess? I’ve decided I’d like to have my dessert first.”

You press your lips together to prevent a moan, nodding frantically. “Fuck, please. I want you.”

The therapist’s chest hitches, but he reaches out to squeeze your thigh. “Lie back, then, baby. Can you take your shirt off for me?”

You’re in such a hurry to obey him, shivering violently at the cold tile against your bare back, that when you suddenly feel a cold burst on your chest you jump, getting a fright.

There’s not enough time to feel that burst of ice, however, as a hot tongue quickly laps it up, collecting every last drop. Jin even sucks the skin there, just above the swell of your breast, to make sure he’s cleaned you up.

You writhe on the floor, your panties uncomfortably soaked, but Jin just throws a leg and an arm over you, straddling you and caging you against the floor. His weight against you makes you moan, that delicious sensation of being trapped exactly where you most want to be.

This time, when he digs his spoon into the slightly-melted ice cream, he pops it into his mouth instead of on your skin. You almost assume he’s just taking some for himself, but then he’s dipping his head and wrapping those sinful lips around one of your nipples, making you cry out.

The cold is immediately overwhelming, tightening and stiffening your peak, and the dizzying mix of his hot tongue with that cold dessert has you clinging to his back, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. “F-fuck, Jin,” you gasp, “so cold.”

“Is it?” Jin quips, his hand reaching to his side. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby.”

Without giving you a moment’s respite, he’s drizzling trails of caramel over your breasts, and lapping it up with ravenous enthusiasm. Though the caramel has gone mostly room-temperature, the contrast against your cooled nipple just makes it feel that much more electric, and you arch your back harshly until Jin finally reaches it and soothes it with his mouth.

You moan, wishing you had something to rut against, some type of friction where you needed it most, but Jin’s more focused on licking, nipping and sucking the sugar off of your body, leaving you trembling. “More,” you plead needily.

“More sauce? More ice cream?” he asks, panting as his own arousal presses stiffly against your lower stomach.

“More you,” you beg, arching up into him, making him curse lowly.

Like desperate virgins, you both quickly discard the last of your clothing, Jin just about popping the buttons of his shirt clean off, and it feels simultaneously like a second and a century before you feel his familiar girth pressing into you, stretching your dripping walls.

You groan, the back of your head knocking against the tile as you go slack, letting yourself focus fully on the sensation of him filling you up. “Fuck, Jin,” you gasp out, legs wrapping around his torso as he goes deeper and deeper.

When he bottoms out, however, Jin doesn’t begin fucking you straight away. Instead, he reaches for the jar. “Tongue out, baby,” he instructs.

Swallowing the drool that gathers in your mouth from the pleasure, you stick out your tongue until you feel it on your chin, awaiting the stream. Clearly wanting to be as messy as possible, Jin intentionally lifts his hand higher so that instead of a mouthful, you get whippings of sugar all over your neck, chin, and cheeks. Hardly any actually makes it in your mouth, but the therapist just chuckles and puts the jar beside him, bending down to run his tongue in a broad swipe up your cheek.

You squeal, turning your head to the side, but the surprise quickly bubbles into arousal as he laps up every last drop, sucking hickies into your neck all the way. The longer he goes, the more you need him, wetter and wetter around his cock. Rocking your hips just to get some friction, you whine into the silence of the kitchen. “Jin, fuck me already,” you plead.

Jin’s first thrust punches all the air out of you. He snaps his hips hard enough to push your body forward from the tile, then grabs your waist with a low growl, pinning you against the floor.

Though the tiles are still cold, your body heat is quickly taking the edge off, and being fucked against such a hard surface is a new feeling to you entirely. There’s no give, no bounce. When Jin begins fucking you at a greedy pace, you feel every inch of him stretching you open.

Your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, trying not to moan loud enough that the sound would travel upstairs, but barely able to even contain them at all. “Fucking me so go-mmf!” Your mouth is filled with a cold intruder, and you suck hard, swirling your tongue around the two fingers covered with ice cream. Jin curses lowly at the feeling, and suddenly he’s picking up the pace even more.

You cry out around his fingers, hands flailing to find something to latch onto and anchor yourself, but your knuckles whack into something solid. The ache in your fingers is quickly drowned out by the sudden rush of thick wetness on your stomach, and your eyes fly open, choking on Jin’s digits.

His thrusts slow down and he pulls his hand away and before you can say a single thing, the room is filled with the contagious sound of his laughter. Cock still buried deep inside you, and one hand dripping with caramel, holding onto the near-empty jar, Jin howls, shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“Hey!” you whine, pouting when the caramel disperses over you, soon dripping down onto your back and the floor. “Don’t laugh at me! You wouldn’t like it if your chest was drenched in caramel!”

Jin discards the jar beside him with a sticky clink, and composes himself, though that glint still remains alight in his eyes. “Oh, wouldn’t I?” Without a moment’s hesitation, he’s bending down until your chests are pressed together, separated only by that slippery layer of sauce.

A muffled squeak leaves your lips when he captures them again, his fingers scratching lines up your sides, making you shiver. You try to protest his attempt at tickling you while you were vulnerable, but then he’s rocking his hips, shallow strokes that grind into you so deep.

You moan, wrapping your arms around his back. Every time you feel his nails cutting through the syrup, you scratch his back. Instead of deterring him, however, he just groans into your mouth and doubles his efforts at fucking you.

Slowly, his hands move around from your sides to your back, and you cling to him tighter as he lifts you off the kitchen floor. Still delving his tongue deep into your mouth, he pulls you up until your torso is arched against him and your head tips back slightly, a perfect halfway point between horizontal and vertical, and uses the extra momentum to thrust up into you harder. The angle hits your g-spot roughly with every snap of his hips, and your clit grinds against his cock.

You cry out and lose contact with his mouth, but he just latches it onto your neck instead, dragging his teeth over your shoulder to let the cooled caramel pool in his mouth.

“Jinnie, I’m close,” you confess in a rush, your orgasm quickly building with a pressure between your legs. Something in the way your toes curl and stomach tenses warns you that this will be a powerful one, and your cries increase in pitch and volume, every breath a moan. “Jinnie! Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-”

“Make another mess for me, baby,” Jin groans, and with those words alone your vision goes white.

Jin curses when you lock up around him - legs and arms and pussy alike - but continues to rut against you as you ride the churning wave of your high. Burying your head into the crook of his neck so that you don’t wake the others with your keening scream, you feel a sudden burst inside you that leaves you trembling uncontrollably beneath him.

You feel Jin’s chin pressing into your hair as he glances down, grunting with exertion, and suddenly he’s freezing, holding you tightly to him as he cums inside of you.

The warmth of him filling you is the perfect soother as you come down from that intense climax, and you sigh as he leans forward, lying you back down on the kitchen tile. The two of you fight to catch your breath, the only sounds in the room your joint gasps.

Above you, Jin’s chest heaves, dripping with caramel just like yours must be. He doesn’t take any bother though, wiping away the sweat on his brow with a clean patch of his forearm. “Man,” he exclaims with a cheery chuckle, “you really did make a mess, huh?”

“What?” you ask blearily, weakly propping yourself up on your elbows to glance down. Thinner and clearer than the caramel, a liquid drips over yours and Jin’s stomachs, running down to the tile. You’d squirted. With a weak groan, you let yourself collapse back onto the sticky floor. “It’s too early for this,” you whine. “Oh, god. We have to clean this up.”

Jin’s smile is wiped clear off his face. “Oh, fuck. I didn’t even think about that, my notes didn’t mention it…”

“Your notes?” you ask curiously, grimacing when Jin slowly pulls himself out of you, a stream of cum following and joining the mess of liquids on the floor. “What notes?”

The therapist lets out a nervous laugh as he gets up off the floor, grabbing a clean dish cloth from the bottom drawer. “I did some research, that’s all. Like, no spicy stuff near any mucous membranes because of the sting, no sugar in the vulva otherwise you might get a yeast infection-”

“Eugh,” you cut in, “I’m glad you did the research, but that just makes me want a shower even more now.”

“Go shower, then,” Jin allows with a sympathetic smile, wetting the cloth and beginning to wipe off the stickiness on his chest. “I can clean this up for you.”

“Absolutely not,” you insist, “I’ll quickly wash this off, but I’m coming back down to help you. The sun’s about to rise, so if we work together, maybe there won’t still be cummy sauce all over the floor when the others come down for breakfast.”

“It is probably a safety hazard,” Jin admits. “Okay, then, we’ll clean it together. I’ll have a quick shower once you get back.”

You beam up at him but, before you grab your clothes and rush up the stairs, you rise onto your tiptoes and press a kiss to his sugared lips. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Jin returns your warm smile, ducking down to steal another kiss, and another, and another until you’re giggling and ducking away. “I’ll do my best.”

“You aren’t being particularly subtle.”

Hoseok shrugs at Yoongi. “I’m not trying to be subtle.”

The doctor’s eyes narrow. “Then tell us what’s in the box.”

Hoseok hesitates. “I’m trying to be a little bit subtle.”

Taehyung groans, reaching out for the heavy cardboard box and glaring reproachfully at Hoseok when he smacks his hand away. “Could we have a clue?”

Hoseok smiles sweetly. “No.”

“Then why is it on the table?” the masseuse whines miserably. “You’re just teasing us!”

“I don’t know why you’re so bothered,” Yoongi notes, “it’s not even for you.”

Perhaps you’d be more bemused by the antics of the boys at the table were it not for your own rampant curiosity. As usual, your days were measured by communal mealtimes (courtesy of the fact that six of you were too lazy to cook for yourselves, and the remaining too were perfectly happy to make enough for you all) but this time, as you enjoyed a pan-seared fish of some sort, the flow of the table was interrupted by the package that Hoseok had so dramatically dropped down in front of him. “What is it on the table for?” you ask in what you hope is a casual, unbothered tone.

Hoseok sighs patiently like he’s been through this before. “It’s to create an atmosphere of anticipation,” he explains importantly. “This is reality TV gold, guys, this is exactly what the editors would put a close-up of right before the ad break.”

Jin furrows his brows. “I don’t think there are ad breaks, Hobi.”

“You get what I mean,” he huffs petulantly before clearing his throat, “anyway, let’s change the topic. Any gossip? Love declarations, plot twists; what have I missed?”

Jungkook opens his mouth, beside him Yoongi quickly places a hand on his thigh, and the younger boy sinks back into his chair. “Just the usual for me.” If you weren’t already looking at him, you might have missed the slip of a smile that he presses his lips together to suppress. “Except for the extra dicks I’ve been sucking.”

“Jungkook!” Yoongi shrieks, before sitting up straight. “Wait. Dicks, plural?”

“Well, yeah, Taehyung can’t fuck Y/n anymore, so…” Jungkook deflects. Across the table, Taehyung wordlessly throws his hands in the air in a ‘what can you do?’ type gesture. “It’s like an emergency relief fund but sex,” the youngest explains, “I’m very generous like that.”

Taehyung’s mouth drops open, his breezy demeanour fading. “Hey! You only sucked my dick because you said my technique was off!”

Jungkook smiles glacially at the rest of you. “I’m a giver,” he continues, “much like Yoongi, I teach on the side.” He pouts at Taehyung. “And your technique was off!”

“It was better than your sloppy toppy!” Taehyung defends. “I wanted a blowjob, not a shower.”

“Listen,” Jin says sharply as Jungkook lets out an offended cry, “the only way you’ll ever know for sure is if you have an objective party to compare the two directly.”

Jungkook harrumps, crossing his arms. “What; are you offering?”

Jin pauses. “To have...my dick sucked twice by two very attractive and enthusiastic people? Yes, yes I am.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes at Jungkook. “You’re so on,” he threatens, “when I win, you have to let me join your stream.”

Jungkook’s already leaving the table, dragging Jin up by a handful of his hoodie. “Such a shame you’re not going to, then,” he taunts, “when you lose, you have to give me a full-body massage and no skimping on the back.”

The rest of you watch in speechless bemusement as Taehyung huffs and throws his chair back, hurrying after them. “Maybe if you didn’t slump in your chair so much, you wouldn’t have a sore back in the first place! Wait, Jungkook, not so fast, I just ate…”

Once the three have left, Yoongi clears his throat. “The gossips have left,” he states carefully, eyes serious as they watch Hoseok, “so what’s in the box?”

Hoseok giggles and claps his hands together, clearly delighted with the attention this box has given me. “You know, the more you ask, the less likely I am to show you.”

Yoongi immediately makes his expression sour, turning up his nose. “I don’t even want to see what’s inside the box,” he insists, “I don’t care at all.”

“Sure thing, hyung.”

The academic is next to have a go. With gentle eyes and shy fingers, Namjoon props his hands on the very edge of the table and looks over to Hoseok. “What if you just showed us one?” he bargains. “It just seems like such a shame to get them delivered all the way over here and not get to show more people.”

Hoseok purses his lips, still unconvinced. At the head of the table, Jimin lets out a scoff and stands up, picking his plate and cup off the table to go discard them in the dishwasher. “It’s going to be something boring,” he drawls, bending over slowly to put away the dishes, letting the table get an eyeful of the tight black jeans he’s wearing. “He’ll wrap Y/n up in rope like tinsel on a Christmas tree and call it BDSM.”

An indignant cry comes from the table as Hoseok watches Jimin reach into the fridge, pulling out a single raspberry from the fruit drawer in there, and grin rakishly at the older man. “That’s not true at all,” Hoseok defends insistently, “I’m just easing her into it. Besides; let me show you something from the box and then we’ll see what you think.”

“How- wha-?” Yoongi’s mouth drops open as Hoseok reaches for the box and uses a knife from the lunch to cut the tape down the middle. “He doesn’t even like you! Why was he the one to convince you?”

Hoseok barely takes note, shielding the opening from your eyes as he digs around inside. It’s near impossible to restrain your curiosity, but you curl your ankles around the chair legs and force yourself to stay seated as he shoves his hand in.

You hear clinks, thuds, and scrapes, before Hoseok lets out a triumphant gasp and pulls his arm up, retrieving a braided leather handle, which he lifts out of the box to reveal a whip of sorts, complete with a neat pile of clean-cut leather strips. Your eyes widen as Hoseok sets it on the table with a weighty thunk, closing the box back up.

“Too boring for you?” Hoseok asks of Jimin with a challenging stare. One finger lazily trails along one of the tails of leather, neatly folded in a gathered loop on the table, making you swallow harshly at the thought of what one of those might feel like lashing across your skin.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jimin returns to the table, inspecting it slowly. “And what are you going to do with that, big boy? Such a big flogger; I must admit, it seems like you’re overcompensating.”

Hoseok scoffs, a smirk playing at his lips. “I’ve caught you staring enough times, Peaches,” he taunts, “you and I both know that’s not true.”

This time, Jimin seems almost expectant of the nickname, and just rolls his eyes. “I’m surprised you noticed, seeing as your eyes are always locked onto my ass. Bet you wish you had a handful, huh?”

Hoseok frowns, pushing himself away from the table. “Did I eat too much or did the thought of dirtying my hands with you make me physically sick?” he questions rhetorically, making Jimin huff. “Anyways, I’ve got a scene to set up. Best for last, and all that.”

With a flourish, Hoseok picks up the whip - or, as Jimin had said, flogger - handle between two fingers and throws the tail of leather strips over his shoulder, lifting the box into his arms with a light grunt of exertion. Suddenly, he turns his gaze to you, warm but firm. “The downstairs bathroom; be there in half an hour wearing your underwear and only your underwear.”

You suck in a breath when he suddenly leans in close, hoisting the box on his hip as he uses the opposite hand to reach out and fiddle with your bra strap, snapping it against your shoulder with a teasing smile. “If you want to make Master happy,” he says in a voice like crushed velvet, “pick something pretty.”

Hoseok disappears down the hallway with all the drama of a Disney villain, sans a cape to billow behind him, and Yoongi lets out a slow sigh, getting up from his chair. “Well, I’m going to go outside and try and forget about all the debauchery in here. Anyone else?”

Namjoon straightens up immediately, hips bumping against the table. “Sounds good to me,” he rushes out, still looking a little pale from seeing that sneak peek of Hoseok’s box of toys.

Jimin, on the other hand, glances up towards the ceiling with a thoughtful expression. “You two go ahead,” he states, “I think the little ones upstairs could use another judge.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows lift, almost looking like he’s about to reconsider his choice to leave, but Namjoon is already suggesting they could bring out some board games or a pack of cards, and as usual Yoongi is softer than he likes to think he is.

Once everyone has left you alone in the living room, you slump back onto the table, letting out a breath. Your skin is already tingling relentlessly wondering what those strips of leather would feel like raining down on your skin. And that tool must have only been taking up a small portion of that box. It was heavy, full with other surprises that you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Taking a look at the time, you curse and scamper upstairs to track down something pretty for Hoseok.

It’s impossible to stop your mind from conjuring up countless images of what could be waiting for you. Big posts of metal or wood to tie a sub to, chains and latex and the Hollywood taboo of kink that comes to mind. But in the end, it seems trying to picture anything at all was a useless venture, as when you make it downstairs and knock on the door exactly thirty minutes after Hoseok let you, what’s inside is not anything you would have ever expected.

The bathroom itself is decently large, with flat tile all over, a row of showerheads without the luxury of cubicles, a large bath set into one corner, and a bench with a mirror.

But in the middle of the room, closer to the bench than the showers, sits Hoseok.

There’s nothing around him bar a single empty chair that he inclines his head towards, silently instructing you to sit. You glance around in suspicion, but the cardboard box is folded up just beside him and there’s nothing else to see.

Hoseok himself quite easily takes his spot as the centre of attention, though. As you sit gingerly on the wooden chair, grimacing at the scraping sound of the legs on the floor, you look him over. As usual, he makes his statement in black. Hoseok dons boots that lace up to just below his knees, tight leather pants, and a collared shirt that shimmers slightly in the light, like expensive silk. Around his middle is a belt that tightly cinches his waist, accentuating his chest and shoulders. With his hair parted and slightly curling to one side, you don’t miss the way his eyebrow quirks up. “Are you quite done?”

Your cheeks heat, and you lean back until you can feel the chair digging in. “Sorry.”

“Sorry, who?”

“Sorry, Sir,” you stutter out as quickly as you can, lowering your gaze.

“Dear me, I hope you haven’t forgotten your manners already,” he croons with a faux look of disappointment, crossing a leg over his knee. “Lucky for you, our scene hasn’t started yet. I want to have a little conversation with you first.”

You swallow, eyes darting down to that cardboard box, curiosity eating you up from the inside. “What do you want to talk about, sir?”

Hoseok’s eyes soften slightly and he laces his fingers over the top of his knee. “You and I are going to have a talk together as two adults, princess. I know we have the consent forms and safewords, but this one requires a little more direct communication. Normally in a scene, you’d be kneeling or I’d be standing right now, but I want you to be fully aware that we are having this discussion as equals. Understood? You can ask questions, raise concerns, anything you need.”

Though your heart hasn’t stopped racing, you feel yourself beginning to calm, relieved for a chance to properly prepare yourself and see what’s going to happen. “Yes, understood. Sir.”

Hoseok’s eyes fleck with mirth as he tilts his head. “First of all; are you allergic to soy or paraffin? I know we have the allergy sheets, but I’d feel safer double-checking.”

You frown, brows knitting in confusion. “Soy? Like soy sauce? And no, I’m not allergic to either of them.”

When Hoseok smiles to reveal his teeth, you catch a glimpse of his dom side, even as he maintains a friendly disposition. “Soy candles, princess.”

A flicker of alarm rushes through you, and you clasp your hands together, fiddling your digits to keep calm. “Is this like, pouring hot wax? I don’t know, Hoseok��”

“It wasn’t a hard limit you listed,” Hoseok reminds gently, “has that changed?”

You swallow. “I- no, it hasn’t but it’s still a soft limit, and I don’t know if-”

“That’s why I wanted to sit down and have a talk with you about it,” he explains without missing a beat, “and if, at the end, you want to keep it as a limit, we’ll do something else. I don’t mind forfeiting the challenge and taking a week in the bunks; they’re perfectly comfortable.” You still don’t answer, feeling scarily vulnerable in a bra and lace panties, nothing but a loose satin robe over top to keep you a little warm and covered. Hoseok’s warm expression keeps you anchored. “Wax play isn’t explicitly pain play, it can be sensation play just like running an ice cube over your skin. And I’ve been doing it for years, princess, if you know what you’re doing, it’s perfectly safe. Do you want to hear me out? There are no obligations.”

You suck in a deep breath, taking a second to think. “I want to at least hear you first,” you decide, “but I really don’t know.”

“I understand entirely,” Hoseok says, and a strange change overtakes his face as he bends down to slip open the folds keeping the box closed. It’s a slight lifting of his brows, pursing of his lips while still being relaxed. The almost stern look of a teacher as he pulls out a weighty red candle, rolling it over in his palm. He glances back at you, presenting it. The two of you are seated close enough together that you only have to lean forward to take it from him.

He lets you look over it as he speaks, his voice soothing and practiced. “This is a pillar candle,” he explains, “see how it’s quite girthy? When you light a candle like that, the molten wax pools in the middle. So when you go to tip it, you can control how much wax you want to pour and when. Some people will have at least two candles burning so that they can alternate. These ones are soy, but I brought paraffin too in case you had an allergy.”

Out of curiosity, you dig your nail into the top, by the fresh wick, and watch thick red wax build up under the nail. “Doesn’t it burn you?” you question. “Like it got melted because of actual fire, surely it would burn.”

Hoseok shrugs. “Not with the right wax.” He takes it back from you, flipping it up to show off the base where a small white sticker displays some information about the candle in tiny print. “Soy and paraffin both tend to melt at roughly the same temperature, and it’s low enough that it won’t burn you. The further away you drop it from affects the temperature when it gets to your skin, too. But candles like beeswax melt at a very high temperature. Those can be dangerous, and you’d never catch me or anyone at Red using them. Now-!” Slipping the short, fat candle back into the box with a soft thud, he pulls out a second one. This one is black, and thin with a pointed end at the top. “This one is a taper candle. There’s no room for the wax to build up, so when you light it, it’ll drop the melted wax one drop at a time. The advantage is that it’s handy for constant use, and very easy to maneuver. One of my friends at Red actually uses it in suspension bondage. She’ll tie up her sub and slip a lit taper into the rope somewhere so that it drips on, say, the sub’s back or stomach. You can imagine if you where tied up and blindfolded, feeling a single drop of heat at a time would be a pretty intense experience.”

The dom breaks off with a laugh at the look on your face, and promptly slips it back in the box. “For our purposes, I’m going to use the pillar. It means that I can easily stop at any time and let the wax just sit in that little divot at the top without it getting everywhere. Still with me?”

You nod quickly, shifting on the chair. Perhaps it’s the hypnotic, soothing lilt of his voice as he walks you through it, or perhaps you’re just realising that it’s not as scary as it seems, but that soft limit is getting softer and softer. “You can go on,” you state in a small voice.

Hoseok’s beam is addicting, brightening the room as he lets out a pleased hum and stands up. Instead of approaching you, however, he walks right past to the bench, fiddling with something in the sink there before he’s filling it up. “An important safety measure,” he explains, “is to have a water source nearby. In case it’s too hot, or the candle catches on anything. I’m doing it in here so that there’s not really anything flammable like carpet or curtains, but there’s no such thing as being too safe.”

You watch him shake the water off his hand with a fond smile. He returns to sit across from you, nudging the open box with his foot. “We have some other surprises in here, but nothing too wild apart from the flogger. How are you feeling about it?”

Your heart skips a beat when you recall it, the satisfying whip of air as he threw it over his shoulder earlier. “I’m nervous, but I really want to try it.”

“Excellent,” he says warmly. “And the wax? We can take it slow, try it out a bit and then I’ll check back in, yeah? Just because we’ll be in the scene doesn’t mean this communication is cut off.”

You suck in a slow breath, biting your lip. Hoseok gives you time to think, waiting patiently and without expectation, but you know that you want to at least try chasing that thrill deep inside you. “I wanna give it a go too.”

Hoseok’s look of pride makes your decision feel all the more right. “That’s my girl,” he chimes, “so brave for me.” Without further notice, his eyes darken, and his smile turns less sweet and more sly. “You know Master will make it good for you, right?”

You shiver beneath the thin layer of satin and lace. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he coos, “I want you to make a choice now, princess. I’ll let you choose what you wish to have first? Candles or the flogger?”

You feel slightly paralysed by the sudden decision making, brain already beginning to slow down. “Flogger please, sir.”

“So polite,” he praises, “alright, then. I want you to stand up and take that robe of yours off.”

You do so with a quickening pulse, but Hoseok doesn’t even spare a second glance at you, instead shifting the box over to the bench, pulling out… something that definitely isn’t the flogger.

Hoseok turns to you with a grin, dangling a chain on a single finger. At either end, leather cuffs twirl and bump each other, familiar to ones you’d used on the show before. Unlike the other pair, which were pretty simple and basic, this pair look beautiful enough to be a regular fashion accessory. The leather is thick but not stiff, and they’re done up with silver buckles, adjustable for size. What really catches your attention, however, is the gorgeous red trim of the softest velvet, a deep colour that makes it look unbelievably expensive. As he approaches, you notice that the insides of the cuffs are embossed with the symbol you recognised from the box. Two Rs facing away from each other, with delicately curled strokes.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” Hoseok asks rhetorically. “They’re from the dungeon, if you hadn’t already guessed. Show me your wrists.” You rush to obey, sighing when you feel cool velvet encase around your left wrist, Hoseok deftly fastening the cuff as he continues to talk. “We have a colour code for everyone that comes in our doors. All spectators wear a simple black wristband. If you’re there to play, doms get armbands and subs get cuffs. Green means free use, anyone inside those walls wearing a cuff or a armband can play with you-” he doesn’t miss the way you shudder at the concept of being totally at the mercy of a roomful of strangers, arms pulling closer to your sides defensively, “-blue means looking. You’re open to negotiation, but there needs to be a kink negotiation and mutual agreement before you begin to play.” Hoseok moves to your other wrist, making sure the cuff is snug, but not cutting off circulation. “Can you guess what red means, princess?”

You can’t bear to look away from the gorgeous cuffs that adorn your wrists. You can feel the weight of the chain that connects them as it swings below. “Taken,” you offer in an uncertain voice.

“That’s right.” Even though you aren’t looking directly at him, you can sense Hoseok’s grin. He gracefully hooks the chain on his finger, lifting it up and tugging it to watch your wrists jerk towards him. “And can you guess why I picked red for you?”

You think you know the answer. But you become overcome with the desire to hear him say it. You lift your gaze to his, shaking your head slowly. “I don’t know.”

Hoseok sees right through you, tilting his head. “I think you do,” he counters, “but I’ll happily tell you.” He yanks again, making you stumble forward into his chest. With an arm bracing you against him, Hoseok bends down to murmur in your ear. “Because you’re mine.” With the teasing slowness of a cat playing with its food, he brushes your hair back, fingertips light against the bare skin of your neck and shoulders. “Do you want to know something funny? The entire time you’ve been in there, you haven’t thought to look up.”

It happens quickly. Just as you lift your chin to seek out what he’s referring to, you feel a pull on your wrists. Hoseok’s grip on you loosens but the tug on your wrists continues until they’re stretching right up above you. The moment you set your eyes on the hook dangling from the ceiling - what looks like thick, industrial grade steel - you see the chain loop onto it and suddenly you can’t drop your arms anymore.

You tug them, a natural instinct to escape the hold, and the unforgiving way your body is stretched out makes your chest pound a little with alarm,heels only just resting on the floor. Hoseok’s hands are on you, palms hot as they smooth up and down your sides and back, soothing you. Your racing pulse starts to slow, even as your arms tremble.

“That’s better,” he remarks, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. “Would you believe that hook was there when we came?”

Your lips twitch. “Honestly? No, sir.”

He flicks you a wink, patting your ass fondly. “You would be surprised. Used to be a fixture for a chandelier. Who the fuck needs a chandelier in a bathroom?” You suppress a laugh, knowing that your nervous giggles will get the best of you if you give them a chance, but Hoseok sees that he’s managed to calm you down quite a bit, and slips back into the velvety depths of his dominant persona once again. His hand hasn’t moved from your ass, and you suck in a sharp breath through your nose as his fingers slip beneath the lace, gripping the flesh there, unable to move away from it.

“I’ve been waiting for this, you know,” he starts with a casual air, massaging your ass openly even as his eyes stay fixed on yours, monitoring your every expression, “been waiting to turn that pretty ass of yours red. Let’s take these pretty panties of yours off first.”

You relax your thighs to let the strip of fabric sneak past, and when he bares your bottom half, tucking the cream-coloured lace into his back pocket, you shiver for a different reason entirely. You feel the wetness between your thighs begin to run down now that it’s unhindered by your panties, and your nipples are stiff, begging to be touched.

Hoseok isn’t so merciful, however, and when he glances down and sees them, he flicks lightly at one with an amused chuckle. “Desperate little one, aren’t you? Now, princess, I’m going to go over to the bench and get my flogger. Are you okay here alone? I’m not leaving you; I’ll only be out of your sight for a moment.”

The tile feels so cold and unforgiving under your toes as you shift, the chain preventing you from going far. “Yes, sir,” you say, but Hoseok clearly senses your hesitance.

Eyes imploring, warm yet serious, he tips up your chin with his knuckles gently. “Do you trust me? I’ll be no more than ten seconds. How about this? In your head, chant ‘Master is a good kisser’ three times, and I’ll be back.”

Your eyes round, wetting your lips. “How would I kn-umph!” Your question is cut off prematurely as Hoseok ducks down and demonstrates; a firm, bruising kiss that’s only heightened by the bondage restricting your movements. You can’t touch him, or move closer. You just have to sit and take it, and your mind feels heady as his lips press roughly against yours, teeth tugging on your lower lip enough to sting. By the time he pulls away, you feel breathless, the tension of the cuffs the only thing keeping you on your feet.

Hoseok gently buffs you on the cheek with another wink. “Don’t forget the magic words, princess,” he chimes, “I’ll be right back.”

And, though only two weeks ago the feeling of having him out of sight and out of reach had freaked you out to the point of safewording, the tingle in your lips and that admittedly accurate mantra - Master is a good kisser - keep your mind occupied enough that before you reach the end of the third recitation, Hoseok has stepped back into your line of vision, giving you an expectant look. “Still with me?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod with it, though you can’t bring yourself to look at him, so captivated by the flogger in his hand. He holds it like a seasoned expert, which you don’t doubt he is. The handle is black braided leather, with two thicker balls on either end like a dumbbell, no doubt for ease of grip. His hand wraps around the narrower middle section, but loose enough that his fingers look relaxed around it. Though he holds the handle upright slightly, the strips of leather fall straight down in a single cascade, neatly kept together.

Observing your trained eye, Hoseok laughs and steps closer, sliding the leather over his palm to display it for you. “Shall we have a quick lesson? This here is a perfect beginner’s flogger. Perfectly balanced with a weighted handle and clean-cut leather. These strips here, they’re called falls. The less you have or the thinner they are, the more it stings like a whip would. This one has probably around 30, 35 falls. Proper garment leather. Expensive, but well-crafted.” His hand shifts, clasping around the ends, which he spreads apart with a thumb. “You see how the ends are rounded? Some falls have forked tips, pointed tips, or straight-cut ones. The pointier it is, the sharper the sensation. Rounded tips are best for a newbie like you.”

Suddenly, he drops the ends, letting them revert back to their single stream of leather spouting from the handle. The quick movement makes your eyes automatically jump up to his face, and you suck in a breath at how intense his gaze is on you. “You need to be very clear where your limits are, princess. Tell me if I’m going too hard. This is painplay, but it should still be pleasurable. Understood?”

You swallow. Now, with your body almost entirely naked, your body restrained and a very practiced dom standing in front of you with a flogger, the concept of pain is a little more concrete. But still, you trust him, and his ability to make it feel good for you. “Understood, sir.”

“Good.” Hoseok steps back, giving himself some distance as he eyes you up. With a smooth motion, his wrist begins to flick, and you instinctually recoil when the falls of the flogger start flying through the air in a graceful arc. They’re uniform in both width and length, probably just about as long as Hoseok’s arm, which stays perfectly still as he isolates the movement in his joint. Even if you weren’t in the metaphorical hot seat, this show of excellence and practiced skill would nevertheless add to the coil of arousal between your legs. He looks good like this, fully in his element. “Now,” he states, smirking at your telling reaction, “normally the best spots are the back of the shoulders, and the ass. But something tells me you’d rather see what I’m doing before letting me loose behind you. Would I be right in thinking that?”

You picture him going behind you and beginning to whip you with no context or warning. You nod your head quickly. “Yes please, sir.”

Hoseok smiles, slowing his wrist, before he begins flicking it the opposite way, the ends of the flogger curving downwards towards you instead of upwards. “Now, this flogger is a little thuddier than what I’d usually use on breasts, but since I’m only going to be very light, it’ll be just fine.”

You try to inch backwards, but the chain rattles and gives you away. “My breasts?”

Hoseok’s hand stills, his head cocking to one side as his brows come together. “Is there a problem, princess?”

His disapproval is clear, and you get the feeling that you’re treading on thin ice. But he said that communication wouldn’t stop here, so you forge ahead. “I’m not protesting, I’m just curious, sir. Why not somewhere easier like the stomach?”

Distaste wracks his features. “This isn’t going anywhere near your stomach,” he says firmly, “the organs there are unprotected. Anything vulnerable - joints, spine, the stomach and lower back, of course the head - they’re all off-limits. Do you understand that?” When he receives a nod, the line of tension in Hoseok’s shoulders relaxes. “Now, I need you to move your head back so that it’s between or behind your arms. Can you do that for me?”

Pushing your head through the gap in your upper arms, you shift until your whole face is between them, chin tilted slightly up. “May I ask why, sir?” you request in a small voice. Why did this whole thing feel so technical? And why were you still so wet from it?

“You may,” Hoseok replies bemusedly, “it just distances your face from the swings. Don’t worry-” he interjects quickly when your eyes widen in alarm, “the falls will be nowhere near your face. It’s just for our peace of mind. Do you still trust me?”

You manage to nod with your face bracketed by your arms, and with a rush of anticipation, watch Hoseok start up those quick circles, the leather whipping through the air in one bunch. Instead of stretching his arm forward, he steps in slowly, moving the falls getting closer and closer until the smooth stroke of impact flicks across your right breast.

You gasp, out of shock more than anything, but those strokes deliver a regular pattern, and it’s already lacing across your skin again, and again, an odd feeling that certainly isn’t unpleasant. There’s a distinct feeling of impact, without any real weight behind it, and the slightest hint of a sting that just serves to gradually warm the skin. Your chest is heaving, but Hoseok lands each blow with perfect accuracy, even stepping side-on between arcs and switching breasts.

The constant snap of contact helps you get used to it and calm down, and you can’t deny that it feels kind of...nice? There’s something satisfying and freeing about feeling those split second granules of pain and tolerating them, overcoming them. It doesn’t take long before you unconsciously arch your spine, seeking out something more than just light swats from the very tips of the falls.

Hoseok notices the moment you move and, frustratingly, he stops with a chuckle. “Did that turn you on, princess? Do you want more?”

You whine, tipping your head back further so he disappears out of your sight. Against the skin of your inner arms, your cheeks are raging hot. “Yes,” you admit in a defeated voice when he refuses to move on.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir?” you quip with a hopeful tone.

“Nice try,” Hoseok replies flatly, “I want you to say it, princess. Yes, what?”

You bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut. There’s only silence. The heat has already left your breasts, and they feel strange without that lick of leather on them. “I want more, please, sir.”

“Good girl,” Hoseok coos, and in reward you feel the now-welcome flick of the falls on your breasts. This time, however, he stands directly across from you and twists his wrist over, casting figure eights, alternating left and right. You tremble at the feeling, squirming under it. Though it’s still light, every strike feels even more intense on your nipples, shooting sensation right between your legs.

“Sir,” you gasp out, “I w-want some more, sir.”

Hoseok answers without faltering, and his voice easily carries over the sound of the flogger. “Oh, do you? I can’t go any harder on these pretty little tits of yours, princess.” He pulls away, ceasing the motion. “If you want to continue, I’m going to have to go behind you. Are you okay with that?”

You push your reddened chest forward to no avail. “Fuck! Hoseok, yes, I’m okay with it,” you whine, unable to resolve any of the need in your core, needing more. Hoseok clicks his tongue in disapproval, and you curse internally at the slip. “Sir! Sorry, I’m okay with it, sir.”

“You better not forget your manners,” Hoseok warns, taking one step at a time, boots thudding on the tile as he circles you. “I’m flogging you for pleasure, because I like to treat and train you, but if you do that again, I can easily turn this into a punishment.”

The thought makes you moan, and your wrist jerks as you fruitlessly try to cover your mouth. Actually relieved he’s behind you for once, you let your head duck forward, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Hoseok chuckles. “It seems like you’re more of a painslut than you realise, princess,” he teases, and you’re given no warning before you feel a strike against your ass, making you jump with a yelp. Though it’s the same light figure eights as just before, these ones whip up from the bottom, so that every hit lands on the meat of your ass, avoiding your lower back. If the ones before were easy, these feel like child’s play. Whether you’ve gotten more used to the sensation, or the skin on your ass just isn’t as sensitive, you find yourself immediately wanting more, trying to lean back into it.

The dom isn’t pleased. “Did I say you could move?”

You don’t answer, hands reaching up to grip the chains that bind them as you bite down harshly on your tongue. “I can take more, sir,” you begin, but Hoseok cuts you off with a gruff noise of disapproval.

“Did I say you could move?” he repeats sharply.

You whine low in your throat. “No, sir,” you admit, “but I can-” You yelp and flinch when a single swat hits below the swell of your ass, across your thighs. It feels different there, stingier and less hazily pleasant. “I’m sorry-”

“That’s right, I didn’t,” Hoseok’s voice comes from behind you, cold and unforgiving. “In fact, I hung you up here to keep you still for me, so that I could play with you as I wished. If you insist on defying that, I’ll quite happily fetch a spreader bar so that you can’t move an inch.”

You furrow your brows, hating the feeling of making him mad. Hating even more that the sharpness in his tone and the filthy word he says just make you even needier, tightening your thighs together. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll behave,” you mumble shamefully.

You jump slightly when you feel something on your ass again, but it’s just his hand, cupping the flesh. “I’m doing this to warm you up. For your own safety. I’ve been doing this for years, princess, don’t forget that Master knows best.”

“Master knows best,” you repeat mindlessly, feeling yourself begin to slip. It’s a comforting thought just as much as it is an arousing one; Master knows what he’s doing, and all you need to do is take it.

“Exactly.” Hoseok sounds pleased, and just as your heart lifts in relief, the hits resume.

Eyes slipping closed, you let yourself tune everything else out. When you focus, when you really actively feel it, you can recognise every shift in his posture, or change in angle by how it feels on your skin. The strips of leather lash up, gradually causing the skin to heat up as the thuddy feeling stays longer and longer after each strike.

Before he ups the intensity, he simply speeds up his strokes, and you let out a pleased whine as the constant ebb and flow of pleasure-softened pain lull you deeper. The more you take, the less it hurts at all, even as the skin on your ass feels like it’s radiating heat.

The warmth floods to the rest of your body until even your toes aren’t cold against the tile. You feel like you could stand here forever, strung up and lost in the sensations he’s giving you. In fact, those dull edges of pain are so soothing that it feels almost therapeutic, worries and aches melting away, irrelevant in this space.

Hoseok finally deems your skin is sufficiently warmed up, and you whimper when the hits shift. Instead of friendly, playful flicks of leather, every strike echoes in the room, the thud of impact delivering a bolder note of pain.

Not that it’s bad, though. On the contrary, if the earlier flogging was lulling you into a sleepy bliss, these ones wake you up like a burst of energy with every swing. Without even realising, a dopey grin stretches your cheeks, and you find yourself no longer trying to muffle the pleased sighs that stutter out with every flick of Hoseok’s wrist.

“Fuck, look at you,” the dom croons, “a painslut indeed. You’re dripping onto the tiles, naughty girl.”

You moan openly, knuckles aching with how tightly you’re gripping the chains that hook your cuffs to the steel loop above. Your pussy aches with the need to be touched, but to do that Hoseok would have to stop whipping you, and your mind hisses at the thought. All you want is more, you can take more, you want to show him, to show yourself you can take more. Every burst of pain on your flesh is another victory, and it feels euphoric.

You stay in this headspace for a while as Hoseok maintains the same, regular hits. Eventually, the scream for more overwhelms you, and you seek out something more intense the quickest way you know how - disobedience. “Hoseokie,” you whine, “hit me harder.”

You could sob when his hand freezes, the next strike coming down without any bite, just a loose draping of the leather falls. As they linger on the skin, you realise just how sensitive and raw it’s gotten, feeling every edge of leather in sharper clarity. Hoseok holds it there for a moment, then drops, the silence in the room palpable. “Are you giving me orders? And without the proper title, no less.”

Pain bursts across your skin like a line of fire, the sharpest and strongest hit yet. Like the one across your thighs, this comes at an angle instead of the upstrokes of his circles or figure eights. You can imagine him holding it back, and whipping it down with a single, swift flick. The residue heat on your ass just makes you want another.

Instead of another hit, however, you cry out when you feel nails digging into the flesh, not scraping, just groping the globes of your ass in each hand. You can even feel the stiff leather of the handle pressing into your flesh on one side, and you whine at the sensation.

“I know what you want, princess,” Hoseok growls, his voice startlingly close as his breath wafts hot on the back of your neck. “And if painplay was the purpose of the scene, perhaps I’d whip you until you cried like you deserve.”

You sob. “Master, please-”

“It’s too late for that,” he cuts off sharply. “The time for begging is over. You’ve disappointed me. I was going to lift up your legs and fuck you right here, but you’ve showed me that you don’t deserve that yet.”

Unprecedented, your eyes brim with tears. Hoseok slips back into your line of sight, face stern as he tucks the handle of the flogger in his belt at the back, and reaches up to unhook you. Your legs are weak, but he carries your weight with ease, letting the chain dangle around the back of his neck as he walks you over to the bench.

Instead of propping you up on it, or sitting you on a chair, he helps you lie down on the cool tile, an immediate balm for the deep-set heat radiating from your ass. Even as his face is stiff with disapproval, he handles you so gently, ensuring you don’t knock your head on the way down.

“Just stay here a moment,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your eyes, “calm down a little bit. I have some candles to light.”

You feel strangely floaty, your emotions all over the place, but Master had asked you to calm down, so you try your best to settle them. It’s not a bad sensation once you relax a bit. Need burns fiercely between your thighs, but the last thing you want to do is upset him by breaking the rules, so you simply let your eyes slip closed and your thighs clench together. You’ll wait until Hoseok comes back to you, and then you’ll make things right by being extra good. The thought of pleasing him makes you smile, and when Hoseok’s voice wraps around you, checking that you’re still with him, it’s only too easy to chirp a contented, “yes, sir.”

When he returns, he’s slipping one hand under your head and the other behind your back, lifting you ever-so-slowly so that your head doesn’t spin. Once you’re up, you lean forward and cling to him, wanting nothing more than to be close. Hoseok lazily cards his fingers through your hair. “You’ve misbehaved,” he states slowly, “you haven’t earned an orgasm, princess, but I’m soft on you. I’ll give you the chance to win one, how about that?”

You blink dazedly, feeling clarity begin to seep back in. “Win?”

Pulling back, Hoseok smirks down at you. “We’re going to play a little game, you and I. Come; I want you on your hands and knees.”

Hoseok guides you over, though you’ve mostly gotten your strength back. On the floor, near the box, are two lit pillar candles. The flames dance cheerily, leaving behind wells of molten wax. One is the red candle you’d inspected earlier, and the other is a pure white, the wax melting clear. You prop yourself up on your hands and knees beside it, but the dom quickly corrects you, leading you to instead assume the position over the box, which almost reaches your stomach.

Upon receiving your questioning look, Hoseok rubs one hand over your reddened ass cheeks, soothing the flesh. “I don’t want you losing your balance and creating a large angle,” he explains shortly, “the wax could drip forward into your hair or, worse, drip back where I’m sure you don’t want it.”

You shudder at the thought, your pulse steadily quickening as the reality of what he’s about to do sets in. This feels even more unfamiliar and alien than the flogging did at the beginning, but you feel safe beneath his touch.

Hoseok gets on his knees behind you, and you could cry in relief when you hear a belt buckle clink, and then a zip lower. It takes no time at all for you to feel the blunt head of Hoseok’s cock pressing against your entrance until it begins to sink in.

You moan, arching your back enough that you fee the texture of cardboard on your stomach. After only receiving external stimulation - pain, nonetheless - until now, suddenly being speared on his tongue has you speechless, tongue heavy in your mouth and drool pooling in your cheeks.

“Feel good, princess?” Hoseok questions, giving your raw ass a playful swat when you cry out the affirmative. “I bet it does.” But when he bottoms out, leaving you deliciously full, he remains perfectly still. “Sadly, that’s all you’ll get for now. Do you want to hear the rules of the game?”

You sob lowly in your throat, elbows almost buckling as your walls clench around the unmoving intrusion. “Please, sir.”

“I’m going to write a word on you, princess. A special word. But it just so happens that I don’t have a pen on me, so I’ll use this wax instead.” The glimpses of red and white blink out of your peripheral as Hoseok drags them closer to himself. “You can guess each letter, and if you manage to get the word right once I’m finished, then I’ll let you cum. Does that sound fair?” Your reply is garbled, incoherent, but Hoseok doesn’t seem bothered. “Then let’s begin. Pay close attention, now.”

Your body naturally tenses up, eyes squeezed shut as you wait for a burst of pain, of searing heat. When something touches your skin, you automatically cry out, but quickly realise that it doesn’t hurt at all, instead, it’s like viscous warm water that slowly stiffens on your skin as it cools. The tightness in your chest loosens.

“That was a test patch, princess,” Hoseok says in a calm voice, devoid from his usual dom smugness. “Too hot? Not hot enough?”

You swallow. “It wasn’t hot,” you admit, “it’s not bad.”

“Understood,” he confirms, squeezing your hip in reassurance as you clench again around him, but the safety monitor Hoseok quickly takes a backseat to the Master persona. “First letter, princess. I’ll only do each one once.”

This time, when lines of warmth bloom on your back, concentrated in the top corner by your shoulder blade, you focus your mind on picturing the shapes they create. Something straight, then a small loop. The wax isn’t painful; on the contrary, it doesn’t feel hot when it first makes contact. As it sits, the skin heats up, but before it gets too warm, the wax has already cooled to mostly solid. Your fears melt away fully, and you tune back into the game. “D?” you guess.

“Close,” he allows.

You rack your mind. “P?”

You moan when Hoseok’s cock suddenly moves inside you, pulling out slowly and giving you a single, snapped thrust. “Correct,” he confirms, “next letter.”

This one feels similar, starting with the same straight line, slightly to the right of where the first patch fell. A straight line, something wobbly again with a line to end it. Your breath catches. “R? Is the word ‘princess?’”

“Guessing so soon,” Hoseok chimes, humour lacing his voice, “but wrong on both counts. It’s a vowel.”

You go down the list, comparing them against the already-fading memory of thick warmth on your skin. “E- no, A?”

“A is correct. This one’s easy.” After fucking into you once another time, he does a single stroke that you easily identify as an I, and then you hear the thud as he puts down one candle and picks up the other. “Let’s see how you look in red, princess. Next letter.”

It gets harder and harder to correctly name the letters as you go on. With every right answer, you’re rewarded with a second of pleasure before it ceases, and that paired with the arousing feeling of warm wax drizzling over your skin just has you feeling hazy. It takes you whole minutes to guess N, but lucky it’s followed by simple strokes of S, L, and U.

By the time he’s switched wax a couple times and is readying you for the last letter, you already know the word. But Hoseok drops the wax from a little lower every time, and you relish the heat more and more with each letter, and you’ll take whatever else you can get.

At this point, the only space left on you is low on your back, just in from your waist. You squeeze your eyes shut, already knowing that he’s going to paint two strokes: one horizontal and one vertical. So instead, you allow yourself to just feel it for what it is.

He tips the pillar candle - red or white, you’ve long since lost track - and you moan openly as you feel fluidity, then heat, which crests and settles into a seal of solid wax. Hoseok wastes no time before completing the letter, one longer line going down in a thick trail that threatens to drip down your side.

“‘s T,” you slur out before he can even ask, tightening your walls around him as he snaps his hips a single time so that you can feel every inch of him. Even the sound of the one movement is obscene; you’re so wet that it runs down your thighs and soaks his cock, but Hoseok’s not complaining.

Instead, you whine as you feel his nails on your shoulder, dislodging the fully hardened wax from the beginning. It’s a strange sensation, there’s a minute suction to breaking that seal, but it lifts off so smoothly when he’s careful like that. “And can you tell me the word, princess? I picked it out just for you.”

Sighing out, you nod shakily. “Painslut,” you gasp.

“That’s right,” Hoseok replies warmly, even as his nails curl and drag down rough enough to crumble the wax in his path, leaving stinging lines over your skin. “You’re my little painslut, aren’t you? Say it, and I’ll give you your reward.”

“I’m your little painslut,” you moan out, back arching under the relentless way he dislodges slivers of dried wax, exposing the sensitive skin beneath.

Without further preface, Hoseok bends over to quickly blow out the two candles, shift them further away, and then straightens up to grip your hips with hands slightly slippery from the soy.

When he begins fucking into you properly, with the full force of his powerful hips, you’re pushed forward onto the cardboard box, a cry punched from your throat. He doesn’t wait this time, just as steady and unforgiving as the circles his flogger made earlier.

You feel the weight of his balls slapping against you, his hip bones pressing into your sensitive ass, and his nails dig in sharply to give you that delicious pain that had become just as potent as pleasure. You feel him inside you, too; mercilessly parting your walls and stretching you around him until it feels like you can’t breathe.

Your mouth spills a constant stream of garbled moans and pleas, doing your best to fuck yourself back on him to feel him deeper. “Fuck, Master, I’m so close,” you manage to make out, “can I cum, sir?”

Hoseok growls deep in his throat, and you squeal helplessly as his pace picks up until you can’t even stop yourself from drooling onto the tile, jerked about within his grip. “Cum for me, princess,” he commands, “cum on my cock now.”

In your body’s final effort to please your Master, your orgasm follows only a few thrusts later, and you go limp and shivery against the support of the cardboard box, clinging to it as Hoseok chases his own high.

Having cum from g-spot stimulation alone, the orgasm seems to reach as deep as your bones, and you ride the wave longer. By the time you’re finally beginning to come down, pleasure slowly turning to oversensitivity, Hoseok’s thrusts are stuttering, and he’s suddenly pulling out of you, grunting as a different kind of heat spurts over your back.

You’re panting, hugging the box you’re curled over as you feel Hoseok’s cum run down the divot of your spine, slowly cooling. You can still feel the dry flakes of wax that cling to you, and even as Hoseok gently helps you off the solid tile floor, you see shavings and slivers of red and white falling to the ground.

Hoseok’s dropped the Master persona entirely by now, and you hum happily as he checks you over, fingertips running across the skin of your back and ass. “No pain still persisting?”

“Well, my ass still kinda stings,” you admit, “but nothing seriously painful, no.”

He furrows his brows in concern as he straightens up in front of you. “And the wax was okay?”

You smile shyly and a little dopily, still coasting on the endorphins the pain and temperature play had released. “I’m probably going to go to Sejin and get him to change it to a definite interest, actually. It was great, Hoseok. You were great. Thank you.”

Hoseok’s eyes warm as he fondly buffs you on the underside of your chin. “Well; I say we have a nice shower and clean you up, and then we can go into the kitchen for some ice cream. Get your sugar levels back up, how about that?”

You could laugh, but you feel too blissed out to even exert that much energy. “I’m not sure there’s any ice cream left, actually.”

FAN FAVOURITE

Please vote for your favourite member in the house according to Week Three only. Vote here. You need to sign in to prevent spamming, but I delete the survey after the 48 hours is up. All I take note of is the pie chart at the end. I’m very excited to see what the results will be !

And so we meet our fourth guest... Confused? Check bonus content four, five and six for the other three teasers ;)

#cypherwritersnet #bts smut #jin smut #hoseok smut #bts x reader #hoseok x reader #jin x reader #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #ot7 x reader #ot7 smut #taehyung smut #jimin smut #namjoon smut #yoongi smut

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the-purity-pen · 3 years

Text

The Meal

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Wife Fem!Reader

A/N: I had put out a prompt list a few weeks, months at this point, ago and my good friend @shiny-captain-no-pants gave me the prompt: “Frankie Morales surprises you with a home-cooked meal”. We all know Frankie is a goddamn sweetheart and that the entire movie would not have happened if he had said no to fuckwit Tom. But here’s what I imagine would happen if back home, you are his spouse and the newborn baby life has been particularly rough on you. (This was entirely too self-indulgent but I am not sorry). Word Count: 3,230

CW: mentions of postpartum body, allusions to postpartum depression and anxiety, a tinyyyy bit of smut towards the end

Frankie had been home for a few days and the extra hand around the house was extremely appreciated. The baby was going through a new growth spurt and she decided that sleeping through the night was no longer an option. You felt defeated and definitely exhausted. The help from neighbors and friends was nice but having your husband home was infinitely better.

The late-night feedings had been turned over to him and he did them without complaint. He let you sleep as much as you needed and it was refreshing to wake up and be able to cook breakfast without burning every pancake. The one thing that Frankie let you do to let you feel normal was to cook every meal.

The baby was down for her evening nap and your eyes fluttered open, unaware that you had actually fallen asleep for a few minutes. Okay, half an hour. But it was needed.

As you woke, the smells of delicious food wafted into your nose, causing a smile to cross your lips. Whatever was being made would be truly delicious. You wrapped your body in a silk robe before tiptoeing into the hall and past the baby's room where she was still sleeping. Thank god.

You came down the hall and came up behind Frankie who was knee-deep in concentration at the stove. Your arms wrapped around his aproned waist and your head rested on his shoulder.

"Hey, baby. Did I wake you?" The smile on his face was evident just from the way his head turned slightly and his cheeks puffed out a bit.

You hummed contentedly before giving him a soft squeeze of a hug. "The best way to wake up is to food. You didn't have to cook dinner baby," you cooed as you leaned forward onto your tiptoes to kiss the scruff on his jaw.

Frankie shrugged. "I wanted to surprise you with something special,” he told you as he held up the spatula. Your eyes widened with excitement. He was making one of your favorite meals from your childhood.

"Frankie!" You exclaimed happily as you scooted to the side of him to take a small bite from the spatula. He watched with adoration as you closed your eyes and savored the taste. "Oh my guh,” you said before fully swallowing the bite.

"Good?"

"So good baby." You swallowed and opened your eyes to see him lean over to kiss you. You of course kissed him back. This man was perfection wrapped in a very attractive package.

Your arms came back around him as you rested your head on the side of his arm. You watched as he stirred in a few more spices and felt your heart melt for the man before you.

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The baby had woken up just before dinner was to be served. Frankie set the table and served the food as you settled the baby into her high chair. You moved to start placing some of your cooled down food on the tray and Frankie stopped you.

He went over to the fridge and got out a small plastic plate that already held perfectly safe sized chunks of the meal, cooled down to perfection for the baby to eat.

The look of adoration for his planning ahead made you melt as you watched him interact with your child and give her the food on her tray. She was smiling so big at her papa and you knew you had absolutely made the right choice in a life partner.

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An hour later and all three of you were stuffed, Frankie and little one were nodding off in their respective chairs. You smiled to yourself once more before getting the baby ready for bed.

Returning to the kitchen, you found the table emptied and Frankie was cleaning up in the kitchen. You shook your head lightly at the disbelief of how perfect he was.

He was standing over the sink, his hands and wrists covered in dish soap as he scrubbed the pan he had used. You repeated your greeting from earlier, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind.

Frankie hummed happily as your head came up to the back of his head and scratched gently at his scalp through his curls. "That was delicious Fransisco," you cooed happily as your lips found the side of his neck, peppering him with kisses.

"I had to do something special for you. You've been alone with the baby for the last few months. You're really a superhero in disguise," he grinned as he shook off his hands and turned around to face you, his hands coming to your hips like a magnet.

He leaned down to kiss your nose then each cheek then down to your lips. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"I more than enjoyed it, baby. You made me fall in love with you all over again," you admitted, feeling a small heat grow in your cheeks as you looked up at him with a warm smile.

Frankie felt his chest swell with pride knowing that after all these years he could still have that effect on you. With the smile on his face growing enough that you could see the little crinkles near his eyes, he leaned in to plant his lips on their home, your own.

You sighed quietly into his mouth as he pulled you closer by the hips and slipped his hands to your lower back, pulling you closer. His hands made a small journey to cup your ass cheeks, giving a soft smack to both.

You giggled and pulled away from the kiss. "Mr. Morales!" You admonished him playfully as your hand came down to smack his chest lightly, making him chuckle.

"I've missed you, baby," he said with a smile so wide, his teeth were showing.

Your eyes took in the sight of him, that smile you loved so much, the little change in the color of his eyes. "I've missed you more Frankie," your voice was soft but held a hint of lust.

Frankie knew that tone and immediately leaned down to kiss your neck as his body slowly pushed you back toward the empty counter behind you.

You gasped as your back hit it, one hand holding the counter while the other found its way into Frankie's curls. He let out a quiet groan as you tugged softly. You smiled knowingly as Frankie stopped his string of kisses on your neck to pull away and look at you.

He pressed his hips forward and you felt his cock against your thigh. "Look what you do to me woman," he growled with a smirk. You hummed contentedly. "Exactly what you do to me hubby," you laughed as he rolled his eyes, his hands making a path of destruction to slide under your robe.

He groaned when he found just your slick heat waiting for him. His breathing became shallow. "You had ulterior motives today, didn't you?" He asked but you didn't have to answer, just giving him a little shrug.

He groaned as his calloused fingers gathered up your wetness. Keeping his gaze locked on yours, he pulled his hand away and slowly licked his fingers. Your eyes widened as you watched him thoroughly enjoy the taste.

You leaned forward to his ear. "Are you gonna fuck me or just continue tasting me, hm?"

Frankie took the hint and immediately propped you up onto the counter, spreading your legs so he could stand between them. One hand came to the side of her neck while he suckled on the other side. His free hand came down in one swift movement to tug at the small silk tie of the robe, exposing your chest to him.

His mouth found the swell of your breast and laid hot open mouth kisses down to your nipple where his tongue circled the sensitive nub. You let out a heavy drawn out moan as your hands attempted to reach between you and cup his cock through his jeans. You heard the small murmurs of cursing as you gently squeezed his hardened length, knowing he was straining against the denim and that you had been the one to make him that way. Despite the baby always making you exhausted, the insatiable hunger from Frankie made your heart swell.

Not once did Frankie ever let you think poorly about your postpartum body. The stretch marks were cared for with a gentle trace of his fingers in the early mornings. Your sagging butt cheeks from lack of muscle tone were gnawed at and given little pats as you roamed around the house. Your breasts, well, they were constantly in pain from being overfull with milk but Frankie always offered to help massage them even if he knew it wasn’t inherently sexual. His groaning became needier as he pawed at your body, gently but firmly. His mouth made the way back to yours and you wrapped around your arms around his shoulders, your hands still tangling into his dark curls, your nails stretching lightly at his scalp. His arms found their way around your waist and lifted you gently from the counter to help you onto the floor. He guided you as his lips found every part of your body he could, one hand holding out behind and to the side of you to guide along the wall and down the hall. The other hand kept a firm grip on your hip as he lead you to your shared bedroom just at the end of the hall. You both instinctively went far more quiet as you snuck by the nursery, pausing in your affections to tiptoe by to not wake the small child.

Once the coast was clear, Frankie was right back to devouring your neck, one hand coming up to your chest to fondle your breast and the other to the light switch to turn off the light. He didn't need the light to see you. Besides, the moonlight casting in through the window made you look radiant every time.

Breaking away from you, Frankie made to quietly close your door. You took the free moment to shed the robe you'd been wearing and I'm the moment you turned back towards him, Frankie was on you. His hands grasping at everything seemingly at once, his mouth on a hungry tirade over your neck and shoulders.

His movements were sure and purposeful as he knew every part of your body that needed attention. His hands guided your hips to that you were to the edge of the bed, the back of your knees buckling slightly to make you sit in the bed itself.

You looked up at Frankie and saw that lustful look in his eyes and it hit you like a ton of bricks. The sudden swelling sensation in your chest as your heart fluttered, a tear streaked down your face.

The instant Frankie saw your face change he stopped everything. He dropped to his knees next to the bed, groaning slightly at the discomfort before his hands were holding your face in the most Frankie way possible.

"Baby? Baby are you okay?" His voice carried such a heavy tone of concern that it made you sniffle as another hot tear fell down the opposite cheek.

You nodded and sucked in a breath trying to hold back the full sobs that were building in the back of your throat. You couldn't form the words to tell him just how in love with him you were.

He knew. Of course, he knew. He wouldn't have married you and had a baby with you if he didn't know. But something about the way he just endlessly loved and cared for you and was always lusting after you even after all these years struck a chord with you.

His fingers gently caressed your cheeks, catching the falling silent tears as you tried to scrunch your face in an effort to not cry. Frankie was starting to drown himself, afraid that he had done or said something to make you upset.

He didn't understand postpartum issues but he had done research since being home from the mission that Santi had put him on. He had even helped set you up with a really good therapist despite your insurance not being great.

"Baby… look at me, please. Tell me what's going on," Frankie pleaded with you, lifting your face so you would look at him.

You sniffled. "I just love you so much," you responded with a shaky breath. Your eyes crinkled in trying to fight the tears but it was useless. You knew Frankie didn't care about you crying in front of him.

The sobs were quiet as Frankie moved closer and lifted himself to sit on the bed beside you. He pulled you in so you could cry into his chest, his arms around your shoulders and his hands gently petting your arm.

You wrapped your arms around his waist and quietly sobbed into him, his only responses being gentles shushes, and coos of how much he loved you and the family you made for him. The man was a saint, a pure saint for just sitting with you as you cried, your emotions confusing you and frustrating you at the same time. When you had calmed down, Frankie used his hand to pull your chin up to look at him. “You are my everything baby. You amaze me every day and especially with how well you take care of our baby. Our baby,” he re-iterated as he wiped the streak of tears with his thumb. “Nothing you could do or say would change how I think of you, okay?” When you didn’t answer immediately, he said your name softly.

You nodded and felt the tears start to dry up which prompted you to sit up straighter and place your hands on his scruffy face, the patchy beard exactly the same as it was when he had left with Santiago and the boys. Your eyes studied his face before you leaned in, pulling his head towards you to plant a kiss on his lips. You felt the quiet sigh of his body, a thankful reprieve that you were feeling a bit better. Frankie wasn’t the type of guy to just forget that you were having real internal struggles and coerce you into having sex. No, he wanted to make sure you were taken care of: mind, body, and soul. So while he kissed you back, he pulled away to look into your eyes, and seeing no hesitation or worry left in them, he grinned, the corners of his eyes wrinkling slightly. He leaned in and kissed you again before leaning back to pull you on top of him. You giggled softly before adjusting your hips so you could straddle him, being sure to grind your hips down into him. He groaned slightly. “Good to see you back to yourself baby girl” he mused as his hands held your hips and gripped them tighter, guiding you to rub your bare cunt against his jeans. You shook your head. “You, Mr. Morales, need to catch up to this undressing game though,” you smirked as your hands ventured to his chest, running down it to the hem of his shirt, playing against the softness of his tummy. You let your nails scratch at the tufts of hair there, the line that would lead down to his cock and you felt his abdomen clench under the sensation. He groaned and bucked his hips up into you.

Within the next few minutes of playful giggles and touches, Frankie was undressed beneath you. “Muy bonita,” he uttered as his hands roamed your body and up to your chest where his calloused fingers worked your nipples until they were hard. Your head lolled back as you hummed in approval. Your hands came down to rest on his chest as your head dropped so you could look him in the eyes. Your moisture was already soaking the underside of his cock as you rubbed yourself against him. You could feel him twitch beneath you as he grunted and moaned. You leaned down to press a soft kiss to his lips as your hips lifted in the process. He knew your movement and anticipated it, his hand coming down between you to align himself with your opening.

Your mouth laid hot open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down his neck onto his check, your tongue swirling into the patches of hair there as he guided himself up into you slowly. His hips bucked up to press himself into and you lowered your hips at the same time until he bottomed out inside of you. Both of you moaned at the same time at the feeling of him and you took a moment to look into his eyes to see them filled with all the love in the world. You slowly rocked your hips and let your forearms rest on his shoulders so you could tangle your fingers into his curls and tug softly, causing a grunt from him. “I love you, Frankie,” your voice was broken as you made slow love to your husband. “I love you too baby,” he echoed in the same soft voice before he moaned out quietly at the new sensation of your hips. His fingers dug into the soft flesh at your hips as you gyrated and danced, letting the tip of his cock hit just right within you.

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After an hour together in bed, tangled in the sheets that had once been freshly made, you were snuggled into Frankie’s side, his arm around your shoulders, your arm laying across his stomach. Your fingers made little senseless patterns as you listened to the calmness of his breathing and his heartbeat. You had talked about nothing and everything between the few moments of just post-coital silence. But all the same, you could feel yourself growing more and more attached to the man you had married. “What are you thinking about?” Frankie’s voice mumbled as if he could hear your thoughts. Just as he knew your body and your movements in bed so well, you wouldn’t doubt that he had somehow picked up the superpower of hearing your thoughts. You shrugged against him as you turned your face to kiss the side of his chest. “You, mostly.” You smiled against his skin and looked up to see him grinning and shaking his head a little. It was then that the baby started to stir, making her cooing noises over the baby monitor.

You started to get up but Frankie now wrapped both of his arms around you and pulled you into him. “She’s fine,” he reassured as you both paused to listen. She was fine. She was just babbling happily away probably at her stuffed animal. You giggled and chewed your lip as you adjusted your head to look up at Frankie, seeing the soft greys growing more and more prominent in his beard.

“Just five more minutes, okay?” he asked before looking down at you and giving you the warmest smile with the most devilish glint in his eye. Five minutes, yeah right. But then he was swiftly moving to hover over you, his mouth trailing hot kisses down your body. “Five minutes,” he repeated as his mouth found its intended target.

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Just tagging the folks that liked my “are you ready” post about this fic for now. If you don’t want to be tagged, I’m sorry!

@aimspham @cryptkeepersoul @heythere-mel @babybelou @thisismyidea-of-fun @lackofhonor @wordsfromshona @autumnleaves1991-blog @dreamgirl-67

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #catfish morales #frankie morales fic #catfish morales fic #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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gardenflowerswriting · 4 years

Text

Fucking Jelly (Syverson x Reader)

Summary: Reader is a Doctor who cannot stand the captain, yet when he asks for help, they can’t say no.

Type: playfullbanter/fluff Gif: andsowewalkalone Word Count: 4k

You were threading a small stitch in a mans arm as you heard talking behind you, "this here is Y/L/N." You rolled your eyes, stopping to turn and see Syverson giving his tours to the new people, "go to her if you get a boo boo, she's good with those." You lowered your mask, "Fuck off Syverson, I'm busy." "She won't bite," his thick accent annoyed you to no end. You gave a joking silent laugh and flipped him off, your blue gloves too big for your hands. "Alright boys, this way."

You tied off the ending of the string and gave the soldier some ibuprofen, lowering your mask and taking off your gloves, "read the label, and take what's prescribed," you picked up your clipboard and began writing, "if the pain does not subside, or you believe the injury to be infect, you must go to the base compound and be evaluated there. I do not have the supplies nor medication to deal with infections." You watched the blonde haired boy nod his head. You were just saying all the basic things they told you-you had to. You had that shit memorized verbatim. You wrote his info as you kept going, "I can provide you with alcohol pads that you can rub on them to clean them." You turned around to open the cabinet and hand them to him, "and for god fucking sake don't try to eat them or get drunk off them." He took them, and smirked "people do that?" You focused back on the form, "you would be surprised.” Returning to write down the soldiers name, “But, I'm done with you so can you get the next person if there is anyone?" "Yeah, thanks doc." You nodded your head and turned back to the small filing cabinet, you had to put his paper away and grab a fresh sheet. You washed your hands in the small sink and heard steps behind you as someone sat down, "alright," you got new gloves and you reached for your pen, turning, "what can I do for you toda-" you were stopped by a smiling Syverson dangling his feet off the one tall chair in the room. You dropped your shoulders, "What are you doing here?" "I came to see you doc." "Oh my god," you leaned against the tan cabinets, "For fucks sake? You know I have actual people to see and help, not you?" His brows moved together, "what? With the little needle you carry around?" You locked your jaw, "I could do a lot with that needle, and that's what they supply me with. Maybe if they gave me more I could do more." He smiled, lifting his hand to shoo away the conversation, "no ones out there anyway. Thought I'd ask you a question." You rolled your eyes, "Syverson, if you're gonna ask me to go on a date you know the answer already." He smirked, "now doc, is that all you think about? A captain asking you on a date," you crossed your arms and glared at him. You could see him try and hold in his laugh, "no, I do have a question, a real one." You raised your brow watching, waiting, "you know a lot about human biology?" "I'm here aren't I?" "Oo, doc no need to get sour on me, I just need you to take a look at one of the dogs that we found outside." You moved your brows together, "a dog? . . I don't know anything about dogs." "Yeah, well you know about humans, they're pretty close are they not?" You stared at him in disbelief, "what? No." "Come on, a quick look, you liked Aika, this dog is no different." You sighed, Aika was cute, and when you could, you made sure to play with her outside. "You never asked me to examine Aika." "I did not say 'examine'" You narrowed your eyes, "then what do you want." He smiled, "we might have some pups coming soon." Your face went flat, "the dog is pregnant?!" "Come on doc, ain't nobody in the hall for you, take a 10 minute break?" You stared at him, trying to decide if you should trust him or not. Finally, rolling your eyes you lifted yourself off the cabinets, "where's the dog?" He smiled, "follow me." You kept your gloves on as he led you through three hallways to his room. He got a room to himself, bastard, so he was somewhat far off from everyone else, "she's been here for a while and only moved to get eat or drink." He pushed the door open and you were greeted with Aika, "hi babes." You spoke softly at her as you began to scratch behind her ear. She jumped up on you, "Aika down!" His tone was sharp and stern, like he was talking to soldiers who were under him. You gave him a side eye, "she's fine, you know that." "I'm trying to teach her not to do that," he sighed, "this way." He guided you to a bigger dog, fatter in her belly and her nipples were prominent, "you needed me to tell you she's pregnant?" Now this just seemed like a set up to get you in his room. You bent down to kneel by her side, "No," you scratched her stomach lightly, she looked like Aika, but with the obvious belly. Her fur was also almost all black, "I need you to tell me when she'll give birth. She whines a lot at night and like I said she don't move." You looked up at him, and almost laughed, "Syverson," his stern features didn't shift, "I'm a doctor, not a vet? I have no idea when she'll give birth." He crossed his arms and you rose back to your feet, "all I can say is to wait it out. She will when those pups are ready." He put his hand to his mouth before scratching his chin through his thick beard, thinking, "I can't raise puppies." You smiled at him, "I'll help," he gave you a coy look. Which in turn, made you side eye him, "oh sweetie not for you," looking back down at the soon to be mom, who was panting in the heat, "for the puppies." He grunted and you looked back at him, "what'll you name her?" He squinted down at the dog, "I don't know yet. . . what's your middle name?" "Syverson-" You drew out his name, annoyed. "No seriously, what is it?" You rolled your eyes, "Y/M/N." (Your/middle/name) "Settles it," he knelt down to the dog and rubbed behind her ears, "Y/M/N," he looked up to you and smiled. After then, you didn't think of the momma anymore, while Syverson constantly made sure to bring her up on your radar. But, today you had seen twenty-two guys which was far from normal, and being you were the only one on base who knew how to give proper stitches and offer medical care in your make shift clinic, you wanted to sleep. Your room was with some of the other female soldiers, but they were nice to you so you didn't care too much. As you were getting ready for bed, you brushed your teeth, let your hair down from it's bun and got it a little wet, so it would return to its normal form. You looked in the mirror and felt dead, wearing a tan t-shirt with no bra and shorts that were too short, but wouldn’t be uncomfortable under your cargo pants (in the instance you needed to get dressed quick). You shuffled to your bed and closed your eyes. "Y/N," you felt your body shake furiously and in an instant, your eyes opened and you reached for the gun you kept at the side of your bed. "No," the dark figure grabbed at your arm and when you went to scream a strong hand covered your mouth, "aye! It's me! It's Syverson." You squinted at the figure and could make out the beard, "Shumveson?" It was muffled because of his hand. He put his finger to his mouth, "shh, you gotta come with me." "Hmm?" Again, the idiot had his hand over your mouth. They really let the dumbest people be captains. "Y/M/N." It took you a minute but then you remembered and nodded your head. "Come on." He let go of your mouth and backed up. When you stood to walk, you whimpered from the pain in your feet, but you followed him to his room, the walk was silent except for your cries of pain. "I think she's having them, I gave her my shirt to lay on." You looked over to his body, "is that why you are suddenly without clothes?" He didn't wear a shirt and only his cargo shorts, which were loosely hanging around his waist. He rolled his eyes at you, "says the girl who's boobs and ass are hanging out." You moved your brows together and felt slightly self conscious, but turned your attention to the dog. "I need you to go to my office and grab two sets of gloves, and probably some Benadryl. Get me some food too." You lowered to be level with the dog. "You're hungry right now?" "Are you dumb? It's to put the pills in and feed to her. Go!" He did as you said and all you could do was scratch as the girls face, "shh, baby," she let out whimpers and you were afraid she would wake people up. He came back and dropped the materials next to you, "get the gloves on when the puppies start to come." He nodded his head and sat down on your free side, "okay baby, we're gonna help you." You looked to Syverson, "she should know how to do this herself, so it's just waiting. But when the puppies are all out, we will figure out the genders then lay them next to her so she can clean them, keep them warm, and let them eat," he nodded his head, receiving all your orders, "get the food you brought and lather them up in Benadryl." "Can dogs have that?" "yes, and it's all we have," she whimpered again and you both looked down to her. He shifted to grab something from the side of his bed, and when you looked, it was a jar of jelly. You almost gasped, "what the hell? You have jelly?!" He cracked the lid open and used his finger to scoop out a chunk, looking to you, "what? My mom mailed it over." You were still jealous. "I hate you," you muttered. He gave her two pills and you both sat watching on the cold tile floor, it was like watching water boil. After about half and hour, he jumped, exclaiming: "I see a head!" You put your hand over his mouth, "she needs to be at peace right now! Don't disrupt her." You felt his tongue against your palm, which made you with draw quickly, "ew!" He smiled, "you liked it." You could only roll your eyes, but you felt his arm wrap around your back pulling you to sit in between his legs, "look," his voice was deep in your ear, which almost put you in a sleepy trans. But you followed to where his finger was pointing, which was to the small head of puppy coming out. You smiled, sitting criss-cross in between his thick body, "you're gonna be a dad." You spoke softly. You could see his hands rest on his knees, "damn, that makes you the step mama." You couldn't help but laugh, while shaking your head, knowing he smiled at you from behind You didn't notice it, but as the longer you both watched the puppies arrive, the deeper you were in his lap. You laid your head against his fury chest while he rested one hand behind him to support you both and the other laid gently against your body. You had gotten so tired, you jumped when his deep voice rose again, vibrating against your head, "you think she's done." You rose quick and looked around, darting to her and the puppies surrounding her nipples to drink. "Um," you rubbed your eyes, "yeah. We can count them and know the genders I guess." "Alright," he shifted from his position, "we could've moved to the bed instead of making me sit on the hard ass floor." You shook your head, "I didn't mean to fall asleep," you yawned a little, looking over at him, "what time is it?" He checked his watch, "4:08" you nodded and moved closer to Y/M/N, he was close behind you, settling at your side as you both looked at her in awe. "Good job babe," you rubbed her head, she welcomed it and kept her mouth open panting. You could hear him getting his gloves on, "Let's see," he picked up one and checked the underside, "girl." You looked to the puppy, her little eyes were still closed and she was so tiny in his hands, "what's gonna be her name?" He took a long look at her, "Doc . . . for doctor." You rolled your eyes and met his gaze, "i want to keep this one and for her name to be doc." He looked so serious about it that you felt your heart pick up. You shuffled closer to him and watched as he set the puppy down, "fine, but the next ones name is gonna be cap for captain." You knew he was smiling, and by the end of you guys going back in forth with names, you had seven puppies, four girls (Doc, Ivy, Ace, and Lyn) with three boys (Cap, Sage and Hendrix). By the time you were done arguing on the names, it was 4:42 AM. You both got up at six hundred hours normally, and you knew if you fell asleep you'd be out. "What some coffee?" He asked after you two were done admiring the cute little puppies and their whimpers. You nodded your head, "you can sit on the bed, it's softer," he got up and disappeared from the room. You scooted to the mattress and first thing you noticed was how much nicer it was than your own. You leaned your head against the wall and when he came back with two mugs you gave him a glare, "your own room, a jar of jelly, and a soft ass bed." He smiled, handing you the cup, "it pays to have a momma that loves ya, and I guess a good position." You rolled your eyes and blew on the coffees surface, watching the steam rise from it. He picked up the container in one hand and tossed it on your crossed legs, "take it." You looked up at him and he walked towards you, laying down next to you, putting his weight on his elbow so he could look at you. You felt yourself frown, "I can't take it." He shook his head, "that's what I'll pay you in, Berry jelly." "Pay me?" He smiled, taking a sip of the black coffee, "for helping." That almost made you snort, "I fell asleep? Really Sy, you should have it, it's from your family. I'm good with the beans and noodles." "Let me see it," he rested his coffee on the bed, letting it sit against his chest as you handed him the jar and he unscrewed the top, showing you the delicious looking substance. You felt your mouth water, "take some." When he could tell you were resilient, he nudged it closer to you again. You pulled one hand from your coffee mug and let two fingers dig into the jar, coming out with a beautiful scoop of the substance. He watched closely as you put your fingers in your mouth and moaned, which made him all the more tentative. His eyes scanned over your body, and took a long glance at your chest knowing you weren't wearing a bra. Your eyes were closed as you threw you head back against the wall, "that good?" It was so sweet and tart at the same time, it almost made you feel like you were in his hometown. You could imagine him picking berries for the mixture and helping to smash them with his mom, it was so cute. When you finally opened your eyes, your smile was giddy, "like an orgasm." "Well doc if I would've know it was that easy I would've given it to you the first day I saw you." You looked straight at the paint chipped wall, still feeling in a daze of jelly happiness, as you shook your head, "no, you could never get me like that." He watched your every move, licking his lips, "wanna make that a bet." Your head shifted down to him, and you looked at him with the most loving eyes he had ever seen, "this was fun." Before lowering to kiss his cheek, you stopped at his ear, "I'll come by tonight and look at how the kids are doing?" He nodded his head and you pressed a kiss to his cheek. It was quick, but it left a warm print on his skin, and made your chin rub against his beard. "Bye Sy." He hummed, and watched you lift yourself from his bed. He watched your ass as you tiptoed and opened his door lightly, giving him one last glance before you disappeared into the hall. "Fuck." He muttered looking to the jar he laughed, "fucking jelly."

#captain syverson #syverson #syverson fluff #syverson smut #cpt syverson #syverson x oc #sand castle #henry cavill #cavill #syverson x you #syverson x reader #sandcastle #sand castle fanfic #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fic

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farfromparker · 4 years

Text

Erotas - Chapter Four | t.h.

Erotas Masterlist

Pairing: Tom Holland x Female Reader

Summary: It’s the day of the rehearsal dinner and Tom finally meets your whole family

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Originally, chapters 4 and 5 were going to be one long ass chapter, but I split them. 😈

Special thanks to @worldoftom 💞💞

Tom wakes up slowly, peacefully. The soft roar of the ocean pulling him from his slumber. Gulls call out sporadically and his eyelids flutter open. The morning sun basks the room in a warm glow. The bed is empty and he sits up, ignoring the relief he feels when he sees you sitting out on the terrace, fingers curled around a cuppa. He watches you watch the sea for a moment, you look calm, the soft curve of your lips as you smile softly is his first sign. Your eyes slide shut and you tilt your head up to enjoy the sun on your skin.

He wants you to have this moment so he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move from the bed, not wanting to interrupt. He glances behind himself to the clock on the nightstand, it’s almost 9am, meaning it’s not even 7am London time.

He wonders how long you’ve been up.

You set your cup on a side table, starting to get up and he gets tangled in the sheets as he tries to get out of the bed quickly. He can’t get caught staring at you, not after last night. The embarrassment stings just as much as it did when it happened. It wasn’t even anything sexual, it was a game for fuck’s sake. You joked if off, and he did his best to not let it become a Thing™️ but he can’t help but fret over what you thought when it happened… what you think of him now because of it.

“Morning, Tom,” you chime, smiling as you step into the room.

He clears his throat, strangling the embarrassment sitting in his chest. “Morning, darling. How long have you been up?”

You hum. “I think I got up just before eight.”

He wants to ask if you’ve been up since before 6am London time because your family is flying in today, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t need to.

He nods instead. “What do you want to do today then? We’ve got the whole day to ourselves, right?”

Your eyes light up as come to set on the corner of the bed, he follows suit. “Yeah! I was looking up some things earlier. We can go scuba diving! There were a few other things, but they’d take up too much of our day considering dinner tonight. Or, the hotel has an infinity pool with a swim up bar if we just want to drink. There’s a cute shopping district too just a couple minutes walk from here.”

“What would take up too much time? We’ve got all day tomorrow too, right?

Realization dawns across your face, “Oh yeah! Um, horseback riding or parasailing need a good chunk of our time, they’re both a little ways away from the city. The parasailing place is actually on the other side of the island.”

He nods. “Okay, so we could do one tomorrow and the other on Saturday? What’s your plan for that day?”

“Well, hopefully be properly hungover.”

His eyes crinkle. “Right, yes, you’re right. So I won’t lie, I don’t think I want to parasail or ride horse if I’m hungover.”

You shake your head in agreement. “No, definitely not. I think Saturday we can just say goodbye to my family? Walk to the beach and swim, lay around…”

“Yeah, that sounds good to me. So which one do you want to do tomorrow?”

“I was thinking, if we go scuba diving today, we can go horseback riding tomorrow?”

“I’m game for all that!” And as he watches you smile, looking genuinely happy and excited, he starts thinking of ways he can keep that look on your face for the rest of your life.

Your American Champagne Breakfast arrives after a quick call down to the front desk and both your mouths start watering as the attendant brings in the cart. Food is piled high, waffles with three types of syrup, bacon, sausage, an assortment of colorful fruit along with a fresh blend of juices from apricots, peaches and nectarines. There’s another bottle of champagne as well, but you both agree to keep that for later, best not to drink and dive.

You leave the room just before 10:30 and head down to the beach, tummies full, swimwear on underneath a small layer of clothing to keep your modesty. You had called ahead to make the reservation and they had a slot available for their 11am shore dive.

There’s a trail from your hotel that leads down to the sand beach below. Tom watches you take your shoes off as soon as you get off the gravel path, digging your toes in the sand. He copies you, tossing his shoes in the backpack he’s got slung over shoulder, putting yours in there as well.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve gone diving,” you share, turning to him as you amble along in the sand.

“Me too, my brothers and I went when we were in Italy two years ago for a family vacation, but I haven’t gone since.”

He watches you squint your eyes, thinking. “It’s about the same about time for me too. We were in Spain for —” You gesture vaguely with your hands. “Something like this.” You shrug. Tom can’t decide if you don’t actually remember, or if you’d just rather not talk about it. Regardless, he doesn’t push.

“I’ve got a feeling this dive is gonna be a good one,” he continues. Glancing up ahead, he can see the shack on the beach, with a diving sign hanging above the door that’s a bright red and white, so there’s no way to miss it.

“The company is definitely better…” you pause, eyes a little wide as though you didn’t mean to say that outloud. But you don’t backtrack. “At least for me.”

He touches your hand with his and says quietly. “Yeah, me too.”

An older gentleman greets you outside. You’re a good 15 meters from the entrance when he appears, but he’s smiling and waving at you nonetheless. He’s got short white hair and a very bushy white mustache to match.

“Geiá sou, Kaliméra! Good morning!” he declares.

“Good morning,” you call back in unison.

He shakes your hands when you get to him, smile wide across his face, “You are my only divers this morning! But it is a beautiful day for a beautiful couple to enjoy the beauty of the Aegaen!”

Tom wonders how many times he’s said that line to however many different people, but that doesn’t stop himself from smiling because of it. The man, who introduces himself as Tavi, ushers you inside to get you checked in. He’s got all the equipment you need, regulators, fins, masks, BCDs, the list goes on.

His eyes light up when you both say this isn’t your first dive. “Experienced! Polý kalá!”

There are lockers along one wall with combination locks. Tavi advises you to strip down to your swimsuits and he opens a locker for you, letting you shove your belongings in your bag and secure it inside. He helps you into your equipment, checking gauges and getting your air tanks hooked up properly.

“I have an underwater camera as well. I can take pictures of you two while we’re down there.”

Tom smiles. “Great, thanks mate!”

“You two should remember this! Now, it will be an odd walk to the water,” he chuckles, belly jiggling softly as he laughs. “Do not put your fins on until we get down there. You might fall and not be able to get back up.”

As Tom stands, BCD strapped across his chest, tank fully hooked up, he’s reminded of how heavy and awkward this equipment is out of the water. He’s sure he’d be able to get back up if he fell, but he’d rather not test that theory.

You mumble as you stand, hunched over. “Fuck me, I forgot how heavy this stuff is.”

Tavi laughs, grabbing fins for himself, watching as you two do the same. You get down to the water's edge with minimal struggling. The water is warm, Tom had been slightly apprehensive when Tavi shook his head at the idea of wetsuits, but he was right, this feels like bath water.

You float out a little, just enough that you can get your fins on. Tavi does one last check of your gauges, has you breathe through your regulators. When he’s satisfied, he goes over the hand gestures so you can communicate safely underwater.

Regulators secured, masks snug against your face, you slowly descend.

An hour and a half later, you break the water’s surface. Tom peels his mask off, imagining a red pressure ring around his eyes, matching yours. You lock eyes with him and smirk.

“Tavi?” you ask, looking over to the older men.

He raises his eyebrows, indicating for you to continue. You swim over to Tom, reaching for him to wrap your arm around his waist as best you can and hold him close. Tom instinctively does the same to you.

“Take a picture, we have to remember our matching raccoon marks.”

Tom smiles wide, eyes crinkling as Tavi laughs, reaching for the camera secured around his wrist. He snaps the picture, smiling as you all start your climb back up to his diving shack.

“I can’t believe you thought that barracuda was a shark!” you say, laughing.

Tom pouts slightly, pulling the backpack up further on his shoulder as the two of you walk back to your room. “Did you see the teeth on that thing? I didn’t want anything to do with it!”

You laugh harder, mimicking the movement he’d made under water, something akin to his signature fight reaction when he’s scared. “What?” You giggle some more. “Were you gonna knock it out?”

“That’s what you do! If a shark is coming after you, you punch it!”

“But it wasn’t a shark! And it wasn’t even coming after you. I hate to break it to you, Tom, but you’re a little bigger than the fish they normally eat.”

“They’ve bitten people, okay? I was just prepared. You wouldn’t be laughing if it tried to bite me and I punched it. You’d be telling me how smart I was!”

“No, I’d be laughing at the fact that you punched a fish.”

You get back to the room and order a light lunch. It’s already almost 2pm, but you’ll both be weak by dinner if you don’t eat something now. Tom starts to worry about what to wear; your whole family will be there tonight and he wants to look the part. Another piece of him deeply wants their approval as well.

He lies to you when you ask how many outfits he brought with for this, saying it was only three when in fact, every nice shirt he owns is in this suitcase. He sees you pull a black and white dress out of your bag, hanging it up near the door and looks back into his suitcase.

You step up behind him, chin on his shoulder. “I like the red one.”

He turns to look at you, smiling. “Red it is.”

You let him shower first and he’s in and out in under five minutes. It’s just past 4pm now and he hears your music start playing through the speaker on your phone as you shut the bathroom door. He hums along while he gets dressed, buttoning up the floral red shirt. He wants your opinion on his pants, though. He’s got some really nice dark denim jeans, but there’s also a white pair of pants. So he heads out onto the terrace in his boxer briefs, shirt not buttoned all the way, leaning against the balcony and watching the water.

You step up beside him, “Pantless? My family won’t ever forget you.”

He laughs and he can feel his cheeks heating up a little bit. “I uh — I wanted your opinion on which pants I should wear.”

And you follow him back into the room, watching as he digs out the two options. He turns to you, one in each hand, and his breath catches in his throat for a moment. He didn’t look at you out on the terrace, but here, now. You’ve got your dress on, the top is fitted, extenuating your chest but draping elegantly around your hips. Your hair is still wet and you’ve got no makeup on. Eyes bright and open and happy.

Absolutely stunning.

“White, definitely,” you confirm and for a moment he forgets what you’re talking about.

He swallows. “Right, white. Sure, thanks.”

He gets ready quickly, pulling on his pants before fussing with his hair in the mirror over the dresser. You’re back in the bathroom, also fussing with your hair, doing your makeup. You step out about fifteen minutes later.

“Tom? Will you help me with this clasp for my necklace?”

He nods. “Course, yeah,” and he takes it from you as you turn your back to him. He reaches his arms up and around your neck to let the necklace lay delicately along your sternum. His fingers brush along your skin and he can see the tiny hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. He fights a smile, liking to see even the smallest reaction of your body to him.

“Thanks,” you say as his hands fall away, turning back to smile at him. You take a deep breath. “I think we’re ready.”

He nods confidently. “We are, and you look stunning. I mean — I thought you did before, too, when you didn’t have makeup on. Like, you don’t need makeup — uh, not that it's wrong to want to wear it but —”

You laugh, reaching out to grab his forearms to keep them from continuing to flail around his face. “Tom, I get it. Thank you, really. Now, let’s get down there and head straight to the bar.”

The sun is low in the sky as you walk down to the beach and Tom can’t stop himself from stealing glances at you.

There’s a huge tent set up, sparkling fairy lights hanging beautifully from the ceiling, a portable floor is laid down, tables and chairs placed strategically around a dance floor. There’s a table towards the back where a number of chefs are lining up food for the night.

“Wow,” Tom mumbles.

“Ava’s dad is a doctor.”

Tom hums in understanding, following you into the tent. There are two bar carts in opposite corners of each other. There’s a short man grabbing a glass of whiskey and Tom watches as he sees you, eyes lighting up. He grabs his drink and hurries over to you.

“Heya, stranger!” he says happily, pulling you into a hug.

“Vinny! It’s so good to see you again!” And Tom breathes out a sigh of relief.

Vinny releases you and turns to him. “And you must be Tom, nice to meet ya mate!”

“Hey Vinny, yeah, nice to meet you too!” And he shakes his hand and then the introductions start. It seems like that simple handshake was enough to alert the whole tent that the two of you had arrived and suddenly they start swarming around you.

Tom will be honest, he definitely thought you were making your family out to be worse than they actually are. At least he did until he met them.

First, your Nana Ruth slides in the comment Oh, I thought he’d be taller. And Tom hasn’t been insecure about his height since he was 17, but the comment still causes him to raise his eyebrows in surprise.

You aren’t perturbed, though. “He’s taller than me, Nana, that’s all I care about.”

Then he meets your aunt Brigitte. She kisses both your cheeks and he can see the tightness in your face when you try and smile at her. She kisses his cheeks as well and Tom’s skin crawls when she gets a little handsy.

“Oh he’s very pretty, dear. How did he wind up with you?” she says, laughing.

Tom wants to slap the lipstick right off of this woman’s face.

“Lucky, I guess,” you comment, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the bar.

“I’m gonna smack that woman into next Tuesday if she says something like that about you again.” He growls into your ear, hands curling into fists at his side.

You look at him and it’s a look that catches him off guard. He’d expected you to be mad, annoyed, or upset in some way. But you’re looking at him with so much affection he feels a little light-headed. His hands automatically relax as your fingers slide down his forearm so you can link your fingers with his.

“I would pay good money to see you hit her.”

Louis corners Tom as you’re all about to have dinner, asking what he thinks of the Prime Minister and Tom side steps into how well Liverpool is playing. You smile at him and let Louis go into it for a moment before interrupting him about the dinner starting soon. Louis promises to find Tom later so he can tell him about how Bayern has definitely been playing dirty all season.

Ava and Alex hug you both and Tom relaxes around the two of them. He knows them, he likes them. They sit and Ava is adamant that you sit next to her and you gladly do, Tom taking the obvious spot next to you. A moment later, he recognizes your parents at the opposite end of the table. Your dad raises his drink at Tom and Tom returns the gesture.

One thing you left out when talking about your family was how big it was. There’s a sea of unknown faces around him, asking questions and leaning over the table to get a look at him. He feels like a stud being inspected at auction.

Your hand falls softly onto his lap and he breathes easier as he wraps his fingers around yours. Dinner is served, but Tom has trouble finding time to eat because the questions don’t stop.

How did you two meet?

What do you do for a living?

Where did you grow up?

How long have you two been together?

And Tom doesn’t mind answering them all because he likes talking about your relation— friendship. Your friendship.

Brigitte opens her mouth again and Tom tenses before any words even leave her lips.

“I am surprised that the two of you are an item. She’s just kind of plain. Never really seemed all that into the boys either.”

Her twit of a husband agrees. “Yeah, we always thought she was one of those asexuals.” And he says it like he’s talking about a unicorn. Like it’s something that doesn’t actually exist.

And Tom can’t believe what he’s hearing. The fact that people this idiotic are still spewing ignorant, condescending hate makes him want to yell. But he’s smart enough to know you can’t argue with stupid.

Then he remembers a comment you made the night before, you’re gonna have to make a dirty joke to shut them up.

He turns to you, eyes locking with yours, because he doesn’t need to say this to them. He needs to say this to you. Because you’re the only person that needs to hear this.

“I guess she was just waiting for something that was worth it?” he starts. “Whatever it is, she’s amazing, the most genuine person I’ve ever met. She makes me so damn happy. And I might have helped trigger something in her, something that let her bring her guard down and let me inside.”

He’s looking at you as he speaks, and it feels so real. He can see the emotions swimming in your eyes, his hand in yours. He can feel the eyes of your family on the two of you but he can’t stop looking at you, and you’re staring back, smiling at him.

His voice gets louder now though because this is the part they need to hear. “And she did let me inside, she does let me inside…” His eyebrows raise for a moment, to help accentuate the dirty joke. “Pretty frequently actually.”

And you smile wider, laughing as you hear the uncomfortable noises from Brigitte and Joe, the gasp from Nana, the murmur around the table of what did he just say? You lean in, and so he does as well, pressing his lips to yours, but it’s hard to keep the kiss going because neither of you can stop smiling.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to get you back to the hotel room.” And he’s not sure he heard you correctly. The question has to be written across his face, but he can’t ask it, not now. So he keeps smiling, keeps squeezing your hand.

The comments cease after that. And he can feel your relief, like you’re a thousand pounds lighter. Apparently a dirty joke is all it takes.

Dinner ends and you’re coerced into staying for one more drink. He enjoys himself nonetheless. Mostly because you’re on his arm throughout the night, your demeanor light and happy.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom after the first drink and Tom finds Vinny and your father, two people he actually enjoys talking to. The conversation revolves around the wedding and your dive that morning. He leaves out the fact he almost punched a barracuda, of course. He’d gotten enough grief from you alone.

He’s got a new drink in his hand when you find him again later and he smiles a little sheepishly. Licking his lips, he says, “Your dad brought me another drink. I didn’t know if you wanted to stay longer, so we can split this or I can just give it to Vinny and we can go.”

You’re smiling up at him like he just over offered you the crown jewels. He’s not entirely sure what it is that he’s done to keep you smiling at him like that, but he’s certain he isn’t going to stop. You lean in to kiss his cheek, but he feels you hesitate, pulling away slowly.

He turns to you, watching you tilt your head, bringing your hand up to cup his jaw softly and trail your thumb along across his cheek.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Oh. Nothing, just smeared my lipstick on your cheek,” you explain, wiping it away. “Let’s go back to the room.”

He agrees easily, passing the beer off to Vinny on his way out the door. You go through the motions of saying good night to everyone, hugs and kisses and jokes. And then you pull him along quickly to get back to the room. He’s laughing lightly as he lets you drag him along.

“What’s the rush?” he asks when you reach your room. You unlock the door and step inside, tossing your purse onto one of the chaise lounges.

“Did you mean that, what you said at dinner? I mean, would you still have said that if we weren’t here faking a relationship?”

He blinks, caught off guard, he presses his lips together as he locks the door behind him. He turns back to you. “Yeah,” he pauses, rubbing his lips together, “Yeah, I meant it.”

You nod. “Yeah, I thought you did.” Then you reach for him, taking his hand and pulling him into the room. “I think it’s time I thank you, Tom.”

_____________________________________________

Taglist:

@xximaweirdoxx @selfcarecapmain @billythebully09 @cyrusandhiscollaredahirts @honeymarvel @lovinnholland @oh-annaa @little-miss-naill @holland-in-disguise @wordless08 @multifandomgirl-us @fangirlfree @theolwebshooter @headlights95 @thirsttrapholland @ablazeofhope @hazmyheart @let-the-music-take-c0ntrol @afterglownights @hollandbitch @delicately-important-trash @parkersvibes @averyfosterthoughts @mskatharinawho @crazyfreaker @thsummersoldier @lolobxtch @peterparkoure @hpnjrph @likeit-or-leaveit @spidxrparkxr @caretheunicorn @peterpstuff @spiderdudetom @sltwins @loxbbg @tomshufflepuff @spideyyeet @sir-thatscannibalism @ladystrombwick @terrifictomholland @caturdwy @lauras-collection @hollandtomholland @hollandcreep @uncookspaget @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven @clara-licht @seudedreams

#tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfic #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #erotas #my writing

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kiegosbby · 4 years

Text

hawks x f!reader

chapter uhh 10 and it’s getting close to the end I think..

word count: 2.4K

warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT LEMON 18+

✁- - - - - - r- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

after a very very long day of talking to press and reporters and occasionally fighting a villain there and there, y/n had just gotten home and was getting ready to meet with hawks again.

they both agreed to get ice cream, as they said. Y/n put on some casual clothes discarding her hero outfit. she was already exited for there date. Was it a date? You couldn't remember if he said it was or not.

As they both planned, they met at a park in the middle of town, which was next to the ice cream shop she wants to go to.

When she landed in the park sitting at a bench waiting for him.

To: Birdy ❤️🐔

I'm here like we said I'm sitting on a Bench. Don't leave me like last time or we're gonna have a problem -_-

Birdy ❤️🐔

yes little bird I'm almost there. Just a few more minutes.

as you sat and waited you took your phone and started scrolling. You were a little nervous, I mean who wouldn't be?

You were laughing at a funny video and you heard a flutter in front of you. You looked up as he spoke.

"Whatcha laughin at pretty bird?" You literally choked on the air. he was in casual clothes but he looked- hot? 'Oh god I'm falling for this bird fuck'

"U-uh nothing important!" You stood up and walked past him turning around, and looking at him. "Are we gonna get ice cream or what?" He started following you as you walked.

"Did you have fun today? Hope your not regretting partnering up."

"Of course I had fun! And no I'm not regretting it. Stop being so insecure Birdy." You added a light skip to your step hawks chuckled as he watched you skip, admiring you.

You walked into the shop and immediately got recognized. People started immediately crowding hawks, which wasn't a surprise.

"Hawks! Oh my god I can't believe this is happening!!"

He chuckled lightly and looked over to you. He sent one of his feathers to keep you company while he dealt with the crowd.

you spread your wing slightly sending one to him to. All the fans looked at the new white feather confused. His feather went directly towards yours and they floated in harmony. "My feather seems to like yours!" He said as he looked at me

You blushed and smiled "they seem to get along more then we do" you said softly.

Hawks had removed himself from the crowd and calmed them down, letting you two get ice cream. It was a self serve place, so you got a bowl and got {your favourite ice cream flavour}. You looked over to hawks and he was getting all the flavours he could. "Are you really getting all those flavours? It's not gonna taste good bird brain." You said with a laugh and walked over to him.

He gave you a shocked look " how could you! It'll taste amazing for your information little bird." He said sticking his tongue out playfully.

You both walked up to pay and you meant him outside.

You both walked in silence eating your ice cream. "Y/n you should let me taste your ice cream"

"No way buddy. You said yours will taste amazing so you go ahead and eat it." You held back your laugh as you looked and saw him with a huge frown on his face. "Fine fine!We can share but don't hog all of it!" She pointed her spoon at him while she said that, she sat down at a bench waiting for him to sit to, putting the ice cream in the middle.

you took a bite and when you looked down half of your ice cream was gone!

You looked at hawks with a max expression. He looked at you with a smile still eating the massive chunk he took. "Oh no way. Your gonna eat all of it! No more" you said and snatched the ice cream away

"Please y/n! I'll behave this time I swear!" He pouted hoping you'd give it back

"Fine but only if you eat what I give you."

"S-so your going to feed me basically?" Hawks blushed at that

"Yes but only so you don't hog the ice cream got it?"

"Yes ma'am"

You grabbed a spoonful of ice cream and lifted it to his lips. He looked directly into her eyes before sticking his tongue slightly out, licking the bottom of the spoon taking the parts that were about to drip and then took the whole thing in his mouth, taking the ice cream off of it.

Your eyes widened as your breathe hitched. 'Who the fuck eats ice cream like that?'

"Something wrong y/n?" He asked with a devious smile.

You put the spoon in the bowl handing it to him. "if your gonna do that go ahead and take the whole bowl." She said looking down her cheeks flushed.

"Aw y/n your no fun" he pouted but took the bowls and threw them away. "Let's go to your place and watch a movie pleaseeee" he said and looked at me with puppy eyes.

"Fine but this time I don't want to wake up next to your smelly ass. Got it?" She said pointing at him.

"Fine whatever" he mumbled and took flight to her apartment. There feathers still together following them.

They both landed at the same time, she stumbled a little, and he caught her. "Let's be careful baby bird I don't want a repeat of last night" he said with a smile while he held her in his arms.

"S-sorry hawks I didn't mean to." She blushed and looked at the ground

He laughed softly "come on kid lets go inside"

They walked inside and sat on the couch together, getting ready for the movie. Hawks had picked one she had never seen before and they settled down for it. They were sitting close to each other.. maybe a little to close then they should be but who's gonna tell them otherwise?

he slowly put his wing around her, and when she felt what he was doing, she blushed immensely. They had both stopped paying attention to the movie at this point, and there focus was on each other.

When his wing fully incased her small body, she looked over at him, his eyes staring into hers, with a look she couldn't determine.

They slowly leaned closer, they could feel each other's breathes on there lips, so close but it felt like forever before there lips met in a deep passionate kiss. He flipped her over to her back, with him on top and pinned her hands above her head.

"You think I'd let you get away with that shit that happened in the gym?" He growled softly in your ear making you squirm underneath him. Your thighs squeezed together in excitement.

"N-no hawks I'm sor-"

"I don't want a apology kid. I want you to show me what would have happened if she didn't walk in. We're you that willing to spread those thighs for me? Hm baby?" He leaned in for another kiss, this one filled with lust and need, he went to take your shirt off looking to you with permission, you nodded and he took it off throwing it across the room.

By this point you felt your lower stomach pool with arousal. "Hawks go easy p-please ive never done anything like this before" you said nervously

"Of course kid I'll go as easy as I can. But if it gets to much just say stop ok?" You nodded your head, and sat up, catching his lips in a deep kiss. Hawks picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist, and he flew to your bedroom, setting you on the bed. "Listen close to me babygirl. I want you to listen to every word I say, Got it?" He growled in your ear, and as he was talking to you he got your bra off with his feathers and started pinching rolling your nipples in his hand.

"Call me daddy, ok kid?"

"Yes daddy" she said in a soft voice looking him directly in the eyes. He pulled his shirt off, and looked at her squirming underneath him. "God I wish you could see yourself right now. you look like such a slut for me. Want to take daddy's cock hm?"

she instantly blushed more "yes daddy I want to take all of it p-please"

"Take the rest of your clothes off for me, and turn around I want you to show me that ass of yours baby girl" he said and then took all of his clothes off except his boxers. she replied immediately, doing as he asked. she arched her back, and wiggled her ass in the air. "Such a good girl... so ready for me" he said as he reached to grab her ass giving it a light spank, before rubbing his thumb up her dripping wet slit, taking it all coating his thumb, and slowly pushing it into her wet heat. She moaned loudly and bucked her hips backwards hoping to get more. He took his thumb out and sucked it moaning at the taste.

"Look at me baby girl I want to see you" she turned around and laid on her back spreading her legs immediately.

"Someone's eager huh baby?" He laugh softly. She nodded her head and at this moment she hated him, she wanted him to fuck her she hates this waiting game. But she wanted to be a good girl for him and do what he asked.

He moved to go over her, and put two fingers in front of her face. "Suck now." He said in a demanding tone as he watched her lips take her fingers, he couldn't wait for those perfect lips to be wrapped around his cock. he pulled his hands away from her lips a trail of Silvia leaving as his fingers did. he moved down a little and started sucking her nipples, occasionally biting them. With his hands he brought the one she sucked down to her heat and started slowly rubbing her clit, she moaned so loudly for him, he loved it.

"That's it baby be my little song bird don't hold back I wanna hear every little noise"

"Yes daddy!" She moaned as he dipped a finger into her wet hole, she was so tight he wanted to be inside her badly.

Her moans filled the room and he was sure the neighbours could all hear her and that's exactly what he wanted. After this she would be his and only his.

He slowly added another finger going a little faster, he could feel her walls tighten around her. "D-daddy I'm about to cum!" and that's all he needed, he slowed down, taking them out and she let out a huff of annoyance.

"You have to ask to cum. You want to be a good girl for daddy right?"

"Yes daddy I want to be good for you"

'God she's perfect'

"Promise to be a good girl for daddy and I'll fuck you with my cock, you want that baby girl?" He cooed in her ear, he gave her a few hickeys while he was up there, to make sure people knew she was his.

"Yes daddy I promise I'll be good"

that's all he needed before he lined the tip up with her hole, and slowly pushed in.

She let out moans mixed with pain and pleasure. He waited for her to adjust to his girth, and when she gave him the nod, he started slow letting her adjust more, then started at a hard and rough pace.

She let out loud moans, louder then she thought she could be, and as she was getting closer she screamed out "harder please daddy I'm so close!" And as he heard that he smirked knowing exactly what he was going to do, he slowed down and pulled out.

Y/n looked up at him confused and breathing heavily she wanted him to let her cum so badly, no she needed this.

"Get on your knees baby girl. I want to see that ass of yours one more time before I fill you up with my cum" she quickly turned around and stuck her ass in the air giving him the best view.

He lined the top up with her entrance, about to push in she leaned over next to her ear. "Ready to cum on my cock baby?" She nodded her head instantly.

"Yes please daddy I need to cum so bad! Please let me cum on your cock" she said and pushed back on his cock, the tip going in. He growled and moved up.

"Since you wanna be such a slut for me and not wait I'm going to fuck you like a slut." He pushed in harshly, grabbing her hair and putting a hand on her neck, chocking her from behind. He went at a harsh pace, with every thrust she let out a moan.

He felt her walls tightening and he started going harder. "You have to as to cum baby. Do you want to cum?"

"Yes yes! Please let me cum daddy I need it so badly!" She practically screamed as he went even harder, holding it in until he said yes.

"Ok baby girl I want you to cum with me ok? Be a good girl and cum with daddy"

He started going faster, hitting just the right spot that he needed to to get you to cum. As your walls clenched around him milking his cock, he groaned loudly filling you with his cum.

"Fuck kid.. your to good for me" he leaned over and gave her a few kisses.

"I'll be right back baby just lay down and relax." He left and quickly came back with a rag to clean you up. As his warm hands cleaned your body you still had the high rushing over you, you hummed softly feeling at peace.

"W-will you stay please?" Y/n asked hoping that he'd say yes. She didn't want this to be a one time thing.

"Of course baby come here let's cuddle" he laid down and opened his arms and wings for her. She scooted over and laid her head on his chest, his arms around her and his wings covering her and her wings, which basically hugged each other.

As you closed your eyes and started to drift away, you felt in that moment that everything was ok, and felt that thing you felt the other night thinking about him. happiness..

#bnha hawks #hawks smut #mha hawks #hawks x y/n #pro hero hawks #hawks x reader #hawksbnha #my hero academia hawks #bnha imagines

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nomoregoldfish · 4 years

Text

Imagine Pacho Sends You as a Gift to (Spy on) Amado 2/3

This is getting out of hand again, smh. (Not really) Warning: everyone loves Pacho. Un-betaed, I’ll post the entire thing on AO3 later. For now, you can find part 1 here.

Amado is occupied with all sorts of business affairs after you land in DF, leaving you to his younger brother Vicente. You quickly learn Vicente is in charge of security of all cartel business, that's something, you assume.

When asked why you don't go to Juárez directly, Vicente tells you Amado has several meetings with some important figures in DF. You have to figure out a way to infiltrate the plaza to learn more about Amado, staying at a luxury apartment owned by the narcos won't get you anything useful.

"She's crazy!" Vicente's whining when Amado finally shows up late that night, "She woke up at 5 in the morning for a fucking jog and dragged my ass to a wet market before it even opened. And that's not the end of it, she bought so much fish and my car still smells like a stinky fish tank right now."

Vicente is a bit exaggerating but you do have a fruitful trip to the local market.

"Yet you finished everything she cooked." Amado points at the empty plates on the dining table, not annoyed at all.

"Do you have some leftovers?" The tall Mexican turns to you. Vicente interrupts, "No, we ate all salmon sashimi because Ryoko said salmon has to be served as fresh as possible, and I ate all wasabi. Oh man, that shit is hotter than serrano peppers. But don't worry, we have a lot of more fish in the jacuzzi." Right, it comes handy to have more than one bathtub in the luxury apartment.

Finally Amado sends away his bratty little brother. Then it's just the two of you.

"I've got something for you." You remember to smile, which seems to work fine as Amado approaches. "All done?" He asks, you haven't figured it out what he's asking about, the dishes? Yes. Then the Mexican lowers your ponytail, running his fingers through your hair.

"You don't wanna hair in your grilled pacific saury." You joke, bringing him another set of hot meal you specifically make for him.

"Tell me more about it." Amado takes a large bite, looking satisfied and more relaxed.

You two are chatting over some mezcal and a plate of edamame afterwards. Amado asks about your day, and trades some anecdotes about Vicente when you tentatively ask about his. The fucker is smart and vigilant.

"I have to tell you something," Okay, you get his full attention, "The bluefin tuna you ate three days ago wasn't served in the best condition. Pacho wanted a show, everything grand and pretty, so I had to cut the red part of the fish and make a bright-colored akami plate right away. It's meaty and chewy, which should have been aged for three days in the fridge to allow the texture to soften and release more flavor," You opens the fridge, showing Amado several chunks of tuna you already cut out, "You can have friends over in three days, I bought enough for a full table."

"What about the pink ones?" He seems genuinely interested. You continue to explain that different parts of tuna offer variable tastes from super fatty pink otoro around the head and collar to chutoro, mixture of fat and meat from the back and belly.

To your surprise, Amado asks for a slice of the fat part, "You said it's the most expensive one. I shouldn't waste your hard-earned money, right?" Both of you laugh.

You take a really fat cut. When you're looking for a plate and the soy sauce, Amado just eats it from your hand. Your fingers are freezing from the tuna and when he swallows them with the slice, the hot and soft sensation around fucking turns you on like nothing else. The sashimi-hater even licks your fingers a few more times, "to clean the fat."

As he claimed, "It's better."

"Now you're gonna show me how you destroy my jacuzzi on day one."

You feel great sitting by the edge of the jacuzzi a.k.a. your temporary fish tank and checking out all the aquatic animals you bought earlier.

"It could've been us in it." What a tease. You laugh then get up, "I don't think it's a good idea to get naked with lobsters and octopuses."

"Wait," Amado turns you around, still sitting by the edge, "Let me make it up for you."

When Amado decides to give you a head, you simply don't say no. It's like sitting on his face because you can barely stand still. He notices then pulls you closer. The lips used to wrap around your fingers now make you feel like in heaven, and God bless his fucking tongue. The Mexican is driving you mad.

"Shh, you wake up the octopus." You're at the tipping point and the fucker pauses. You open your eyes, an octopus is on the move, two tentacles approaching the edge of the jacuzzi, sucker rings very close to your bare legs.

Then imagine Amado gets up and pushes you up against the tiles in the shower, silencing you with a rough kiss. You taste yourself, and something raw, could be the tuna or the cigarettes he smokes. You get even more aroused by that.

You're desperate for more of his touch. So you grab his big hand and put it between your thighs, and he's willing to comply.

This is too much. You cum just after a few rubs against him.

"I'm sorry for the other night. You're a genius." Amado's playing dirty, sweet-talking while he continues to rub against your oversensitive part, "Would you do me favor? I'm thinking about hosting a few guests, somewhere private, the tuna will be ready by Friday, right?"

You can't believe he falls for the trick. This could be an important business meeting and you're gonna be there.

"Sure. Can I ask something in return?" You already come to your senses while giving Amado a painfully slow handjob.

"Anything you want. Flowers? Jewelry? Cars? I have some better collections than Pacho's Corvette C4. Too flashy." Amado offers generously.

You can't help laughing, "Gosh, how could men make everything a dick comparison contest?"

"You saw his dick?" Amado bites your lower lips. He's rock hard, throbbing.

"I thought you did, too. You two seem very close. I mean, Pacho is a gorgeous man." You keep going, and teasing. You enjoy the fact that you just plant something really dirty in Amado's head. You bet he's having an imaginary threesome with you and Pacho. Not a bad idea though.

By the time you make him come, the Mexican almost forgets what you're asking.

"I ask 'Do you have some dumbbells?' I need my daily training and I don't have time to find a new gym here. What? How do you think I'm able to handle a 150lbs tuna in a line of work mostly for men?" You give Amado a little squeeze before licking it off.

You have a dream that night, being penetrated by Amado in some warm water while a giant octopus sucks you off. You wake up with wetness down there.

You visit several Japanese restaurants in town, unsurprisingly boring. You get the idea that local middle-class see Japanese cuisine as an exotic and cultural novelty.

You even invite Amado to have lunch at one of those restaurants during his break. He frowns at the food after the first bite, "You can't do this to me."

What? "Asking me to eat this crap is inhumane. I'm spoiled." Amado makes it sound like you're the bad guy, but these smiling eyes give him away. He looks at you the way that makes you feel wanted.

You two end up eating cheap Mexican street food and that's where you find some early blossoms of jacarandas with excitement.

"You want those?" Amado asks, picking up some dried petals from the street. All you can think of is jacarandas flower could be an interesting alternative to sakura, which adds a domestic touch to the food you're gonna prepare for Friday.

"Yes, please." Amado must find it weird but he just nods.

Once being brought to the outskirt location of the private meeting, you spend more time making rearrangement of the decor, trying to create an authentic Japanese ryotei experience.

You call Amado once for extra resources. It's tricky because you don't know if you're in a position to ask anything when he's away, busy.

"I'm glad you called. I may not be an Asian culture fanatic like Pacho but I promise you will have anything you want. Whatever rare shit he's bought you, just name it. I'll have an entire Boeing 727 team ready to fly it in from every fucking corner of the world." Yeah, the dick measuring thing is still going on.

What you don't mention is that you're also glad to hear his voice. "Will you come over?" You almost let it slip, "I mean, to see if you like everything."

"No. I trust you," Amado pauses, "I'll be an hour early."

"Mind the traffic." Bright laughter breaks from the other end of the line.

And thanks to the highly efficient Carrillo Air Express, stuff you request is brought to you the next day including a whole box of violet jacarandas petals.

You ask for a guest list before starting to set the table. "Just set tables for eight people." Vicente clearly has no idea of being a host. You explain that it's part of your job to make sure no one is allergic to seafood. "How the fuck do I know that?" The young man is still complaining.

"Don't worry. Give me a list. I'll look for their office numbers, call their secretaries and find out."

Vicente is easily convinced. You get what you want, a list of high-up politicians and business executives. Not sure how this is relevant but you memorize the names and companies anyway.

Amado makes his arrival almost cinematic. With a chopper still swirling outside, the man in black steps out from the driving seat on the right and waves to you like a king.

"You're early." You can hide your smile this time.

"Because someone suggested I should 'mind the traffic.' It happens I've owned a few choppers." The fucker looks like a dashing pilot out Hollywood movies.

You joke that he's nothing like what Pacho used to say, "Low-profile my ass."

"Oh, Pacho talks about me?"

"Stop. I'm really not interested in which one of you has a bigger dick."

Later Amado hands you a wrapped frame. "I heard you're looking for some Japanese art for decoration. I don't know anything about art but..."

You can't believe he brings you a shunga, tradition Japanese erotic painting, depicting a giant octopus performing oral on a woman with pink tentacles all over her naked body. "You're ridiculous." You frown, it's too explicit you're not sure if it's appropriate for such an occasion.

"I saw something similar at Pacho's house. Well, minus the woman. Just boys." The cheeky bastard winks at you, "You're also serving octopus sashimi tonight? It's a fit then." That's how a print of the famous Octopus and Girl Diver ends up in the main room.

Dinner starts at 8 and everything is ready. You're asked to briefly introduce each dish to the guests when one's presented. Guests praise everything from the chopstick rest made of porcelain with traditional Mexican patterns, to the floral-shaped bream sashimi slices. The tuna sushi is a hit, everyone loves it. You give Amado a knowing smirk when you catch him taking a few himself. The octopus sashimi is a bit tricky but the guests are so "polite", they still pretend to enjoy the exotic food.

The rest of the time you stay outside the room. You hear things but not in a coherent manner. Amado mentions NAFTA, export-oriented furniture and auto parts factories in Juárez, and two of them are head of the biggest tequila exporters of the country. Nothing makes sense for the drug business. Is the most successful Mexican drug trafficker gonna shift to other legitimate businesses? That might have an impact on Pacho's business.

When dessert is brought to the table, everyone wows — the improvised jacarandas mochi with dried petals is a nice surprise to end the dinner. You tell them the story that instead of the much-anticipated sakura which wasn't well-adjusted to the Mexican weather, how jacarandas was introduced to Mexico City by a Japanese gardener in the 1930s. All the guests finish their plates while giving you a few nods.

Amado seems very pleased with everything you've done. He lowers his voice to ask you to wait for him afterwards.

"Where are we going?" You ask through the headphones. Seems Amado is flying you back to downtown DF.

The Mexican smirks, "To the sky."

You finally land atop the roof of a skyscraper, "This is the tallest building in Mexico." Amado holds you tight when you exit the chopper. The wind at night in early January is insane, let alone you're 700ft above the ground.

It must be some five-star hotel but turns out it's an office building of Pemex, Mexico's state-owned oil company. WTAF? "Put it this way, the biggest exporters of the country hang out sometimes." Amado's sense of humor is something you didn't expect, "Well, I'm not saying they bring as many unattached US dollars as I do, not even close."

When you let the fact sink in — that the Juárez cartel probably earns twice as much as the biggest oil company in the country through exporting "goods," having access to a secret suite on the top floor of the Pemex Tower is not surprising at all.

"You bring people here often?" You ask when Amado pops a bottle of wine. The city view from the 54th floor is stunning.

"I didn't know you're the jealous type." He brings you a glass. You two stand in front the giant window, raising your glasses like you're celebrating.

"You haven't asked what we're celebrating." Amado takes a step closer.

You put index finger on his lips, which are incredibly soft. Immediately remind you last time you kissed, "I don't want to get myself killed in a foreign country."

"Did Pacho teach you that? Not asking questions, just do your thing." Amado starts kissing your hand.

"Oh, my God. You're so obsessed with him, and it's kinda cute."

"Nonsense." The Mexican disagrees, and turns to the window.

You sets both of your glasses aside, then leads Amado to the bed. You get undressed first, lying on the bed, waiting.

"You're sure this is something you want?" You ask, completely stripped. Amado stares at your flat-chested body like the first time he found out who you are.

"You make it sound like I haven't sleep with supermodels. That funny?" The fucker tickles you, "You have no idea..."

Imagine Amado makes you feel adored, marking every inch of your body with his big hands and soft lips. He takes time, mapping your body till he finds the most sensitive spots and makes you moan, shivering.

"Let me warm you up." Amado probably thinks you're cold, so he spoons you. The long limbs of his are like tentacles wrapped around you, fuck, you can feel his erection grinding against you.

You're so wet for Amado. When he finally pushes in from behind, neither of you can resist the sensation.

"Wanted to do this to you the whole week. You're such a fucking tease, aren't you? Dropped at my door in that kimono robe then left without letting me even touch you." Amado pounds into you, with hand reaching your little bean from behind, making you a total mess.

"Why didn't you make me stay then?" You're nearly breathless, "Is it...because it's within Pacho's territory?" You obviously cross some line with that. The thrusts become harder, feels like Amado is gonna fuck you senseless.

You're not sure if Pacho wants to know you are talking about him when you reach orgasm.

You decide to leave it out before you pass out.

#narcos mexico #narcos imagine #amado carrillo fuentes #pacho herrera #amado x reader

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rizlowwritessortof · 4 years

Text

Black Velvet - Chapter 4

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1551

Warnings: (for the series as a whole) Demon!Dean (he deserves his own warning, dub-con, rough sex, smut, angst

He’s back to kissing your neck again, letting you come down from your high. He jerks his head upright suddenly, his eyes flashing obsidian, a snarl on his lips, and you shrink back against the couch as he speaks in a low growl. “Crowley. What the fuck do you want?”

“Time to put little Dean away, lover boy. Big Dean has some work to attend to. I’ll be waiting for you with your usual libation.”

The pompous, disembodied voice fades away, and Dean rises from his knees, reaching a hand for you. He pulls you to your feet and up into his arms, bending to kiss you, fever hot, and you can feel the strength of his need as he ruts against your hip. When he stops, you look up at him apprehensively, but his eyes are green again, and you sigh softly in relief. “I’ve gotta go pacify that douchebag. I’ll be back, baby. We were just getting to the good part.” He kisses you again, one hand cupping your ass and pressing you into his erection. Then he steps back abruptly, blowing out a frustrated little breath. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He puts a finger under your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes meet. “Be a good girl for me, put on something pretty.”

You swallow hard, words eluding you, and you nod slowly. A slow, sexy smile curves his lips, and then he’s gone. You drop back down to the couch, your head spinning as you try to wrap your mind around the last few hours. What the hell are you doing? Conflicting thoughts and emotions whirl in your head, want and guilt and fear… and love. Your chest aches with it. Anything – anything – is better than the yawning abyss of loneliness and loss. Isn’t it?

You wander the halls and rooms of the bunker aimlessly, letting your mind wander with you. Your worry about Sam is nagging at you as well – you haven’t heard from him since Dean… Suddenly fear floods through you, and you fumble in your pocket for your phone, dialing Sam’s number.

“Sam?” You can barely hear him when he answers, but hope and relief fills you, and a tear trickles down your face. “Sam, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just – I had a run-in with… never mind, I’m back on Dean’s trail.”

“Are you driving?” You can hear faint sounds of an engine, of wind through an open window. He sounds exhausted.

“Yeah. Had to hot wire a pickup. Listen, Crowley called me. I know where they are. I’m going after him, Smalls.”

“Sam, no! Sam, listen. Come home. Get some rest, let your arm heal. It’s probably a trap, you know that.”

“I don’t want to lose him.”

“I don’t want to lose you! Sam, please…”

“Smalls, listen – I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I just need to get him home.” He’s quiet for a few seconds, and then, “I need to bring Dean home.”

“Please, Sam….” You almost tell him – but you’re too afraid of Dean’s threats, and you stifle a sob as you continue. “Sam, please be careful. You don’t know what he’ll do. Or Crowley. Sam…”

“I’ll call when I have some news. Don’t worry.” He ends the call, and you stand there, battling with yourself, not even realizing that you’re biting your lip until you taste the tang of blood on your tongue. You swear quietly, your eyes squeezed shut, your phone clutched tightly in your hand. Then you swipe over the screen and dial the number.

“Dean?”

“Oh, miss me already, sweetheart?” His voice is like warm honey, and you swallow hard against the guilty lump in your throat.

“Promise me you won’t hurt him.”

There’s a second of dead silence, and you could swear the temperature drops. “Who?” he asks, his tone cold and calculating. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. Crowley did. Sam said Crowley called him, told him where you’d be. Just promise me, Dean.” You’re starting to cry again, terror-stricken that you may have signed Sam’s death warrant with this foolish call. “I swear, I’ll do anything you want. Just please don’t kill your brother.”

“You know, as tempting as that sounds, I’m beginning to think maybe you have just a touch too much concern for my little pain-in-the-ass brother.”

“No, Dean, it’s not like that. He - he’s family. I just…” He interrupts your frantic attempt at explanation before you can go any further.

“Calm down. Just remember, I’m the jealous type. But right now I’m more in the mood to rip Crowley’s head off. You did the right thing, calling to warn me. I can handle my baby brother without tearing him into bloody chunks, so don’t worry. I’ll be by later to collect on that promise, sweetness. Anything I want… mmm–mmm–mmm.”

The call ends, and you stand there, shaking, desperately hoping that you did the right thing. You drop your phone to the table top and rush towards the liquor cabinet, pouring yourself a generous tumbler of whiskey and drinking almost half of it in one huge gulp. It burns, all the way down, a knot of fire in your belly that starts spreading through your body, and you drop down into a nearby chair, bottle still in hand, to wait for whatever news will come your way.

——————–

You wake up much later curled up in the chair, your mouth dry and your head pounding. You hear Sam’s shout, hear footsteps on the metal stairs, and you struggle to clear the cobwebs from your brain as you stumble to your feet. “Sam? Are you okay?” you yell in answer, rushing towards the stairs, and then you freeze as your eyes meet Dean’s frigid stare.

“Aren’t you even gonna ask about me, sweetness?” His look is feral, his voice dark and dangerous, but you take a step towards him, and Sam speaks sharply.

“Stop, Smalls. This is not Dean. You need to stay away. At least until I cure him.” He shoves Dean forward, and you finally notice the shackles around his ankles, the chains linking his wrists, the metal carved with symbols that render him powerless. You follow behind as Sam wrestles him down long hallways, then into the storeroom serving as a front for the dungeon. He flicks the switch, and the shelves shift and swing, opening to the sigil-painted prison. A huge devil’s trap covers the largest portion of the concrete floor, a heavy, thick-timbered wooden chair bolted to the middle. Dean begins to struggle violently as Sam forces him into the chair, throwing holy water in his face from a flask he had hidden in his sling. He drops coil after coil of heavy rope around Dean’s chest, then moves behind him to slip the sling from his arm and tighten the knots holding him in place.

Sam moves around to the side, strapping his brother’s forearms to the heavy wooden arms of the chair with more rope, tying it securely. Dean lunges, as much as he is able, teeth bared in animalistic growls, but Sam doggedly continues, throwing more holy water in his face when Dean snaps at him like a rabid dog. You stand watching, horrified, unable to look away as Sam finishes binding what used to be his big brother, now sitting with arms, legs and chest bound tightly to the huge chair in the center of the room.

Sam takes a large key out of his pocket, unlocking the shackles around Dean’s ankles, laying them on the desk behind him. “I’ll be back, Dean. And I will save you, if it’s the last thing I do.” He grabs your arm, forcing you from the room with him, as Dean’s chilling laugh echoes behind you.

“You’re gonna save me? You’d better hope somebody saves you, little brother. Because I’m gonna reach down your throat and rip your lungs out.”

Sam pushes the shelves back into place, closing off the room, and then pulls you out into the hall, closing the door and locking it behind him. You look up at him, shaking with shock and fear, and he grabs you, holding you tight with his good arm as you burst into sobs against his chest.

“It’s okay, I promise, it’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna cure him. We’ll get him back.” You cling to him for a few moments longer before backing away, looking up into his bruised and weary face.

“How, Sam? How do you fix this?” You desperately want to believe him, but it seems so unrealistic, especially when you’ve seen just a sample of Dean’s demonic power.

“There’s a cure. But I’ve got to go get some blood, some consecrated human blood. We’ll inject him with it.” You’re still staring up at him, doubt fighting with the hope he’s offering you, and right now you can’t decide what’s winning. “You have to trust me, okay? Listen, I’ll be gone for a while. Just stay away from him while I’m gone. Understand? He’s not the Dean you know, and he’s dangerous.”

You finally nod in answer, and step back. He bends to drop a kiss on top of your head before turning to go, leaving you staring after him silently.

Chapter 5

#black velvet reblog #chapter 4 #demon!dean fic #demon!dean x reader #dean x reader

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seerofmike · 4 years

Text

Sharing

pairing: cryptane / miroctane / cryptoxoctanexmirage word count: 2,835 rating: t tags: polyamory, jealousy, birthday fluff, humor summary: Elliott and Taejoon are both dating Octavio, and won't stop competing with each other—especially today, on his birthday.

@apex-rarepairweek

today’s prompt is jealousy! though its less jealousy and more ‘crypto and mirage trying to one-up each other’ LMAO. also this is not cryptage, crypto is dating octane and mirage is also dating octane but they are not dating each other. :3c enjoy!

reblogs>>>likes! i read all the tags in reblogs! <3

read on ao3

read below

Octavio loved attention.

Loved the soft kisses his boyfriends pressed to the insides of his thighs or the highest points of his cheeks, loved the way their hands ran down his back or across his stomach, touches gentle. Loved it when they teased him or tended to him or hyped him up for his stunts, Elliott in that big dorky way of his and Taejoon in his much subtler, but still chaos-enabling, way.

All attention was good attention, to Octavio—he couldn’t bear to be ignored, so he often made a nuisance of himself whenever they were busy. Wrapped his arms around Taejoon’s neck whenever he was doing his Hackerman™ thing, drummed Elliott’s workbench with wrenches when he was working on something, constantly told them ‘watch this!’ in the Games whenever they were on a squad together because he wanted them to look at him.

It didn’t matter if their attention came in the form of Taejoon snapping at him, or Elliott swiping his wrenches back, clearly annoyed. It was attention, and he loved it.

And he especially loved this kind of attention—the jealous kind.

It was his birthday today, turning twenty-five, ‘a big age’, according to Elliott, and Taejoon had scoffed ‘you would know, wouldn’t you, old man?’ which had resulted in indignant sputtering from Elliott, mumbling something about ‘thirty-one’ and ‘bullying’.

The three of them rarely spent the night together; it was usually just Octavio and Elliott or Octavio and Taejoon, as the two men couldn’t really stand each other, and he usually didn’t mind.

But you know what was better and more exciting than just one boyfriend? Two. So they had compromised for his sake and spent the night on either side of him, touching him in the way he liked and massaging the nubs of his thighs. It had been really fucking hot and sweaty, but hey! He got to wake up and see both their stupid sleepy faces, so he loved it.

Octavio could tell that today was going to be different, though. He had fallen back asleep in Elliott’s arms (at one point in the night, he had hogged Octavio all to himself), but when he woke up again three hours later, the bed was empty and cold.

Glaring up at the ceiling at the realization that he had been left alone on his birthday, Octavio was just picking up his phone to type an aggravated message when someone entered the room. He then let his phone drop onto his chest when he saw just who (and what) it was; Taejoon, holding a box of sweet-smelling donuts.

“Ay, cariño, you didn’t have to,” he cooed, but internally he was going FUCK YEAH this is what birthdays are ABOUT. “Glazed and-?”

“Maple,” Taejoon said, and fuck, he loved this man. He knew the other didn’t particularly care for donuts, but he’d gone out of his way to get this whole-ass box just for him. “Saengil chukahae.”

Octavio flipped it open, seeing six freshly-made donuts awaiting him. He could feel the heat beneath his fingers through the box, could see that the glaze was still melting on the dough, and was just about to pick one up and eat it right there in bed when Elliott burst through the door.

“Ha-ppy birth-day!” Elliott announced, punctuating each syllable with a wave of the spatula in his hand, though he quickly froze when he saw them both. “What’s going on here?”

“‘Joon got me breakfast!” Octavio said enthusiastically, lifting the box up. He watched Elliott’s eyes narrow, and noticed that the man was wearing a ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron that he definitely didn’t own. "What's up?"

“I made breakfast,” Elliott said, sounding miffed. “Omelettes with peppers in ‘em. Just the way you like.”

Octavio perked up somehow even more at this news. “You did?”

“I did,” Elliott said sweetly, before his tone jumped right back into accusing. “And this guy knew I was going to!”

“I already told you that I was getting breakfast,” Taejoon said coolly, putting his hands in his pockets. “So I assumed that you would have stopped in your preparations. Evidently, I was wrong.”

“A home-made breakfast is better than any of this junk!” Elliott said, putting his hand on his hip and pointing his spatula at Taejoon’s nose. The other man didn’t even flinch. “I was even nice enough to make you an omelette. Now c’mon, babe, let’s eat.”

Octavio stood up with the box of donuts, but Elliott added, “And leave that shit in here.”

“Why can’t I just eat both?” Octavio asked, raising an eyebrow, and Elliott’s face flushed red.

“B-because—all that sugar—it’s not gonna taste good with the omelettes, okay?”

“It is his birthday,” Taejoon said shortly, pushing out of the room. “Let him decide for himself.”

Elliott huffed, flipping his hair out of his face as he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room as well, probably to berate Taejoon some more. Octavio watched him leave with wide eyes, before a grin split his face. Oh, today was going to be fun.

Octavio solved the breakfast problem by tearing a maple donut into chunks and dipping it into the hot chocolate he’d been provided after every bite of his omelette. The sweet and savory flavor of the donut mixed with the salt and spice of the omelette, and it made for a pretty exciting breakfast experience—made even better by the fact that Taejoon and Elliott were glaring at each other on opposite ends of the table.

After breakfast Octavio sat back in his seat and asked, “What'd you guys plan for today?”

“I was thinking that—” Elliott began, at the same time Taejoon mumbled, “I brought—”

They both stopped speaking, and when neither said anything for a while, Elliott spoke loudly.

“Well, I wanted to take you out to dinner. Without Park.”

“And I,” Taejoon said, emphasizing each word with a slice of his knife through his omelette. “Brought a movie for us to watch. Without Witt.”

“You could watch a movie any old time,” Elliott said, and Octavio glanced between them both. “I got us a reservation at the Sky Plate. The Sky Plate! Do you know how expensive that place is?”

“Well, I did not feel the need to flaunt my wealth in order to do something with Octavio today,” Taejoon said, snide.

“But what’s so fun about watching a movie?”

“He doesn’t even like half the food they serve at that establishment.”

“Well, how do you know?!”

“Because he is allergic,” Taejoon stressed, and there was a triumphant sort of edge to his voice. “To shellfish.”

Elliott’s mouth dropped open, eyes wide, and Octavio was amused to see the deep red flush rising from his throat and into his cheeks. His boyfriend was then looking over at him, eyebrows drawn up as he kept gaping like a fish.

“I totally forgot,” he eventually said, and Octavio saw Taejoon smirk out of the corner of his eye. “I-I can cancel it, don’t worry! I can make a different resoir...rev...resser—”

“Chill, babe,” Octavio said, and Elliott’s mouth snapped shut. “People tell me they’ve got good desserts. I’ll find something to eat.”

“You sure?” Elliott asked, worried, and Octavio nodded eagerly, because while he wasn’t much of a fine-dining person, he knew that with Elliott it couldn’t be boring.

When they stood up from the table Taejoon seemed displeased for some reason, and walked away without saying much else. Curious, Octavio wandered after him as Elliott cleaned up, and found his boyfriend sitting on the couch and typing on his phone.

“Whatcha doin’?” Octavio asked, leaning over the back of it to rest his chin on Taejoon’s shoulder.

“Checking the train times,” he said stiffly.

“Awww, why?”

“I don’t want to intrude on your dinner with Witt.”

Octavio blinked, before slinging his arm over the couch as well and grabbing Taejoon’s chin, turning his head to face him. “Y’know dinner isn’t for a while, right?”

Taejoon didn’t say anything, so Octavio braced his arms against the back of the couch before flipping himself over it, managing to land his ass on the cushions without falling off.

“Don’t be like thattttt,” Octavio whined, because he didn’t want him to leave. Elliott was great and all, but why settle for great when you could go for fantastic? Taejoon being here, vying for his attention and pampering him was ten times better than just Elliott doing all that. He wanted them both here.

“I wanna watch that movie with you,” Octavio said, sliding his hand over Taejoon’s chest and taking delight in the way he bit on his lower lip. “Por favor?”

“...Fine,” his boyfriend eventually sighed, and he got up to go rifle through the overnight bag he’d brought. Octavio sat upside-down on the couch as he listened to the sounds of Elliott loading the dishwasher, and when the man himself eventually stepped into the living room he smiled at Octavio and said,

“You ready?”

“It’s not even dinner,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but I thought we could—”

“Your reservation isn’t until six, Witt,” Taejoon said, stalking around him with a DVD in hand. “Let us watch this film.”

“How do you know when my reservation is?” Elliott yelped, scandalized. “What the hell?”

Taejoon didn’t answer, and Octavio cackled at the look on Elliott’s face. Both of his boyfriends eventually reached a silent agreement to tolerate each other as they all settled on the couch, Octavio sitting between them.

For once he was lucky that his couch wasn’t very big; both men were sitting on opposite ends of it, but thanks to its short length, he was able to lay himself across both of their laps. He took off his legs and rested his thighs in Elliott’s lap as he leaned against Taejoon, feeling the other man rub his fingers soothingly over the bare skin of his hip.

The movie was pretty cool; a thrilling zombie adventure taking place on a train, though the build-up was rather slow and Octavio found his mind drifting elsewhere multiple times.

Soon enough it got exciting, and he found himself invested in the story, trying to read the subtitles as quickly as they popped onto the screen, but about halfway through the movie, he felt something warm against the back of his neck, and shivered.

Turning his head to see what the deal was, Taejoon kissed him again before he could speak, this time on his jaw, right beneath his ear. Shivering again, Octavio tilted his head, allowing his boyfriend to suck kisses into the sensitive skin of his neck as the movie progressed.

By the time all the action was happening—a dude was punching zombies—Octavio was hardly paying attention, Taejoon’s fingers tracing themselves deliciously across the skin of abdomen, feather-light and stomach fluttering in response, ticklish.

He reached behind him to grab the collar of Taejoon’s v-neck and pulled him lower, grinning against his lips before kissing him, rough and biting, just how he liked it. Taejoon moaned into his mouth, quiet, but the other man sitting with them apparently heard it.

“Whoa,” he heard Elliott say, and then a calloused hand was placed on his thigh. “I thought we were watching a movie?”

“Mhm,” Octavio hummed, and made a little ‘come here’ motion with his hand, mouth too occupied with Taejoon to do much else. It was a clear invite to come and kiss him, touch him, stroke all the places he liked—and he was rewarded with Elliott scooting just a little bit further down the couch to do just that, leaning close to get his attention.

Octavio turned his head and let Elliott pull him in for a much sweeter kiss, his beard tickling him as he did so, and his body felt so warm everywhere as Taejoon held him in his arms. His legs were spread, Elliott's fingers digging into the skin of his thighs as he kissed him in that uniquely Elliott way of his his.

But then the spell was broken as he was suddenly shoved off of Taejoon, and he gave a squawk as he hit Elliott’s chest.

“What the fuck was that for?” Octavio said, turning his head to glare at the man, and he saw him fold his arms over his chest and stare sullenly at the TV.

Okay, scratch that. All of this jealousy shit was not going to fly on his motherfucking birthday. How was he to receive attention from both of them if they acted like this whenever the other was giving him some?

Octavio tore himself away from Elliott and let out a huff so that they were both looking at him, raising his voice as he said, “It’s my birthday. Can’t you two get along for once?”

“He’s not—”

“I’m just—”

“Silencio,” Octavio interrupted, and they both looked at him with wide eyes. “Look, normally the whole ‘fighting over me’ thing is hot, but today, I just want you both to share. Is that too much to ask? Eh?”

Neither of them answered. Pissed off now, Octavio stared at the TV screen, not even bothering trying to read the subtitles in the state of anger he was in. Ten minutes passed in silence, and as the characters got into arguments on-screen, Elliott finally said,

“I’m—we’re sorry, Tav.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” Taejoon mumbled quietly, hesitant, before he felt the other touch his shoulder lightly. “I’m just not used to...this. Whatever this is.”

“Sharing,” Elliott supplied.

“He is not an item.”

“Yeah but that’s—”

“Shut up,” Octavio advised, and Elliott frowned, but obliged. “It’s whatever. I know you two don’t like each other, I guess.”

“But we can try to get along," Taejoon said firmly, and then his tone got a little sharper. “We are both dating you. Right, Witt?”

“‘Right, Witt’,” Elliott mocked, before pinching himself on the thigh and saying, “Right...Taejoon.”

Octavio looked between the both of them before returning to his previous position, thighs in Elliott’s lap and Taejoon’s arms wrapped around his middle. By the time the movie had ended (his eyes were getting kind of wet, and Elliott was full-on sobbing) it felt like an eternity had passed, but it was only noon.

Octavio got up to use the bathroom, and when he came back the atmosphere in the room wasn’t as stiff as it had been before. Elliott glanced up from where he was checking his reflection in his selfie cam, and said,

“I can change that reservation for a party of three. If you w-want. I’m Mirage, what’re they gonna say? No?”

He expected Taejoon to make some snarky comment in return, but he was surprised when the man said, “That would be nice.”

“Yeah!” Elliott smiled, eyes bright, and Octavio felt his heart do something funny in his chest. Grinning now, he approached them both and asked,

“Sweeeet. Now what’d you guys get me for presents, huh?”

He’d half-meant it as a joke, but he was really curious to see if they’d bought him something or not. Elliott practically jumped from the couch in his haste to get his gift, and when he handed it over to Octavio he was chagrined to see that it was covered in Mirage wrapping paper. It was a very poor wrapping job as well.

Tearing it off (and hearing Elliott complain) Octavio grinned somehow even wider when he saw that it was the new video game he’d mentioned wanting. “Oh shit, gracias!”

“Knew you were lookin’ for something new to play,” Elliott said, obviously proud of himself. “Saw that at the store and went hey, it’s that thing Octavio wants, and—”

Octavio threw his arms around him, and his smooth-talking turned into stuttering as he returned the hug. “A-and then I was like...I have w-wrapping paper left over from Christmas! I can make it all exta...exe..fancy for ya!”

"I love it. Thanks, babe," Octavio said, and felt satisfied when he managed to get the trickster, of all people, to shut up.

Taejoon’s gift wasn’t all wrapped up like Elliott's had been—he simply pulled the thing from his bag, and Octavio gasped when he saw it. It was a stuffed bunny, and it was purple.

“I know you probably meant it as a joke,” Taejoon said sheepishly as he tore the thing from his hands. “But...”

“He’s beautiful,” Octavio whispered, and then kissed the man on his cheek. Much to his delight, Taejoon’s face turned pink and he ran his hand through his hair, flustered.

Octavio looked up at both of his boyfriends before pulling them both down at the same time into a hug. He was really lucky to have them both, even if they argued over him and were jealous and petty and...

Well, that was what made them fun. He wouldn’t really have it any other way.

But just for today, they could learn to share.

#miroctane #cryptane #octane #mirage #crypto #apex legends

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kbstories · 4 years

Text

Axiomatic

ax·i·om·at·ic (adj.)

Self-evident; unquestionable.

The best part of battle is the afterparty.

(Or: Remember that banquet Luffy promised? This is it.)

Tags: Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Partying

Set in Wano. Spoilers for all of Wano. Read Chapter 2 here.

***

“What do you think?”

Lipstick glides over thin lips, the wax malleable and smooth as it leaves a coat of rusty red in its wake. Killer makes sure it’s perfectly even before he glances elsewhere. In the mirror, Kidd’s face is all scowled impatience.

One last run-down – eyeliner, mascara, lipstick: done, done and done – then Killer grabs the mask waiting for him. “Alright, let me see.”

Their eyes meet and Killer sighs. Metal over skin-and-bone, Kidd’s arms are crossed; his shaved brows push together further. As if Killer doesn’t indulge his every whim by the regular.

“I’m looking. Show me again.”

Kidd grumbles, “Watch.” He opens his arms, reveals an unbuttoned shirt tucked into his favorite patterned pants, glinting gold over black under a double-belted cinch at the waist. So far, so very Kidd.

No, the point of discussion is the frankly massive coat slung across his neck: Nice soft-looking suede on the outside and glossy-grey fur on the inside, it hugs Kidd’s shoulders in all the right places to then cascade down his back in a display of near-ridiculous opulence.

Extravagant, over-the-top, flashy. It’s hard to tell which type of animal had to die for this. There must be a lot less of ‘em now, with this monstrosity in the world.

Kidd is swiveling it back and forth with critical glances to the mirror, the coat wooshing with the motions. Killer takes in the fluid glide of fur over Kidd’s exposed chest, the contrast of impeccable couture against jagged scars. Loses himself for a moment or two imagining how it would feel like to run his hands over both.

An appreciative hum. In Killer’s educated opinion, Kidd looks damn near sinful.

“Yeah?”, Kidd asks and Killer nods. “Yeah. Heh, told ya the detour’s worth it.”

Perhaps it was, although sifting through Onigashima’s treasury whilst bleeding all over heaps of shiny expensive everything might’ve been a case of skewed priorities. There’s no need to talk about what-could-have-beens, though – they’re here, they’re rich and they’re long overdue at Strawhat’s banquet.

Killer’s practically done, tight jeans under a shirt that’s done up to the third button and left to flare open otherwise. It’s not his old favorite (that one stopped fitting him a good year ago) but similar enough, patterned in geometric black-and-white shapes. Definitely one of his fancier ones, not that anyone will care one way or the other where they’re going.

It’s… been a while since it’s been anyone other than them and their crew. Pirates are pirates, allied or no; Killer eyes the scythes neatly stored next to the bed.

Kidd is touching up his lips one last time, the same shade as Killer’s. “Bring ‘em. That Roronoa guy keeps throwing you weird looks and I’m not allowed to kill him.”

Yet goes implied. Killer isn’t wearing his mask and so he doesn’t roll his eyes. “He’s got every reason to”, he reminds his captain, focusing on the heavy clasps of his weapons to keep the memories at bay. The red mark on his chest stings, stuck in the limbo between a healing wound and a fresh scar for a few days still.

A testament to his failure that Killer won’t hide. If Zoro hadn’t stopped him that day his hands would be stained with blood that cannot be washed off, not entirely.

Kidd’s eyes are on him, dark. “I don’t care.”

Resentful as always. Killer reaches for him, digs his fingers into the fluffy lining of that coat and oh, the fur is as soft as it looks. “I do, though.” A firm tug, one Kidd follows until Killer can kiss him, careful not to smudge anything.

“No killing of allies today, ‘kay? We just came back from a war. The crew’s tired. I’m tired.”

“Mh” is all Kidd has to say to that, a grumpy huff against Killer’s lips more than anything. Kidd does give him a proper kiss, however, and Killer knows he won this one.

All he can ask of Kidd is to try, anyways – with two equally hot-headed captains and a whole host of morons around to rile him up, there’s bound to be blood eventually. The trick is to make sure everyone’s drunk enough not to take it too personally.

A pinch to his ass tells Killer he was caught scheming. Kidd smirks, tells him, “We’re getting wasted tonight”, all triumphant like it’s the best idea he’s had all week, and Killer doesn’t miss the emphasis on we.

“Two Emperors down! Strawhat better bring the good stuff tonight or this alliance is over.”

Killer groans, “Kidd”, but he’s smiling, too. Before he can be called out on it, Killer shoves his mask into Kidd’s hands, metal clanking against metal. “Make yourself useful. We’re late.”

Kidd’s laugh is more of a cackle than anything else – “Yes, darling”, said in that sarcastic lilt Killer knows all too well – yet Kidd complies. His hands, organic or otherwise, handle the mask they’ve built with care and precision. Soon, Killer’s vision is narrowed down to dots, the audio filter of his helmet kicking in soon after.

Killer rolls his neck and hums, satisfied. “Ready?”

Kidd throws a final look at himself in the mirror, grinning into the collar of his new coat.

“Hell yeah. Let’s go.”

The banquet is a sprawling, messy affair that swallows the entirety of the ramshackle village the Strawhats picked as their home in Wano Country.

From the moment the Kidd Pirates get there they are surrounded. Wherever Killer's eyes roam there are knots of people drinking, eating, laughing and crying, sometimes simultaneously – there, at the heart of it all where the crowd is thickest, burns the largest bonfire Killer has seen in a while, perhaps ever. Smiling faces all around and for once, it doesn’t make Killer’s stomach drop because they’re genuine.

Survivors of SMILE just like him, caught in the rush of real emotions for the first time in who knows how long. Killer has a pretty good idea how that feels like.

Next to him, Kidd is so tense he’s stalking, gaze intense, oozing Haki to keep people away; Wire’s hand is clenched to bloodlessness around his trident while Heat exhales a bit of smoke with every breath and yeah, Killer gets it. Can’t help it himself, either, scythes kept close to his sides to make sure they’re there.

The thing is: They don’t do these kinds of things. Parties, yes, many and often but not like this. Killer can count on one hand the amounts of times the population of any island was actually happy to see them, much less willing to send them off with one big feast.

Actually, he wouldn’t need to count at all because it’s simply never happened. Even filtered by his mask it’s… a lot to take in at once.

The entire damn country is here, it seems, all breathing a collective sigh of relief so monumental the air itself carries their joy. For all that the Kidd Pirates were in this for revenge and glory, Killer can’t deny it’s rewarding to see a nation so ravaged by an Emperor’s greed do whatever they want for the first time in decades.

Finally, a few familiar faces start popping up. Some of the samurai greet them with nods of their heads, overly formal like the people from Wano tend to be; here and there they spot the distinctly branded yukata the members of Trafalgar’s crew are wearing and, rarer but all the more noticeable, those animal people Strawhat dragged along from somewhere.

Minks? Or something? Killer is inclined to say it doesn’t matter if they didn’t have the habit to jump on them out of fucking nowhere. Looking for bone-crushing hugs and wet-nosed kisses, of all things, and– Oh no, he did not sign up for this.

Much less for whatever that group of cat minks are gearing up to, staring at the holes in his mask with eyes nearly swallowed by black, round pupils. Killer is absolutely, solidly convinced he doesn’t even want to know what that’s all about.

“Captain.”

And yeah, his tone is a little more alarmed than he truly means it to be. It gets Kidd’s attention, though – himself having fought off a dog mink enamored with his metal arm not too long ago – and he barks a laugh even when he ramps up his presence to an almost stifling degree.

“C’mon, I feel Strawhat up ahead.”

To nobody’s surprise, they find him smack dab in the middle of everything. Strawhat and his crew are lounging around the bonfire, there’s no other way to describe it: All broad smiles and flushed faces amidst the chaos, completely in their element, and it’s hard to tell if it’s the closeness to the bonfire or the vaguely impressive amounts of empty bottles lying around already. They’re certainly boisterous enough for it to be the latter, even Jinbei.

And no, Killer hasn’t quite processed that turn of events yet. The strangeness of seeing someone of that caliber wheeze into his mug with laughter as his (new?) captain takes a disturbingly big bite out of an even bigger chunk of meat is… not helping things, in that regard.

What a bunch of weirdos. In the safety of his mask, Killer allows himself a small smile.

From here the flames seem to reach for the sky, tinged in warm pinks and oranges by the sinking sun and there, very faintly, Killer can make out the first stars. He can’t remember ever seeing them, not with the factories running over night as well.

“Spikey!!”

Ah. Killer’s head turns with Kidd’s and it’s a good thing, too, because there’s a stretched arm coming for his captain – Kidd bites out, “Nope, no, Strawhat”, red eyes going wide – and Killer manages to side-step it in the last possible second. One, twice it wraps around Kidd, fancy coat and all, and then the rubber recoils.

“Killer!”

Oh my, Killer thinks mildly as he watches him go. Behind him, half their crew is flabbergasted and the other half is in stitches. “Captain’s gonna be in such a mood”, Heat says to Wire, and it just sends them into another fit of chuckles.

For Killer, finding a drink becomes his top priority. So much for keeping things peaceful.

>>Chapter 2.

#one piece #eustass kid #killer one piece #kidkiller #fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #this is a setup for smut in chapter 2 ngl #(i just got carried away as per usual)#this fic is also on AO3!!#my stuff #one piece spoilers

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loveafterthefact · 4 years

Text

Love After the Fact Chapter 59: What Do I Do Now?

Even adults sometimes want their parents.

First Previous Next

Lance is lying on his back, the perfect pillow for Keith, nestled against his side, and BleepBloop, wedged between them. He's got his tail wrapped around the Altean's waist. They’re on a blanket under a tree, the warmth of the early afternoon a balm against their skin. After the unpleasant morning, Keith’s glad to spend some time curled up with his chosen mate. Just lie here and inhale Lance’s scent, soak up his warmth, absorb the rhythm of his breathing. They match breath for breath, primary heartbeat to heartbeat.

Despite his content, Keith can’t quite find sleep. He’s restful, sleepy, but there’s too much going on inside his head. He can’t help but think of Thace’s words, the notes on his test results.

“Perfect Health.”

The problem with perfect health? It means Keith has to consider his responsibilities and weigh them against what he really and truly wants.

Part of him doesn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction. All these people standing around wondering when he’s gonna push one out. They’re probably all milling about on Altea right now, gossiping about how he’s going to come back pregnant. They don’t deserve it. They don’t deserve Lance, they don’t deserve him, and they definitely won’t deserve his kits. Because obviously his kits will be perfect and beautiful and theirs, and therefore unworthy of anyone else.

Additionally, he doesn’t want to become a breeder. He has other things he still wants to do. He doesn’t want to sit around inside a castle and push out kits. Some of his species seem content with that life (probably because they’re just fucking nuts), but Keith is a warrior, and a leader (he’s trying), and someday he’d like to be an explorer. He still has dreams of a big life. The idea of his sex suddenly become a restraint bothers him.

But... He has responsibilities, both to his people and Lance’s. He doesn’t really care about elevating himself in Galra society. His friends within the Blade of Marmora and his family are enough for him. All the same, he wants to contribute to his race, be it because of Zarkon’s brainwashing or his own personal desires. Plus, he kind of needs to provide Lance an heir. It’s literally his only purpose, politically speaking.

“Perfect Health.”

What perfect health means is that his excuse is gone. Time to spread his legs!- Or so he’d think, except Lance is perfectly content to wait. Lance isn't even nineteen, and he's only just barely approaching twenty. Insanely young to be parents, even if that’s the expectation. They could absolutely wait if they wanted to…

And Keith definitely wanted to. But with that one phrase, “Perfect Health”, he can’t help but wonder.

He’s in this bad spot where no matter what he does, someone will end up mad at him. Possibly Alfor, which would be extremely inconvenient. Possibly Lance, which would break his heart. Possibly himself, which would just be par for the course at this point.

He taps Lance on the shoulder, waits for his eyes to flutter open. “I’m going to go find Shiro. Will you be alright on your own?”

Lance nods, humming an affirmative, already falling back asleep. Keith presses their lips together, Lance’s response sleepy but nonetheless sweet for it. “I love you.”

The Altean hums again, smiling his way back into a doze. That’s another thing: Lance really is sweet, and he’s been desperate to make Keith happy since before he even arrived on Altea. Bond or no bond, he feels like he owes Lance something. Which is stupid and not rational since Lance doesn’t want fuck all from him except support and affection, but Keith has a few anxieties when it comes to family.

After giving BleepBloop a goodbye pat, Keith heads out. Once he’s arrived at the compound, it takes him a minute to find Shiro. He’s in the yard, training some new recruits. “Hey, Keith. How’s it going?”

“So-so. You?”

“Well enough.” Shiro frowns. “What’s bothering you- Watch your footing, Klai. A good breeze would knock you over!”

“Thace says I’m well enough for a kit this first season. And I have to have at least two before too long.”

“And you don’t want any. I don’t blame you.”

“What? Yes I do!” Keith stares wide-eyed at his littermate? “You don’t?”

“How can I?” Shiro retorts, turning on him. “For that matter, how can you?!”

Keith can’t believe he’s hearing this. He’s always assumed his kind, warm-hearted brother wanted that. “Why wouldn’t I want that?”

“Keith, you grew up alone! How can you possibly risk leaving your kits to that same fate! How can you invite that kind of suffering on innocent life?”

“I- I would be a good parent. I’d make sure my kits would be provided for. Why should my not having had a family impede me from building one of my own?”

The found siblings gape at one another, disbelief written on both of their faces. It’s never occurred to either of them that they might have different goals in life. They’ve always been of a singular mind. Peace is a good option; the empire is stretched thin and vulnerable; Altean food is fucking nasty.

It never occurred to Keith that Shiro, who has so much to offer and so much natural talent as a mentor and leader, wouldn’t want to pass on his genes, nurture someone that’s his own flesh and blood. It never occurred to Shiro that Keith, damaged, neglected, traded like a commodity, would still want to start a family of his own.

Shiro sighs, runs fingers through the silver hair on top of his head. “You really want kits?”

Keith nods, ears wilted, tail limp. He eyes his littermate carefully, trying to figure out how to appease him. Stupid kit instincts.

“Okay. Hey, it’s okay. We’re okay. I’m sorry.” Shiro rubs the top of Keith’s head. “But if that’s what you really want, I’m not the right person to talk to.”

“Yeah, I guess not.” Keith sighs, turning back to the sparring newcomers. “I’ll talk to my mother. I planned to anyway, since she and I both have that disorder.”

He can feel needles and aches in his bones again, prominent in his shoulders, knees, and hips.

“Good idea.” Shiro smiles. “So, what do you think? They any good?”

“They’re good for soldiers. They’ve got a lot to learn if they want to be Blades.”

“I agree. The potential is there, but the refinement is not. Speaking of which, I know you’ve been trying to keep a low profile because of your age, but you and Lance should come to training tomorrow morning. You say he’s improved, and I want to see that, and I want to see his supposed marksmanship. I also know that you haven’t been challenged in a while, so I want to see how much you’ve regressed.”

“Good idea. I could use a bit of conditioning, and a bit of exercise, to be honest. I’ve been very lazy since coming home.”

“I know. Rumor has it a pair of princes have been lounging about down in a certain village, grossing everyone out with their affections.”

“Oh, fuck off! The sun feels nice, alright?!”

“What about the rain?”

Keith’s ears twitch, betraying his embarrassment. But he smiles. “Yeah. That too.”

“Aw, you lovesick idiot. Go say hi to your mother!” Shiro shoves him away, but it’s more playful than anything else.

Of course, Keith has to push back, so Shiro has to push back, so Keith has to try and tackle him, so-

Lance sighs, glancing at the datapad propped up in the windowsill, setting BleepBloop on his shoulder. While he waits for his father to pick up the call, he looks over a recipe someone handed him while he was folding up the nap blanket. It seems simple enough. Chop up some stuff, throw it in a pot, cook it over a fire. Said pot was already outside, boiling bones to make the broth.

He’s cooked before, actually, making a hobby of it as a way to spend more time with Hunk, Rosetta, and Shay. That said, he’s never done it on his own. Well, he’s seen what a finished stew is supposed to look like, and it’s about time he and Keith stopped freeloading off the neighbors, so… fuck it. He might as well try.

"Here you go." Lance hands BleepBloop a small beanpod, which the primate bites, then throws across the room. "Guess you only eat meat, huh? Wait a tick, and I'll give you some, okay?" The primate chitters, clearly annoyed at his stupidity, but he's easily appeased by a head scratch.

While he waits for his father to bother answering, Lance begins by chopping some meat wrapped in leaves and covered in spices. It’s the same color as bits of meat still stuck to the bones cooking outside. Taking a luxite knife, Lance does as he’s seen the locals do, slicing the meat up along with the leaves right on top of the dining table. Picking off a piece of leaf, he hands a small chunk to BleepBloop, almost certain Keith would kick his ass for feeding it to him.

“Lance.” It’s his father, dressed in pajamas, watching him from the screen of his datapad. It’s later in the quintant back home, already after dark. “How is Daibazaal?”

“Very different, and the people don’t like me much, but I like it here.”

“You’ve been out in the village?”

“Yes. Keith has a den.” Lance scoops up the meat and leaves, dumping them in a stone bowl. He starts on a basket of vegetables and tubers, starting by using a mortar and pestle to mash up some plump, violet fruits with soft insides and a thin skin. “...He has friends here.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad for that. Have you seen the imperial family at all?”

“No, which is probably fortunate, given that Keith and I have been wandering all over the place like a pair of tourists, flaunting that he’s only just now growing up.”

A moment's pause, then, “Lance, what was the one major thing I told you to do?”

“Have sex with Keith?”

“Lance.”

“Stay safe," he grumbles. There’s silence in the wake of their heads butting together. “When did you last hear from Allura?”

“Just a few vargas ago. She informed me that Romelle no longer recognizes her.”

“What are we going to do? Where do we go from here?”

“Nothing. Nowhere.”

Lance’s heart stops. “How can you say that? She- Wasn’t she your friend? Don’t you care about her and Allura?”

“Son, it took me a centaphoeb and a half to piece Romelle’s brain back together. We’re lucky she’s with us at all.” Seeing the look on Lance's face, Alfor remembers he sometimes needs to be more gentle with his bleeding heart of his son.

“There’s nothing more I can do for her, Lance. I’ve tried everything. If something new becomes available, I’ll be more than tempted to arrange treatment myself, but the truth is… It’s cruel to keep forcing Romelle through all these experimental treatments. They can be traumatic and invasive, and half the time, there’s a decline in her condition, and almost never any improvement at all.”

Lance recognizes the truth in his father’s words, but it still hurts. Romelle is one of his few friends. BleepBloop smears a tear over his cheek before it can fall onto the vegetables he’s chopping. “What am I gonna tell Allura?”

“Nothing. You don’t have to tell her anything. I am going to tell her that there’s nothing left to try right now, but that I will be refocusing my efforts to find a new solution.”

“You’re going to lie to her?”

“Your sister deserves that, don’t you think?” Alfor murmurs, watching his son prepare food like a commoner.

“I don’t understand.”

“One day, you’ll have children of your own, and you’ll learn. I know I haven’t exactly been a good father, but I’ve never been indifferent to your pain. Either of you. The kindest thing I can do for Allura is lie.”

Lance nods, staring at the pile of vegetables before him. He can feel the sharp downturn of his mouth. “There’s really nothing I can do?”

“There’s nothing anyone can do.” The king sighs. “It’s a hard lesson for people like us, Lance: Some things are out of our control.”

Chuckling, Lance scoops all the vegetables into the large stone bowl. “Yeah. I think Keith’s catching on.”

“To what, that you’re a control freak?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s known that since the Frost Ball at the very latest.”

Grunting his reluctant agreement, Lance grabs his datapad, sets it outside by the stew pot so he can keep talking to his father while he babysits the stew. BleepBloop steals a lump of meat and runs off with it. Checking the paper recipe, Lance casually dumps all the ingredients in.

“What the quiznak are you doing?”

As per the recipe, Lance pours in a leather satchel full of grain. “Locals got tired of me freeloading, so today I am making stew. I’ve never made it before, so they gave me a recipe. On paper… I’ve never touched paper before.”

“I have, a few times. Pretty neat, right?” Alfor smiles.

“Yeah. It’s like… soft. But also not? Anyway, I told our neighbor when they came by with the ingredients that I’m willing to learn how to do other stuff if they’re willing to teach me. I don’t have anything against labor.”

“Be careful. You are not the people, Lance. You are separate from them.” Easy for his aloof, antisocial father to say.

“I know.” He does know. He also knows that his desperate need for community is in direct opposition with his responsibilities. “Keith has a lot of friends here, or at least friendly neighbors. I think he was kind of adopted by the locals.”

“If the locals are friendly with him, you need to establish yourself as a prominent figure within the community.” There’s a fine line between friendly and friends, and they both know it. Lance knows he’s already been far too friendly with Thace, a man who just handed him his newborn within seconds of meeting. Alfor doesn’t need to know about that.

“You mean be neighborly? I’ll be neighborly, and you learn some less… aggressive vocabulary, okay?” Lance shifts the fire beneath the pot, sliding some of the burning logs into the stone oven on the other side of the oblong fire pit, gradually bringing the stew from a boil to a simmer.

A young adult half-Galra comes up, carrying a stone bowl full of dough. They have brightly colored skin, including a prehensile appendage on top of their head. “Mind if I borrow that extra fire?”

Lance shakes his head. “Go for it. I’ll speak to you later, Father. Please say hello to Dad for me.”

“Of course. Have a good evening, Lance.”

“You too.” Lance lets his father do the hanging up. It’s so weird, having an actual conversation with his father. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it. Or Galra society. “Okay, I gotta ask you a rude question.”

The unfamiliar Galra looks up, somewhat amused. “Go ahead.”

“What pronouns do you use?”

“She/her. Name’s Ezor. Galra gender identity killing you yet?”

“Driving me insane,” Lance admits.

“Just guess, and if it bothers someone, they’ll correct you. It’s how we all get by.” The woman smiles, working the dough in her hands into small balls, wrapping them in leaves, sticking two at a time on the stones by the fire. “Thanks for letting me borrow your fire. I didn’t feel like making one.”

“I’d never made one before. Good to know it’s worth borrowing.”

Lance looks up from stirring the stew. It’s almost dark, there’s a growing chill in the air, and Keith isn’t back yet. He decides not to worry about it, instead assuming he’s with his brother.

Keith’s actually with his mother, having taken plenty of time earlier to horse around with his brother and some of his old friends. The Blade of Marmora, Emperor Zarkon’s private army, has been his family since he came to the mountain. He’d actually wanted to fully join the Blades after his first season, and sometimes he misses the community. They don’t treat him any differently, except to tease him about the ribbon braided into his hair.

It doesn’t bother him, but he does wonder how he might have ended up if he hadn’t been married to Lance.

He also wonders how he might have ended up if he hadn’t finally found his mother, who’s a truly wonderful combination of fierce and gentle. For example, scolding him for lying about and acting a fool instead of keeping himself well-conditioned, then promptly giving him a hug and a hot cup of tea.

“So. I never see you anymore unless you’re having problems.” Krolia sits back in her chair, smirk crossing her face. Keith glares, riling easily at his mother's unfair but completely accurate observation. “Come on, kitten. I can tell something’s bothering you.”

Hating how easily he softens, Keith spills. “I don’t know if I should get pregnant or not.”

Krolia lifts an eyebrow, staring at her young son. “Are you healthy enough?”

" Perfect Health."

"Yes."

“Are you happy with your relationship with Lance? Are you ready to take that next step?”

“Yes.” He’s frustrated with the number of choices that have been taken away from him, but none of that is Lance’s fault. In fact, Lance is going out of his way to give him as many choices as possible.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I… Someone will end up unhappy. If I decide not to, Alfor will be even more annoying and Lance will be sad, even though he’s pretending he won’t care. If I do have a kit, then I’ll be mad at myself."

"Why?"

"Because then I'll have just gone and done what everyone else wanted!"

"And?" Keith balks at his mother's insight. "There's always an 'and', Keith."

And-” Keith gulps. “And then that’s all I’ll be good for.”

“All you’ll be good for?” Krolia frowns. “How in the cosmos did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“That’s all anybody wants from me. To the Empire, I’m a breeder. To the Alteans, I’m a breeder at best, a novelty at worst. I want- I want to be other things, Mom. I know I’m worth more than that.”

“Am I a breeder?” Krolia asks quietly, fixing her son with a hard stare. Keith sinks down in his seat, appropriately abashed. “Is Thace a breeder? We are all what we make ourselves, Keith. You can be a breeder, if that’s what you allow yourself to be. Or you can be a father, a warrior, an explorer, a future king- Whatever you want to be, that is what you make yourself. What do you want to be, Keith?”

“I… I don’t know. I- More. I want to be more.”

“Do you want to be a father? Do you want kits of your own?”

“...Yes. I want that. A lot.”

“If you become a father, sooner or later you will give everyone the satisfaction of seeing you bear Lance's children. It is up to you if that is your only great achievement. If you want to be a father and something 'more', what will you do to make those things happen?”

“...I don’t know.”

“Then that’s where you should start. You have time, kitten. You're young enough yet.”

Krolia stands, rubs her kit behind the ears. He’s so very nearly grown, and she barely got any time with him. Beneath her gaze, a spasm crawls down his legs, up his back, over his shoulders. “Do you have a shot with you, kitten?”

“Yeah. Can I-”

“Come on.” Krolia leads her hurting son over to the bed, helps him into it. Keith curls up, tail curled tight to his body. Giving him the injection into the port on his arm, Krolia climbs up next to him, settles her warmth next to his. “Rest. Then you can go home to Lance.”

Keith whimpers, curling tighter as pain wracks his body. He nods, settling in against his mother. His muscles stay tense, unwilling to make himself more vulnerable in his condition.

“Just rest, kitten. I’ve got you. I’ll keep you safe.” Krolia strokes her baby’s hair, missing all the decaphoebs behind them, all the ones she didn’t have. “Momma’s here.”

Her son is blessed, privileged with medical care that she never had, but Krolia is loath to see her kit in pain. Galra are forever devoted to their own young, even after they grow up. Her love for Keith will remain strong even after instinct has faded. Knowing that he is her only kit, he’s even more precious. Her greatest achievement in life is her son.

“It's late," Keith whispers some time later, gazing at the darkness outside. He looks tired, pain even he can't resist sapping his strength.

"It is. Do you want to stay here, or go home?" Krolia already knows the answer, but it's a small choice she can offer her entangled son.

"I should go. I've been missing Lance since I left. Which is super freaky."

"It'll pass." Krolia watches her son play with the end of his braid. "You really do love him, don't you."

Not a question. A statement. A surrender.

"I do. He's earned it, Mom. We both worked hard to be friends, and now we're working hard for this. But he was the one who reached out first. I was content to hate him forever."

"I'm still content to hate him forever." Krolia sighs. "But I'll tolerate him, since you're so fond."

"Thanks, Momma." Keith kisses his mother's cheek, heads for home. He's got a lot to talk about, and a husband who happens to really enjoy that exact thing.

Lance is lucky he's cute. Or maybe it's Keith that's lucky. Who the fuck even knows at this point?

#LoveAftertheFact #LAtF #klance #galtean au #altean lance #galra keith #adashi #altean adam #galra shiro #voltron legendary defender #vld

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thirstyhellfirenacht · 4 years

Text

Quiet Hours

Did someone say ANGST and SMUT?

Dewey Finn x Reader (female)

Drinking, angst, no happy ending here folks. One-shot Your ears were still throbbing from the loud music that had been playing in the bar as you fought with your keys to unlock your apartment. Next to you, (well, more like on top of you) was Dewey, drunk and staggering with a huge goofy grin on his face as he clung to you as not to fall.

Having the bar just a block away made it easy for the two of you to go listen to live music and get drunk, but tonight you stayed sober while your very attractive friend drank two pitchers of beer by himself. Dewey was usually a heavy weight and knew his limits most of the time, but as it was the last day of school he allowed himself to go a little overboard tonight.

The door to your apartment finally unlocked and the two of you staggered in, his arm around your shoulder and leaning onto you for support as he blabbed on and on about the band that had just played at the bar. Being much more sober than he was, you were only half paying attention since you were there and he wasn’t really saying anything that made a whole lot of sense.

“Yup, that drummer really did hit his drums with those sticks.” you said, dumping him on your couch. “You need water.”

“But I already.... Haaaaaaad so much to driiink.” he slurred, grabbing your wrist and before you could protest, you were on top of him and he was clinging to you.

“D... Dewey what are you doing...?” you asked breathlessly. Your heart rate sped up as you looked down at him. Even when wasted he was still so beautiful, his eyes were glossed over and half lidded as he looked at you. He was warm under you, probably from all the dancing and jumping around he did earlier. Even drunk and sweaty he was still so damn attractive.

You were very hyper aware of every move he made at that point. His hand had let go of your wrist, one hand now resting on your back, running his fingers along your spine. Though you hadn’t had more than 2 beers that night, your head felt fuzzy just from having him touch you so intimately. He had never held you or touched you like this before, he had never looked at you with bedroom eyes like this before. You let out a small gasp as you suddenly felt his other hand give your ass a light smack. His easy grin widened as he threaded his fingers through your hair and pulled you closer.

Was this really happening? Was this some sort of dream? Dewey, your best friend and crush, with his hands all over you pulling you closer and closer and you weren’t pulling away. You very rarely indulged in daydreams about him, trying to stop your feelings from going too far. After all, for a good chunk of knowing him, he was dating the principal of the school that he worked for. They split up just a month ago, it was hard on him. That was half the reason you had taken him out tonight.

“PFFFFFBBBBTTTT” he dove his head against your neck and blew a loud raspberry against your skin before laughing loudly.

Right, of course. This was just a joke to him. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. For a moment a small spark of anger flashed in you, but you quickly shook it off. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t realize how you felt about him. There was no reason to be mad. The two of you had often play-flirted together, and this was just a more physical version of that. He had no idea that your heart melted every time he played with the kids, or that joking around with him and hanging out made the world feel brighter, or that you felt warm between your legs when he pulled this stupid little stunt.

You refused to let yourself be mad. He was still getting over his break up and just needed a safe place to not think about it. Plus he was still drunk, that would be toeing a line you weren’t interested in.

“Alright big guy, you’re drunk and need water.” you said pulling yourself off of him as he laughed.

“Should have seen the look on your face!” he laughed, still with a dazed look in his eyes. You made your way to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water for him. “Your butt bounces.”

You hoped he didn’t notice your blush as you handed him his water. “It sure does. Drink.”

This time he didn’t protest as he chugged the water in front of you.

“Good, now let's get you to bed.” you said.

“You know if getting me into your bed was your master plan, you could have just asked.” he winked in a very over dramatic fashion, causing you to chuckle.

“Well Dew, I figured you’re a classy lady that needed to be wined and dined before I lured you back to my place for some wild sex.” you joked.

‘I am... the classiest lady.” he said, standing up and wobbling and you stood up and helped him stay upright. “I only sleep with suitors who take me to classy upscale restaurants and buy me the finest wines...!”

“We went to a shady dive bar and I bought you two pitchers of their cheapest beer.” you replied, leading him into your bedroom.

“I am swooning!” he said and collapsed on your bed.

“You’re something alright.” you replied as you helped him out of his shoes and tucked him into the covers of your queen sized bed.

“Where are... wait where are you gonna sleep?” he asked with a frown.

“Next to you, I gotta make sure you don’t die in the middle of the night.” you said, placing a trashcan next to his side of the bed. “If you have to puke, puke there.”

“Sleepover!” he cheered.

You grabbed a tank top and sleep shorts and changed in the bathroom before crawling into bed next to him. You hadn’t even been gone for five minutes and he was already passed out.

You stared at him for a moment, hesitating before reaching out to run your fingers through his curly brown hair. He was so soft, and it felt like your heart was cracking. What were you supposed to do with all these feelings? He was still getting over a break up, it would be wrong to add your feelings on top of all that. Still, every inch of you wanted to reach out and hold him and kiss him and never let him go.

You turned off the lights and rolled over so that you weren’t facing him. Maybe tomorrow it would be easier.

...

The glow of the alarm clock let you know that it was just after 4 am when you woke up to movement right behind you. You were still mostly asleep as you attempted to figure out what had woken you up. The warm sheets felt heavy on top of you, which was odd as you had put away your weighted blanket away months ago when summer hit. The crook of your shoulder also felt warm...then cool... then warm again. Someone was breathing heavily against your neck, and that person was also holding you loosely from behind.

Dewey. Right, Dewey was here. Your mind was crawling back to consciousness with every small observation. There was still the movement that woke you up, and you felt the warmth of his body shifting against your lower back. You felt his bare legs (when had he kicked off his pants?) tangled up with yours as his hips slowly rocked and grind against your backside.

You let out a soft whine at the realization that Dewey was dry humping you in his sleep, and the warmth between your legs spread up your body. You could feel his hard member softly rubbing against your ass and upper thigh, causing you to blush and bite your lip. What were you supposed to do right now? Wake him up? Let him continue until he came in his pants? You had to admit that the last idea made you feel that much hotter.

No, it wasn’t right to let him drunkenly hump at you. You took a deep breath and saved this feeling of him holding you and humping you for a lonely night, then rolled over to face him. The feeling of you moving caused him to let out a low hum and you saw his eyes flutter open, meeting yours in the dark room.

“Hey.” he said quietly. His arm was still around you, and from here you could tell that his face was flushed. You wondered how close he had been to-

“Hey.” you whispered back. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmmm... much more sober.” his voice was deeper and more gravely than usual in his tired haze. It sent a shiver up your spine. Now that he was awake, you weren’t sure what to do. His eyes glanced down and he let out a shuddering breath that sounded almost like a whine.

You followed his eyes and glanced down, realizing what he was looking at. Your over-sized tank top had slid down in the middle of the night and now Dewey was getting a full view of your breasts. Realizing he was staring, his eyes snapped back up to you, clearly waiting for you to tell him what to do. The arousal was clear in his eyes, he was still quietly panting and you felt his hand trembling slightly.

He wanted you. Dewey Finn actually wanted you right now and the thought of it made you start to feel damp. His eyes were practically begging for you right now, and despite your better judgement you couldn’t say no. You looked into his eyes and gave a small but clear nod.

That was all that Dewey needed to roll you back over and start touching you everywhere. “Thank you... oh fuck, thank you...!” he whispered against your neck before biting softly. You moaned his name softly at the feeling, his hand grabbing one of your breasts as his hips went back to rocking and grinding against your ass. Now that he was awake, his hips moved faster and he moaned louder in your ear.

“Fuck... Dewey please...!” you whimpered as he continued to grope your breasts. His movements were sloppy, not here to tease or draw this out. You helped him remove your shorts and panties and with a little adjusting the two of you were lining him up against your wet entrance. He held you tight against him as he slid in slowly, allowing you to feel every inch of his throbbing member inside of you. This angle found his head pressing easily against your g-spot and your hands gripped at your pillow as he started his quick and shallow thrusts from behind.

You desperately wanted to turn around again in his arms and see his face as he thrust into you. You wanted to see the way his eyes shut or the way he reacted when you gasped in pleasure or whispered his name. But he held you tightly in place, his head pressed against your shoulder as he whimpered and rocked his hips.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck... oh fuck.... So good...” he groaned. “Fuck.... so close...”

You whined at the words, desperately trying to chase your own high. Unfortunately his head start of humping you in his sleep put you at a disadvantage in that race. He hit your g-spot so deliciously that it made you cry out his name but then he was gone. He pulled out completely and stroked himself to completion on your ass and lower back.

You let out a soft whine at the feeling of his warm cum on your back and the frustrating feeling of being still so turned on. Behind you Dewey was relaxed and you felt his cock softening. It was then that you really understood what had happened. You and Dewey just had sex. You just had sex with your best friend who was getting over a break up.

And you didn’t even get to cum or see his face.

You let him use you, you selfishly let him use you. This was going to ruin everything in the morning. You were fully awake now, but the sex had the opposite effect on Dewey. His breathing was evening out and his arm was limp on you.

“Dewey I...” you started quietly, feeling that you should at least say something.

“Mmmm.... shhhh.... Love you too...” he whispered and your heart jumped in your chest. Did he just really say- “Rose.”

Ice filled your veins at the last word. Rose. As is Rosaline Mullens- his ex girlfriend. You felt sick, borderline nauseous. Behind you, Dewey started to snore and his cum on your back felt cold and sticky. You felt far too hot and cold at the same time. You couldn’t stay here.

You got out of bed, careful not to wake him, the glow of the alarm clock now blurry with the stinging tears that were threatening to fall down your face. You don’t know how long you stayed in the shower after that, tears mixing with the hot water as you attempted to wash away everything that just happened. Every touch, every bite, every moan that escaped his lips you wanted to just watch it all go down the drain with your feelings.

How unfair was it, how disgusting you were to let this happen. How were you going to face him in the morning. How could you even begin to bring up what had happened? You stayed in the shower until there were no more tears and no more hot water. You quietly gathered some clean clothes and got dressed.

The sun was threatening to rise outside of the window of your living room as you sat on the couch. You were still so exhausted, still so sad, still so broken-hearted but what could you do? You loved Dewey, Dewey didn’t love you.

You had to get out of here before he woke up. You didn’t even care that it was your apartment, you had to leave. It wouldn’t be the first time that you had left him alone at your place after a night of partying. You trusted him at least that much.

You grabbed your phone, your wallet, and your keys and slipped out the door. You didn’t know where you were going and you didn’t care. You just had to get away.

“Got errands to do today, don’t wait up” you texted Deweys’ phone.

The reply came several hours later, while you were sitting on a bench in the park, a coffee in your hand.

“I had a sex dream about her... I miss Rose.”

You were thankful that he wasn’t there to see you cry as you typed out your response.

“I know, buddy. I’m sorry.”

Quiet Hours 2: The Angstening

#nacht post #txt #dewey finn x reader #dewey finn #school of rock musical #nacht fic

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chibistarlyte · 4 years

Text

some days

Most days, Shouto is fine.

But some days...

Some days, Shouto falls apart.

my eternal thanks and gratitude for kat @sunshineijirou for betaing this for me. <3

tw: suicidal thoughts/ideation, depression, dissociation, references to ptsd, unintentional self-harm

(also available here on ao3)

Most days, Shouto is fine.

He goes about his daily routines, attends school, pays attention in class, executes practical exercises with focus and expertise, hangs out and studies with his friends in the evenings, maintains a decent sleep schedule, visits his mother on Sundays.

He texts and video chats more with Fuyumi and Natsuo, trying to repair the threads between them that had been destroyed as soon as his Quirk manifested. They both love and support him in their own ways, and he's grateful to have his siblings back in his life.

His Quirk training is going well, for the most part. Shouto works on his endurance during their individualized lessons and steadily builds up his tolerance to extreme and fluctuating temperatures so that he may use both halves of his Quirk at once. He hones his skills with precision attacks, betters his close-quarters combat techniques, and receives great marks for his efforts.

He makes a point to spend time with his friends. Even when he's feeling less than social, he still curls up in the corner of a couch in the common room and allows himself to bask in the comforting sound of conversation around him. He asks Midoriya to help him practice his English by posting on popular pro hero forums and makes sure he doesn't forget to lend Sero the next volume of their favorite manga. Sometimes he goes on runs with Iida in the morning, or spars with Kirishima when they both have the free time. Shouto enjoys Yaoyorozu's company while they drink tea and chat about their days, and even finds peace sitting quietly at a table while Bakugou flits around the kitchen making various meals and largely ignoring Shouto's presence.

All in all, Shouto is fine. A well-adjusted, studious, friendly, if not reserved, kid who has a good head on his shoulders and a bright future ahead of him.

But, some days…

Some days, Shouto falls apart.

Shouto wakes to the smell of burnt sheets and wet cotton.

His chest rises and falls at much too quick a pace, his heart pounding a staccato rhythm against his ribcage almost hard enough to bruise. His left arm is littered with small-degree burns that have already begun to scab. Crystals of ice cling to snow-white eyelashes and trail down his cheek, some of them already having melted away and dripped down to soak through his pillow and his sleep shirt. The taste of ash clings to his tongue, his throat dry and scratchy when he tries to swallow it down.

Another nightmare, Shouto realizes as he flops back down on the futon with a tired sigh that runs deep into his bones.

He hates nights like these. He can never quite get back to sleep after jolting awake in terror, often spending the rest of the night watching shadows dance across his ceiling until the bleak dawn seeps through his curtains and coats the darkness in the cold light of day.

Shouto hears things in the silence of his dorm room, hears his father's booming voice in the darkened corners, and hears his mother's cries in the still night air. He hears Fuyumi's muttered reassurances on the other side of the walls where he knows his classmates are sleeping. He hears the deafening whistle of a boiling kettle as if he's lying right next to the stove. He hears the cracking of his own bones as he drops to the floor after a beating, hears his own retches in his ears as he vomits on the tatami floor of the training room.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Shouto throws the covers off and stumbles to a stand. He drags his feet to the sliding doors leading to his balcony, roughly tossing the curtains open and sliding the door with just as much careless force. The cool, late autumn breeze greets him immediately, bringing him back to himself for only a few moments. He steps outside, and the shock of cold concrete soles of his bare feet grounds him in a way nothing else ever could.

Shouto steps forward to the railing, crossing his arms and propping his chin on them and watching the city lights shine and twinkle down the hill. A gust of wind kicks up and blows his hair back from his face, stinging his skin, and for a moment, Shouto closes his eyes and imagines he's falling. Flying.

When he opens his eyes again, his head is angled downwards and his sight is trained on the ground five stories below.

Shouto wonders, not for the first time, what it would feel like to jump.

A sigh blows past his lips, the warm puff of air lost to the chilly wind that caresses him fondly, making him shiver.

A sound from below pulls Shouto back to earth—the sound of a door sliding open then closed once again. Following that is the sound of footsteps, just a few scrapes of shoes against concrete until the noise stops again. The wind dies down just enough for Shouto to hear the static sound of music coming through a pair of headphones, though he's too far away to determine any specific tune.

His heterochromatic gaze shifts just a bit lower until the balcony below his own comes into his sight, and he sees the ash blond poof of hair that could only belong to one person.

Oh, right. Bakugou's room is just below his.

Shouto watches Bakugou from above, watches as his classmate goes through what seems to be a familiar routine of stretches—he pulls his arms across his chest one at a time, rolling his shoulders as he switches to the other arm. He then kicks his feet up behind him, one at a time, holding them close to stretch out his leg muscles. He does some lunges, some wrist stretches, some neck exercises, and it's all very normal and mundane, but Shouto can't stop watching. Bakugou looks good in his hoodie and joggers, and it suddenly hits Shouto that he's still in pajama pants and short sleeves despite the frigid temperature.

Yet...he can't feel a thing. Which is fine by him. Sometimes Shouto would rather be numb than deal with the sensations of living. It's how he survived for so long, after all.

He blows out another sigh and lets the wind carry it far away.

It's when Bakugou stretches his arms straight up and tilts his head to the sky that the blond freezes, his ruby eyes catching Shouto's own mismatched stare. Cold seeps through his veins, and Shouto can feel the icy hand of dread reach into his chest and start frosting over his skin.

A scowl immediately darkens Bakugou's handsome face and he yanks one of his earbuds out with more force than necessary. "Oi, the fuck you starin' at me for, half-n-half?" Bakugou demands in his usual grumpy tone, his eyebrows creased in irritation. "Stop being a fucking creep, jesus."

"S-sorry," Shouto stammers, though he stays completely still, like prey caught in the eyes of a predator. Bakugou just scoffs and resumes his stretches, though he leaves his earbud out for some reason. The action—or non-action, he supposes—perplexes Shouto.

He doesn't know what possesses him to start talking, but before Shouto can stop himself, the words come tumbling out. "What are you doing?"

Bakugou pauses his shoulder rotations and shoots a glare up at Shouto. "The fuck does it look like I'm doing?"

"Uh…" Shouto says eloquently, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. "I mean...that's not…"

"Spit it out, I don't have all goddamn day," Bakugou says as he lowers himself to the concrete for some pushups.

Shouto rolls the words around on his tongue before simply saying, "You're up early." It's then that Shouto realizes that he actually has no idea what time it is. He has no clue whatsoever how long he's been awake, how long he's been standing out here in the cold. He hasn't even thought about the inevitable and unstoppable passage of time until this very moment when it becomes startlingly clear that he's lost a good chunk of it to his mind being far away from his body.

Bakugou grunts out as he lowers himself as far as his muscles will allow before pushing himself back up. "I'm up this early every morning, dipshit." He does a couple more pushups before continuing, "You, however, usually aren't."

The observation catches Shouto by surprise, enough that his eyes widen, and his heart stutters in his chest. He's usually flat-out ignored by Bakugou when the other teen isn't screaming in his face about rival-this and rematch-that. So the fact that Bakugou has at least paid attention to Shouto's sleeping habits has him feeling some kind of way.

Shouto should brush it off, should keep to himself, and let Bakugou think whatever he wants. But perhaps it's the unrealness, the liminal space in which early mornings exist, that prompts Shouto to confide in Bakugou. Just this once.

"Mhm," Shouto hums in agreement, and the small noise is almost lost to the wind. "I...couldn't sleep. Nightmares."

Bakugou makes some sort of noise in acknowledgement but says nothing else.

Shouto's chest still feels heavy, and his muscles ache, though, from the cold or staying in the same position for so long, he isn't sure. He pulls himself fully upright, gripping the railing tight with his numbed hands. Sucking in a deep breath that freezes his lungs, he hoists himself up onto the railing and maneuvers to sit. His legs dangle on the outer side of the railing and looking at the ground from this high up, Shouto almost feels weightless. As if he really would fly if he just let go.

Still, he holds onto the railing as the cold metal bites into his palms.

"The fuck are you doing?" Bakugou asks, and when Shouto looks down, his eyes meet red. His classmate is standing with his arms crossed, glaring daggers up at Shouto. "You're gonna fall if you're not careful, and don't expect me to catch your sorry ass."

Shouto lets out a breath of a chuckle despite himself, noting how much the exhalation makes his body shake. "Would it be such a bad thing? If I fell," he says easily, tipping his head up to look at the sky. The city lights are too bright to see the stars, but it must be nearing dawn because he can see tiny wisps of blue spread like smoke into the inky black of the night sky.

"Of course it would be a bad thing. I can't kick your ass if you're not here," Bakugou says with a growl, and Shouto would find it heartwarming if hearing such a thing from Bakugou didn't shock him enough for his grip to falter.

"Bakugou?" he asks, wanting confirmation that what he'd just heard isn't a trick of his addled mind.

"Shut the hell up and get down from there." Bakugou's glare softens, and though a frown is still pulling at his mouth, he almost looks...concerned.

Huh. Maybe Shouto really is still dreaming.

He doesn't move, and Bakugou growls again from the floor below.

"Seriously, half-n-half, get down. No way you can hold yourself up on those shaky ass twig arms of yours."

Shouto then looks down at his arms, which are, in fact, trembling. The notion strikes him as odd because he would have been able to feel the contraction of his muscles, right? But his arms have gone numb so long ago that Shouto finds it remarkable he still has limbs left.

The logical part of his brain tells him to use his left side, to warm himself up before he freezes to death.

But the other half of his brain asks him if such an end would be so terrible.

Shouto sighs again and his breath turns to frost in the air.

"I'm gonna fuckin’ come up there and get you myself if you don't get down," Bakugou threatens, his glare renewed, his tone brooking no argument.

The urge to be defiant rises up in Shouto, the same kind of defiance he shows his father. But he reels himself back before anything comes of it. Bakugou is not his father. Bakugou is not asking anything unreasonable of him. Bakugou is not trying to hurt him. If anything, Bakugou is trying to help him...in his own Bakugou way.

But...Shouto doesn’t really feel like he deserves to be helped.

In any case, he doesn’t have the energy to start a fight this early in the morning—even though he still doesn’t know what time it is—and does what Bakugou says. He curls his legs up to his chest and slowly, shakily, turns until he’s facing his balcony door. He gingerly extends his legs down, and his feet find purchase on the concrete again. Shouto almost feels disappointed.

He peers over the railing, leaning forward enough to make eye contact with Bakugou. “Happy?” he asks in a voice that sounds more petulant than he intends.

Bakugou just rolls his eyes and waves Shouto off. “Better not catch you sleeping in class, you stubborn bastard,” he says before putting his earbud in again. Shouto watches Bakugou head for his own door, and once the blond disappears, Shouto allows himself back into his room.

He lies down on the futon, watching the sun chase away the shadows on his ceiling until his alarm goes off.

It’s hard to focus in class.

The blank notebook page stares up at him almost mockingly, teasing him about the notes that should be there. Shouto chews on the inside of his lip and taps the tip of his pencil against the paper, not actually writing anything. He couldn’t write anything if he tried, anyway—he hasn’t heard a word of what Cementoss has said this entire class period. His gaze keeps tearing away to the window, where the dull grey clouds have blown in to cover the sun that had only shown its face for a short time that morning. He hopes for snow, but it’s not quite late enough in the season for that yet. If he’s lucky, though, maybe it’ll rain.

The lunch bell rings, and Shouto very nearly jumps in his seat, his attention snapping back to the present fast enough to give him whiplash. He looks up to see Midoriya, Iida, and Uraraka standing in a half-circle around his desk. Midoriya is the first one to speak.

"Are you okay, Todoroki-kun?" the broccoli boy asks, and Todoroki looks blearily up at his friend. He blinks his eyes a few times to get Midoriya to come into focus.

"You don't look so good," Uraraka points out, reaching her hand out to touch Shouto's forehead. Against his will, Shouto flinches away and immediately feels guilty at the hurt in Uraraka's soft brown eyes.

"I'm fine," he lies, then backpedals, because he feels awful lying to his friends, and adds, "Just...not feeling well, I suppose…"

"I can escort you to Recovery Girl if you are feeling unwell," Iida offers in that earnest way of his, and it hurts Shouto to hear his friends being so concerned for him when he really, really doesn't feel like he deserves it.

"Thank you, but I'll be okay," Shouto says and forces a smile that he knows looks fake as hell and that his friends, especially Midoriya, can see right through his ruse. "I think I might nap a little during lunch."

Midoriya looks like he's about to argue, but the boy bites his tongue and nods. "If you're sure...but, please, let us know if you need anything, okay, Todoroki-kun? We're here for you."

Normally, this would be the time when the group closes around Shouto for a hug, but the three of them hesitate to touch him. Shouto's thankful they hold back, because he's afraid he might break if they actually hug him.

"Thank you," he says again, packing up his things as he watches his friends leave the classroom. They all shoot him small smiles and waves as they depart, and Shouto manages a half-wave in return. He slides his notebooks in between the textbooks and other supplies in his bag, narrowly missing bending the cover of Sero’s manga he still has to return.

His vision swims as he stands, then zooms in and out as if he's looking at the world through a fisheye lens. He wrenches his eyes shut and takes a deep breath to steady himself before shouldering his bag.

He hears the scraping of chair legs on linoleum as he makes to leave the classroom, and against his better judgment, Shouto turns around toward the source of the noise.

Bakugou levels him with a glare, still sitting at his desk with his chair reclined back on its two hind legs. Silence stretches between them, heated and tense, until Shouto turns the cold shoulder on Bakugou and exits the classroom.

He finds himself up on the roof of the school, a seating area that is often used during the summer but now sits vacated as late autumn prepares to give way to winter. Shouto is grateful that he's alone, grateful he doesn't have to put up a facade and pretend he's okay today when he's really anything but.

He allows his bag to fall off his shoulders and drop to the concrete, but the weight on his shoulders doesn't ease. He lets his feet guide him to the edge of the roof, where he sits on the stone parapet and dangles his legs over the outer side, just like he did on the railing this morning.

The wind isn't as harsh as it was in the early hours of dawn, but it still brings a comforting and familiar chill as it blows right through him. Shouto feels empty, as if he could be carried off by too strong of a gust. He feels a few stray raindrops on his face as he tilts it toward the sky, eyes as stormy and grey as the clouds above him watching as they churn and swirl with the promise of a downpour. Shouto hopes for one—anything to help cleanse this apathy out of his system.

He spends his entire lunch hour up on the roof and returns to class soaked to the bone and shivering.

Shouto is well aware of the looks he's getting from his classmates as he peels his drenched uniform off his frigid skin to change into his winter hero costume. He's aware of the hushed whispers traded back and forth behind his back, and though he can't quite make out what's being said, he knows they're talking about him. Shouto chooses to ignore it, chooses to pretend not to notice the concerned looks Midoriya and Iida throw his way, acts like he doesn't see the way Bakugou won't stop glaring at him the same way he was when Shouto left class earlier.

He shrugs his shoulders into his thermal harness, clicks the temperature regulator at his collar, pulls his sleeves down to hide the burns on his arm, and puts his wristbands on and tightens them almost enough to cut off his circulation. He slides his feet into his boots, tucking the fabric of his jumpsuit pants into the top until it’s mostly seamless. He adjusts his belt, hooking the notches into the holes and attaching his emergency canisters. Everything is done methodically, and Shouto focuses on these small, mundane actions to keep his thoughts from spiraling into much darker territory.

When Aizawa tells them the exercise for the day is going to be civilian rescue, and that Shouto is going to be one of the students acting as a victim, Shouto wants to sink into the ground right then and there. He had been hoping to be able to blow off some steam, whether it be sparring or Quirk training or something else besides this, but his teacher’s word is final and Shouto does as he’s told.

The class makes their way to Ground Beta and splits off into their separate roles. Aizawa ushers those on the hero team away so that those on the victim team can find places to hide themselves and await rescue. It’s still raining and cold, which Aizawa says will help them build up some endurance to the elements.

Shouto makes himself at home in a partially collapsed building, hiding amongst the rubble and structural damage. He lies flat on his back, feels the sharp edges of broken concrete digging into his lower back, his legs, his arms, and the discomfort grounds him. It keeps him from drifting too far off the face of the earth, keeps him from separating too far from himself. The icy raindrops falling through the gaps where the ceiling has caved in feel almost comforting as they pelt against his face.

He feels cold, but the regulator on his back prevents his body temperature from dropping too much. He feels the heat seeping through his jumpsuit as the device activates, keeping him warm. For some reason, the heat puts him on edge.

Time suspends itself in a cloud around him. Shouto has no idea how long he stays there, letting the rain soak through his previously dampened hair when he hears the distant sounds of his classmates communicating with one another. He can make out neither individual voices nor what’s being said, but he hopes they take a while to find him. He hopes he can fade away unnoticed if only to get away from all of these ugly thoughts and feelings plaguing him today.

Shouto just wants it all to stop.

The rescue team finds him eventually, totally soaked through and shivering. He blows out a shaky sigh, his breath condensing into a white cloud as it escapes his tightening lungs. Yaoyorozu leans down next to him, placing her fingertips delicately on his forehead.

“Can you move?” she asks, as they were trained to do upon finding a civilian who needs help.

“Don’t think so,” Shouto answers, his voice raspy from cold and disuse. “Hypothermia, maybe.” He may seem like he’s playing his part well, but he really can’t feel his limbs very much. He can’t remember how long ago they started to go numb. He tries to move his fingers, but they’re almost frozen in place. They ache.

Yaoyorozu nods and lowers her head in concentration for a moment, pulling a thermal blanket out of her arm. “Why didn’t you use your Quirk?” she whispers to him as she tucks the blanket around him, concern knitting her dark brows together. “Your lips are practically blue.”

“Didn’t think of it,” Shouto answers weakly.

Yaoyorozu sighs and looks behind her to their other classmates in the rescue group. “Kirishima-san, can you carry Todoroki-san?” she asks the strong redhead. “He’s immobilized.”

“Sure thing!” Kirishima agrees readily, coming over to Shouto and Yaoyorozu. He pauses, his mouth tilting into a frown. “Uh...Todoroki?”

Shouto sighs. “I’m fine, Kirishima, just get on with the exercise,” he says a bit impatiently, wanting this whole thing to be over so he can just have five goddamn seconds to himself.

The guilt starts seeping in the second he’s propped against Kirishima’s back, as he lays his head against the rubber shoulder pauldron. Shouto’s such a piece of shit that he can’t even treat his friends right. Kirishima doesn’t deserve to be snapped at like that. Yaoyorozu doesn’t deserve to be brushed off. Midoriya, Uraraka, and Iida don’t deserve to be lied to the way Shouto did earlier.

Shouto doesn’t deserve such wonderful friends.

At the end of class, he’s the first one to leave. He says a word to no one and convinces himself the red eyes following him out the door are just an illusion.

“Oi! Asshole!”

Shouto looks down from where he’s sitting on the railing of his balcony, legs hanging over the outer side once again, and sees Bakugou seething at him from the balcony below. He shrugs, looking back up to the grey evening skies still spitting out sprinkles of rain.

“Don’t fucking ignore me!” Bakugou yells, pointing an angry finger up at Shouto. The blond’s hands begin sparking in his ire. “Wanna tell me what the fuck is up with you today?”

Shouto shrugs again, still not looking at Bakugou. The magic of the morning has well worn off by this point, and he no longer feels like spilling his troubles to his classmate. What’s the point? It’s not like Bakugou can help him. It’s not like Bakugou even wants to help him.

It’s not like Shouto deserves help, anyway.

“It’s nothing,” he says simply.

“Bullshit,” Bakugou fires back immediately. “You’ve been acting like a goddamn zombie all day, and your fucking friends are worried sick about you, you fucking dickhead!”

“Why do you care?” Shouto spits, sending a heated glare down at Bakugou. The heat surging in his veins chases away the cold in his bones way too quickly, causes his grip on the railing to falter from the shock of the change in temperature.

“...I don’t,” Bakugou says after way too long of a pause, crossing his arms in a defensive stance. “It’s just fucking annoying watching everyone mope over your moping ass!”

Shouto rolls his eyes so hard, he’s certain they’ll get stuck in the back of his head. “You wouldn’t understand,” he says dismissively, averting his gaze from Bakugou again but this time keeping the ground in his sight.

The wet concrete looks a little too enticing at the moment.

“Fucking try me,” Bakugou says, his voice dangerously low. “You think you’re the only one that struggles with shit? That carries a bunch of fucking baggage that’s a bitch to unpack?”

“Why don’t you try and unpack your own before rifling through mine?” Shouto says, and immediately regrets it when he sees the shadows descend over Bakugou’s face.

“The fuck did you just say? You wanna go, half-n-half?”

Shouto just shakes his head. “It’s not worth it…” he says. “I’m not worth it.”

“Fucking—cut that shit out! You’re pissing me off,” Bakugou snaps, then lets out a mix between a growl and a sigh. “Just...get down from there. Stop being an idiot.”

“Stop acting like you care when you don’t,” Shouto says without thinking, though he considers Bakugou’s words. Considers not throwing himself off the balcony, considers barfing up everything he’s been keeping bottled inside since the sound of his mother’s screams woke him up in the middle of the night, considers daring to think that maybe, maybe, he isn’t so worthless after all.

He and Bakugou hold a staring contest for what feels like forever and Shouto finally gives in with a sigh.

“Fine,” he says with resignation, shifting on shaking arms to turn himself around to face the sliding door back into his room. Shouto pauses for a moment, gripping tight enough on the railing that the metal indents his skin. He slowly slides his legs down, his bare toes touching the bottom rung of the railing.

“Oi...what the fuck are you—”

Shouto releases a breath at the same time he releases his hands.

For a few blissful seconds, Shouto floats down towards the earth below them. But instead of allowing himself to plummet down into oblivion, he reaches his hands out and grips the rail of the balcony below his own. The metal sings as his numbed skin slaps down on its slippery surface, and he curls his fingers around the top to tighten his grip.

Suddenly, sweaty hands are gripping his arms and pulling him up.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what in the goddamn fucking hell was that?!” Bakugou yells at him as he drags Shouto over the railing none-too-gently, stumbling backward himself until he lands right on his ass with a listless Shouto in his arms.

“You told me to get down,” Shouto says, curling against Bakugou’s chest. He tucks his head in the crook of Bakugou’s neck, noting the way the other boy stiffens at the contact but can’t bring himself to do anything about it. “So I got down.”

Bakugou huffs and, surprisingly, wraps his strong arms around Shouto. It’s then that Shouto realizes just how cold he is, how cold he’s been all damn day, and how warm Bakugou is.

He realizes that warmth could be comforting, too.

“That’s not what I fucking meant and you know it,” Bakugou says, and there’s a strange softness to his usually gruff voice that Shouto can’t place.

They sit in silence for a little while, the rain coming down steadily around them. The sound of the raindrops is almost enough to lull Shouto into the sleep he’s been chasing since before dawn. Bakugou’s hand somehow ends up at the back of Shouto’s head, his rough and calloused fingers combing through Shouto’s wet, matted hair.

“You are worth it, half-n-half,” Bakugou finally says, so quietly that Shouto can’t be sure if the other boy actually said anything. He squeezes Shouto tighter, enveloping the taller boy with his natural warmth that’s usually hidden behind a cold, barbed wire fence. “Don’t fucking let anyone tell you otherwise. Not even yourself.”

Shouto blinks his eyes open half-mast, letting Bakugou’s words sink in, past the freezing rain that has soaked into his skin, allowing the reassurance to melt the ice in his veins and bring warmth back to his blood. His tingling fingers curl into the soft fabric of Bakugou’s hoodie, and he buries his nose against Bakugou’s neck until he can feel the other boy’s pulse fluttering against the tip.

“You’re worth it, too, Bakugou,” he says on a contented sigh.

Bakugou’s chest rumbles with a deep chuckle that barely makes it to his vocal cords. “Shut the fuck up, you idiot.” Nevertheless, his grip on Shouto tightens just the same. “Now will you let me take you inside so you don’t fucking freeze to death?”

Shouto contemplates the offer for a moment, has half a mind to decline, but. Well. He’d still have to go inside to get back to his own room, since he foolishly and impulsively jumped down to Bakugou’s balcony.

“Okay,” he agrees tiredly.

“Can you stand?” Bakugou asks, the softness of his voice still sounding out of place to Shouto’s ears.

Instead of replying verbally, Shouto reluctantly pulls himself away from Bakugou’s warmth and immediately starts shivering. He tries to force his muscles to cooperate, but the moment he attempts to stand, his legs buckle beneath him.

Luckily, Bakugou has quick reflexes and catches Shouto before he can fall.

Shouto allows Bakugou to lead him into his dorm room and doesn’t fight when the other boy forces him to sit on his bed. Mismatched eyes clouded with exhaustion watch as Bakugou digs through one of the drawers of his wardrobe. The blond lets out a little noise of success and steps over to the bed, holding out a bundle of fabric to Shouto.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” Bakugou says, not meeting Shouto’s gaze. Shouto can swear he sees pink tinting Bakugou’s cheeks.

Gingerly, Shouto reaches out for the clothes—an oversized t-shirt with a skull on it and a pair of sweatpants—and just sits there, holding them in his lap. This all feels so...unreal to him. Maybe he really did jump off his balcony and now he’s stuck in some weird, coma-induced dream where Bakugou’s being...nice to him.

The thought also strikes him that his own room is just a floor up, and he could easily go upstairs and change into clothes of his own. But the idea of even standing up, let alone going all the way up to his room, feels like some insurmountable task and right now all Shouto wants to do is sleep.

“Well, don’t just sit there like a moron, fucking change,” Bakugou says impatiently, shoving Shouto’s foot none-too-gently with his own.

The action jolts Shouto out of his reverie and he gives Bakugou a disengaged nod. Seemingly satisfied with Shouto’s wordless answer, Bakugou busies himself with searching for something else as Shouto removes his soaked shirt. He tosses the heavy article onto the floor with little care and slips into Bakugou’s t-shirt. It hangs off his narrower shoulders but it’s warm and Shouto almost hunches down into it to chase the comfort it brings him.

Shouto’s only a few centimeters taller than Bakugou, but it’s enough of a difference that the other’s sweatpants sit high on Shouto’s ankles when he puts them on. Shouto stares blankly down at his own legs before a tiny, almost nonexistent smile makes itself known and he lets out a breath of a laugh.

“Something funny?” Bakugou asks from the other side of the room, head tilted and one eyebrow raised as red eyes bore into him. The usual cutting edge to his voice isn’t there and Shouto blinks dumbly at him for a few moments before shaking his head.

“It’s just...your sweatpants are too short on me.”

“Well, no shit, you’re taller than me,” Bakugou says as he steps over to the bed once more, this time holding a towel. He unceremoniously drops it atop Shouto’s head. “Dry your hair,” he commands before disappearing into his bathroom, presumably to change his own clothes.

Shouto reaches up hesitantly, rubbing the towel over his drenched locks and trying to coax the moisture out. His movements feel slow, delayed, like he’s crawling through molasses and burdened down with weights attached to his limbs. He lets out a heavy sigh. He’s so tired.

Suddenly there are hands batting his own away, and Bakugou furiously scrubs at Shouto’s scalp with the towel. “Fuck’s sake, icyhot, stop dripping water all over my goddamn bed,” he chides, though once again, any kind of sharpness is absent from his tone.

With another sigh, Shouto leans toward Bakugou and finds some strange sort of comfort in his hair being pulled and twisted and roughed up.

By the time Bakugou pulls the towel away and drops it to the floor with Shouto’s discarded clothes, Shouto’s hair is a right mess. The naturally split colors of his hair blend together in a tangled amalgamation of crimson and white, almost looking pink where the strands are mixed, and Bakugou puffs out his cheeks to try and hold in a laugh.

“You look fucking ridiculous,” the blond chortles.

Despite himself, Shouto smiles a bit. “Your fault,” he accuses without any real heat, flopping down on the bed and exhaling every bit of oxygen from his body. He sinks into the comforter and whereas all day Shouto’s felt flimsier and emptier than a plastic bag, now he feels heavier than the barbells Kirishima and Midoriya deadlift during their workouts. If he’s not careful, he’ll fall asleep right here and now and he really doesn’t want to burden Bakugou any more than he already has.

The thought causes his lips to pull into a frown, guilt already creeping into his chest.

“Oi, whatever your stupid brain is thinking, stop it right the fuck now,” Bakugou says, nudging Shouto over to make room for himself on the bed. Shouto complies, rolling over onto his side and curling into himself just a bit. He has a hard time keeping his eyes open.

“How about you get under the covers instead of stupidly lying on top of them?” Bakugou asks, already pulling his comforter out from under Shouto’s deadweight and throwing it over the shivering boy.

Oh. Shouto hadn’t noticed he was shivering again. He wills his Quirk to activate, to up his body temperature and allow the warmth of his fire side to bring him back to the world of the living.

Bakugou sidles up behind Shouto and Shouto stiffens, his muscles taut and aching.

“Why are you doing this?” Shouto asks, his tongue thick in his mouth. He’s surprised he sounds anything remotely close to coherent. The care and consideration Bakugou is showing him is almost too much for Shouto to handle. Sure, Shouto thinks of them as friends, has thought of them as friends for a while, but Bakugou always makes it astoundingly clear that he sees Shouto as a rival and nothing else. The fact that Bakugou is going to all this trouble for him is...strange. Humbling. Leaving him completely floundering.

Bakugou sighs, and Shouto’s surprised to feel the puff of warm air against the back of his neck. “Do I need a reason to?” he deflects, settling his arms around Shouto and pulling the taller boy close. Shockingly, Shouto doesn’t flinch away from the touch. Rather he welcomes it, sinks into it, loses himself in it the way he’s been losing himself to his darkened thoughts all day.

“I guess not,” Shouto sighs, too tired to press the issue for now. He’ll bug Bakugou about it some other time. But for now, all Shouto can do is close his eyes and allow the comfort of the boy behind him, holding him close, to lull him into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

Shouto hides his smile and allows himself these few precious, unexpected moments of peace in Bakugou’s arms.

#todobaku #bakutodo #todobaku fic #bakutodo fic #bnha #boku no hero academia #my writing

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hopeisour4letteredword · 4 years

Text

innocent bones ch2

Summary: Apollo gets a wake-up call in a few ways. It’s okay, though--he’s got best-friend backup.

Link to AO3 in the notes.

“Goood morning, sunshine!”

“Blrgh,” Apollo says, more to his pillow than Clay. He rolls over and pulls the blankets over his head.

“Oh, are we grouchy this morning? I can drink both of these by myself if you wanna be left alone.”

Apollo peeks out from the covers warily. Clay dangles an iced drink in a plastic café cup tantalizingly over the bed. The morning is already hot, and only promises to get hotter; Apollo knows by the time he has proper clothes on, he’ll want something cold and sweet. He sighs and kicks the sheets aside, stretching.

“Why are you in my apartment?”

“Why were you sleeping with one sock on?”

Apollo looks down. Sure enough, he still has on the sock he’d yanked on at three in the morning. “...Fuck me.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Clay says, batting his eyelashes, then cackles as Apollo swings a pillow at him and chases him around the room. When they reach the kitchenette, Clay successfully diverts his attention to a small paper bag of baked goods. Apollo allows him to exchange the pillow for a chocolate croissant. “To answer your question, I’m here to chill with my best friend on my day off, like we’ve been planning for, oh, the last three weeks?”

Shit. That’s right. Apollo scrubs the crust of sleep from his eyes, shoulders slumping. “Sorry. I remember now.”

Clay smiles easily and slides him the drink. Apollo sips. Peachy oolong tea with lemonade. “No harm, no foul. Seriously, though. Why the sock?”

“I had the most surreal fucking night,” Apollo says, and tells him about it. Clay starts laughing uproariously as soon as he mentions the teeth. He doesn’t stop until Apollo concludes with Prosecutor Debeste’s intervention.

“Oh, man,” Clay chuckles, wiping at the corners of his eyes. “How does this shit happen to you?”

“If I knew, don’t you think I would try to stop it?”

“I don’t know, would you?” Clay smirks maddeningly and bites into his muffin. Through a mouthful of crumbs, he drawls, “I’m sure you suffered so much with a handsome man vying for your attention.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, you disgusting goblin.”

“Ach, Herr Forehead,” Clay says, in the worst fake German accent Apollo has ever heard. “When I’m sad and lonely, you’re the first one I think of to cheer me up. Oh, how I wish you were here with me—“

Apollo seizes the pillow again. Clay rushes to get a grip on it before he can take a swing. They struggle for control until they both tip out of their chairs and go crashing to the hard, unforgiving linoleum floor in a heap.

“Ow,” Clay says. “Huh. I’ve had more exciting tumbles.”

“And Mr. Starbuck trusts you to pilot a rocket with him,” Apollo scoffs, feeling a bit ow himself.

“Please, I’m much nicer to Mr. Starbuck than I am to you, I don’t have to worry about fighting with him.”

They attempt to sit up. Clay somehow maneuvers their tangled limbs apart without injury to either of them. Apollo moves to stand, but Clay slings his legs across Apollo’s own before he can go anywhere.

“Hey,” Clay says, low and serious. “For real. You okay? You didn’t have any new nightmares because of all that, did you?”

Apollo winces. “...No.”

“What was that face for?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re an awful liar and you know it.” Clay frowns, concern creasing his brow. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right? You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. But I’m here for you, dude.”

“I know, space cadet. Calm down.”

“Alright, alright.”

Clay moves his legs out of the way. It’s Apollo’s turn to interrupt him before he can rise by dropping his head onto Clay’s shoulder.

“Worse than a nightmare,” he mutters.

“What? What’s worse than a nightma—oh, my God,” Clay gasps. “You had a sex dream?!”

“WH—NO!”

“MY BABY BOY IS GROWING UP!”

“I DID NOT HAVE A SEX DREAM!”

Apollo tries to smack him. Clay catches his hand and wrestles him into a headlock.

“The most important thing to remember is that this is a normal part of puberty,” Clay says, solemnly, even as Apollo shrieks with dismay. “Every growing boy—“

“I WILL KICK YOUR ASS.”

“Like you could? Alright, sunshine, let’s hear it. What’s worse than a nightmare, aside from a sex dream?”

“I don’t want to tell you anymore,” Apollo says, sulkily, voice muffled by Clay’s arm.

“Come on, don’t be like that.” Clay pats his head with his free hand. Apollo grumbles some more. “Is it really that embarrassing?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, then it’s about feelings.”

“Wh—how did you—I mean, what makes you think that?!” Real smooth, Justice. Apollo can feel the hot flush of mortification on his face.

“Honestly, dumbass, how long have we been friends? You think I don’t know how your brain works as well as you know mine?”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Yeah, you’re busy saving all your affection for Klav—ow! Don’t hit me!”

“Shut up! God.”

“You know you get to have a crush, right? That’s normal and okay.”

“I don’t want to have a crush,” Apollo moans, hopelessly. Clay finally releases him from the headlock so he takes the opportunity to bury his face in his hands. He hates catching feelings. He always blows it somehow. It doesn’t help that they never have these conversations anywhere less weird than the kitchen floor. “He’s my colleague. I need to be professional. Our working relationship is too important for me to fuck this up.”

“He got lonely while he was high on painkillers and called you at three AM and you’re still going on about professionalism?”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

“That’s because it is stupid.”

“Your face is stupid.”

“I’m serious, man. Like, if you wanted concrete evidence that he considers you a friend outside of your working relationship, it just got handed to you on a silver platter. There’s no way you’re the first friend he’s ever had that’s been a little into him.”

“...I guess that’s true.”

“Who knows? Maybe he’s a little into you too.”

Apollo gives him an incredulous look.

“It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen to you in the last year, that’s all I’m saying! And he has an awful lot of nice things to say about you for a courtroom rival.”

“We’re not rivals,” Apollo says, mostly on automatic. Clay ruffles his hair as they clamber to their feet.

“Sure, sure. Hey, speaking of things he has to say, has he said anything to you this morning?”

“How should I know? Somebody bullied me out of bed and I left my phone behind.”

“I’ll go get it, you eat breakfast.”

Apollo finishes his croissant. After a moment, Clay tosses his phone at him.

“Do I really have to check it right now?”

“If you’re gonna be such a big baby about it, I can check it for you.”

“Ugh. No, fine, I’ll look.”

Klavier Gavin, 9:04am

hey, i just wanted to apologize for last night. i hope i didn’t scare you too badly. i remember you saying i owed you one, so let me know if you come up with a way i can apologize.

Apollo lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Clay makes a questioning sound and a grabby hand gesture. Apollo passes his phone over, obligingly, and steals a chunk of Clay’s muffin while he reads it for himself.

“Totally normal,” Clay says. “See? It’s fine. You’re fine.”

“I’m fine,” Apollo echoes. He takes his phone back and sips absentmindedly at his iced tea as he types.

Apollo Justice, 10:38am

I’m going to change your contact name to “Teeth Theft Victim.”

How’s your mouth this morning?

Klavier Gavin, 10:39am

HF no :(

not the worst. definitely not as bad as it was last night!

i had some painkillers when i got up. mostly just feels a little weird rn

Apollo Justice, 10:41am

That sounds about right.

Klavier Gavin, 10:42am

did you get back to sleep okay?

Apollo Justice, 10:43am

Yeah, I’m fine.

Klavier Gavin, 10:43am

you’re always fine, HF ;P

Apollo Justice, 10:44am

I bet you think you’re clever.

I got plenty of sleep. Don’t worry.

Klavier Gavin, 10:45am

i am sincerely sorry though. seriously, let me know if i can make it up to you somehow

“Do I actually seem angry?” Apollo asks Clay, mystified. Clay peers over his shoulder at the message thread. “He didn’t really do anything wrong, considering his mental state at the time. I’m not trying to be brusque with him.”

“Tell him to take you out for coffee,” Clay says.

“What? Why? Where did that come from?”

Apollo Justice, 10:47am

All you have to do is not call me at 3AM saying ominous things without context again.

I know this is a terribly high bar to meet, but I have faith that you’ll rise to the occasion.

Klavier Gavin, 10:48am

you really thought i was actively dying, didn’t you?

were you actually on your way out the door?

Apollo Justice, 10:49am

I thought you had gotten roofied. Of course I was on my way out the door.

Klavier Gavin, 10:50am

my knight in shining armor ;)

“TELL HIM TO TAKE YOU OUT FOR COFFEE,” Clay yells, aggressively shaking Apollo by the shoulder. Apollo yelps and almost drops his phone.

“He’s always like this! It doesn’t mean anything!”

“I WILL DO IT MYSELF.”

“Do what yourself?! Take him out for coffee?! Fine! I hope you’re very happy together!”

“God, and you mean it, too. You’re hopeless, AJ. No game at all. Give me your phone.”

“NO!”

Apollo Justice, 10:52am

awerrttrtrtFSDFFG

Klavier Gavin, 10:52am

?? HF??

Apollo Justice, 10:53am

BRB

Have tio kickmny friendsd ass

Apollo does not kick Clay’s ass, because Clay has fifty pounds of muscle on him and Apollo hasn’t gotten in a real fight since he was a middle schooler, but he damn well tries. It’s the effort that counts. Maybe. Hopefully.

Apollo Justice, 11:12am

COFFREERE

Klavier Gavin, 11:14am

??????

Apollo Justice, 11:15am

TAKE HIM OUT TO COFFEE

Klavier Gavin, 11:16am

who am i speaking to??

Apollo Justice, 11:17am

DONT QWORRT ABT UT

Klavier Gavin, 11:18am

i’m a little worried about it

is Herr Justice okay??

Apollo Justice, 11:18am

YEA HES FINE

IM BULLYING HIMN

Klavier Gavin, 11:20am

that doesn’t sound very fine

Apollo Justice, 11:21am

I am so fucking sorry.

Klavier Gavin, 11:21am

are you alright?

Apollo Justice, 11:23am

I’m fine.

I’m with a friend right now and he decided to be obnoxious.

Klavier Gavin, 11:24am

by which i suppose you

mean he stole your phone

Klavier Gavin, 11:25am

That and putting me in a headlock.

Klavier Gavin, 11:25am

Apollo Justice, 11:26am

I’m fine, honestly. We roughhouse all the time.

It’s mostly my pride that hurts.

“Bet you ten bucks he offers to kiss it better,” Clay says, slurping obnoxiously at the dregs of his iced tea. As winner’s spoils, he has retained eavesdropping privileges. Textdropping? Wiretapping? Fuck it, Apollo doesn’t know.

“He will not,” Apollo says, through gritted teeth, valiantly attempting to suppress the red-hot surge of embarrassment to his cheeks.

Klavier Gavin, 11:28am

well then, we all know you’ll survive that one :P

Apollo Justice, 11:30am

Ouch. Rub more salt in the wound, why don’t you?

“You owe me ten bucks,” Apollo announces.

“You motherfucker, you didn’t even take the bet!”

“It was implied! You would have made me give you ten dollars.”

Clay grudgingly pulls out his wallet and gives Apollo a five, three ones, and a fistful of change. He hands it over way too fast to have figured out how much the change is worth, but then Clay is actually good at numbers shit, so maybe he did. Anyway, Apollo cares more about the principle of the exchange than receiving exactly ten dollars.

Klavier Gavin, 11:31am

i prefer to think of it as a salve to help you heal faster

Apollo Justice, 11:32am

By making fun of me?

Klavier Gavin, 11:33am

by reminding u that u can pull through these hard times!

Apollo Justice, 11:34am

Sure.

Klavier Gavin, 11:35am

but hey, for real. do you want to go out for coffee sometime?

“YES,” Clay hollers, victoriously. Apollo wants to curl up under the table and die of mortification.

“I can’t believe you. He thinks he has to do this because I got inconvenienced last night. This is stupid, Clay, why would you do this to us?”

“Because,” Clay says, “He flirts with you, constantly, and you’re who he calls at three AM when he’s in pain and he wants to talk to someone to distract him, and you have a crush that can be seen from space. It’s my job as your best friend.”

“It’s really not.”

“Uh-huh. Tell the nice man you’ll go out for coffee with him.”

Apollo Justice, 11:39am

You really don’t have to take me out just because of what happened last night.

Clay was being absurd.

Klavier Gavin, 11:41am

okay, sure, i understand

but do you WANT to?

Apollo Justice, 11:42am

I mean. Yeah.

If you’re sure.

Klavier Gavin, 11:43am

i’m positive :)

Apollo Justice, 11:44am

Then coffee would be cool.

“Cool,” Clay echoes. “God, AJ, you’re a mess. I love you so much. Cool, he says, when the actual rockstar asks him out on a date.”

“You bullied the rockstar into asking me on a date,” Apollo snaps, red-faced.

“I didn’t do a damn thing to him except offer a suggestion. He didn’t get put in a headlock.”

Klavier Gavin, 11:45am

Großartig! i have a meeting tomorrow afternoon, but perhaps tuesday?

Apollo Justice, 11:46am

Tuesday is fine.

What time? Where are we going?

Klavier Gavin, 11:48am

let’s say 3pm? and it’s a surprise ;)

Apollo Justice, 11:49am

I won’t be footing the bill if you drag me out to some weird, fancy upscale tea bar.

Klavier Gavin, 11:50am

nein, don’t be ridiculous. it’s my treat

“Ooh, what a gentleman!”

“Can’t you stop reading over my shoulder and let me set this up in peace now?!”

“No, I just scored you a date and you elbowed me very hard in the stomach earlier. I earned this.”

Apollo Justice, 11:52am

Does that mean it IS a weird, fancy upscale tea bar?

Klavier Gavin, 11:53am

actually it means i haven’t decided yet

Apollo Justice, 11:54am

Ah. Foolish me, then.

How am I supposed to get there if it’s a surprise?

Klavier Gavin, 11:55am

oh, you can just meet me at my office and i’ll drive us there

...unless you’re still afraid of my motorcycle? :P

Apollo Justice, 11:58am

I’m not afraid.

But you better have a second helmet.

Klavier Gavin, 12:00pm

don’t i always, Schatz?

“You go on his motorcycle?” Clay says, outraged and oblivious while Apollo can feel himself going scarlet from the roots of his hair all the way down to his collar. “This is so unfair. You’ll barely get in a car with me, and you’re terrified of motorcycles. How long did it take you to realize you like this guy again?”

Through gritted teeth, Apollo says, “You drive like you’re trying to die young, and Klavier is the only person I know who consistently follows every single traffic law to the letter.”

“Sounds like—“

“Also, we work together, and basically every time I’ve gotten a ride from him has been to or from case-relevant locations.”

“—Like excuses to me. What does Schatz mean, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Apollo lies. Clay’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. He’s not that oblivious, then.

“Uh-huh.”

Apollo Justice, 12:04pm

I guess so.

Klavier Gavin, 12:05pm

so tuesday at 3pm, meeting at my office, then?

Apollo Justice, 12:06pm

Works for me.

I have to go, I’m supposed to be hanging out with Clay today. But I’ll see you Tuesday?

Klavier Gavin, 12:09pm

tuesday it is! i can’t wait to see you ;)

and tell your friend i said danke, ja?

Apollo Justice, 12:11pm

Thanks, he wasn’t already being insufferable enough.

“Oh I’m the fucking best,” Clay says, gleefully. Apollo tries to hide a smile, but it’s pointless. Clay has already thrown an arm around his shoulders to squeeze him in a tight side-hug. “Who is the best friend in the whole wide world who probably just got you laid?”

“Clay.”

“Remember this when I’m done with my mission and I have time to date again, okay? I expect equally enthusiastic wing-manning from you.”

“You have literally never needed me to wingman for you,” Apollo says, with fond exasperation. “Besides, what happened to that alien boyfriend you keep insisting you’ll come back with?”

“Well, maybe he’ll only be my alien work-friend when I come back, and I’ll need my dear friend to help me push past my misconceptions about professionalism to find true love.”

“Good grief,” Apollo says, as the blush that had been steadily dying down on his face flares back to life. “True love? It’s one coffee date. Slow it on down.”

Clay opens his mouth, probably with the intent to say more wild shit about Apollo’s upcoming date (a date! With Klavier! Is Apollo still in a weird exhaustion-induced feelings dream?), so Apollo hurriedly jumps in to say, “So how did you want to spend your day off? Video games? Movies?”

“I want to kick your ass at Smash Bros,” Clay says.

“I think we can arrange that.”

“Almost as easily as we just arranged—“

“Pushing your luck, Terran.”

“I learned that from the very best,” Clay says, nudging Apollo’s shoulder with his own with a fond grin. Apollo can’t help but smile back.

“I guess you did.”

#klapollo #Klavier Gavin #apollo justice #clay terran #ace attorney #long post

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 3 years

Text

Why So Jaded Chapter 11

Oh it’s getting to be a family affair now. AO3, FFN. The chapter is called The Give For The Take for a very good reason. Enjoy.

Why So Jaded?

Chapter 11

“So were you good for Vi?” Helen asked Jack when Violet dropped him off at home on Sunday night.

“Yeah! We had a great time. We got to hang out with Barret the whole time.” Jack gleefully informed her.

“B..who?” Helen asked.

“His full name is Bartholomew Maximillian Pine, Mr. Pine, my other asset at work? We call him Barret for short.” Violet tried to honestly yet vaguely answer.

“Oh, but I thought he was on house arrest at SEB for the bet he made?” Helen asked.

“He is, so we hung out with him. He helped Jack with his school project about radio waves because the Lord knows I couldn’t.” Violet informed her mother.

“And he’s friends with Evan’s mom! You know Evan- he usually goes to Milham park with his little brother Alex and his little sister Kaely? Tammy has short bobbed hair cut, brown hair.” Jack tried to jog his mom’s memory.

“Oh yeah! Tammy. She’s really nice.” Helen recalled.

“Well I got invited to Evan’s birthday party in a couple of weeks, can I go? It’s on the 18th. They’re having it at Scene It.” Jack pleaded.

“I could take him if you already had plans.” Violet offered as Helen looked at her calendar on her fridge.

“Yeah, that would be nice.” Helen appraised.

“We’re supposed to be taking Jr and Dillion that weekend.” Bob said as he came over and looked at the calendar.

“Yeah who did Dash spend his weekend with anyway?” Violet asked as both of her parents just shook their heads with a defeated sigh.

“Who knows.” Bob grumbled as he got a beer from the fridge.

“So tell me about Barret, Jack.” Bob invited.

“He’s awesome! He cooks so good, like Bobby Flay, like he made us all these amazing dishes from scratch and he showed me how to make a risotto, he’s a genius and an inventor and he explained radio waves to me and I should be getting an A on this project. And he’s actually really nice and sucks at cards. I demolished him at rummy but he was a really gracious loser and a good sportsman, he has no ego and he’s not the most handsome guy but his personality is awesome, just a really nice, easy going guy.” Jack appraised honestly.

“And that’s why we’re friends.” Violet added.

“Aww, that’s sweet.” Helen cooed as she got dinner ready as Bob simply nodded and retreated to the living room with his can of beer as Jack followed his dad and continued to sing Barret's praises, in an effort to get his dad to at least like the idea of Barret.

“Can you stay for dinner Vi?” Helen asked hopefully.

“I’d love to. Here, let me help.” Violet offered as she grabbed some potatoes and started to help peel them.

“So what’s Barret really like?” Helen asked as they stood side by side over the trashcan peeling potatoes.

“He’s genuine. And a gentleman. We ended up staying really late Friday because we just got caught up talking and getting to know each other, and by each other, his company and myself. Jack obviously knew Barret’s company and played nice with the other kids and it was just a nice dinner that I got to stay for and it was just...hanging out with friends. They’re just normal people. Like normal normal, with kids and mortgages and student loan debt. Anyway, Barret didn’t want me to drive home exhausted so he let Jack and I take his bed while he took his own couch. He was just..really nice. He never pushes for closeness or intimacy of any kind, he's down to earth whereas with Phil it’s just one head game after another when his head isn't crammed so far up his own ass it comes back out the other end again or when his head gets so big, it can't be contained inside Madison Square Gardens because it's a freaking blimp and his ego is as fragile as a hanging nut sack, it's a very nice and welcome change of pace. It was actually almost fun to just be casual and hang out and not watch the clock to count down the minutes until I’m free. And not having to always watch my back and watch the exits and think of exit strategies or expecting attacks every other second or worrying about doing or saying the wrong thing that’ll bite me in the ass later, like turning off for once instead of always being on you know?” Violet answered honestly.

“Well I’m glad you had a good weekend and it sounded like you spent it with a friend. You need more of those.” Helen noted as she smiled at her daughter.

“Thanks, so. How was your weekend?” Violet returned.

“It was so fun. We ended up doing a gig upstate and after we got a cabin and just got to relax after, it was great.” Helen sighed happily as Violet simply smiled, albeit a little sadly. Because she doubted she would ever get to enjoy the wedded bliss her parents enjoyed. If she lived long enough to get married that is.

Just then Dash came into the house.

“Oh good, I didn’t miss dinner.” Dash smiled happily as his stomach started to growl.

“If you’re gonna help eat it, you should help make it.” Violet urged.

“But you two do it so well, I would only be in the way.” Dash excused himself as he grabbed beer from the fridge and started chugging it.

“You look really nice by the way Violet, green is definitely your color.” Dash praised as she squeezed by them to get to the box of cookies on the counter.

“I’m not giving you any more money, you still haven’t paid me back from the last three times I gave you money.” Violet immediately insisted when Dash tried hugging her from behind.

“Who said anything about money?” Dash pretended to be appalled that Violet would insinuate that.

“No one, and it will not be brought up again.” Violet insisted and she could only smirk smugly when he huffed and pulled away from her sullenly.

“So which underwear catalog model were you with this weekend Dash?” Violet asked.

“Victoria’s Secret, with Bianca.” Dash grinned cheekily with a click of his teeth as Violet visibly gagged.

“For the love of God and all that holy, please tell me you wore a condom.” Helen urged.

“Uh I think we should be asking Violet if she’s been wearing condoms when she was with Phillip in Vegas of all places, I’m surprised she didn’t come back married as Mrs. Sebastian.” Dash snidely returned as he began to walk away and Violet’s eyes glowed ultraviolet for a moment as her anger started to build.

“First of all, that’s none of your business, second, that was work and well within the parameters of my contract, third, considering my track record, as opposed to yours, who has not one, but two children already by two different women? And they’re only six months apart? And don’t you pay enough in child support already? You really want to add a third payment?” Violet spat back.

“Well some of us don’t roll around in money Violet! Besides, aren’t you paying enough in rent at Sky Way?” Dash sneered condescendingly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, you know if you could keep it in your pants for more than five minutes, you’d be able to afford to live there too, don’t you get enough in endorsements between Nike, Body Armor and all your White Lightning merch and endorsements? Just up your appearance fees or better yet, if you- you know, invested some of that money instead of spending it faster than you’re making it, you’d be able to live wherever you wanted to.” Violet returned defensively.

“I do invest it, it’s just not getting the same returns your money makes apparently.” Dash returned.

“Oh my God, will you two stop it! Ugh, aren’t your kids supposed to get along once they leave home?” Helen complained.

“Dash, just go to the living room, dinner will be ready in a bit.” Helen decided.

“Stuck up.” Dash muttered under his breath.

“Leech.” Violet spat back.

“If he moves back in you better be charging him rent.” Violet insisted to her mother.

“Oh trust me, he’ll never move back in because I would never let him bring home another woman other than the two he's already impregnanted and when he wasn’t working, he’d be watching his own kids.” Helen reassured her.

“And heaven forbid he not have a revolving door on his bedroom.” Violet spat.

“I’m still holding out hope that he’ll find the right girl and settle down.” Helen confessed.

“Yeah, somehow, I get the distinct impression that will happen to Jack before that ever happens with Dash.” Violet ventured as she took her now peeled potatoes and rinsed them off in the sink before she got a cutting board out and started cutting up the now peeled potatoes into bite sized chunks.

“Well it just might happen with you before it could happen with Jack.” Helen teased as she bumped Violet’s hip with her own as she put her own peeled and rinsed off potatoes next to the cutting board.

“Ha! No.” Violet returned.

“Well I mean Barret sounds promising.” Helen shrugged and all Violet could do was laugh even harder.

“Yeah, no, I sincerely doubt that’s ever going to be a possibility.” Violet shook her head no.

“Why not?” Helen asked.

“Uh, well, he has quite the storied past. Granted, he isn’t the same guy he was, say, a decade ago, but uh, there’s too much history there.” Violet hinted.

“Like what kind of history?” Helen prodded.

“The kind that got him...really really hurt. In every conceivable sense. He made some really bad decisions in early youth, youth, teens and early adulthood and granted he pays for them, just about every day. But…it’s very complicated.” Violet tried to choose her words carefully.

“Everyone has history Violet. Doesn’t mean it has to haunt us the rest of our lives.” Helen insisted but Violet just huffed a mirthless laugh again. If that were the case, she wouldn't have such a hard time sleeping in the first place, or wake up in a cold sweat screaming her head off half the time.

“How old is he again?” Helen asked.

“He’s 31, seven years my senior.” Violet answered.

“Well that’s not that big of an age difference, especially once you pass your early 20’s, now if he was like 15 or even 20 years older than you, then yeah, that would be an eyebrow raiser of a difference.” Helen figured as she went into her fridge and got a wine cooler and offered Violet one who gladly took it and opened it and started drinking it.

“So what makes it so complicated?” Helen posed.

“Uh, well besides the history. Just our...positions. Phillip keeps me on a short leash and it’s only because I’ve “mixed business with pleasure” that I have any breathing room now. Phillip is jealous and possessive enough that...to pursue anything with anyone while I’m still under contract is a very bad idea and too dangerous. Phillip has a way of reaching out and touching people, and not in any kind of good way. And Barret is also under contract and his contract is even longer and more severe than mine. But we are…” Violet paused as she tried to decide on the best words to use.

“We’ve grown close to being friends because we’re just...two birds, in side by side gilded cages.” Violet finally murmured lowly as she finely diced the potatoes as she realized they should boil these and make mashed potatoes.

“So what has he done to incite you to view him like that?” Helen posed as she rinsed off some asparagus in the sink as another vegetable for dinner.

“He’s healing me.” Violet answered honestly.

“Like emotionally or physically?” Helen asked.

“The latter, the former is probably impossible.” Violet specified.

“Like with your central cortex?” Helen posed.

“Yep, he used his genius and formulated my current medication, he got me in front of the curve instead of always chasing behind it. It’s like I’m a teenager again, before any of it ever hurt and I can use my powers for hours instead of mere minutes before the pain sets in and the longer I'm on it, the better. I’m actually sleeping at night because of the sleep aids he’s made for me, granted for anyone else, they’d put them into a permanent coma but for me, they’re just right. I’ve shared them with Tali and they’re curing her too and even all the other Supers at The Agency with the same problem. Grated Phillip makes The Agency pay through the nose for theirs but for now they’re free for me and Barret is risking everything to get me my own protected supply that Phillip can’t touch or better yet, control, just in case Phillip tries to hold them over my head to keep me in line, which I wouldn’t push past him. Barret even made a suit that should protect me and everyone I protect that has features that every Super will want and every Super who is a handler will need. And he gives without any thought or want or need to be paid back. Even when he has so little, he’d give it all before ever being asked. He’s helping me with Dragon Eye, he’s...he’s an unlikely ally and an even unlikelier friend.” Violet explained as Helen’s eyebrows rose in surprise to hear of these developments. Granted, she didn’t like Phillip as far as she could punt him either. Something about Phillip put her on edge and had her own intuition telling her something was wrong with him and that he was much more dangerous than he looked but she couldn’t put her finger on it or explain it. She got the sense he was a sleezeball and Helen would have never forgiven Violet if Violet had come home from Vegas as Mrs. Sebastian.

“Sounds like a pretty awesome guy to me Vi.” Helen shrugged with a knowing grin.

“He is. He just...has an unfortunate past.” Violet answered.

“Was he in the mob or something?” Helen guessed lowly.

“Uh, no, not that I’m aware of.” Violet shook her head.

“Is he a serial killer?” Helen teased as Violet huffed a mirthless laugh again.

“Technically I’m a serial killer Mom.” Violet answered in all seriousness and honesty.

“Oh no you’re not. You’re a Super, no Super has clean hands, on either side but you're on the good side. Guilty blood saves innocent blood, and it's because of that guilty blood that you've saved countless innocents which more than makes up for it.” Helen assured her daughter.

“Even if my hands have the blood of other Supers on them?” Violet posed.

“Yes.” Helen insisted.

“Not all Supers are good people, and not all Supers are heroes. You’ve gotten your hands dirty trying to keep the world safe and everyone else clean, you’ve had to make the tough decisions and the hard choices. But they were the right ones. If it was easy, everyone could do it. But you’re special and you’re one of the good guys, if not one of the best. You’re the best kind of hero, one that doesn’t need to constantly be in the spotlight and have every good deed praised by the masses, unlike others we know.” Helen reassured her as Helen gave the living room a dismissive glance.

“I doubt you’d give Barret the same speech because his hands have just as much Super blood on them that mind do.” Violet posed with a disbelieving look as Helen was taken aback.

“Ok, now you’re scaring me. Who is Barret?” Helen asked in all seriousness.

“Google him, Google- Bartholomew Maximillian Pine, just don’t scream or yell when you find out and don’t tell Dad, the last thing I need is for Dad to go Papa Bear and kill him before I can get Dragon Eye off my plate.” Violet answered before Helen got her phone out of her back pocket and googled it.

“Why does he look familiar?” Helen asked as she looked at the images of him that came up.

“Cross reference Buddy Pine, aka Syndrome.” Violet said before Helen sharply inhaled through her nose as her eyes got impossibly wide.

“See? Do you see why I didn’t want tell you? Because of this reaction right here.” Violet insisted.

“I...I thought he was in a wheelchair? After the accident with the jet turbine.” Helen finally spoke.

“He was in a wheelchair, he was in one for a few years after that accident and had to be put together and get surgery after surgery to be made somewhat whole again, it was why he didn’t go to prison after Syntech crashed and burned as did Syndrome. But Barret has assured me that Syndrome died in that jet turbine and it’s beyond clear to me that he is telling me the truth and he shows me that that's the truth by his actions that he is nothing like what he once was, except for the genius inventor thing, that never changed but everything else did, you'd barely recognize him now but hearing him talk might jog your memory. Or even Dad's especially. Barret has suffered enough from all of that and especially how Tali helped tear apart and break down the very empire she helped him build and left him with nothing where he had to start from an all new low. Not only did he barely have a dollar to his name, he was left in literal pieces that had to be sewn together and be ripped apart piece by piece in every way before he put himself back together again. It’s actually impressive how he’s managed to make it this far despite all that. And even with all that history. He’s...he’s surprisingly not bitter or holding any grudges, even against Tali, because he got his ass into some much needed therapy. Here, watch this with your headphones.” Violet urged as she handed her phone to her mother and had her watch the video that she had saved to her phone as Helen put her headphones in her ear and watched the video as Violet watched her mother carefully, watching how she started off wearily then gradually went from weary to understanding then sympathetic as the video progressed.

“So, you ready to take all that back?” Violet questioned when Helen finished and handed the phone back.

“Nope. Who else has seen that?” Helen asked.

“Tali, she cried when she watched it. She said that if he had been like that a decade ago, she never would have left him, or betrayed him and has asked me to help Barret and take care of him to the best of my ability, which I have happily agreed to and Barret makes it easy for me to do so. I don't do so strictly out of obligation or because it's owed or expected. I do it because I want to. Which is a first for me, especially in this job.” Violet answered.

“Well, it’ll take some time for everyone to come around to the idea of just you being friends. I think it should only matter what people are in the present. Obviously, he’s suffered the consequences of his actions.” Helen appraised.

“He has suffered, more than enough.” Violet insisted.

“Then I trust your opinion of what he is now.” Helen insisted.

“Really?” Violet posed disbelievingly.

“Like I said, the past shouldn’t haunt us forever. And if you said Syndrome died all those years ago. And he’s a changed man, then I will trust you on that. You aren’t one to trust anyone easily. And every ounce of your trust is hard earned and if he’s earned it, and if you trusted him enough to let Jack hang out with him, because it's no secret he's your favorite, much less yourself, then that’s enough.” Helen insisted.

“So you’re not pissed that I let Jack hang out with him?” Violet asked.

“You let Jack hang out with Barret. And Barret is a good guy. That’s all that matters.” Helen insisted before Violet quickly enveloped her mom in a tight hug.

“Thank you Mom.” Violet thanked her, not realizing how much her mother's approval would mean to her or how assuring, reassuring, validating and vindicating it was to have it.

“You’re welcome.” Helen reassured her. Ever so thankful and grateful that Violet let her in on even this much.

Truth be told, Helen was resentful to The Agency for turning her daughter from a good but shy teen to a stone cold killer. When Violet had come home from a stint that took almost a year, Violet just came home and held Jack and didn’t let him go for weeks. And often took him to bed with her and cried herself to sleep holding him. Violet wouldn’t breathe a word of what really happened and what she had been doing was top secret and only the highest of higher ups even knew about it, but after that, Violet was never the same and she was fiercely protective of Jack who was only 3 at the time and she was only 17, almost 18 herself at the time as well. Thus why the two shared their current super close bond. All Helen could think of is that involved children. Maybe the target had little children that Violet left orphaned, that was the only thing that made sense to Helen and to Bob. But after that, Violet just did mission after mission, back to back to back and started earning more than her parents ever did combined. And each time she came home, less and less of herself came home with her and when Violet moved out at 18, Helen feared she would lose all contact with her, and Helen had never been more devastated when her fears proved true.

When Violet was 21, she did another really, really long mission that took over a year and Helen didn’t hear from Violet that whole time and all The Agency could tell her was that she was on mission and undercover, wouldn’t say where or with who. But whatever it was, it didn’t end well. Helen and Bob had been watching the news and three major catastrophes seemed to happen at the same time, complete with natural disasters on top of political upheaval. And then they had gotten a call from Violet from a burner phone, saying that she was done. And she was disappearing for good and that she was just calling to say goodbye.

That had been the worst of it.

To beg and plead with your only daughter to just come home, where it was safe, where she would be protected. And to have that same, oh so precious daughter inform you that she would put them in too much danger if she did that. That she couldn’t protect them. She couldn’t even protect herself. And that the danger was bigger and stronger than anything they had ever known. And that if they only knew what had really happened, they would never welcome her home anyway. And that this was for the best. And it was going to be better this way.

Then silence.

And it didn’t matter how many times Helen and Bob went back to The Agency and rallied the troops and threatened to bring hellfire down on all of them if they didn’t give them their daughter back or at least tell them where she was. They were going to hang every last person at the agency on their own bullshit lies tied into a noose around their necks. No one would tell them anything, mostly because the people there didn’t know and everyone who did was unreachable and "conveniently" overseas and completely unreachable. Bob and herself had even officially quit and retired. And had even tried looking for her on their own but never did find her because Violet had been trained to never leave a trace. And Violet was always- successful.

It wasn’t until Phillip and The Agency found her and brought her home a little over a year later that they got to see her in the flesh. And while it was a blessing having Violet back home, working a ‘normal’-ish job that was mostly 9-5 through the week with the occasional overseas trip, it still kept her here in Metroville, and kept her close and brought her back into the fold so to speak. But the real Violet, Helen feared, never did come back. Or at least the Violet that Helen could remember or recognize.

But then, about a couple of months ago, Helen noticed she started seeing glimmers and glimpses of the real Violet again, like Violet's spirit was slowly returning to her body. She was still incredibly guarded, and secretive. But she was easing up, Helen supposed, at least smiling more, and being more accessible, at least physically, emotionally though, that was another matter entirely.

But Violet did take to Dash’s kids really well when she first came back. Feeling sorry and sad that she missed out on them. It wasn’t unusual for when Helen and Bob had them for the weekend- Violet would ‘drop by’ for the weekend too, with clothes and toys in tow and doted on them the way she doted on Jack when Jack was that age since Dash Jr. was three and Dillon was two and a half at the time and now Dash Jr. was four and in preschool and Dillon was now three and a half and she got along remarkably well with Ashley, Dash Jr's mom who was Dash's high school sweetheart, and Amy, Dillon's mom, Dash's first college love. But Violet got a lot harder on Dash, making sure he always paid his child support and spent quality time with his kids and even chipped in financially with their mothers, making sure that Jr got into an amazing preschool and made sure that Dillon would too, and helping them as much as she reasonably could. And with Jack, she usually bought the bulk of his school clothes and fabrics and trim which she happily took him to the garment district and let him go nuts in the fabric warehouses, bringing home yards and yards of fabrics for his ‘creations’ and even paid for her parents to put on an addition to their house so Jack had his own studio to create in and was super encouraging to Jack with his interests, and often did all she could to help them out, either physically or especially financially and made sure to give them heads up on her schedules of when she was going to be in town or out of town so if they needed to, they could depend on her, or invite her to their own social things that they had going on.

But right now, it was Helen’s intuition telling her that the reason she was seeing more of the real Violet, was because it was Barret of all people bringing it out in her, and for that she was grateful and it was because of that, she could learn to forgive him for the past.

Monday morning Violet came into work and was surprised to see a woman in Phillip’s office already, and it was someone she didn’t recognize as she was sitting in his lap as he showed her something on his computer as her giggle got on every nerve Violet had.

“Mr. Sebastian?” Violet posed politely.

“Oh, Ms. Parr, good morning.”

“Good morning. Do we have anything new for Mr. Pine today?” Violet asked formally, since he was obviously otherwise engaged as Violet’s glasses revealed to her exactly who was sitting in his lap and so intimately embraced in it. Another ballerina. Cheseray Wilkenson, prima dancer for Villefort Dance Company.

“Yes, actually.” Phillip said as he picked up his tablet and did a swiping motion from his own tablet to hers before her tablet got the new data and Violet froze when she saw it as she blinked in surprise from her tablet then back up to Phillip.

“By the way, how is the new suit?” Phillip asked and Violet actually did well keeping the dread and fear from her eyes and her face.

“Good, so far.” Violet answered.

“Excellent. I’m happy it’s working out for you.” Phillip offered and Violet simply smiled politely in view of his ‘company’.

“Is there a problem Ms. Parr?” Phillip baited.

“No, no problem at all, will that be all Mr. Sebastian?” Violet asked.

“Yes.” Phillip nodded.

“Very well,” Violet nodded as she then went to her own office and opened her own computer case from The Agency and accessed her files before pulling up Dragon Eye and did a search for when the last time someone accessed it and her heart dropped when she saw that Phillip was the last one to look at it, Saturday night. After herself, Barret and Jack had been working it as she remembered the wave pattern from the cameras. She had been in the apartment side of the space most of the time where the cameras had only come on in a wave a few times but she had thought nothing of it, since it was going to be Nelson, Pike, Leland and Smith in the security booth but there was no way for Jack and Barret to know that they were on a wave pattern and it obviously happened way more frequently for them to figure out what they were up to. That’s how Phillip knew that they had made progress.

He knew. But she was sure she’d be forced into trying to slit her own wrists if he knew that Dragon Eye was really him.

She closed it out and looked more closely at what her tablet had received as she tried to see what was really there. Was this a test? A trick? A trap? Or just Phillip keeping up with her? Her gut was telling her something was off and something was wrong. She needed Tali’s advice and she called her on her phone.

“Yes?” Tali answered.

“Hey, can you meet me for lunch today? Please?” Violet proposed.

“Uh, yeah, sure, where did you want to go?” Tali answered.

“Don’t care, somewhere uh, private and spider free.” Violet proposed.

“Luigiano’s.” Tali suggested.

“Yup, see you at say...11:30?” Violet proposed.

“Yes, of course Dear, see you then.” Tali answered.

“Thanks.” Violet said before she hung up and quickly went to Barret’s floor.

“Good morning Ms. Parr,” Barret greeted.

“Good morning Mr. Pine, uh, you have a few new items for your agenda this week.” Violet informed him as she couldn’t wipe the confused frown off her face or the fear from her eyes to save her life as she did a wiping motion from her tablet to his and then looked at him pointedly to make sure he actually saw what was in front of him.

“Oh, huh.” Barret finally murmured as he looked it over himself, and also frowned in confusion before he looked back over to Violet before they had a silent conversation with just their subtle facial expressions before he finally reached over and tapped her hand with his knuckle three times but tried to make it look like some random twitch.

“If you don’t have any questions, I’ll leave you to it then. See you this evening Mr. Pine.” Violet formally said before she left and went back to her office before she went into her bathroom and became invisible, her clothes she had been wearing, transforming into her suit before she marched from her bathroom to Phillip’s office, only to walk in to seeing Phillip balls deep in his new ‘pet’ on his desk before she sarcastically gagged then marched straight to Barret’s floor and tapped him again, three times, in rapid succession on the shoulder when she had made it back before he ‘casually’ decided to go to the bathroom himself and once in it, he blew out a breath of relief when a forcefield suddenly enveloped them both as she reappeared before him.

“So what’s going on?” Barret asked.

“He knows we were working on Dragon Eye. I was able to see who saw Dragon Eye last. And it was him. He saw it very late Saturday night. He’s out to exploit you even more than he already is.” Violet answered anxiously as she started pace inside the bubble of the forcefield.

“Yeah but a Super would need your powers to make them invisible too. The suit is meant to work as an extension of yourself and it takes machines that take up most rooms to turn it invisible without your powers. To put the same suit on any other Super, it’s not gonna work. And even if it did, unleashing a small army of completely invisible Supers who don’t have the same moral compass you do- is dangerous, like Supervillain level of dangerous. No offense.” Barret offered.

“Oh none taken, I completely agree. Just having one of me is already too dangerous. I mean it would be nice for The Agency to have someone else for my kind of work but even I would have no way of seeing them.” Violet worried.

“Well...not...not necessarily, when you’re in the suit, when you’re invisible, if you’re wearing the hood, you could see them, you could see, in theory anything you wanted to see. If I make your suit for anyone else. There’s ways I can make them that even you can see them, all I need is to reconfigure the visor section of your suit and even reconfigure your glasses when you don’t wear the suit over your head or give you special contacts or make it so that the the nanos always recognize each other, even from a distance, even from each other’s invisibility. Like x-ray vision but I guess...not. It can be done. It’ll be tricky, but it can be done.” Barret realized as his spark was working into overdrive figuring it out.

“Here’s my other request. While you’re doing that- make my suit EMP proof. Because one of my powers is to mimic an EMP signal, it’s one of the ways I can “burn” the cameras and listening devices and other electronics. But if you could make it so that the EMP signal, knocks out other’s invisibility but keep mine intact. But I also need a way for my own SOS signal to be EMP proof. Like I want to be a thousand feet underground in a copper mine or a lead mine and the right people would still be able to find me and rescue me.” Violet proposed.

“You got it.” Barret immediately agreed.

“Thank you.” Violet thanked him as she stopped her pacing to hug him tightly.

“I think it’s a trap.” Barret confessed.

“Oh I know it’s a trap. But at this point, I need to put my bloody feet in the water to attract the shark and I need a way to set my own trap for it and to spring it at the right time. Springing it too soon and we’ll never catch him. We need a trap of our own.” Violet answered as she just clung to him as he did the same to her.

“But the thing is, if he knew Saturday night, at the time he checked, that was the time Pike was getting off and Leland was getting on, Nelson got Friday night and he made sure to destroy the evidence of the uh, incident. And all he wants is when and if you ever get to leave here alive, to take him with you.” Violet conveyed.

“Oh, yeah, that totally works, it was Nelson that got you the necklace.” Barret immediately agreed.

“Figures. But that leaves Pike or Leland to spill the beans. Pike was in the same boat that Nelson was in when I talked to them Saturday morning and according to everyone, everyone in the security detail is ready to follow you out of here. But I don’t know if Pike was just saying that to curry favor with me or if he was genuine. Nelson I believe is genuine. Pike and Leland, I wouldn’t put it past them to be two faced. So we’re just going to have to be extra careful from here on out and choose our steps carefully. And anyone’s loyalty who can be bought isn’t worth having.” Violet murmured to the crux of Buddy’s neck and shoulder as they just hung onto each other, Barret refusing to let go before Violet would and was perfectly content to just enjoy this, plus he couldn’t chance endangering her by engaging her romantically or at least emotionally when she had so much to lose before Violet finally reluctantly let him go.

“I better get out of here, just in case I’ve been gone too long.” Violet excused herself.

“Thank you.” Violet whispered as she stood on her tip toes and kissed his cheek just as she vanished and just as Barret was about to go ‘fuck it’ and reach out and really kiss her back, she was gone, phased through the walls and he even reached out and tried to feel for her but she was already gone.

“You’re welcome.” Barret finally breathed as he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck anxiously before he sat down and actually used the bathroom as he held his head in his hands and thought of all the ways to give her what she asked for. Electronics that were EMP proof. Ways of seeing the invisible that he had worked so hard to make invisible in the first place. But at the same time, make her own SOS beacon a lighthouse among flashlights all while doing it under Phillip’s nose and off his radar, and off The Agency’s radar.

Meanwhile Violet came back into her office’s bathroom just in time to hear Phillip calling for her once he came into her office, “redressed” in her original clothes she had been wearing before.

“Yes Phillip?” Violet asked as she held her lower belly, pretending to have just had a huge bowel movement.

“Oh, there you are. I apologize for having company earlier and not letting you have freedom of speech in front of her.” Phillip began.

“Thank you.” Violet said simply as she took her seat behind her desk.

“But now that you’re here, I take it I’m free to speak to you now?” Violet posed.

“Yes of course.” Phillip agreed as he took a seat on the other side of her desk.

“About the new suit's possible release for The Agency. I will insist that we bring Edna Mode on onboard, otherwise no Super will have anything to do with it for fear of offending her and Edna Mode is a dangerous enemy. I will take on a thousand Dragon Eyes before I piss her off and you should have the same fearful respect for her that I do, to do otherwise is to court death and social suicide in this business. Edna has been designing super-suits since supers became a phenomenon and into popularity for the last 40 years, every Super, hero and villain alike has always used Edna. She is one of a kind and she’s neutral. This will feel like a betrayal and it will feel like we’re “stealing” this from her. And if The Agency pushes this on their Supers, that will mean that the only Supers to use her will be villains and that’s a recipe for disaster. Also my suit that Mr. Pine designed, was designed with me specifically in mind, specifically for dealing with Dragon Eye. The suit's capabilities will not be available should anyone else try to put it on. So unless you plan on cloning me, which I will never agree to, it won’t work. However, let’s say Mr. Pine does devise a way to get other suits to mimic what mine can do. Do you really think that’s a good idea to hand over truly invisible suits to an Agency that could hold the entire world hostage? The Agency already controls every Hero practically world wide. Or worse yet, if just one suit falls into the wrong hands and gets replicated, every enemy now has a way to waltz into any building, into any place they wanted to and kill you or me or anyone else without a trace. One of me in the world is dangerous enough. Imagine ten of me, a hundred of me, an army of me but without my moral compass and without my ethics. There could be thousands, millions even. All invisible, all uncontrollable and pure chaos and disaster. And all of it would have your fingerprints. Can you imagine the already delicate stock market crashing and sending the whole world into a recession that we’ve never seen before? Is making a few million off of new suits for The Agency worth all your billions that you already have?” Violet posed skeptically.

“Well, when you put it like that, no.” Phillip realized.

“Now I do agree that Mr. Pine’s new suit does have certain features that would be helpful for every Super that are non power specific. Instead of selling invisible suits. Sell the features that are non power specific, sell them individually and let the Supers and The Agency pick and choose and custom build their own- with of course- Edna’s approval, and Edna's control if she would agree on redesigning anyone’s suit. Also, Edna is used to having 100% of the profits of all super-suits and working all on her own before Jack was born. Mr. Pine made mine for free as a favor to Jack and myself because he’s a good person and because we asked nicely. Well, begged and pleaded because Jack and I are desperate to get Dragon Eye because he’s been on my roster for forever but because of his own powers, no other Super but me will touch him and I would prefer to keep it that way. Dragon Eye has the ability to make people commit suicide, imagine his own army equipped with my suit. Me and every single Super at the Agency would be in danger, including you because you have clearance at The Agency, you’d be just as big of a target that I am. Do you really want to risk it?” Violet posed skeptically as she leaned back into her chair and folded her arms over her chest and crossed her legs and fixed him with a look.

“No.” Phillip decided.

“Then change this in the roster.” Violet said as she handed him her tablet.

“Also you do realize that he would have to go to The Agency and to Edna Mode’s house to work on those super suits and every moment he’s off doing that- he won’t be here working on SEB stuff so his own output for SEB will wane to a degree as will his focus since it will be divided too. However it will prove fruitful in the long run because you’ll have an in with every other Super and you’ll be even father on The Agency’s good side and an even closer bedfellow and the chances of getting premium contracts will grow. It’s just a matter of do you want the money that would usually go straight to your pocket to change hands a few times before it does?” Violet posed.

“I think it's worth it for any profits made with any endeavor with The Agency to change hands and have a chance to multiply before it comes back to me will be sizable.” Phillip answered.

“Fair. But know that you will only have a limited time for that to occur. Because once Mr. Pine is no longer under contract with you, he’ll have his own in with The Agency because of this. He used to be the most powerful and influential non Super before his fall from grace and you effectively took his place. Once he leaves, he may want a bigger piece of their pie. Be prepared to share.” Violet warned.

“Well there’s a lot of time between now and then, and accidents happen, besides you’re his heir apparent, I wouldn’t mind sharing all the pie you wanted with you.” Phillip offered and all Violet could do was huff a laugh and grin crookedly as she just shook her head. Violet would sooner slit his throat before she would slit Barret’s as Phillip mistook the roguish curve of her grin as her delight at the prospect which only made him happy that Violet was still on the ‘murder’ side of things as far as Mr. Pine was concerned. Which meant that if she did get closer to Mr. Pine, it would be purely to undo him and further devastate him in the end. Which meant he could fully trust her with him.

“Also, I noticed that you loosened up the safety protocols for Mr. Pine’s outings. Why?” Violet asked since she had him right there.

“Uh, it was a Raid Day thing. I thought you’d feel better knowing he wasn’t “crawling with spiders” too, besides, I completely trust you with him and I know your specialties, the less “evidence” of any kind of friendly relationship, the less can be used against you, in the case you have to do the deed. However, if you are seen by his friends being with him all the time and getting cozy, that will place you well outside the realm of suspicion to them. Especially since you have more than one connection to them.” Phillip answered and Violet realized Phillip’s trap. He was trying to trap Barret, using herself as bait.

“Ok. Well thank you, that’s very sweet and thoughtful of you, I really appreciate it.” Violet thanked him before a thought occurred to her.

“By any chance, is that why you are hanging onto Miss Cheseray Wilkinson for longer than a weekend? Because if you’re “engaged” with her, that may seem to appear to free me up to get “cozy” with Mr. Pine?” Violet asked as she uncrossed her arms and simply let her arms rest on the armrests of her chair.

“You always were so clever Violet.” Phillip beamed proudly as Violet simply leaned forward on her elbows of her desk as Phillip did the same.

“God you’re despicable.” Violet praised, despite her grin, she wanted to throw up when he leaned across the desk and kissed her. But she swallowed it down, along with her disgust for him. Barret’s life and survival hung in the balance, she needed to protect him. The money- she could care less about, she had more than enough just from The Agency, any money from Phillip was always extra. But for Barret's sake, it would be worth it. But for now, she needed to get Phillip right where she needed him and keep herself above suspicion in order to keep her own head from rolling. She couldn’t protect Barret, let alone anyone else if she was dead. And Phillip still held the power to pull the trigger so to speak. She still needed to finesse the gun from his grasp. And she still needed to figure out a proper trap for him too. One that he would be willing to release Barret from his if it meant his own freedom, much less his own life to be exchanged.

“Well Mr. Pine and myself are barely now only friends, for anything romantic is to happen, it is going to take some serious time and some very convincing measures and greater freedoms for both of us and he will not only have to be enticed, but feel free to pursue me without the fear of any backlash or danger of any kind. And I’ll need it in my contract that no retaliation or counter measures will be taken for any romantic entanglements for either of us because his fear of you may always outweigh any desire he has for me and it is that fear that keeps him in line and behaving for us so we need to balance it. And of course the occasional, if not quite frequent unsupervised time spent while in contract would be most helpful and if any of my enemies become his by association, I can’t be held responsible for that. But at the same time, if anyone is going to take him out, it will be me and me alone that will do it. No one else is to ever interfere and whether he lives or dies, will be a matter that me and only me will ever decide one way or another and who knows, he may prove to be useful to me for many years to come, decades probably, why should we prune a bush just as it begins to flower? Why not let it bloom it’s heart out and enjoy it’s fruits for the long run? Granted you get to enjoy the fruits of his labor for the next two years. I would hate to kill the golden goose before it gets a chance to lay it’s best golden eggs a few years from now? Because while I will inherit everything he has, why not let that bush flower and fruit to its absolute fullest and ripest before it’s harvested?” Violet specified with a flourish of her hands.

“Oh of course. I absolutely agree with you on that.”

“But again, all of that will take time. Are you patient enough for all of that?” Violet posed.

“Oh don’t worry about me. I won’t grow bored if that’s what you’re worried about. Cheseray will do quite nicely as a good distraction.”

“Well if that distraction ever gets serious, I wouldn't hold that against you Phillip.” Violet cooed, because honestly, Cheseray and the rest of her dance company could take their turns with him, she didn’t give a fuck.

“Oh I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.” Phillip reassured her.

“Well, if my hands are going to be full with Mr. Pine for the foreseeable future. I may need help with the position of your handler. And I fear for bigger trips like the ones to Tokyo and Hong Kong and the like, you're going to need an official handler since I’m going to be Mr. Pine’s for those engagements and well every engagement and outing from now on, because closeness does breed fondness after all.” Violet proposed and subtly consciously nodded which got Phillip to nod subconsciously as well.

“Of course, consider this your reassignment to him then. I believe I can enlist others to stand in for your post for the time being while you are otherwise engaged.” Phillip offered.

“Would you like me to arrange for that or did you have someone in mind?” Violet posed curiously.

“Oh I have a few in mind. I’ll take care of it myself. Your hands are already so full from handling Mr. Pine for me. I couldn’t possibly ask for you to find your stand in too.”

“Well if I may make a suggestion?” Violet offered.

“Oh I’m all ears.” Phillip grinned giddily.

“Don’t get Veronica Andrews. She’s a little too strictly business for your tastes and you will lose ground with her for the same things that gained ground with me. May I suggest perhaps a man, who is perhaps- familiar, accepting and incredibly accommodating for all of your needs who will use the same foresight and thoughtfulness I possess and will pleasantly surprise you?” Violet offered.

“Oh do go on.” Phillip urged her.

“He has a bit of a wild reputation and may have been in a scandal or two himself. But, he should be a good fit for you. His name is Leopold Traeger. Also known as Mysterio.” Violet recommended.

“Really? Mysterio?” Phillip posed.

“Most think he’s just a second rate Super, but those in the know- know differently. He’ll be perfect for what you need him for.” Violet cooed.

“Then I will take your recommendation.” Phillip grinned which got Violet to smile victoriously.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lunch date with Mirage. I’ll need all the insights and tidbits I can possibly harvest from her.” Violet excused herself as she got up and smoothed out her skirt.

“Oh of course, please do send her my best.” Phillip offered as he mirrored her.

“One last kiss then, besides, I would hate to be the reason you and Cheseray were to ever have a disagreement, let alone an argument or for her to feel any kind of jealousy towards me or feel threatened by me and our closeness. I can’t go ruining your relationships can I?” Violet cooed as she gave him one last kiss. Kissing the last of any emotional attachment with him goodbye with it.

“Goodbye Phillip, or should I say, Mr. Sebastian?” Violet slipped back into her handler voice as she sauntered away.

“Goodbye Ms. Parr.” Phillip called after her wistfully.

Violet went to Luigiano’s for lunch early and happily realized that Tali had already made a reservation under Octavia for a private booth. The restaurant was owned by The Seven Kings Mafia, so there was absolutely no cameras or listening devices and there were completely enclosed private booths in one of the private dining rooms that were bulletproof and sound proof and if you needed to discuss any kind of business, Luigiano’s is where you went. Plus they had one of Metroville’s best wine selections and the staff that worked in the kitchens turned out some of the best Italian food in the area that was on par with any Italian grandmother's cooking mostly because the kitchen was full of real grandmothers from all over Italy that were brought over by the seven families that made up the Seven Kings of the Seven King's Mafia and you had to be an important somebody to even be on the list of guests allowed to make reservations and thankfully both Violet and Natalia were on that list. Violet sat down and ordered her favorite wine and some antipastos before Natalia came a few moments later, turning heads like she always did, because even after being a mother of two, her figure had morphed from slim and trim to dangerously curvy but still undeniably sexy and Natalia was still a head turner wherever she went, wearing one of her more couture outfits and looking more like a mob boss’ wife more than anything before she was shown to her booth before her own order was taken then the doors of the booth were closed and secured as Violet and her happily dug into the antipastos that had been delivered already.

“Violet Darling, I was surprised to get a call from you, what’s going on?” Tali asked.

“What do you make of this?” Violet asked as she handed Tali her tablet as Tali took it and read through what was on it before she let it set on the table and got her glass of wine and began to drink it before she looked back down at it, holding the chilled glass of wine to her cheek as he cheeks flushed as she stared down at it as she did her best to school her features to stay composed as Violet could still see the real fear behind her gorgeous green eyes.

“It’s one hell of a trap.” Tali noted.

“I know. It’s a trap for Mr. Pine, I’m the bait.” Violet offered before Tali shook her head no.

“No, you have that backwards Dear. Mr. Pine is the bait, you’re the prey. This is a give. The real question is- what is Phillip taking?” Tali asked.

“Phillip still thinks I’ll kill Mr. Pine at my earliest convenience.” Violet answered.

“Nope, that’s not it. That was a term already agreed upon and understood under the previous terms. These are new terms. Which means new stakes. This is the give, what is the take?” Tali repeated emphatically.

“My sanity?” Violet guessed. “I told him about the creepy crawly spiders. He agreed to kill them for me and that Mr. Pine is like a big can of Raid to me. Phillip hasn’t killed them yet, but he put them to sleep for now.” Violet revealed.

“No. That’s not it. Did Phillip propose? And more importantly did you accept because this is a big “leap of faith and trust” there’s no way Phillip would take this leap, without either knowing for certain that you will catch him, or, more importantly, know for certain that his leverage against you outweighs this, it’s like gambling, and he’s the house, the house is always going to win and this is your first pay out. But there’s no way you get to leave the casino. It’s way too early and the night is way too young, again, what are the stakes, what is the take? The real take? Are you going to be Mrs. Sebastian?” Tali asked plainly.

“No, uh, in fact he has a new squeeze in order to free me up for Mr. Pine.” Violet answered.

“Well it’s clear he’s “loaning you out” like a pimp trading hoes or an exhibit at a museum. What is Phillip taking to keep you loyal to him? To keep you obedient and in line? What is more precious to you than your heart that Phillip knows you'd give up everything to keep safe?” Tali urged her.

“Jack.” Violet breathed in horror as that realization hit her like a brick to the face.

“It was Jack who came to SEB to redesign the suit. It’s Jack who has been working with Edna on Dragon Eye. But Jack is at home, Jack would know if there’s spiders at home or at school and Jack is so far- immune. Unless... Phillip found a way to make himself more potent. Oh God. I told Phillip he needed a new handler while I was “reassigned”. I suggested Mysterio because Mysterio would be able to give Phillip all the freedoms he wants, without too many constrictions of ethics or morals, much less codes or laws. Mysterio has had issues with drugs in the past. If Phillip gets ahold of...any number of things he’ll be too strong. Even for me. Maybe even for Jack or my parents, or anyone.” Violet realized.

“I gotta go.” Violet realized as she took the tablet back and got her things together.

“Thank you for lunch, sorry to eat and run, I gotta…”

“Just go.” Tali waived her off as Violet quickly walked out of the restaurant, doing everything in her power not to cry in public as panic whirled in her chest and she went straight to Jack’s school and had him come to the office while she did her best to wait patiently for him to come before Jack came into the office in confusion before he looked into the office to see Violet before his eyes got wide to see her expression.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked.

“Oh, uh, you have an appointment with Dr. Pine today that Mom forgot to call the school and let them know you had.” Violet offered.

“Oh yeah, uh, let me go get my backpack.” Jack said as Violet went with him and ordered her secret bike to meet her at a doctor’s office where she managed to find- a Dr. Pine on staff. He was an orthopedic surgeon, who specialized in pediatrics. Perfect.

“What’s going on?” Jack whispered.

“Phillip changed the stakes. We need to strategize with Barret.” Violet urged him.

“Shit.” Jack cursed under his breath.

“That was fast. We were just there for the weekend, we left Sunday afternoon, it hasn't been 24 hours since we last left. How did he change it so fast?” Jack asked in a hushed whisper as he got back to his locker and got his stuff along with work from his teacher before he followed Violet out of his school.

“Read this.” Violet said as she handed Jack her tablet as she drove like the wind to the doctor’s office as she checked her phone to see where her bike was en-route to her.

“I just got done with lunch with Tali, she said that since I’m not officially engaged to Phillip, that that is the give and asked what the take is. I think because you were at SEB, that Phil plans on taking you as leverage against me. I don’t know when or how, but you need to make sure that at school and especially at home, that it’s spider free. But since I officially got reassigned, I suggested Mysterio as my replacement. Mysterio has a history with drugs, more-so with weed than coke but I wouldn’t put it past him. If Phillip gets back on coke- he’ll get too strong, even for me and I’m afraid even for you.” Violet insisted.

“Yup, that tracks.” Jack nodded in agreement before she parked her car and hit a remote on her keys before an enclosed motorcycle slid it’s enclosure back as Violet quickly changed into a pant suit so she could ride the bike astride as Jack got on it with her and got the second helmet and put it on before he hung onto his sister tightly from behind her on the bike and rode with Violet back to SEB in the cloaked bike, weaving through all the traffic, like a thread through a tapestry and once in the SEB parking lot, Violet enveloped through her forcefield as she ran into the building, phasing though the walls and such to get to Barret’s lab before she got Jack safely into Barret’s bathroom before she went up to Barret and tapped his arm three times before he lifted his head and took the cue and went into the bathroom and blinked in surprise to see Jack in there before the three of them were enveloped into Violet’s forcefield.

“Ok, now what’s going on?” Barret asked before Violet repeated what had happened with Phillip and then again with Tali as both Barret and Jack had to sit on the floor as Violet sat with them as all three of them simply held their heads in their hands as they sat cross legged on the floor in a triangle.

“How do we get out of this?” Jack asked.

“Other than in a casket.” Barret specified.

“Or me in a wedding dress answering to Mrs. Sebastian for the rest of my life, however long or short that may be.” Violet groaned as she raked her nails over her scalp.

“Wait.” Jack breathed in softly as an idea bloomed in his head.

“Is there a way to measure someone’s individual brain wavelengths, like a taking a stamp of a fingerprint. And is there a way we can inject, something like a dye, like the kind of dye they inject you with when you have an MRI, but it can stick to foreign wavelengths, like dusting for fingerprints, but on the brain, to see if Phillip has had his “fingerprints” on other brains. Like I know Violet’s brain is going to look like a joint passed around at a party.” Jack began which got Violet and Barret to snort a laugh at his allegory. But he had a great idea.

“But if we can find actual evidence of this suicide seed. It should show up right? And even if it got removed, there might be evidence, like the water stains left behind in a flower vase. It’s worth a shot right?” Jack offered.

“Definitely.” Barret readily agreed.

“And if we can make it so that once it’s found, the dye can act like nonstick spray on a pan, to keep any further ‘fingerprinting’ from happening to the brain itself but make his efforts still show up?” Violet ventured as Jack and Violet looked to Barret hopefully.

“In theory yeah, but it would take images and I need Phillip’s biometric data. And that’s not going to be easy to get.” Barret began.

“Well, we’ve used Dragon Eye as our cover so far, I’d have offed myself already if Phillip knew he was really Dragon Eye. We can use that as our in. We can use the Agency and I can get you set up with passcodes and ways to use The Agency’s databases and super computers so that you can work on stuff that even Phillip can’t see and we can hide it in plain sight because anything secret or top secret or whatever Phillip always likes to poke his nose into. We can even use your cipher to code it. Make it so that IRize and your other companies can get read into it and at least they can keep a second copy of it as a back up and Jack, I hate to do this to you so but get you another back up, keep it with Edna, no one in their right mind would go after her or invade her space, they’d be making an enemy with every Super world wide on both sides.” Violet mused.

“Yeah, that works.” Jack said before Violet got a nosebleed.

“Fuck, I’ve used too much of my powers today, we gotta cut this short. Jack I gotta get you back and get you off at home.” Violet realized as she grabbed some toilet paper to stuff it into her nose to stop the bleeding as Buddy noticed that the blood itself seemed to pulse in and out of invisibility within the tissue, like a cuttlefish strobing it’s lights and colors which he thought was peculiar.

“Ok,” Jack readily agreed before Violet got Jack back and managed to hack into the real Dr. Pine’s medical computers to fake a note for Jack before her bike drove itself back to her secret hideout apartment before Violet took Jack home and lied to her parents about how she had made the doctor’s appointment for Jack because he was complaining of pain in his feet because the real Dr. Pine was an orthopedic surgeon and they were getting a consultation.

Then Violet returned to work as usual and went to check in with Phillip for the evening check in and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw someone with Mysterio in Phillip’s office.

White Lightning- none other than her brother, one Dash Parr.

Fuck. Wrong brother. It wasn’t necessarily Jack that was the take. It was Dash.

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