#the polish wc covers always fuck SO HARD

[boneblushed]

Untouchable

part 1 | part 2

synopsis it is crucial that the head boy and girl of Kildare Academy work together. Too bad the head girl is you and the head boy is Rafe Cameron.

wc 2K

Rafe Cameron likes to do this thing where he pretends that he's hopelessly in love with you.

Every morning, when you walk past him in the Academy carpark, he says, “Good morning, sweetheart.” Easy on the morning, rolling the sweet over his tongue so heart sounds thick as brown molasses. He always has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the emblem on his breast-pocket hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. Sometimes you humour him. Often you avoid acknowledging him altogether.

He has a tendency to call you every pretty noun under the sun except your actual name. Though he has a certain predilection for sweetheart, he’ll always follow up your carpark rendezvous—if you could even call it that—with a, “Wait up, beautiful!” Gorgeous if you’re particularly unlucky. You’re pretty sure he does this because it’s more convenient than remembering your name; that, or he’s covering his ass in case he mixes you up with the other girls on his roster.

“C’mon,” he adds, catching you up with ease, “think you can give me a smile today, birdie?”

That’s a new one. You frown hard, conveying your disapproval at being branded by yet another nickname against your will.

“Think you can show me you deserve it, Cameron?”

Rafe slaps his hand against his chest, faux-affronted. “Oof, I’m wounded.” He grins fondly. “You know that it’s bad luck to ice out the Head Boy on the first day, right?”

“Don’t remind me,” you mutter grimly, quickening your pace in an attempt to create some distance from him. It’s a futile attempt at hostility; he’s heading to the same handsome office that you are, home to the Academy’s once imposing headmaster.

He’s gotten soft over the years. It’s the only explanation, really, for why he’s chosen such a diametrically opposed duo to be the Head Boy and Girl respectively. Where you’re serious, unsmiling, easy on the eyes and hard on the ego, Rafe Cameron is this cocky, deceptively charming wall of solid muscle. He’s attractive in that way that’s made him every girl’s default love interest, and even worse, he enjoys the attention as much as you absolutely hate it.

“Remind you?” Rafe echoes, feigning bemusement. “Of what? That we’re partners now, partner?”

You force a breath of air out through your nose, halting in your tracks and turning to face him. He doesn’t think you look nearly as formidable as you want to, especially with that sweet, little furrow between your eyebrows. He tries to look earnest, as if proving his maturity is going to make you hate him any less than you do.

He’s to blame for the animosity, of course — callow, sophomore year him who called you “seriously fucking hot” in the boy’s locker room, and then in the gym, within earshot, added, “shame she’s such a frigid bitch, huh?” He didn’t mean it, and he was very clearly wounded; if you could’ve seen his face as he’d said it, maybe the cracks in his armour of indifference would’ve been more obvious. Maybe you would’ve realised he was deflecting from the fact that your rejection had really hurt him.

But then again, maybe you wouldn’t have. Because in what world was yelling “Go out with me?”—crudely, callously, you might add—from across the classroom meant to be taken for real? You’d assumed that sophomore year him was making fun of you. When you said no, he assumed that sophomore year you just wasn’t interested.

Fast forward two years, to now, it’s clear that neither of those assumptions were wholly true. You walk past the front reception and toward the headmaster’s office in tandem, halting just short of his closed door, a polished knocker hanging directly above eye-level.

As you reach up and press it against the smooth mahogany, you send him a wayward glance. “Just because we have to work together this year,” you say evenly, “doesn’t mean we have to be friends. Alright?”

“Yes ma’am.” He nods, sending you a mock salute.

This just makes you frown harder than before, as if that’s fucking possible. He’s going to get a smile out of you if it fucking kills him. “I mean it, Cameron.” You let go of the knocker to punch your forefinger into his chest, eyes narrowed sternly. “No more sweetheart, beautiful, gorgeous, honey, whatever. If there’s one thing I deserve, as your,” you raise your fingers in air-quotes, “‘partner’, it’s a bit of respect. That clear?”

He’s never once called you honey. He raises his eyebrows. “Darling?”

You let out this sigh that’s more disappointment than frustration, like you didn’t want to deal with this, like you almost expected more from him. It makes his mouth go dry. “You know what?” you say, shaking your head defeatedly. “Never mind. I thought... I don't know, I thought that if Cromwell’d chosen you to be the Head Boy, maybe you’d done some growing up since sophomore year. But clearly he's getting old, because —”

“Who’s getting old?” A pleasant voice interrupts, the mahogany door in front of you jolting open abruptly. “Miss Y/L/N,” Headmaster Cromwell adds, mock-austere. “I sure hope you aren’t talking about me.”

“Headmaster Cromwell,” you answer, eyes widening sheepishly. “I didn’t mean —”

“She was talking about me, Crom-dog,” Rafe pipes up, throwing him arm around your shoulder genially. When he pulls you into his side, the smell of his vetiver and musk cologne grows ever present. “Us. How we’re no longer the scrawny little freshmen we were when we first met you.”

He pauses, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. “Women, am I right? Always so sentimental.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, shaking him off in a hurry. “Anyway.”

“Anyway,” Rafe agrees with a grin, shoving his hands into his pockets. For the price you pay for a uniform blouse, he privately thinks it should be made of thicker fabric. He can still feel your soft skin pressing into all his finger calluses. “You wanted to see us, sir?”

He nods significantly, beckoning the two of you into his office. “Yes, yes, come in,” he says, taking a seat in his brown leather chair, the headrest cracking with age. “First day of senior year, eh? How are the two of you feeling?”

“Apprehensive,” you say, sending Rafe a glare.

He meets your gaze with something akin to amusement, his blue eyes full of mirth. “Sentimental.”

“Ah.” Cromwell raises his eyebrows, regarding the pair of you with interest. “And you’ll be conveying these emotions at your address this Friday, I imagine?”

Your head whips back to his desk, bottom lip pulling between your teeth. “Oh. Um —”

“Because of course,” he adds, clasping his hands together on his desk, “the start of year speech isn’t just tradition, it’s a collaborative effort. As head students, leading the fortnightly school assemblies is going to be one of your biggest responsibilities.”

“Right,” you agree, nodding vigorously. “I assure you, Headmaster Cromwell, it’s all under control.”

Rafe turns to face you, surprised. “It is?”

“Of course it is, Cameron,” you answer tiredly, not bothering to meet his gaze.

Cromwell frowns. “A collaborative effort, Miss Y/L/N.”

You swallow a sigh, plastering on a smile before turning in tandem and nodding. Fake though it may be, being on the receiving end of one of your smiles makes Rafe unusually pleased. He grins back handsomely, his head cocked toward you in a way that accents his stubbled jawline.

“All I’m saying is,” you say carefully, the smile becoming more gritted teeth than anything remotely amicable, “I’ve… made a start on it. I know that you’ve got football trials to organise, so I thought —”

“Successfully delegated,” Rafe interjects. “Got Ollie organising them this year.” He pauses, leaning toward you and clearing his throat. “You know… to free up time for this partnership.”

“Excellent!” Cromwell exclaims before you’re able to protest, clapping his hands together approvingly. “Already taking initiative. Excellent, excellent…”

He reaches for the hefty stack of papers to his left, plucking off the two forms at the top of the pile. “Here,” he says, handing one to each of you. “A suggested programme for your first meeting with this year’s prefects.”

You accept it with a nod, scanning over the template before folding it once, twice, careful. Beside you, Rafe throws his into his bag callously, threatening a migraine.

“As you know, alongside the school assemblies, you’ll be in charge of timetabling prefect duties and maintaining order. Of course, we’ll meet every fortnight or so so I can check in — ensure everything’s running as smoothly as possible.” He pauses here, looking between you through assessing grey eyes. “Being the face of this institution is a massive undertaking, you two. You’re responsible for more than just the student body… you’re responsible for Kildare Academy’s legacy.” Another pause. “It can be quite the burden. It’s important that you trust each other… know that you can rely on one another.”

You clear your throat gauchely. Rafe feels this strange jolt in his chest as Cromwell’s words wash over him.

You’re saved the awkwardness of having to respectfully disagree with him by the peal of the bell, signalling the start of first period. Cromwell springs up and nods in dismissal, the lapels of his suit jacket quivering like jowls. “Alright then!” He exclaims, smiling jovially. “I look forward to hearing your address this Friday!”

You return his smile, albeit reluctantly, avoiding eye contact with Rafe as you turn around and exit. Though you’re determined to make it to class without having to engage in any more conversation, it appears Rafe Cameron’s more determined to do the opposite.

Scratch unnecessary though. He’s pretty sure every precious second that he’s trying for more receiving-end smile is another that shows him time is of the essence.

“What did you reckon?” He asks, messing with his dirty-blonde locks absentmindedly.

The side of his elbow brushes your blouse, and you begin to walk faster, incensed by his closeness. Despite this, he refuses to back down, “Think it’s true? Him retiring this year? Cause shit, it’d explain all that crap about responsibility and legacy.”

You frown at your feet and continue to soldier forward. Rafe tries again, “Remember when Jake was head boy? Kelce’s older brother? Swear to God he didn’t get speeches like that from Crommy… I mean, shit, he was doing all this and organising football practice, not to mention all the parties he—”

“Look,” you interrupt abruptly, letting out a tired sigh. “Yeah, whatever, I won’t tell Cromwell, alright? As long as you just… just do everything you’re scheduled to do.”

Rafe turns toward you, frowning bemusedly. “Huh?”

“That’s what you’re getting at, right?” You ask impatiently, because you’re late and the second bell is about to ring and you really don’t have time for this, not with Rafe Cameron. “Doing the bare minimum just like Jake Smith did? Because yeah, whatever, that’s fine — in fact, I’d almost prefer it to trying to work together.”

Rafe draws back slightly, regarding you for a moment. “Huh.” A pause. “You think I don’t deserve it.”

You balk at his expression, something dejected behind blue irises. “Well, I,” you hesitate, “no. I just… I don’t want to work with someone who doesn’t consider this a priority.”

“You’re a priority to me,” he says, referring to the guy sophomore year you had once rejected.

“Not me,” you mutter irritatedly, cheeks warming. “Head student stuff. You know — all those things Jake Smith got away with not doing?”

“As I seem to recall,” Rafe replies matter-of-factly, unperturbed, “I’ve already delegated football trials to Ollie to free up time.”

“For the speech,” you say slowly, unsure.

For you. “For the speech,” Rafe affirms, looking down at you in this sincere way that makes your head hurt.

You swallow. “Alright then. We’ll do it Wednesday after school.”

Rafe grins triumphantly, nudging your chin with the hook of his forefinger. “Your place or mine, sweetheart?”

“Cameron,” you warn, ducking out of his reach with a frown.

“Sorry.” He nods faux-apologetically. “You prefer honey, yeah?”

“If you call me anything other than my name, I’ll murder you in your sleep.”

“In my sleep?” He asks, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “So you’ll be on my bed, huh? Knew it. Knew you had a secret thing for me.”

“School library, Cameron,” you say grimly, beginning to walk away. “4pm on Wednesday. Don’t be late.”

Rafe nods again, sending you a mock salute. “Oh don’t worry,” he calls after you. “I never keep a lady waiting.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron fanfiction

[kkodzvken]

suit up - hawks x f. reader

the one where keigo marries the girl of his dreams, and then takes her home and shows her just how loved she is. title cred/inspo: suit up by jonghyun

notes/warnings: smut and fluff (your teeth may rot and fall out, you’ve been warned), soft dom!keigo, praise kink, slight size kink, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex + creampie. reader and kei use the traffic light safe word system and they review it beforehand, and he checks in with her at one point but she’s green, so everything is 100% consensual. they flirt + kei says explicit things at the reception but nothing /actually/ happens in public. mentions of alcohol

wc: 5.3k

a/n: this idea’s been bouncing around my head for a while bc i wanna marry this dumbass so bad :’) my first full hawks fic!! im so happy hehe

Beautiful.  

You’re so beautiful.

Keigo’s always known, of course. He’s found you beautiful since the very first moment that he laid his eyes on you, all those years ago. He tells you that you’re beautiful every single day, no matter how much you roll your eyes or jokingly tell him to shut up.

You’re beautiful all the time, but there are certain moments that leave him especially breathless. The day that you foolishly challenged Rumi to an arm-wrestling match. The determined look in your eye as you clenched your fist, sweat dripping down your brow and arm muscles straining (you lost, of course – the rabbit hero was ridiculously jacked). The brilliant smile that graces your face whenever he brings you flowers or little souvenirs from his work trips. The very first morning after you moved into his penthouse, when he woke up next to your peaceful sleeping form, and realized that he’d have mornings like this for the rest of his life.

The day that he flew you up to the mountains for a starlit picnic. The smile on your face as you polished off your meal, and the way that your hand flew up to your mouth when he got down on one knee. Your teary-eyed look of pure love as he slipped the ring onto your finger, the diamond gleaming like one of the stars that shone down on you. The way that your eyes rolled back and your legs wrapped around his waist when he took you home and fucked you for hours.

And right now. Keigo swore that his heart damn near burst at the sight of you. The organist was playing, but he couldn’t hear the notes, couldn’t hear anything besides the blood rushing in his ears. Your hands clasped an elegant flower bouquet, and Keigo was sure that the blossoms were pretty, but he couldn’t spare even a second to glance at them. No, his entire focus was trained on you. You, with your beautiful dress that perfectly accentuated the body that he loved so much. When your eyes raised to meet his, and that perfect smile worked its way across your face… he had to bite his inner cheek to try and hold the tears back.

In a simultaneous eternity and heartbeat, you were handing off your bouquet to a bridesmaid and clasping Keigo’s large hands with your much smaller ones. The officiant was speaking, but Keigo didn’t process any of it. The sight of your eyes shining up at him, more beautiful than any of the stars in the night sky, was the only thing anchoring him to the world. He felt like he was floating through a dreamscape with only you, the happiness in his chest powerful and all-encompassing.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You’re talking to a group of your old friends from high school when a tap against your shoulder grabs your attention, and you turn to see your fiancé – no, your husband – smirking down at you. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. “Excuse me, ladies,” he says to your friends. “Mind if I steal her for a moment?” His amber eyes glint mischievously, and you swear that a whole swarm of butterflies take flight in your stomach.

Your friends giggle and nod, and then Keigo’s spinning you around so that you’re face-to-face. He’s stunning, in his black suit and red dress shirt, the shade of crimson matching his wings perfectly. “Dance with me, dove,” he says, before leaning down to press a quick kiss against your lips. You nod, and he leads you towards the center of the venue, where most of your guests are dancing to some cheesy pop song. Keigo nods at the DJ, who nods back and switches to the music. Soft synth notes travel through the speakers, before the singer’s dreamy voice floods your ears.

Your hands find their way to his broad shoulders. His wings move to wrap around you protectively. You’re not sure if he even realizes that he does it – it’s such a normal thing, now, for him to shield you, to create a little cocoon for the two of you. You frown as you feel his muscles moving underneath your fingers. “You’re too tense,” you say, fingers gently kneading at the parts of his back that you can reach. “Let me give you a massage once we get home.”

He chuckles, one of his own hands coming up to capture yours. He laces your fingers together before bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss against your skin. The look he gives you is so tender, the love radiating off his body so palpable, that it makes your knees feel week. “Sweet, but I’m the one who’s going to be taking care of you tonight.” You open your mouth to protest, but he tuts, and a feather flies up to shush at your lips. “No, listen. You’re driving me crazy. Every time I turn my head, I see you looking so damn beautiful that my heart stops. Makes me wanna just pull you away and rip that pretty dress off.”

You gasp at his words, a pretty blush dusting your cheeks. “Kei! People are gonna hear you!”

He shrugs, pulling you even closer and swaying your bodies lightly to the music. “Let them,” he says nonchalantly, but the glint in his eye is pure sin. He leans down so that his lips brush against the shell of your ear. You can’t help the shudder that wracks through your body as his warm breath hits your skin. “You’re so cute when you’re blushing like that. Did I make you flustered, baby?” His fingers release yours, instead gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his eyes. “Answer me, love.”

You nod, feeling small. Only Keigo can affect you like this, can reduce you to a trembling mess with just a few words.

You love it.

He smirks at your confession, pressing a kiss against your cheek before leaning his forehead against yours. “What do you say we jump ship, babe?” Your confusion must show on your face, because he continues. “I think I might die if I have to wait much longer to get my hands on you. And judging by the way you’re acting… I’d bet good money that you’re already dripping for me.”

“Kei!” You swat at his chest before burying your face in it. He laughs, one of his real, genuine laughs that makes your heart soar, before kissing the crown of your head.

“I don’t see you denying it.”

“Shut up.”

“Aw, is my cute little wife flustered?”

Wife. The word sounds so pretty rolling off his lips that you can’t resist retreating from the safety of his chest to press your lips against his. He cups your face with one of his large, rough hands and kisses you back. His wings shift to cover you up before the hand on your waist moves down to pinch at your ass – or, at least, it tries. The layers of your dress obstruct him, and he growls in frustration.

You can’t help but whine as well. You want him all the time, of course. Years of being together haven’t changed how fucking badly you want him all the time. You’d used up all your willpower behaving for the ceremony and the reception so far. You’d been good, had kept your hands to yourself throughout dinner and the toasts. But now, the mix of his body against yours, the dirty words that he’d whispered into your ear, and the cocktails running through your bloodstream were making it very hard for you to ignore the pooling heat between your legs.

You wanted him. You wanted your husband.

“Please,” you whisper. Under normal circumstances, you’d hate how whiny and pathetic you sound, but you’re too far gone to care. “Please, let’s go, Kei. Need you.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A few whispered words to Rumi, and a knowing smirk from her, and you were gone. It was surprisingly easy to slip out the venue. You’d expected to be stopped by some nosy family member, but it seemed that everyone was too tipsy and having too much fun to care. Nevertheless, you had to be careful once you stepped out into the fresh night air. The number two hero’s wedding was perfect paparazzi bait. You didn’t even want to think about the feeding frenzy that the media would go into if they caught sight of you now.

The night sky was like a shield, though, and it protected you from prying eyes. You’d been discreet when picking the wedding and reception venues, and even more discreet in choosing your honeymoon destination. Tomorrow morning, you and Keigo would fly up to the mountains, where he’d rented a little cabin for the two of you. By some miracle, he’d managed to get a whole week off work – a whole week where you’d have him, entirely to yourself.

But right now, you aren’t thinking about tomorrow morning, or the lovely, peaceful honeymoon that you were about to embark on. Right now, the only thing you can think about is Keigo. Keigo, with his beautifully messy hair that moved like ocean waves as you soared through the air. There’s nothing in this world that you love more than flying with him, pressed against his sturdy body with his strong arms wrapped around you. Light pollution makes it hard to see the sky from the ground, but up here, the moon and stars are breathtaking.

Almost as breathtaking as your husband, who’s eyes are prettier than any stars could ever hope to be.

He looks down and catches you staring, taking him in with your wide, wondrous eyes. You can barely hear anything through the noise-cancelling headphones that he makes you wear whenever you fly, but his words reach you, clear as day – “I love you.”

“And I love you.” Your voice comes out small, stolen away by the rushing wind. You try again, louder this time. “I love you!”

He chuckles, chest shaking as he tries to keep his laughs contained. “You trying to one-up me? I can be loud too.” He takes a deep breath, before tipping his head back and shouting an I love you up into the heavens.

His lips are soft and sweet as candy when they dip down to meet yours. “I’m just so happy,” he whispers against you. “You make me so happy.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The moment that you set foot into the penthouse, you gasp.

“Oh, Kei,” you breathe, hand flying over your mouth.

He bounces nervously as he locks up the balcony door, not meeting your eye. “Do…do you not like it?”

You march up to him and grab his face in your hands, before standing up onto your tip-toes and planting a kiss on his forehead. “I love it, baby. Really, you’ve outdone yourself.”

He perks up at the praise, kissing your lips once before his hands move down and he picks you up, clean off the ground. You can’t hold your shrieking laugh back as he spins you around, a smile lighting up his face like a god damn Christmas tree.

The house is beautiful. Really, he did outdo himself. Back when you’d first started dating, he’d had to call off your six-month-anniversary date because of a mission. You’d assured him that it was fine, that you understood, but you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t upset. He promised that he would be back in a week at the latest. You’d spent the night with your friends, eating ice cream and watching shitty movies, and left for work the next morning. You weren’t expecting him back for a few days at least, but when you opened your door after an exhausting day at work, he was there, waiting for you. Scratches on his face and bandages on his arms, but he was there. And he’d decorated your apartment with flowers and fairy lights, centered around a haphazardly made blanket fort in the center of the living room. Little candles were placed across the room, each with a red feather standing guard, making sure that the flames didn’t accidentally get knocked over and grow. After you’d gotten over your initial shock – how the hell did you get in here, Kei – you ran into his arms and squeezed him, tight. He didn’t let go of you for the entire night – his body always pressed against yours, fingers constantly entwined, even as he made you cum so many times that you forgot your own name.

It was one of your fondest memories, one that always brought a smile to your face. You’d mentioned it offhandedly last week, while you were in the weeds with wedding planning. Honestly, you didn’t think that he’d even heard what you said, with how stressed and busy the two of you were. He was picking up extra patrols to make up for his honeymoon vacation time, and you were working your ass off to get your overbearing boss off your back.

But he had heard. He heard, and he listened, because that’s just the kind of lover – the kind of husband – that Keigo is. Attentive, sweet, and intuitive. You swear, he spoils you beyond belief. You don’t even know when he got the time to decorate the apartment today, but it’s beautiful. Even more beautiful than the decorations from your six-month-anniversary, because this time, the sight is sweetened by the knowledge that this is your shared home. This isn’t just your apartment, that your friends helped sneak him into so he could fancy it up. This is your shared space, where you’ll spend the rest of your lives together. Where you’ll wake up in his arms every morning, his wings wrapped around you protectively, fragmenting the morning light into shards of red. Where you’ll make meals together and laugh at his bad cooking, where you’ll take sanctuary from the harshness of the world. This place is your home. Keigo is your home.

He finally stops spinning, but refuses to set you down. Instead, he readjusts you so that he’s carrying you bridal style. You almost laugh at how cliché it is. It feels like something out of a cheesy rom-com, but you’re so happy that you feel like you’re in one of those rom-coms.

You do laugh out loud when you see the trail of petals leading to your bedroom. Keigo feigns disappointment, dramatically sighing. “Don’t laugh, princess, you wound me.” That just makes you laugh even more, and soon, he’s joining in, burying his face in your hair as he walks the two of you towards the bed. “C’mon, I’m trying to be romantic! Quit making me laugh!”

“I can’t help it,” you giggle as he gently places you onto the bed. Thankfully, he had the common sense to not put any petals on the actual bed, but the floor is absolutely covered. Blossoms line the walls as well, along with candles that bathe the room in their gentle glow. You take a second to admire how beautiful your husband looks in the soft light. The shadows make his wings seem that much bigger as they unfurl to their full size. He looms over you, looking like the most delicious mix of devil and angel that you’ve ever seen. There’s still a playful smile on his face, but something mischievous simmers beneath it.

“Hope you didn’t forget what you said at the reception hall, baby,” he says, eyes glinting. “What was it? Hmm, something like, need you, Kei, need you to take me home and fuck me, I’m already so wet for you.”

You groan and try to bury your face in your hands, but he’s too fast. He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head, easily wrapping them with just one of his large hands. “You’re making shit up,” you pout. “I only said the first part.”

“So you admit you said it? That you need me?”

“Shut up.”

“Mm, no thanks.”

You groan again, trying to suppress your smile. There are plenty of times that you and Keigo have had “serious” sex, but you mostly find yourself like this, devolving into giggles and teasing. There’s something about him that makes you feel so safe and at ease, and you can’t help yourself from giggling at his stupid remarks. He laughs, and releases your wrists to cradle your face with both his hands. He shifts so that he’s properly on top of you, his thighs on either side of your hips, and bends down to press kisses all over your face.

“My wife,” he breathes, in between kisses. “My sweet, beautiful, amazing wife. This dress is so pretty, but let’s take it off, my love. You don’t need it anymore.”

It takes a few minutes of awkward wriggling and tugging to finally remove the lace monstrosity, but at long last, the dress ends up on the floor. Keigo’s hands are on your body in an instant, fingers trailing over the curve of your waist and snapping the waistband of your panties. “God, you’ve got such pretty little lingerie on.”

“Wanted to dress up for you,” you say, pawing at his tie and trying to loosen the knot. It makes you feel small, to be so exposed while he’s still fully dressed. Normally you love to savor in that feeling, but right now, you need to feel his bare skin against yours. “Now take your clothes off, please.”

You finally manage to loosen his tie enough to pull it over his head. After stopping for another deep kiss, your hands continue their path over his body. His suit jacket comes off next, although he has to help you gently maneuver it off his wings. His cuff links clatter to the ground as you almost viciously rip off his dress shirt, and you moan when you finally feel his warm muscles.

You’re practically grinding into each other by now. Little whines leave your lips as you shamelessly roll your hips, seeking any friction you can get. You can feel his hardness, even through his thick pants, and you chase it with vigor. He’s not much better, a light blush dusting his face as he meets your rolls with shallow thrusts of his own. “Off, off, Kei, need to feel you,” you babble, fingers desperately trying to undo this belt buckle. Breathlessly, he pushes your fingers aside and pulls his belt off, unceremoniously throwing it across the room. You half expect it to collide with a candle and set the entire building on fire, but a few feathers fly out to catch it and gently set it down.

You don’t waste a second in pulling his pants down and throwing them as well, trusting that a feather will keep it from crashing into anything. Your fingers try to pull down the waistband of his boxers, but he tuts and grabs your hand.

You look up at him with pleading eyes. “Please,” you whine.

The smile on his face is gentle beyond belief as he answers. “I told you that I was going to take care of you tonight, baby. Let me make you feel good, okay? Can I make you feel good?”

You want to protest, want to beg him to stuff your face or your cunt and fuck into you until you’re lightheaded, but Keigo’s insistent about making you cum at least twice before even thinking about his own pleasure. And you can’t deny that you’re aching for him. You’re certain that you’ve soaked through your flimsy panties by now, and your mind is hazy with want.

You nod. Keigo takes your face in his hand, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Can you give me your colors too?”

You force your mind to push through the fog, force your heavy lips to move and form words. “G-green for good, yellow for slow down, red for stop.”

“Good girl.” The praise goes straight to your core, and you whine. “Oh, baby, I know I just vowed to give you everything you could ever want, but you’re so damn needy. Be patient for me, okay? Let me touch you.”

You nod obediently, but you can’t fight the urge roll your hips and feel him again. With a soft, scolding noise, he presses one of his hands into your hipbone, effectively pinning you to the mattress. Try as you might, you can’t squirm away. He’s so ridiculously strong, his muscles toned from years of training and hero work, that you’re no match for him. But it’s not so bad. You love the dominance that oozes off his body as he moves down, his hands and tongue exploring every inch of skin that they can find. His teeth nip at the sensitive spot on your neck, the spot that always makes you melt for him. You shamelessly sigh and tilt your head to give him more access.

His right hand, the one that isn’t currently pinning you to the mattress, plays with the lacy edges of your bra. He palms you through the thin fabric, making you groan and arch your back into his touch. It’s not enough, you need more, need to feel more of him before you lose your mind. He seems to read your mind, because he doesn’t even bother to unclasp the bra, electing instead to rip it clean off your body. The snap of the straps breaking makes you gasp, but you revel in the sting of the elastic bouncing back against your skin.

“Couldn’t wait,” he says, not a hint of shame on his face. “You know how much I love to tease, but fuck, I need you now.”

He’s a bit more ceremonious when he removes your panties, choosing to use a hardened feather to slice through the fabric instead of just ripping with brute force. He fucking moans at the sight of you, wet and needy for him. It sounds like absolute heaven, but you don’t have even a second to revel in it before he’s diving into you. The sudden rush of pleasure is electrifying, and you go to instinctively slam your legs shut, but Keigo’s hand is too fast again. His tongue doesn’t falter for even a second as his fingers dig into your thighs and push you open. His lips wrap around your clit and suck, and he’s outrageously loud as he moans into your sex. It’s all so much – he’s licking at you like a man on death row, coaxing little whines and gasps from your lips.

His beautiful eyes are trained on yours, pupils blow out with love and lust. He memorizes every little expression that flits across your beautiful face as he eases a finger into you, eyes only leaving your face to admire the way that your little cunt sucks him in. But he can’t tear his gaze away from you, and the way your mouth falls open, or the way that your eyes flutter and roll back. The way that your hands ball up into fists, alternating between grabbing the bedsheets and lacing through his hair. Fuck, he loves how you pull at his hair when his fingers curl up against that spongy spot inside of you that makes you see stars. Loves the little curses and gasps of his name that spill past your lips as he scissors and thrusts his digits deeper and deeper into your perfect pussy.

“Cum for me, princess,” he groans. “Please, cum for me, need you to be a good girl and cum for me.”

And, well, you did just vow to give him everything that he could ever want.

You throw your head back and almost sob as you gush all over his face and fingers. He’s insatiable, licking and fingering you all through it, desperately trying to lap up every single drop of your juices. Your body is shaking, and you whimper, the overstimulation building until it’s too much, until you’re crying out too much, Kei, ‘s too much!

“Give me your color, baby,” he says, slowing his assault against your body.

“G-green,” you stutter out, the words as shaky as your legs. “Green, don’t stop, it’s just – ah! Kei!”

Your verbal confirmation was all he needed to dive back in, sucking at you with even more vigor than before. His fingers twist and curl against your spot, and his tongue lashes at your clit. He doesn’t stop for even a second, burying himself in your heat. It’s all you can do to maintain your grip on his hair, tugging at it just the way that he loves. You’re thrust headfirst into your second orgasm of the night, crying out his name and positively sobbing at the onslaught of sensations.

When he finally pulls away, the lower part of his face is soaked with your cum. He makes a show of licking his lips clean, not breaking eye contact with you, no matter how much you blush and squirm. He saves his fingers for you, though. A gentle tap at your lips is all it takes for you to obediently open your mouth and take in his digits. You swirl your tongue around, eyes lidded with the afterglow of your pleasure.

But you’re not finished, are nowhere near finished. You suppose that you are being needy, but how could you not, when your husband looks like an absolute fucking god? The candlelight makes your cum on his face glisten beautifully. You whine and pull him in for a kiss, mashing your lips against his and greedily swiping your tongues together. It’s sinful. You can taste yourself on him, and it makes you shudder, makes you need him that much more.

“Please, please fuck me,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his slim waist and trying to pull him closer, closer, closer. “Please, Kei, need you inside me, need my husband inside me.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, so quietly that you would’ve missed it if you didn’t feel the word formed against your lips. “Fuck, baby, okay.” His hand slides between your bodies and quickly pushes his boxers down. He uses a feather to pull them all the way off, because he can’t be bothered to focus on that, not when you’re practically drooling at the sight of his cock.

Your fingers twitch, and you aren’t able to hold back any longer. Your hand finds his cock, marveling at how heavy and perfect he feels as you wrap your fingers around him and guide him towards your sopping cunt. You pause before you slide him in, though, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Can I ride you? Please?”

He curses again under his breath, practically shivering at your words. His strong hands reposition the both of you, until you’re sitting on his thigh and he’s leaning back against the headboard. He cocks an eyebrow and smirks. “Well, then? Get to work, princess.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh at his antics. “What happened to Mr. Let-Me-Take-Care-Of-You?”

“He’ll come out later. If my pretty wife wants to ride me, she gets to ride me.”

You laugh for real this time, but it quickly turns into a moan as you sink yourself down on his length. No matter how many times you take him, he always overwhelms your senses, always stretches you so deliciously. You lean your forehead against his and give yourself a second to adjust, and then you’re rolling your hips, little whines leaving your lips.

“Feels so good, Kei.” You throw your head back, your fingers digging into the strong muscles of his back to anchor yourself. “You always feel so good.”

His eyes are half-lidded and dark as he takes you in. He’s memorizing every inch of your body, every detail and movement that he absolutely fucking adores. “You’re the most beautiful thing in the world,” he whispers, seemingly more to himself than you. “So beautiful. I’m so lucky.”

Your thighs burn, but you force yourself to ignore the pain. You’d rather die than stop right now. His strong arms encircle your waist, and his wings surround your bodies, ruffling with every one of your movements.

You want to ignore your exhaustion, but your husband is perceptive as ever. His hips raise up to meet you, and it sends a fresh wave of pleasure through your body. You’re shaky, though, and you’re getting sloppy.

Before you can even process what’s happening, you’re being spun over and pinned to the mattress. A gasp leaves your lips, and you whine as his cock slips out of you. Your hand reaches out and paws around wildly, searching for him through your haze. Keigo’s quick to kiss you and shush your protests, entwining his rough fingers in your searching hand and stroking his thumb against your palm.

“Relax, angel. Let me take care of it.”

He slides into you again, making you both moan. Your pussy sucks him in greedily, clenching and fluttering around him. He pauses once he bottoms out. His face buries into the crook of your neck, and he presses sweet kisses all over your skin.

You wrap your legs around his waist and squeeze, trying desperately to make him move. “Keigo, baby, please,” you whine, fingers digging into the strong muscles of his back.

He coos, cupping your face and kissing you before he readjusts himself. “Of course, pretty girl.”

His thrusts are deep and hard, so hard that they make the entire bed shake. Your eyes flutter shut, but he grips your jaw and begs you to keep them open – please, baby, look at me, need to see my pretty wife fall apart.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he moans, teeth nipping at your lips. “So perfect, and all mine.”

“All yours,” you agree. You’re practically babbling by this point, unable to stop the noises slipping past your lips. You’re floating on a cloud, soaring through the sky, anchored only by his body against yours. “You’re so deep in me, Kei, can feel you so deep in me. Please, ‘m so close, just a lil’ bit more, Kei.”

He coos again, hand slipping down to toy with your clit. You wail, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as the coil in your stomach snaps and you gush uncontrollably. You can’t do anything but cry out for him, can’t do anything but cling onto him and shake and twitch. The feeling of you clenching around him is too much, and with a broken fuck and a cry of your name, he spills inside of you. He fucks you through it, the obscene sounds of your combined release making you feel lightheaded and weak.

He holds you for a few minutes, just like that, bodies entwined. You both pant and try to catch your breath. The weight of his body on top of yours is comforting, so you protest when he finally pulls out and sits back to admire the way that his seed drips out of you.

“Come back,” you complain. “What kind of husband doesn’t give cuddles to his wife?”

“The kind of husband who needs to clean her up,” he says with a chuckle. “C’mon, let’s go take a bath.

Your body feels boneless with exhaustion and the hazy afterglow of your three orgasms, so you’re grateful when he scoops you into his arms. You tuck your face into his neck and hum contentedly, unable to stop the giddy smile that blooms across your face.

“I love you, Kei,” you say, planting little kisses over his neck and jaw.

“I love you too, princess,” he says, grinning and poking your nose. He laughs when you scrunch it up and scowl at him. But, with how cute he looks, you just can’t hold the scowl for long. Soon, you’re giggling too.

You look up at him with so much love that it makes his heart ache. His eyes grow a bit more serious, and he dips his head to kiss at your swollen lips. “I mean it, baby. I’m so happy to spend the rest of my life with you.”

#hawks x reader #hawks x reader smut #hawks smut #bnha smut #mha smut #keigo takami smut #takami keigo smut #hawks x you #keigo takami x you #takami keigo x you #my hero academia smut #hawks x reader fluff #mha fic #bnha fic #hawks x y/n #takami keigo x reader smut #takami keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader smut #keigo takami x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader smut #bnha x reader smut #soft dom hawks #swear my brain produces only dc for dabi and only soft shit for kei lmao #tw: mentions of alcohol

[wwilloww]

sh. | ot7 | chapter five

PAIRING ot7 x reader

RATING Explicit.

GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers.

SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

WC 8k

WARNINGS AND TAGS protected sex. friends with benefits relationship. dirty talk. power play dynamics. angst. semi-public nudity. mentions of open relationship. sexting. reckoning with feelings. talk of alcohol use. 

AN: One million bazillion thanks to the best beta and geologist out there, @hesperantha. Everyday I think to myself, how the fuck would this series exist without this magical lady? And every day I am thankful for her beautiful existence. 

Also, if you haven’t seen /the trailer, you might wanna check it out. Just because I had a lot of fun making it and it was super fun to visualize the characters and their tiny little world. 

Going forward, you can read with they/them pronouns by navigating to the series m.list and reading from there. 

That said, LETS JUMP IN!

← || series m.list || →

©️ wwilloww do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.  

chapter five

January 2020

What is left when you’re not sure where to turn?

You know there’s Yoongi. Dependable, familiar, predictable Yoongi. Predictable in the sense that you know, unabashedly, that no matter what, you can always count on him to draw a short term — but important — curtain over whatever notion, anxiety, or complication that happens to be singing in your mind that day. Erase it, temporarily, with those long fingers, gliding over your skin in expert patterns, drawing you and your pleasure exactly where he wants it to be.

And predictable in the sense that you know you will be perfectly and endlessly satisfied at the end of the night, no matter what.

See, Yoongi doesn’t mess around. He doesn’t tease you. Doesn’t draw you out and dangle you over your own pleasure. He gives it to you. Over and over and over and over again. Extends his palm and pulls as many orgasms from you as you can physically muster and then lets you collapse in his arms. Dependable, see? Dependable, always.

Once you’re settled in his lap, Yoongi lets you grind on him for a bit as he undresses you expertly, long fingers slipping under the fabric of your clothes before tugging them off gracefully and tossing them across the room. This, this he did love to do. Loved to scatter your clothes around and then watch you from the bed as you tried to piece some semblance of an outfit back together after he fucked you senseless.

“Don’t throw my bra behind the furniture again,” you murmur as you kiss down his neck. “I know you thought it was a great tactic to get me to rearrange your room the last time — but I’m not moving a hundred pound dresser to get my very expensive bra back again.”

He chuckles. Murmurs, “As you wish.” And then throws your bra someplace you can’t see.

Now that you’re topless, he lets his long fingers skate up the skin of your back, tracing the flesh of your hips and with such delicacy it almost tickles. That is, delicate until his hand weaves itself up your neck. His grip tightens at the root of your hair, tugging your head back in a swift motion and exposing your neck to him.

“How do you want me to fuck you tonight?” His voice is deep and it raises goosebumps on your skin. He lets his teeth trace a line up the sensitive skin of your neck until he reaches your ear and bites down hard.

“Fuck,” you breathe as a shiver runs through your body. Yoongi always took particular care to curate a library of knowledge about your ticks, turn ons, and vices. And then he played them out for you in an expertly coordinated hand.

“Yes, that’s in the cards. But tell me specifically how you want it.”

Behind him, the large bedroom is equipped with enough musical equipment to run a fully functioning studio. Instruments hang on the walls and a large black bed rests in the center of the room. The dark tones of the wood and sheets make the otherwise sparse room feel warm and dark. Compared to the shabby little apartment that you share with Namjoon, this is luxury. Your gaze rests on the large wall of glass that looks out over the city.

“The window,” you say.

He grins.

The glass is cold against your bare skin when he presses you to it. The difference in temperature between the fired heat of your skin and the iced window slices right through you, makes you gasp as his hands run over your body, taking you in as you are: bare and ready for him.

You watch as he strips off his clothes, gracefully and swiftly. First the shirt, then his pants. It’s no surprise to you that he’s not wearing any undergarments at all. Delight lights in his eye when he notices how greedily you watch him.

“Do you want me to—” He begins to lean down, but you stop him and pull him up.

“Just fuck me.”

He turns you around in one movement, your hands flying up to stop the impact, your chest — and your nipples — pressing to the glass. The sensation overwhelms you as he slides two fingers between your folds, collecting the slickness that has gathered there.

“You’re already so wet for me.”

A smile spreads across your face as you hear the condom packet rip and he slots his cock against your cunt, coating himself in your arousal.

“Don’t tease me,” you say, a hint of a whine slipping into your voice.

“Don’t worry. I have no patience for that tonight.” And he pushes in. “How’s that?” he says, the lilting tease in his tone cutting sharp against your ear as his dick sinks into you, inch by delightful inch.  

It feels like you have to catch your breath to speak. “Is it always this good?”

“Baby, if it isn’t, you should ask for a refund.” He punctuates the last word of his sentence with a harsh thrust that rams your chest up against the glass.

“Fuck—” you hiss.

Memory whitens like it’s been covered in a blanket of snow as he begins a punishing pace, hips rutting up into you before drawing almost all the way back, tip barely inside of you before thrusting back into you, all the way to the hilt. Sensation overtakes thought. The slicing coldness of the glass against your nipples paints a stark contrast to the softness of lips pressed to yours, softness of a hand cupping your cheek—

You should be thinking of anything but that.

And it’s easy to do, in this moment. To focus on Yoongi, his commanding presence, the way he plays your body like one of the carefully polished instruments that hangs on his wall.

You cry out when he hits a particularly soft spot within you, and he pauses his movements, drinking in the sound of you.

“God, you sound so fucking good.”

He pulls out of you, turns you around, and pushes your back against the glass.

“Hop up,” he says, and you frown in confusion before realizing what he’s referring to. You wrap your arms around his neck and with a jump, wrap your legs around his waist.

“Fuck—” With a grunt of effort, he holds you up while slotting himself against your folds and pushing inside again.

The most you can do in this position is tilt your pelvis and grind down on him — while holding onto dear life — and you do, rotating it against his waist, drawing the most delicious sounds from his lips. Your hips begin to move in tandem, each pushing closer to the pleasure that you both so desperately desire.

This is better. This is worse.

See, the two of you have fallen into patterns in your hookups. Rules, even, although no one but you thought of them as such. But the habit — and therefore the lines — were clear to you:

You didn’t kiss. You didn’t confess your love. Hookups only, and breakfast together the morning after. Usually he takes you from behind, because, as he once commented to you, “the ass cheeks are the eyes of the heart.” Which to you, made no sense at all, but you still obliged him. Plus, at the end of the day it was all a little more impersonal that way, anyways. Easier to separate from the rest of your relationship.

But looking into his face, pressed so close — there’s something there. A warmth. An understanding. Too much.  

Your head falls to his shoulder and his grip tightens on your thighs as he fucks up into you. Several heavy breaths before you bite gently at the sensitive skin of his neck and he hisses.

“You’re too sensitive,” you chide, although the teasing lilt of your tone is broken up by him fucking into your body — and you both know you love the way he lets you know he likes things done.

“And you’re too shy,” he cuts back. “Why don’t you look at me when I fuck you?” It’s posed as a question but you know it’s a command.

Slowly, you draw your head back and look at him. His eyes are deep and dark, his hair tousled and face lined with pleasure.

“That’s a good little pet,” he whispers. It falls too softly.

It makes you want to kiss him. All you want to do is —

You press your lips to his. Just a peck — the smallest, lightest of pecks.

But the plush of his lips, the way they part so slightly when your lips meet... it leaves you wanting more. So you kiss him again, pressing yourself to him, chasing the feeling of his softness.

He responds, opening his mouth to yours, his tongue darting out to meet yours. His pace doesn’t falter as he continues to fuck up into you. His lips move against yours, fierce, needy, demanding. And it’s then that your stomach drops. It’s as if the winter chill that lays just beyond the door at your back slices through your veins.

You pull back.

“No,” he says, and pulls you back to him. “Stop running.” He brings your face close enough to yours but doesn’t kiss you, just waits.

And you meet him in the middle, kissing him again, afraid of losing the warmth you sparked between you. He groans against you as your hips swivel around his cock, and bites down on your lip.

“Fuck,” you hiss.

With one arm wrapped around his shoulders, you let your other hand press against the nape of his neck, nails digging in just the way you know he likes it. You both have always been in rhythm, in tune with one another, but now with him kissing you — something new sparks between you. Something new, something terrifyingly warm.

When you pull back he smiles.

“Shit,” you whisper, your eyes widening. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Yoongi says, an edge in his voice, his hips still circling against yours as he presses your back to the window. “You have nothing to apologize for.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Shh... stop. It’s okay. It was good.” He punctuates his meaning with a thrust, a small groan slipping from his throat. You want to swallow the sound of his pleasure whole, but still. You let the guilt in your chest rise to your throat.

“No, no, it’s not,” you say, though the coil that’s winding tighter and tighter in your belly makes it difficult to speak. You take a shuddering breath in as he hits your g-spot, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Yes. It is,” he grunts, and you can tell he’s close too. “You fuck better when you kiss. You feel it. You get into it.” Your brow purses at his words. “Now be good for me, forget it, and cum on this cock.”

You nod.

“Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I’ll forget it, be good for you, and cum on your cock.”

“Good,” he smiles.

Each thrust brings you a step closer. He kisses you, again waiting for you to meet his lips, and together you move like dancing partners closer and closer to the edge.

You cum, clenching around his cock and crying his name into his mouth.

The two of you breathe heavily, foreheads resting together for a moment that stretches long enough for you to call it a distance.

“Fuck—” Yoongi says, pulling out of you and smiling gently as he lets you down. “I’ve never heard you come like that before.”

Heat rises to your cheeks.

“Hold on, let me get you a towel or something,” Yoongi says, pressing his thumb to your forehead and wiping away a bead of sweat. You watch as he shuffles about his room, looking for anything to give you. “One second, I think there’s clean ones in the dryer.”

He wanders out of the room wearing absolutely nothing at all.

When you turn back to the outside world, the glass is fogged and the world feels a million miles away. The tension that rises up in your chest feels like a wrought iron ball and you need out, out, now.

There’s a fuzzy blanket on the dresser next to you and you snatch it, wrap yourself up tightly and push open the glass door to the tiny balcony. With a held breath, you step out. The cold concrete sends a chill through your body as you step out. Blue washes through you, shocking the pleasure-numbed nerves in your body back to life.

When you suck in a deep breath of snow-cold air, it feels as if clarity settles into you. You take a second, but shuddering, breath as you realize with a lucid sharp pain the reality of your situation.

Yoongi didn’t erase tonight from your mind. Sex didn’t remove Hobi’s kiss from your lips. An orgasm didn’t ease the unnamable want in your chest. If anything, it all just burns a little brighter.

This thing with Yoongi — it’s not supposed to be a distraction for you, or a means to make you feel something else. It’s supposed to be its own thing, a compartmentalized friends with benefits situation that has always been clear and defined between the two of you. But as soon as you showed up on his door with an ulterior motive other than sex, it became something else. As soon as you kissed him, you made it something else.

Fuck.

Around you, fat flurries drift down from the dark sky. They melt as they land on your bare skin. There’s no escaping this thing inside you. But the intensity of the cold seems like it keeps you here, grounded, in Yoongi’s home and facing actuality. As if any form of warmth would leave you wandering into the sickly sweet honeytrap of the what if’s that already threaten on the edge of your mind.

“Come to bed,” Yoongi calls from inside. When you don’t, he comes out onto the tiny balcony and wraps himself around you from behind, his head notching on your shoulder. “Christ, you’re freezing.”

“It feels good,” you say, nuzzing your body back against his.

“I know I didn’t work you up that much that you need to stand in the snow to cool down. Come to bed.”

Still wrapped around you, he waddles you inside, earning a giggle from you as you tumble into bed and he slams the door closed with a bit of a shiver.

“Here,” he says softly, wrapping you in a blanket before settling beside you.

He’s close. Wildly close. His breath brushes softly against your face as you look at each other. You take in the flushed pink of his face, the way his hair is tousled into a gorgeous mess from the effort of your intimacy.

You could kiss him again, you think and a shock runs through your body at the thought. Christ, his cock’s been inside you a million times and yet you balk at the thought of kissing him, of pulling him right where you want him, where he fits so perfectly, where he feels so warm —

“What are you thinking?” Yoongi says softly.

“What are you thinking?” you cut back, just a little too quickly.

Yoongi chuckles. “I’m thinking that you keep yourself so tightly together.”

You smile tightly. “I don’t know what that means.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

You bite down on your lip.

“You’re thinking so loud I can almost hear it,” Yoongi says. “Just tell me. You know there’s nothing you could say that would upset me.” When you don’t say anything, he continues. “For god’s sake, I’ve seen your asshole. It doesn’t get much more personal than that.”

“Fine,” you say.

“Fine,” he grins.

“Maybe we should…” You trail off and bite the inside of your cheek.

Yoongi rolls onto his side, propping his head up with one hand.

“Maybe we should…?” He prompts. “Join a sex dungeon?”

You laugh, the thought of going to one with Yoongi is one that sends a thrill through you. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, but that’s not what I was going to say.”

“What were you going to say?”

You take a deep breath. “That maybe we should… stop. This.”

He doesn’t ask what you mean. He knows. “That, my dear, sounds like quite the antithesis to going to a sex dungeon with me.”

You laugh. “I can’t believe you’re making jokes when I am friends with benefits breaking up with you.”

“What? Were you expecting me to be angry?”

“I mean I expected a little bit of a fight. Or at least… I don’t know. Questions.”

“Do you want questions?”

You look at him.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Well. Why are you ending things.”

You flop onto your back. Look at the ceiling. The way the lights of the city reflect paley onto the white surface. They look like ghosts.

“I don’t really know.”

He pulls you to him, rolling you onto your side and tangling your hands together. “Okay.”

And then the two of you just lie there, staring at the ceiling in silence, the weight of your decision, of this ending, settling over you with a concrete taste. There’s something uncomfortable in this kind of silence. But it’s not him, it’s not an awkwardness, or the building of tension or resentment. None of that lies between you. It’s the fact that within the silence the answers rise up in you, and you find the words spilling from your mouth.

“I don’t want it to be complicated, Yoongi.”

He waits a moment before responding. “Is it complicated?”

“Well.” You sigh. “No. Not with us. Us is easy. I feel like I can tell you what I need or what I want and I trust you to be able to either give me that or set a boundary.”

Yoongi hums. “I feel the same. So then if it’s not us...?”

“I made a mistake tonight. Crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed.”

His brow furrows. “Not with me you didn’t. I don’t underst—”

“Not you. It’s me. It’s — it’s always me. I don’t want things to spin out of control. And I feel like they’re about to.”

Yoongi is silent for a long moment.

“I don’t want you to feel that way.” He pulls you closer to him, his grip tightening on your hip. “Really.” You stare down at your intertwined hands. “Look at me.” He waits until you do, summoning an inner strength you didn’t know you needed to look at your friend. “There’s a part of me that wonders how much of this is you punishing yourself for something that you don’t have any reason to be punishing yourself for.”

You can’t help the nervous laugh that shoots from your chest.

“What!? Are you laughing at me!?”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “Just… I don’t know what it is, but if anyone were to look right through me and see everything that’s going on, it’s you.”

He smiles softly.

“Do you want to stay tonight?”

Do you want your friend to wrap himself around you? Pull you in tight to his warm chest? Remind you of the summer that lies on the other side of this long, long winter?

“No,” you say slowly. “I think I need some space. To… process.”

He nods. “Well, as my newest friends with benefits ex, I agree, you should probably leave. You know. So it doesn’t get awkward.” He grins.

“Yeesh, you’re so quick to kick me out.”

“I know. I guess I just need some space. You know. To process, too. Grieve.”  He paints a fake frown on his face and does a dramatic rendition of a very gross sniffle.

You giggle.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Together you get out of bed, Yoongi — for once — rifling through his room in search of your clothes. With every piece of clothing you put on, you feel like you take another step backwards. Away from Yoongi, away from the vulnerability in you that feels like it tears open everytime he looks at you. His comfort. Each new piece of fabric is another wall resurrected. But when you go to hook your bra behind your back, he steps behind you, taking the straps from your hands and gently hooking the clips together.

“Here.”

When he’s done, his fingers linger on your skin just a moment too long.

“Thanks,” you say softly, turning back to him.

His eyes are still blown wide, his hair perfectly disastrous. There’s something so deadly soft about him. He looks just as he did when you marched into his bedroom earlier in the night. And yet, on the other side of this night, you feel like a totally different person. As if the stranger inside of you has finally stepped forward and introduced herself.

You turn away hastily, heading to the living room. He follows and pulls your jacket from the couch and helps you into it.

Shoes on, jacket on, you’re all ready to walk out the door. And still you linger. Yoongi glances at his watch.

“Well, I’d say six hours is a proper mourning period. Breakfast tomorrow?”

“How about brunch? I’m not getting up at 9am for eggs.”

“Oh and I’m the one who needs space huh?” He smiles softly. “11am. You’ll get up at 11am and I’ll buy you a breakup brunch.”

“Yeah,” you smile up at him. Even as you taste the edge of fear — of anxiety — on your tongue, there is still a kind of undeniable warmth that blossoms in your chest every single time you look at him.

You broaden your smile. Push it down.

There’s one last thing.

“And—”

But he already knows what you’re asking. He steps forward, taking your head between his hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead. The shock that runs through you is quick and cold.

“I know,” he says. “This’ll still be our little secret.”

When he steps back, there’s something soft in his gaze — too soft, you can’t help but think. Tenderness, surrounded by acceptance and strength. All the things that make Yoongi, well, Yoongi. And yet it feels like too much to handle. Too much to be looked at, to be seen, to be understood when you can barely wrap your mind around what’s going on.

“Sleep well, buttercup.”

Different taxi, different driver, different route.

“Home,” you tell the woman at the wheel when you give her your address, her over-bleached and curly hair forming a kind of halo around her in the seat.

“You got it,” she says smacking her gum and throwing you a wayward smile.

As the car pulls away from the curb and picks up speed, you feel a kind of numbness wash over you.

It was the right decision to end things with Yoongi, you remind yourself, even as you feel a kind of twinge in your chest. You haven’t lost a friend. In fact, you’ve probably preserved your friendship. Saved it from wandering into the brambly bushes of complication and ultimate destruction. Even if it means the loss of killer sex.

You phone dings, and you instinctively brush a hand over your body to make sure you left with all the clothes you arrived in.

When you look at your phone, it’s not who you imagine. It’s not what you imagine.

tae: I forgot how loud you are when you orgasm.

You choke, hand snapping up quickly to cover your mouth.

“You alright, hun?” the driver asks.

“Yeah, yeah, just fine,” you say, but your voice is strained. You immediately type out your response.

you: fuck. i’m so sorry. you: it won’t happen again.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, embarrassment and confusion tightening around your throat. How much more can you really take tonight? Hobi, then Yoongi — now this? You tap your foot as you wait for the response, which takes just a minute to pop up on your phone.

tae: oh… well that’s too bad. I actually didn’t mind it all that much.

Oh.

Oh.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re typing out your response — and turning down the brightness as if it will hide the loudness of your message from the world.

you: is that right?

tae: i said it didn’t i? ive always been a man of my word. brings me back to the old days, in a way.

you: oh?

tae: you know…

you: do i?

tae: you do.

you: it’s been a while. why don’t you remind me?

tae: you’re playing coy tonight. two very loud orgasms and you’re still not done playing?

you: i’d send that shrugging emoji but i can’t find it you: what can i say? I can be needy

tae: should i remind you tae: when we used to park behind the grocery store tae: there was never anyone around but you’d still get so shy and embarrassed tae: and try to cum without a sound tae: but i didn’t hear a single note of shame or restraint tonight tae: shamelessness looks good on you tae: **sounds good on you

you: you were always quite shameless yourself

tae: it gets me far in life

You blink down at your phone, not really sure what to say. Taehyung’s hearty banter is something you’re used to. Even after all these years, your quick back and forth was still twinged with the smallest teasing edge of sexual interest. But you had always kept it within strict boundaries, never returning to your previous relationship, never suggesting—  

tae: but my question is how far will it get me with you?

Your breath freezes in your throat. Never suggesting that you return to anything of the past.

tae: jk tae: unless…?

Taehyung’s sexually laced messages have your head spinning round and round on its pedestal. It’s not as if you had never thought about it, never considered it. But there was a line there, was there not? A line you shouldn’t cross, shouldn’t even think of crossing, no matter how you wanted to. With a deep breath, you respond.

you: i don’t know if we should be having this conversation right now?

tae: why? because you’re my ex? or because of Jin?

Before you can even manage to type out the long list of reasons why you shouldn’t be dipping your toes into the perilous waters of sexting your very happily taken ex, the screen is lighting up again.

tae: if it’s the latter, don’t worry. he’s here too. tae: he says to tell u you’re hot   tae: which is news to me tae: not that you’re not hot, but that he thinks that tae: and he says hes “sorry he missed the show earlier”

you: tbh that was NOT the response i was expecting to get.

tae: we’re very open about these things. he’s quite… encouraging actually

As if this is the opening, you walk through it.

you: in what way?

tae: he likes visibility in a specific way. he likes to watch. likes to be watched and… the attention, especially when its directed at me, especially when he knows that at the end of the day i’m crawling back into his bed

Your heart races in your chest.

tae: sorry, maybe that’s tmi.

you: don’t apologize. i don’t mind tmi

tae: then i won’t apologize.

you: good.

tae: good 😂 tae: you know, i liked it.

you: sorry, liked what?

tae: hearing it tae: hearing you cum

you: did you?

tae: more than i expected

you: more than you should?

tae: that’s not what i said

you: well, like i mentioned, it won’t happen again

tae: why not? You finally get me to admit i didn’t mind it and now you’re telling me i won’t get more? :(

You chew on your bottom lip before responding.

you: it’s complicated.

tae: an orgasm is never complicated.

you: …

tae: but you know what is complicated? tae: feelings. tae: you’re having feelings. tae: oh my god you’re in love with yoongi

you: i am nOT in love with yoongi you: surprisingly it has very little to do with yoongi

Even as you send the text, you know that’s not entirely true.

tae: okay, then what’s going on??? pls don’t play cryptic with me, it’s too late for that shit

you: i don’t even know what’s going on.

tae: oh. tae: so we’re talking big boy emotions

you: i don’t have *emotions*

tae: you’re a fucking liar

you: hey you: language

tae: alright then let me rephrase it tae: what are you so afraid of will happen if you let yourself feel?

Your heart catches in your throat. Oh.

“We’re here,” the taxi driver says, and your head snaps up from the light of your phone to see your apartment complex towering high and familiar above you.

“Oh!” You blink yourself from your reverie and hand the woman the cash for the ride. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks,” she says, twisting around to look at you as you skootch across the backseat. “Hey—” You pause, looking at her. The orange glow of the streetlights rings like a halo around her head. “You take care of yourself, alright?”

“Alright,” you smile and nod.

A haze settles around your body as you climb out of the taxi. The hard edge of soberness and the sharpness of the winter air mixes and shocks life back into you as his question rings around your head. What are you so afraid of will happen if you let yourself feel?

Your breath feels strained as you climb the echoing stairs to your home. The sound of the key fitting into the lock rings with a harsh click, but it brings you back into your body, to the little marks where Yoongi’s hands dug into you, to the confusion that rattles around your mind, and finally, and most devastatingly, the warmth that has sunk deep and inextricably into your heart.

The apartment is dark when you enter.

“Namjoon?” you call out.

No one answers. You don’t bother to flick on the lights as you feel your way blindly through the darkness, hand brushing against the soft fabric of your sofa, the bumpy texture of the wall, and finally the cold knob of your door. Instead of pushing the door open though, you lean against it, taking what feels like the first full breath of the night.

You look at the screen of your phone, Tae’s question, his voice, spiraling around your head. With a shaky breath you respond, fingers flying across the blue light of the screen.

you: something feels off. I don’t… i don’t want to mess anything up. I feel like the only way to keep things in order is to keep myself out of it all.

tae: can i call you?

you: yeah. Joon’s not home.

You finally press into your room. All that silver light from the city reflects off of the white flakes that flutter softly down from the sky. It spills onto your bed like a pool of molten silver, waiting, chilled and cold for you. You flop down onto it, your breath coming out in a long huff.

When your phone rings, there’s a second of hesitation before you hit the answer button.

“Hello?” your voice is shakier than you expected.

“One second.”

You hear the rustling sound of Tae getting out of bed and the door shutting.

“If I can hear you orgasming, Yoongi sure as hell can hear a phone call,” Tae whispers, a slight chuckle to his voice. “Unless you’re just always unreasonably loud.” You can imagine the sly smile that plays across his lips right now. Another door opened and shut and he sighs. “There. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I…”

You trail off. You don’t know what to say. Don’t know what there is to say.

He says your name softly into the phone, the syllables forming such a familiar shape on his tongue. “Are you okay?”

“I...I don’t think so. I don’t feel great.”

“You’re home? Safe?”

“Yeah. I’m home.” You look around your room. Art on the walls, your little desk the messiest place in the room, stacked high with papers and photos and plants.

“Good.” Taehyung takes a long breath. “So. Tell me what’s going on.”

You want to. But your voice freezes in your throat and you can feel the way your silence falls around him.

After breaking up at nineteen, you and Taehyung had always remained friends. The truth was that even though you loved each other, you were so caught up in the physicality of it all that the rest of your relationship — and your relationships outside of that — began to deteriorate. No more sex, you both had decided. And at the time, that meant no more romance. There weren’t lingering feelings of resentment, but you did know — because you both talked about it — that you were both plagued with the lingering question of what if. What if…. But the answer was simple. You both needed more than what the other could offer.

Best friend turned lover turned best friend. If the lingering sexual tension was the only consequence of that, you could handle that. And if you were honest with yourself, you enjoyed it, in a safe, flattering kind of way.

But the reality was that the consequence of your relationship wasn’t limited to just a couple of sex dreams here and there or comments about your former sex life thrown about as jokes. The truth was that there was a permafrost of cautiousness that sat like a layer of ice beneath all of your interactions; one that only thawed away after midnight or a second drink.

Right now, the clock on the wall reads: 3:12am.

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“No — I want to.” You shake your head. “I should… I should talk to someone about this.” You take a deep breath as the sharp images of tonight’s events spiral around your mind. When you speak, it comes out a whisper. “I kissed Hobi tonight.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“Or he kissed me. I don’t really — don’t really understand what happened, we were just standing there and had both had some drinks and suddenly it was happening and I should have kept everything within the normal boundaries, I shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have overstepped our friendship, but we kissed and I…” Your voice trails off.

“And you liked it,” Taehyung finishes for you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I did.”

“And it scared you.”

“Yeah.”

“And then you both ran away from it.”

“Yeah.”

“And your way of running away from it was to go fuck Yoongi again, huh.”

“Goddamnit, Tae,” you huff, annoyed by how right he is.

Taehyung chuckles. “Babe, I’ve known you way too long for me to not pick up on these kinds of things. These kinds of patterns.”

“Patterns?”

Taehyung sighs through the phone. “I love you, dude, but… yeah. Yeah. It’s a pattern.”

As you let his words sink into you, you realize. It is a pattern.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asks. “Do you really want to know what’s going on here?”

You laugh softly, even as fear nibbles at your heart. There’s a part of you that wants to turn into blindness. That wants to shield your heart from the reality of the situation. From the reality of yourself.

But there’s also something about facing into the truth — clear and cold like the night waiting just beyond your window. You want the shock of truth through your body, glaring and sharpened like ice. Because at the end of the day, you’ve had enough of this numbed ignorance.

“Yeah. Go for it.”  

“This might be out of the blue. And you might not want to hear it. I could be totally off—”

“Tae, it’s okay. I want to hear it.”

He takes a deep breath. “But maybe… just maybe, it’s time to think about the way you push people away.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you whisper, although the reality of what he’s saying is already dawning on you, even if it’s at a glacial pace.

“How you let people in just long enough, just far enough, to let them see something authentic of you. But you don’t really let them take any real stake in your life.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“And that’s okay!” He adds quickly. “At least, it has been okay. We do what we need to do to keep ourselves safe, but… I think you’re past that all now.” You take a shuddering breath and he pauses. “That place in your life where you need to keep the walls and the rules so strict for fear of falling. You’re not there anymore, babe. Maybe it’s time to start looking at the wall that you’ve built and considering letting yourself tear it apart.” And then, so softly you think his voice might be made of something as delicate as a flower petal: “You know, maybe it’s time to think about how you want to start letting love in again. Because you deserve it.”

It’s not until you brush your hand against your cheeks that you realize they’re wet. You look down at your fingertips, glistening with fallen tears, shining silver in the snowlight.

“Fuck, Tae.”

Taehyung lets loose a light, but pained, chuckle.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You sniffle. “Goddamn it.”

Silence settles between the two of you. Tears slip silently down your face as you hold the phone to your ear. You can hear him breathing softly on the other end, but Taehyung doesn’t say anything. It’s as if he knows you need a minute to process.

His words slide right under your skin. Directed straight at the thing that has felt so heavy in your chest all night now, it’s as if the whole thing has been broken open within you. Suddenly, you can see it all.

The past years, this game of cat and mouse with your own vulnerability. This façade of carefully curated openness and faux vulnerability. All of the things that you kept as reminders of your freeness, your unlocked heart — the hookups, the fast and furious romances that ended in nothing but silence, the friendships you kept so carefully defined — were actually all just markers of the opposite:

A deep and abiding fear that if you let someone love you, a fear that if you let them close enough to really, truly see you, they might see something they won’t like.

Better to keep things clearly organized. Clearly marked and known and understood. That way you’d know exactly when things were spinning out of control and when someone was just about to get too close.

“You know, there are so many ways to love,” Taehyung says. “It doesn’t just have to be in that one way of fucking and falling in love and then a big white marriage, tada! the end. And, uh, it’s okay to want love. It’s really, really okay, actually. In whatever weird way love shows up for you, even if it’s not the traditional way. It’s even more okay to let yourself have that love, even if you don’t know what it is — don’t know what to call it.”

When your breath comes out shaky and ridden with tears, you can hear a soft oh echo through the phone.

“Hey,” Taehyung says with all the love in the world laced so delicately through his voice. “It’s okay. It might not feel like that right now. But opening up again — if, you know, if that’s what you want — that’s something you can do. It can be done.”

“I-I do, Tae. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to keep fighting this.”

It’s as if you can hear his smile through the receiver.

“That makes me really happy to hear,” he says.

“Where do I even begin?” It comes out a whisper, your voice cracked from the tears that have begun to slow. You’re half afraid to even hear the answer. Half afraid to walk down the path riddled with your greatest fear.

“I think you begin by going to sleep. And in the morning I’ll call you. And I’ll keep calling you. And we’ll work through this together. You know, this isn’t something that you have to do alone.”

You’re silent.

“You’re in bed?” crackles through the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Go put on some pjs and go to sleep. You don’t have to do this all in one night.”

You nod, wiping the rest of the tears from your face and sniffling. “Yeah.”

“Alright. I love you to the moon and back, no matter what. You know that. Right?”

You close your eyes. For a second you imagine accepting that it’s true. It fills your chest with a new kind of warmth. One you want to sink into.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you too, Tae.”

“Get some rest then. Goodnight.”

“G’night.”

The dial tone clicks and the room falls into complete silence. Only the sound of your breath breaks through, too loud and uncomfortable amidst the darkness. But still, you climb out of bed, dump some water on a towel and wipe at your face, and change into the largest t-shirt you can find in your drawer.

Tonight, you dream the first dream of many in a line that will haunt you — and spark you back to life. It’s Yoongi, his body pushing you up against the ice cold glass, his hands in your hair, his lips whispering, over and over and over again: Is it complicated?

In the morning, you lay awake, just feeling the way your breath falls heavily in your chest. You text Yoongi to tell him you can’t meet up. You look outside.

The world is covered in a blanket of snow. Unrecognizable. Beautiful. Washed clean.

Something hopeful flutters in your chest.

When you look down, your hands are clutching the collar of your sleep shirt. With a deep breath, you wrap your arms around your torso in a hug.

“I don’t really know how to do anything else other than this,” you admit to Tae one day over the phone, flourishing a hand you know he can’t see to emphasize the point you know he already understands.

“Well. I don’t know how much of it is really choosing to be different. Instead, maybe you ought to try looking at it like an undoing. Whenever you match up against that impulse to run, think about sitting with it. Feeling it. And then choosing to move in another direction. Yeah,” he says, and you can tell he’s nodding on the other end of the phone. “An undoing.”

What does this kind of undoing look like? you wonder.

When the world comes to a screeching halt around you, you don’t expect to find your answer. The reality of the pandemic and quarantine — the emptiness of it, the long, drawn out days that feel long and drawn out when you’re in them but that then seem to blend together into one long, monotonous, anxiety riddled day and leave you wondering and wishing for the end — it’s hard. It’s hard in that quiet way that’s easy to ignore and push off, and hard in the way that there’s a big ache in your chest every time you go to sleep, one that crawls straight into your throat and sits there until the morning. It’s hard, and you learn to live with it. It’s hard, but somehow it brings you what you need. When distance seems to be the defining feature of your life, you don’t expect to find clarity. But you do. As you sink into the new routine of quarantine and pandemic life, and as life begins in a new rhythm with new rules and new realities — slowly and wildly new and sometimes horrific — it becomes clear to you.

What does this kind of undoing look like?

It looks a lot like feeling the emptiness in your home when Namjoon is away. Silence louder, space smaller. You find yourself reflected back to yourself, as if you are staring in a mirror.

It looks a lot like distraction. Emotional exhaustion turning into physical. You do distract — and it’s good — with a new drama or a new hobby. Exercising in your room until your cheeks are flushed. Cooking something new and delicious every night. Or sometimes just letting the small rectangle of light in your hand absorb you until the lingering discomfort is numbed, until you’re ready to fall asleep.

It looks like listening to your thoughts, really, truly listening, for the first time. Hearing the stories that you’ve built up in your head over the ears and how deeply they’ve sunk into your reality. It looks like noticing them, and wanting them to change. It looks like standing in the empty hallway of your apartment, feeling it all, and deciding to do something about it.

It looks like weird-ass sex dreams. Once dreamless nights are repopulated with strange and specific sexual fantasies featuring none other than your seven gorgeous friends in various states of undress and revelry.

It looks like letting people in again. Laughing on the phone until tears well up in your eyes. Building up the courage to tell Jimin about your vivid, even pornographic dreams. Writing letters when facetime just doesn’t do it anymore. Telling your friends just how much they mean to you, even when that voice warns you that you ought to keep your feelings held tight to your chest.

It looks like falling asleep one night, the traffic of the city now quieted by reduced travel, and the silence offering you a new kind of truth:

Love can be without limitation.

Love can be without limitation. It is allowed to flow from you without doubt or embarrassment. It is allowed to exist in the world — and in you — without needing to be reciprocated or validated. And you are allowed to ask for it. To demand it from life, even if, at times, it feels like the only place it pours forth from is from that great gaping space in your chest.  

The phone rings a couple of times before it’s cut off in the middle of a digital brrng. You’re ready to hear the familiar buzz of a robotic voice reading: the caller you are trying to reach is not available—

But instead, the deep, heady voice you’re so familiar with comes over the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hoseok?” His name feels foreign on your tongue. After all this time, pushing it away, pushing him away, welcoming his name back into your body feels almost like a fresh rain, washing away the dust on your skin.

“The one and only,” he chuckles. “What’s up?”

A ball of emotion wells up in your throat and the phone line hangs in silence as you try to glue together what you want to say, what you had practiced to say, what you should say. But it feels as if it’s all disappeared. 

“I thought—”

“Did I mess up?” he blurts.

You blink in confusion. “What? No, I—”

“That night, I had so much to drink, I’m worried that… I messed up, that— ”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Hoseok.”

You can hear the breath release from his lungs and shudder through the phone. “Oh.” It’s silent for a moment. “Oh. Okay.”

“I just…” You close your eyes. Take a deep breath. “I just miss you.”

“I miss you like there’s an ocean between us,” he says, laughter mixed with sincerity threading through his voice.

“It feels like there’s ocean between us,” you sigh.

“I know,” he says, too quickly for him to realize the meaning behind your words. “But I promise this will all be over soon, babe. How long can something like this really last? In no time it’ll all be done with and I’ll be right back beside you. Right?”

You smile. “Right.”

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[crescentsteel]

When in Brazil - Heat

pairing: Hinata x f!reader x Oikawa genre: SMUT wc: 12.1k (I don’t have excuses anymore. Bear with me pls) warnings: threesome, double penetration (all holes involved byee), anal, oral (giving and receiving), degradation, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, spanking, dumbification, squirting

[a/n]

For maximum experience, you have to read the series chronologically for context.

Can you believe it? This took me more than a month to finalize because the Oikawa-Hinata dynamic is fucking hard to polish.

I'm staying away from writing smut after this (don't quote me on this).

I need to bathe with holy water after this.

Enjoy, I guess?

Here’s the AO3 link in case tumblr is being shit and crashes on you. 

MASTERLIST

The day is almost over, yet it feels like the minutes are ticking by too slowly. You just want to go home. You’re in the diner but all you can think about is throwing yourself onto your mattress and sleeping off the weariness brought by the surge of customers on a Friday night. To make things worse, Shoyo is not doing deliveries today so you have to close the diner all on your own.

You release a burdened sigh before you plaster a rehearsed smile on your already exhausted face. When you are able to recollect yourself, you go back to the array of customers waiting to be attended to.

Amongst the seated crowd is an all too familiar tangerine that stood out effortlessly. He’s never been in your diner as a customer, so seeing him as such is a nice change.

He’s with someone and is so engrossed with their lively conversation that he doesn’t notice you at all. Despite that, it’s still nice to see him. You always see him working so hard that it’s comforting to watch him hanging out and having fun with others.

You’re probably staring because his eyes suddenly dart to you.

Of course, Shoyo being the sunshine that he is, he gives you a warm smile and a friendly wave that you take as your signal to come over to their table.

“Fancy seeing you as a customer, Shoyo,” you say just as affectionately as his smile is. “You brought a friend too,” you add as you turn your head to greet his company.

Once your eyes land on his friend, you feel the strain in your facial muscles as you try to maintain the smile you’re wearing.

It’s the fucking tourist!

“Ms. Local!” he yells out with familiarity and delight dancing in his surprised eyes.

“You know each other?” Shoyo asks.

You and the tourist speak at the same time.

“No.” “Yes.”

Shoyo looks back and forth at you and the tourist with apparent confusion.

“He must be mistaken.” Despite the panic that’s starting to rise in your chest, you’re able to maintain a calm facade. “I don’t know him,” you add confidently because it’s the truth. You don’t know him aside from two facts you got from his last time: he’s a volleyball player from Argentina and he’s a hot scum of a tourist.

You give the tourist the most hospitable smile you can muster, hoping that he’s actually decent enough to get the drift.

He looks at you from head to toe before an amused grin forms on his lips. He rests his elbow on the table and lazily places his cheek on his palm. “She’s right, Shorty pie. I was mistaken. I actually don’t know her too,” the tourist says as he regards you meaningfully.

Shorty pie? Did he just address Shoyo as shorty pie? How snotty! Shoyo is not that short.

“Y/n, this is the great king, I mean, Oikawa-san, I mean uhhhh,” Shoyo turns the tourist and says something in Japanese. You try to get cues as to what they’re talking about but the language is incredibly different. You might’ve found it rude but it was Shoyo who did it. You can’t imagine him saying anything bad about you.

The tourist faces you with a wide smile. “You can call me Tooru, Ms. Local,” he introduces himself.

“Her name is Y/n, Oikawa-san,” Shoyo kindly corrects Tooru, not a drop of suspicion present in his tone.

“Right! Y/n it is.” He continues staring at you with a very smug look on his face that makes you want to kick him out of the diner. But even if you were the owner, you can’t do it without letting Shoyo know why.

You distract yourself and turn your full attention to Shoyo. “So, what’re you boys getting?” you ask cordially.

“Let me ask him, y/n. It’s his treat.” Shoyo faces his annoying company. You softly tap your feet on the floor and refuse to get back to Tooru, hoping that it’ll still be Shoyo who’s going to order for the both of them.

“Y/n, hallooo.”

It’s taking everything in you not to roll your eyes and exhibit a grouchy behavior unacceptable towards a customer. Goddamn it, you can’t even sigh to calm yourself down.

You force yourself to face him and let out a high-pitched “Yes?” paired with a feigned smile.

He chuckles uninhibitedly before he answers. “Actually, I don’t know what to order. I just wanted you to look at me,” he admits without any trace of shame.

You try to laugh your irritation away but it comes out awkward and loud that some of the customers near their table turn their eyes at you.

You clear your throat to shake off the embarrassment. “Since you’re undecided, Sir. We’ll get you our three best sellers which will take no more than 20 minutes to prepare. I’ll be back when it’s ready,” you say all at once. You don’t wait for their response as you turn around and hurry back to the kitchen.

You tell the cook their order and excuse yourself to go to the restroom.

As soon as you close the door, you cover your face with both hands and pour a regret-filled squeal onto your palms.

You certainly have been complaining about life being dull and repetitive. But this is too much of a mayhem for you to handle!

Out of all the strangers you could’ve possibly slept with, it had to be someone Shoyo knows. Fuck! What if the tourist, what’s his name again? You were too busy panicking that you didn’t even catch his name when he said it. It was something like Tori? Taurus? Tooru!

Tooru, the scumbag tourist.

His name is not really that important though. What’s more pressing is the possibility that he might tell Shoyo.

You really like your lively and good-natured friend. You don’t want him to think you’re a lady of loose morals for sleeping around.

Loud knocks on the door pull you back to the reality that you need to get back out there. You can’t stay in the restroom room wishing you can turn back time, even though you do. You wish you just stayed home the night you crossed paths with the tourist.

You take a deep breath and step out.

“What took you so long? Orders are piling up in the kitchen,” your fellow waiter reprimands you.

“Sorry,” you apologize before hurrying to the kitchen. You take the cooked meals and get them to their respective tables.

When the tourist and Shoyo’s order comes in, you collect yourself for a quick second prior to heading back to where they are. Despite dreading each step you take towards them, you manage to get there with an amicable smile.

“Here you go,” you announce as you put down their plates.

Even when you try your best to ignore the tourist by focusing all your attention on Shoyo, you can feel his avid stare boring onto your face. You’re just glad he’s not talking at all, so you don’t have a reason to face him.

“Thanks, y/n!” Shoyo says appreciatively which eases your discomfort a bit from having Tooru ogle at you.

“Anytime,” you respond just as kindly and head back to the kitchen. A huge wave of relief hits you when you’re finally away from their table.

Oikawa follows the sight of your back as you leave. What were the chances he would see you again? You gave him nada after your sexy encounter that night, not even a name. So you both parted ways still as strangers. What’s even more amusing is the fact that you’re friends with Shorty.

The world just couldn’t get any smaller - seeing Shoyo out of pure coincidence on the beach. Then finding you here when you didn’t want to be found.

He turns his attention back at his former opponent and finds Shoyo’s gaze at you as well. The glimmer of fondness is blatant on his eyes as they linger on your back.

“Shoyo,” Oikawa calls out.

The short volleyball player instantly flicks his eyes back to Oikawa, oblivious that he was just gawking at you.

“Do you like her?” Oikawa asks, straight to the point.

A faint blush pops out of his tanned cheeks as his eyes go wide, an instant giveaway that Oikawa hit the bull’s eye.

Shoyo breaks into a flustered smile while he rubs the back of his neck from embarrassment. “Yeah. She’s a good friend,” he states, his eyes shining with less than innocent admiration as he looks back at the direction you disappeared in.

Holy shit. Holy Shit. You fucked Shorty too!

Upon the realization, a chuckle escapes his mouth before he can thwart it. No wonder you came up with that spot on guess before. You got the story from someone who did the same.

A small world indeed.

Shoyo is probably the good fuck you were talking about that night. Looking at the former middle blocker, he certainly didn’t think that Shoyo would have enough experience in the bedroom to be considered a “good fuck.”

Interesting.

“Why don’t you invite her to watch us play tomorrow?” he suggests.

Shoyo’s face brightens up with excitement from his suggestion. “Yeah! I think she’ll want to. I told her that I play volleyball and stuff.”

He leans back on his chair as he grins from Shoyo’s response.

“Should be fun, right?” he asks with hidden deviousness.

—

When Shoyo asked you to watch their game, your understanding by ‘their’ is him and another local he regularly plays with. Not him and the freaking tourist!

If you had known, you would have politely declined.

Now, you’re sitting there on the sands of Copacabana with nothing but foreboding as you watch them start the game with two other players.

You know close to nothing about volleyball. You only came out of curiosity because Shoyo talks about it like it’s his life. Maybe it is. He did come all the way from Japan to a foreign country all on his own.

And so did Tooru.

You’re just starting to wonder if he loves the sport just as much Shoyo does, but you don’t wonder for too long. He gives you the answer with the way he plays.

Knowing that you’ll be watching two grown men playing, you expected them to be show-offs impressing the girl they invited to watch. However, they don’t even spare you a glance after they get a point in.

You don’t take offense in it though. Instead, you find yourself growing envious of them. Their personalities are so different but the look of passion and determination is burning similarly not just on their faces, but on their whole being.

Tooru is still a tricky scum in your eyes. But when he’s playing, he looks larger than life and brimming with pride and dignity. His cocky smirk is still there, but it’s more of an affirmation to himself and Shoyo that they’re doing hell of a good teamwork.

Shoyo, on the other hand, is all smiles and easy going everytime you talk to him. He still is inside the sandy court, but he’s intensely focused and totally lost in the game that sometimes, very briefly, he almost seems scary.

It’s so strange. One second they’re totally immersed and serious, then on the next they’re suddenly grinning and laughing even if they didn’t score a point.

You’d think they were teammates before from how they seem to communicate without really saying anything. But if they were then, Shoyo would have undoubtedly told you about him.

When the game ends, the two of them share victorious smiles. Why wouldn’t they? They did snatch the game. They’re so earnest and driven that you can’t help but be in awe, despite the one of them being real shady.

They both head towards your direction, Shoyo almost running towards you while Tooru striding slowly with pride.

Your attention inevitably goes to the orange ball of energy first. “Were you watching, y/n?” he asks while trying to catch his breath. He must’ve been really absorbed in the game that he didn’t notice you arrive earlier.

“You did great, Shoyo!” you sincerely applaud him as the tourist catches up to where you are.

“You too, uhh, Tooru,” you commend him awkwardly. Until now, you’ve only called him ‘tourist,’ so saying his actual name feels weird.

“I didn’t expect you’d let me toss to you, Oikawa-san,” Shoyo says with the thrill of the game still oozing from him.

“Would be a waste if we don’t try something totally new when the opportunity is there,” Tooru responds just as high-spiritedly, but you feel off about how he calls Shoyo.

“Why do you let him call you such names?” you ask Shoyo even when the tourist is right beside him.

Shoyo just laughs it off, obviously not minding the rude nicknames. “It’s actually comforting, y/n. It reminds me of home,” he says with a nostalgic smile that makes you feel bad about his situation. He misses home so much that even rude nicknames are welcome because it brings him closer to it.

“Should I call you ‘Shorty’ too?” you sincerely ask but he only grimaces. Meanwhile, Tooru laughs to his heart’s content.

“Sorry! I thought you’d like it.”

“Not from you, y/n,” Shoyo sulks a little, but buries the misunderstanding immediately. “Anyways, should I walk you home tonight?”

You appreciate the thought. It has been a while since you had the pleasure of his company.

“Yea, please do.”

“Can I come?” the tourist butts in, reminding you that he’s also there.

“Aren’t your teammates waiting for you?” you ask, subtly shooing him away. You saw the two men he was talking to earlier. Judging from the language they spoke, which was undoubtedly Spanish, and their athletic build, you concluded they were his teammates.

“Nope. I asked them to go ahead,” he shrugs and flashes you that too-charming smile he has.

“Oh, why?” you ask amicably to hide your distrust of him.

“It’s my last night here and I thought, why not make friends with a local?”

You don’t buy it, but it would seem strange to Shoyo if you blatantly refuse Tooru. In Shoyo’s eyes, you and Tooru haven’t met before. It would be suspicious for you to be so wary of him when he’s been ‘nice’ when Shoyo’s around.

So you agree. You won’t see him anymore after tonight anyways. A walk home won’t do any harm.

When you reach your place, only then it dawns on you that if you invite Shoyo inside, you’d have to offer the same invitation to the tourist out of common courtesy.  You really want to let Shoyo in, but if they come in pairs, you’d rather invite your friend another night.

Your turn around and what awaits you is Shoyo’s hopeful, hazel orbs.

Meu Deus, how can you refuse him when he’s looking at you like that?

--

You go to the kitchen to grab one glass of water for each of the two men in your living room.

You tell yourself that everything’s all good and harmless when you invited them in. If it was Tooru only, it would’ve been a different story. You wouldn’t have even allowed him to walk you home.

But since Shoyo is there, you feel somewhat safe. The tourist might be douchey but surely he won’t do anything with your tangerine friend around. They won’t stay long anyways, so it should be fine.

You close your fridge when you hear Shoyo’s familiar footsteps.

“Y/n?” He stops briefly on his tracks when you turn to him.

“Yeah?” you respond before he continues making his way to you. “What’s wrong?”

He’s only a step away when his profile reveals a somber expression he’s never shown you before. “Did you really do it with Oikawa-san?”

You feel the rapid increase of your heartbeat from his question. Did Tooru tell him about it while you were in the kitchen? To think that you were starting to believe that the tourist is not as bad as you thought since he’s been amenable the whole night. He proves you wrong before you actually believe that idea.

Now you have no choice but to admit it to Shoyo because you don’t have the heart to lie to him.

“It’s okay, y/n. He told me he tricked you into it,” he tells you with a sad yet understanding look on his face.

“Are you… disappointed at me?” you ask guiltily.

He shakes his head instantly. “No, but...” He averts his eyes downwards, dejection clear and evident on them. “We’re not going to do it anymore, aren’t we?” His tone drops woefully with his assumption.

Oh goodness, he’s so adorable. It’s like one of his favorite things was taken away from him. You would’ve dragged him in your room right now to prove him wrong if it isn’t for your other visitor in the living room.

Instead, you grab his hand and pull him closer to you as you lean back on the counter. You cup his chin to raise his gaze back to you.

“I missed you,” you tell him rather than directly answering his question. You move your hand from his chin to his cheek before you claim his lips. Like an automatic response, he envelops his hands around your waist.

He really is the sun, not only bringing rays of joy to you, but also heats you up all the way to sinful madness.

His hands drop down your behind and gropes them to draw you towards his body, letting you know how excited he’s getting just from kissing and holding you.

You still haven’t had your fill of his lips when he lets go of yours. “Did you feel good with him, y/n?” he asks, centimeters away from your mouth.

You pull back slightly from surprise. “Why are you asking that?” You try to decipher what he’s thinking but you can only see his need for you as you stare at him.

“I want to know how to make you feel better,” he says as an ounce of insecurity bares itself for you to see. You drape your hand from his neck down to his chest, caressing the broadness of it. “You already know how to make me feel good, Shoyo,” you say as you offer him a gentle smile.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he persists.

You sigh when you realize that he’s not going to let this go unless you answer him. “I don’t like him, but yeaa... it felt good,” you look away as soon as you admit it. You don’t know how he’ll react, but you know that wouldn’t be able to take it if he looks at you with disappointment or disgust.

To your surprise, he pulls you close again and rests his cheek against yours. He asks something too softly -- something you wouldn’t hear had he not been standing so close. “Can I watch him do it?”

You flinch away from his hold with eyes wide from the appalling question. “What?!”

Shoyo becomes alarmed at your reaction and completely releases you. “But if you don’t want to, it’s fine!”

He waves hands mid-air, panicking at how aghast you are from what he said. “We just thought it would feel good for you. Ahhhh.” He rubs his face with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, y/n. I’m getting way ahead of myself,” he apologizes with a regretful look.

Tooru must have told him prior to tonight. If they talked about you to that extent, the little time they had in your living room wouldn’t have been enough. Shoyo knew even while they were playing and he didn’t treat you differently.

Meanwhile, that tourist was acting all goody-goody because he’d already told your friend that you two fucked. You only become more annoyed when you realize that the idea couldn’t have possibly come from your adored friend.

You squint at Shoyo as you ask him. “He put you up to this, didn’t he?”

Shoyo looks up, genuinely unsure how to answer you. “Uhh. He said I could learn a thing or two from him.”

You laugh dryly from the lack of words that could describe your vexation towards Tooru. The audacity of that fucking tourist! How dare he think that he’s any better than Shoyo. How dare he make Shoyo believe that he’s the lesser sex partner.

“Y/n?” Shoyo must have noticed your silent fury because he looks concerned when he returns his gaze to you.

You give him a too-sweet grin despite the exasperation boiling in your chest. “You know what? He can join, but he’ll be the one watching.”

You drag Shoyo back to the living room, ignoring him as he utters words of disbelief that you’re too mad to understand.

When you meet Tooru’s gaze, he gives you a knowing smile which you return with a resentful one.

“Shoyo, can you go to my bedroom first? We’ll be there soon,” you say while you keep your eyes trained on Tooru.

“Can’t I know what you’re going to talk about?” Shoyo sounds almost sulking, but you don’t deter. You turn to him with a pout of your own.

“I promise we’ll be there soon, mkay?” You stroke his hand which you’re still holding.

Shoyo nods and obediently heads inside your room.

You march to Tooru and yank his collar. Despite being surprised by your action, he looks pleased with your aggressiveness.

“Congratulations, Tourist. You successfully earned yourself a threesome,” you spit out, but he only smiles with satisfaction as you just consented to what he’s probably going for. “Now listen to me and listen well. You will be the one doing the watching. You will remain seated while you watch Shoyo fuck me. You don’t get to join unless I let you. Do whatever you want - jack off, drool, have a seizure, I don’t give a shit. But if you make yourself cum, you don’t get to touch me. Got that?”

He only blinks at your litany of rules, but you trust him to be smart enough to get that in one go. Quickly enough, he lets out a short whistle as he reiterates your rules in just one sentence.  

“Basically, no touching and no cumming from me, right?” he states with a pleased grin that makes you want to punch his pretty face.

But you have better plans, so you let him go and join Shoyo in the bedroom. You don’t have to tell Tooru to follow. He stands up on his own and heads for the bedroom a few steps behind you.

When you get in your room, you find Shoyo sitting at the edge of your bed. He looks so worried, looking at his feet while fiddling with his hands. You feel bad that you kind left him out in the dark because you’re too pissed at the tourist’s presumptuousness.

You sit beside Shoyo and grab his hand. He eyes you fretfully, obviously addled at what’s going to happen next. Rather than explaining, you cup his cheek and moor your mouth to his. You straddle him while your other hand clutches his hair. His palms immediately get underneath your shirt, skimming the bare skin of your sides while your lips ravage one another.

Shoyo suddenly pulls back, his confusion now mixed with lust as he looks up at you. “What about Oikawa-san?” he huffs.

“Don’t mind him,” you mutter on his lips as you descend on them once again.

Shoyo doesn’t ask further, discarding his qualms earlier and heeding your instruction like the good guy he is. He rids you of the top you’re wearing, his palm immediately covering the softness of your clad breast while his mouth seeks the weak spot on your neck. When he does find it, you reward him by pressing your groin against his.

You can’t help but laugh a little at how his arousal is already poking beneath his shorts. “You’re already hard, Shoyo.”

He doesn’t respond and proceeds to unclasp your bra that’s preventing him from feeling your bare breasts.

Like he always does, he takes a moment to revel at your half nakedness like it’s the first time he’s seeing you as such. And like every time he does it, he never fails to make you feel like you a marvel to look at.

“So pretty,” he murmurs to himself.

He plants fervid kisses on your chest until his mouth captures a perk bud. The action causes you to grind on his lap, attending to the ache that’s settling in your groin.

You itch to roam your hands on his body and groans with disappointment that it isn’t his skin you’re touching. He hears it and does you a favor by quickly discarding his muscle tee.

“Shoyo,” you whisper with brewing desire as your hands travel from his neck down to his chest.

“Yes?” he asks, completely bewitched even when you’re only half naked.

“I really missed you.”

You feel his erection grow even more while his face shines with adulation from your statement. He grips both cheeks of your ass and takes it upon himself to roll your hips again on his bulge.

“I missed you too, y/n,” he says before resuming what his mouth was doing earlier: devotedly twirling his tongue around one hardened bud while his fingers fiddle with the other. With already several visits from him after work hours, he’s well familiar with how you want to be had.

He demonstrates so by gently tugging your nipples with his teeth and fingers, making you cry out from the slight pang that heightened your craving for more.

You’re reminded that someone else is in the room when your wooden chair creaks audibly for you to hear. Shoyo is doing such a great job of taking you to a scandalous place far away from your mundane room that you almost forget that Tooru is there.

You take one quick look at the pretty guy sitting on your chair. He’s doing as he’s told and is watching intently, particularly at where Shoyo’s mouth is.

As much as you want to totally lose yourself in the sensation of Shoyo’s hands and mouth, you have to show Tooru what he missed on that one night of encounter.

You clutch Shoyo’s hair to pull him away from your body, earning yourself a baffled Shoyo when you get off his lap. You just smile reassuringly at him as you get on your knees. You try to lug his shorts down but fails as he remains seated, totally beguiled at the sight of you kneeling down for him.

You look up to him doe-eyed as you ask him, “Won’t you help me a little here, Shoyo?”

He snaps out of his daze from your question. “Ah! Yes, yes. Sorry.” He does the work for you and hurriedly pulls his shorts and undergarments down.

You squirm on your knees at the sight of his swollen cock. It’s been a while since you did it with him that you find yourself more than eager to have him inside you again; whether in your mouth or somewhere further down, you can’t decide.

Once again, the tourist distracts you when he lets out a whistle. “Damn. Who knew?”

You can’t help but agree with him. When you first saw Shoyo’s size, you were shocked as well. He, however, doesn’t get what Tooru is talking about. He eyes Tooru worriedly as he asks confusedly, “What?”

Tooru doesn’t answer Shoyo and just grins at him, so he turns to you instead. “What’s he talking about, y/n?”

You respond by gripping the base of his cock and taking him slowly in your mouth. You hear him hiss as his hand grabs the back of your head.

“Ahhh. So warm.”

You look at him and find him with lips parted and eyes shut as he relishes the way you gradually swallow his size.

Once your lips reach the hilt of his shaft, you drag your lips back up and release his cock. Instead of sucking it again, you tease him by flicking your tongue on his tip, twirling the hot, moist muscle around it whenever you feel like it.

Shoyo clutches your hair, oblivious to the strength he put behind it as he unknowingly forces you to meet his pleading eyes.

“Suck it again please,” he asks nicely despite his tight grip on your hair.

You smile tenderly at him, tracing the length of his cock with your tongue before engulfing it once again with your mouth. As you descend on him, you lock eyes with Tooru, making sure that he’s watching how devoutly you’re tending to Shoyo’s desires.

Satisfaction kicks in when you notice the undeniable bulge on his shorts as he keeps his eyes on you and Shoyo. This is supposed to be a show for him, but you feel yourself getting wetter from Shoyo’s whines and how Tooru is starting to palm his erection above the fabric of his shorts.

Shoyo takes hold of your attention again when he starts thrusting against your mouth, causing you to whimper on his dick. You squeeze his thighs to signal him to slow down. He stops completely, letting you withdraw away so you can breathe.

He opens his eyes and trails his hand from the back of your head to your cheek. “Sorry, y/n. It’s starting to feel really good,” he explains apologetically.

You offer him a delicate smile right before you descend your mouth on the whole of his cock in one swift motion, the tip of his cock tickling the back of your throat.

“ Ah! ” He throws his head back from the sudden movement.

“Shit,” you hear the man seated across the foot of the bed curse. You turn your eyes on him and witness how he frees his bulge from his shorts. He fists it slowly, matching the bob of your head on Shoyo’s dick. You quicken your pace and his hand mirrors it as well.

You unzip your shorts, unable to help yourself.  Without bothering to remove them, you slip your hands in and touch the moistness of your slit. You moan at Shoyo’s cock as you feel the pads of your fingers on your slick arousal.

“Stop touching yourself, y/n. I’ll do it with my mouth later. Make me feel good first.” Uncontained desire is swimming on Shoyo’s orbs as he stares at you while his mouth pants  with need.

You pull out your hand and plant it on the side of his thigh as you suck faster, hoping that he’ll cum soon so his tongue can replace what your fingers were doing.

Your pussy is throbbing so hard from how he’s learning so well. He pulled the same card you did the first time you sucked him off and it’s turning you on even more that you have to clench your thighs together just so you can ease your arousal a little bit.

“Let me do it,” you hear Tooru’s breathy suggestion. You’re not surprised that he noticed. After all, watching is all he’s allowed to do.

Shoyo gently pulls your head back as he asks, “Do you want him to?”

With his dick still stuffed in your mouth, you shake your head to answer ‘no.’ You want to alleviate the delicious tension between your legs, but you want Tooru to remain where he’s seated for a while more.

“I can do it well, y/n. I’ll trace my tongue on your cunt the way my fingers did on that beach. Let me taste you. I’ll get you even wetter with my mouth.”

You grip Shoyo’s thighs as you moan on his dick from Tooru’s lewd words. You didn’t want him to touch you yet, but the visceral imagery he provided you is making your lubricious needs unbearable.

You look at Tooru as you tell him with a wavering voice, “Come here.”

“Finally,” he says as he tucks his rigid member back in his shorts and rushes to where you are.

Shoyo helps you stand up and positions your back against the headboard of your bed. Meanwhile, you feel Oikawa’s hands grasp the seams of your shorts.

You’ve already unzipped it earlier so all he needs to do is pull it down, which he easily does as you lift your hips up for him.

“Please don’t forget I’m here, y/n,” Shoyo reminds you with a sullen tone.

Oikawa spreads your legs while you weakly grab Shoyo’s dick. You pump him a few times before taking him again in your mouth. At the same time, Tooru gives your already moist slit a well drawn out lick.

Your groan vibrates on Shoyo’s cock as your thighs involuntarily press together. Strong hands placed on both thighs prevent them from doing so as Tooru swirls his tongue on your throbbing clit.

The delicious strokes of his tongue lapping up your juices are incredibly distracting, making you a drooling mess on Shoyo’s cock. You grip his shaft to regain some control as you start quickening the bob of your head, your fingers hitting your lips as you take him fast and deep.

Tooru distracts you even further when he roughly pushes two fingers in without any warning.  “Oh my, would you look at that?” He laughs right between your legs. “My two fingers easily got in,” he says and starts languidly pulling them in and out of you.

You want to say something but Shoyo beats you to it. “Please don’t stop, y/n. I’m about to-uugghh .”

He starts taking shallow breaths while he keeps his hazy eyes on you. “Can I cum in your… in your mouth?” he asks as he starts staggering his hips faster than the bob of your head.

You give him a small nod, trying your very best to continue sucking him even though Tooru’s fingers are sending you to another kind of delirium.

Shoyo’s moans permeate the air as his orgasm erupts in your right in your mouth. “ Ahh, ahhhh, y/n, am cumming ,” he says before his hand goes to the back of your head and shoves his length at your throat, forcing you to swallow the entirety of his load.

“Holy shit,” you hear Tooru say as he stills his fingers inside you.

Shoyo eases his grip on your hair as he releases a satisfied huff. Your jaw feels relief as you remove your mouth off his member.

He takes his seat at the bed as he steadies himself again.

“I didn’t think you’d be one to swallow.” You turn to Tooru and see him no longer situated in front of your crotch.

He stands up and takes off all his clothes without any shame. You stare at his glorious nakedness, acknowledging that the last time’s encounter did not allow you any of the view he’s currently gracing you with.

His face isn’t the only pretty thing about him, it’s everything. And you can tell he knows it with how proud his strides are as he makes his way beside you.

Your dazed eyes follow him as he rests his back on the headboard.

“This is when you sit on my cock, y/n,” he says with that fraudulent smile of his. He’s so damn infuriating, yet, you can’t deny that you want to do exactly as he said. His tongue on your dripping pussy did nothing but fan the flickers of arousal in your stomach, so even if you still despise him, you don’t mind being fucked by him. You already know he’s not going to disappoint anyway.

You climb on top of him with an irritated expression and a soaked cunt that coats the tip of his member. “Please stop talking. Don’t make me hate myself for being horny over you,” you state almost resignedly. Levity spreads across his gorgeous face as a laugh starts to rumble from his throat.

“You’re so funny, y/n! I knew I made the right choice to fuck you that night,” he says with mirthful smile. You ignore him completely, tuning out his fatuousness as you align your entrance to his cock that’s been poking at you.

You anchor yourself with one hand on his shoulder while your other seizes his member for you to descend on.

“Oh no no no~” He grips your hips and stops you. “Why are you in a hurry? We have all night, don’t we?” He asks as he trails his fingers on the sides of your hip, effectively heightening your wanton desire to be stuffed by him.

You shake your head ferociously as you remember how intense he teased you and edged you on the beach. “None of that teasing crap anymore,” you say as an infuriated plea.

“Hmmm, “ he hums as he thinks about your belligerent request. “Kiss me first,” he says in a light tone but you hear the smidge of authority behind it. You gladly oblige as you hurriedly reach for his mouth.

Replicating what he did with his fingers, he fastens his grasp on your hips and rams you down on his cock. Your moan falls on his mouth mixed with his own. He pulls away from your lips, a string of translucent liquid connecting his to yours.

“Ahh, Ms. Local. You look so hot with that lewd expression on your face,” he says, his eyes hazy with his own dark, sinful yet alluring desires. “Since you wanted to be fucked so bad, why don’t you move for us?” he asks before he goes for that exact spot on your neck that makes you weak.

You start grinding against him, taking your time to revel at the feeling of his cock rubbing against your dewy insides. He startles your slow rhythm when you feel the sharp sting of his palm on one ass cheek.

You yelp out from the sudden pang burning on your skin. “Seriously, y/n? That’s really all you got?” he taunts while his hand on the other cheek caresses it, a soft warning that the same slap is about to hit it too.

Fuck. What even gave you the idea that you can take charge of this asshole? You kinda feel stupid now from your naivety and from how he’s making you lose yourself from the painful delight he just inflicted on you.

“Oikawa-san! Why are you hitting her?” Shoyo voices out his concern which makes Tooru’s hand still from its circular caresses over it.

Tooru weaves his head to the side to look at Shoyo while you slouch and rest your head on Tooru’s shoulders.

“You don’t?” he asks inquisitively to the other naked man on your bed.

“Why would I do that? I don’t want to hurt her,” Shoyo responds out of genuine concern that it makes your heart melt despite being impaled with the cock of another guy.

Tooru chuckles at his innocence before inviting him, “Sit beside us and watch, Shoyo.”

You feel the shift of the cushion beside you, indicating that Shoyo had followed Tooru’s suggestion.

“Ready to show your precious Shoyo how perverted you are?” Tooru whispers to you, delivering a wet stripe on your ear.

You struggle to hide your face on his shoulders as you answer him with a quivering “no.” The spank that follows is harder than the previous one, forcing you to throw your head back as you wobble from the pain.

“See, Shoyo-kun?” Tooru turns to your friend, treating you like an educational material for him to learn from. Meanwhile, the tangerine remains silent and eyes you with awe from discovering this side of you that even you weren’t aware of.

Your mouth gapes open while you try to think of something to explain yourself to Shoyo as you meet his gaze. Tooru makes use of the opportunity and sticks in his fingers inside your mouth.

You turn your attention to Tooru, a bunch of incoherent words coming from how he’s violating your wet cavern with his digits. Your plan to defend yourself to Shoyo is discarded when Tooru moves your hips against him with just one hand.

You go with the rhythm he’s setting while he thrusts his fingers inside your mouth.

“Hhhrrrmmm ,” you moan disorderly on his slender digits, making its owner chuckle with grisly amusement.

“She likes it,” Shoyo comments like he’s figured out what Tooru was talking about.

“Damn right she does.” Tooru presses his pads firmly on your tongue, coercing you to open your mouth wider. Then he trails his digits down, leaving your tongue lolling out of your mouth while his drenched fingers turn their attention to one nipple. To reinforce his point further, he pinches it, eliciting a pained groan from you as you shut your eyes.

“Wanna try for yourself, Shoyo-kun?” Tooru asks as he lays his grip back on your butt.

With your eyes closed, you don’t see how he reacts. You just feel him settle himself kneeling behind you and a different set of thicker fingers replace Tooru’s.

“Like this?” You can tell that it’s not you Shoyo’s talking to with how he’s obstructing your mouth from forming anything comprehensible. You feel the other set of digits find their way on your tits, making use of the slick that Tooru gathered from your mouth and fiddle with it.

“Do you feel good like this, y/n?”

You shudder from the feel of Shoyo’s lips on your ears. As always, he never fails to ask for validation if he’s making you feel good enough. At the same time, Tooru starts picking up the pace of how he’s rolling your hips against him, rendering you unable to respond to Shoyo’s question.

You can only interchange moans and whines from the different sources of pleasure swiftly leading you to grasp the edges of your climax.

Shoyo continues adoring you with his fingers at work and his mouth trailing zealous kisses from the back of your ear to the column of your neck. You feel his cock raging once again as it rubs on your ass while Tooru guides your pelvis to grind on him.

“Shoyoeeehhmmmm .”

He removes his fingers off your mouth and plays with your other nipple that’s been craving for attention. His tongue takes the place of his fingers as he slides it inside your mouth while he kneads your supple mounds. He starts grinding on your back as well, taking whatever pleasure he can get from the friction.

“Don’t forget I’m here too,” Tooru harshly reminds you of his presence when he puts a thumb over your clit and rubs the bud in brutal circles.

You tear your mouth away from Shoyo’s to cry out from the added stimulation that builds on to the pile of pleasure that’s about to explode.

Then, Tooru cuts all those coming from him, lets go of your hips and takes his thumb off your clit.

Even though Shoyo’s doing a great job of making feel good, it only intensifies your need for a release, not provide it.

“Why did you stop?” you mewl with the vehement need for him to make you cum.

“We’ve played this game before, can’t you tell?” he taunts aggravatingly because you remember it too well - how he made a complete mess out of you in public just to make you beg for him. You try to defy him by gyrating on your own, but the firmness of his hands lets you stay in place.

You groan with defeat. “Do you want me to beg again?”

He nods agreeably. “Beg for Shoyo to fuck you instead.”

You're taken aback by his request. You’ve never actually begged Shoyo the way you pleaded for Tooru because Shoyo always makes sure he gives you the pleasure you seek by asking nicely.

“Y/n, you don’t have to,” your friend counters his old rival’s order. Tooru slams a palm on your ass again before pushing his thumb on your clit. “Beg for him or this will go on for a while,” he warns.

You lean your head back on Shoyo’s shoulder as you look at him with lustful urgency. “Shoyo, please fuck me,” you beg with frustration. “Let me get a condom,” Shoyo says, and although you appreciate the thought, you halt him before he can leave the bed.

“I need you now. I need your cock inside me. Make me cum with it. Please …”

You feel his arousal pulsate at your back from your plea. Tooru lets go of his hold on you while Shoyo pulls you away to get you on top of him instead. Shoyo’s girth is thicker than the tourist’s so when he prods your entrance, you hiss at the additional stretch he’s giving you.

“You okay?” Shoyo utters caringly as he sweeps the strands of hair stuck on your face. You give him a frail nod as your pussy tries to accommodate his girth. When he bottoms out, you don’t give yourself time to adjust and hastily chase for the gratification Tooru denied you of.

Shoyo grabs you to lie right on his chest as you bounce rigorously on his cock.

“Shooyooooo, haaaa . I’m gonna--”

A spank lands on one butt cheek - a rough, sharp hit that instigates tears to prickle on the corner of your eyes from the sting, the very same hit that topples you over the edge of ecstasy. When your body begins thrashing on top of him, he continues moving for you, letting you ride the apex of your orgasm to its maximum.

“Y/n, uughhh, you’re clenching on me. Can I keep moving?”

He asks while rocking your hips to keep them moving. You want to tell him to wait for a good while, give you a minute for a break, but you’re too breathless to speak.

Tooru answers for you though. “Yes, Shoyo-kun. Keep moving, just move a bit slower.”

Damn. Will he ever say anything that you actually agree on? You’re just thankful that at least he made Shoyo slow down. He grabs your waist and hoists you up from Shoyo’s chest. “How’s it feel to be spanked by your dear friend, y/n?”

You’re a bit spent from your orgasm, but he’s overbearing that you just had to say something. “You’re a scumbag,” you puff angrily.

“I know,” he smiles sweetly before capturing your mouth while he leads your hand to his stiff member. He covers your hand with his and basically uses it to jack himself off.

“You could’ve had this taken care of earlier,” you whisper. He could’ve just continued fucking you until he got off, but for some reason, he made you do it with Shoyo.

“I have other things in mind.”

You’re about to ask what but Shoyo suddenly hits a spot that makes you grab onto Tooru for support. “Fuuuck,” you moan while looking at Shoyo helplessly. You just came, but his slow plunges are quickly reviving your crude desires.

He lets his hands mendear all over your body, worshipping every nook, every curve he can lay his hands on given how he’s lying beneath you. Tooru lets you go to let you fall back onto Shoyo’s embrace.

Shoyo stops moving you and does the work himself, plunging his thick cock inside you faster - a familiar feeling that always gets you reeling from his intensity.

What isn’t familiar is the prodding of something on an opening that’s never been touched. You harshly snap your gaze to Tooru to check what the hell he’s doing this time. When your eyes make contact with each other, he waves at you while his other hand rests on your ass.

“This will be awesome, I swear,” he assures you with no hint of sincerity. You see him spit on your ass before inserting one finger in your rear.

It’s totally new to you, a strange sensation to be penetrated in that particular entrance. But Shoyo’s thrusts are too good of a distraction that it weirdly adds to the sensation he’s providing.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re feeling good,” Shoyo says with his stare boring on your face.

Goddamn. One who reveres you and one who toys with you, how will this night end for you? Your thoughts get all frenzied up when you feel him add another finger in.

“It feels weird, Tooru! One is enough,” you tell him even with your attention all on Shoyo and the complete adoration he has on his face.

“Okiee,” Tooru says amiably, then inserts a third digit in your tightening hole. “There, one more just like you said,” he announces proudly as he slowly drives three fingers inside your ass.

Your breathing starts to get uneven from the foreign feeling. “Shoyo, I feel weird,” you turn to him.

“Should I ask him to stop?” he asks as he cups your face with sympathy.

“Yeaah aaaaaaaaahhhhhh, ohh shit.”  A different kind of pleasure assaults you when Tooru starts pumping his digits unforgivingly.

Shoyo interprets your moan as discomfort as he tells Tooru to stop. “I think she’s in pain, Oikawa-san.”

Tooru acknowledges Shoyo’s statement and stops. “Don’t move too, Shorty.” Shoyo immediately complies but asks, “Why?”

You get the answer when something bigger and thicker than his fingers penetrate your back entrance.

Oikawa winces at the first two inches he sinks in you. You’re so fucking tight that he can surmise it’s your first time to be taken in this hole. Shit, it’s already clamping on him despite not being even halfway in.

He nudges further, managing to shove in almost his whole length but that’s when you get alarmed. “Tooru, no more, please,” you plead with discomfort gleaming clearly on your features.

“Shoyo, move again.” He ignores you, but if you still don’t relax after this, he’ll pull out. Fuck. Shorty better does the trick. He’s been waiting for this. That’s why he’s been holding back and letting you and Shoyo have all the fun.

Fortunately, you do loosen up as Shoyo starts to rock himself inside you again. “I-I’m.. haaa,” you whine with pleasure more than pain.

Hell yeah. It would’ve been a waste if he doesn’t get to experience your ass. He was tempted to play with it that night on the beach, but the location did not permit him to do all the things he wanted to do to you, including this.

But no matter, he has the chance now, even better, Shorty pie is here to help him soothe you.

His hands wander on your chest, groping their softness before they travel down to the sides of your waist, then to your hips. Then, he rams his remaining length inside your tight gummy walls.

He can almost hear your throat scratch from the loud scream that came from it. “What did you do, Oikawa-san?!”

Tooru wipes a sweat from his forehead as he answers. “Relax, I just stuck my cock in her butt that’s all.”

“What?! No wonder she’s feeling weird. Why did you even do that?”

He grins at Shoyo’s lack of experience for these things, and also at you who seem to think that Shoyo knows how to make you feel good. To be fair, Shorty is very well familiar with your body and knows how you want to be held and to be fucked.

But nothing more than that. Shoyo obviously did not push for anything more than what you told and showed him.

Lucky for both of you, he’s there to expand your horizons.

“Yes, Shoyo. You can fuck someone in the ass,” he enlightens the ginger as he starts shoving his cock in and out to tend to his own needs.

“How does it feel, y/n?” he asks you. You turn your head back to him with that hateful yet intoxicated look in your eyes and he already knows that your ass will be for him to wreck tonight.

“I d-don’t like- mmmm -it,” you protest with a frail voice, but Tooru doesn’t bother to stop. Rather, he speeds up.

It’s definitely strange for you, being stuffed by two men whose thrusts are distinct from the other. You’d hear and feel the slap of skin to skin contact when Shoyo buries himself inside you, but when he pulls back it’s followed by Tooru fully sinking himself in your ass.

It’s absurd and absolutely lecherous, yet it feels fucking incredible. They’re stretching both holes while you can do nothing but grasp at Shoyo’s chest as you hear their groans and mewls taint your room.

“Do you really not like it?” Shoyo whispers for only you to hear.

The genuine care in his eyes makes you tell him the truth. “It feels,” you bite your lip when Tooru’s moans become louder as he pounds your ass faster. “G-good, Shoyo. Feels s-so good,” you somehow manage to finish speaking despite your head starting to get clouded from frenzy.

Hinata’s never felt anything like this before either. He can feel Oikawa inside you with that flimsy muscle that separates your two holes. Your little pussy feels more snug against him, swallowing his dick tighter for him to revel on.

But the look on your face tells him that this feels way more intense for you than for him. Your pupils are blown out, your cheeks are flushed, and you’re almost drooling at his chest while you claw on him. It’s so sexy -- the sexiest expression he’s ever seen from you. He can cum just from this, but he can’t help but wonder.

“Oikawa-san. I want to see,” he stops moving altogether when he tells the setter.

You widen your eyes at him. You probably don’t like his idea, but he can only apologize for his curiosity is getting the best of him.

He pulls out from you and watches Oikawa grab you to rest on his chest. Oikawa leans against your headboard and spreads your legs to indulge Hinata the view he requested.

“Here you go, Shorty-pie. I’ll slow down for you,” Oikawa says.

Hinata’s attention is all on your ass being spread out by Oikawa’s dick. It’s so obscene. He never imagined you could be fucked there. If he knew, he would have tried it himself.

“Shoyo, don’t look at me,” you plead.

His eyes shoot up to your embarrassed face, not understanding why. You look fantastic like this: sprawled out for him to see everything. our rear being defiled, your pussy dripping and gaping at nothing, your body glistening with sweat, and that erotic expression you have.

“Uhhhh, ” you shut your eyes when Oikawa starts toying with both your boobs as he continues thrusting at you.

“Don’t be so stingy, y/n. Shoyo wants to see you like this,” then he turns to Hinata. “Isn’t she so slutty, Shoyo-kun?”

“I’m not-”

A slap on your clit stops you from finishing your sentence. Your cunt starts clenching on its own from the sting. “Fuck, y/n. Even your ass is throbbing from that. You really like being hurt, don’t you?”

He says all that while his middle finger rubs circles on your hard nub. God, your mind is in ruin from this slow, venereal torture Tooru is subjecting you to.

“I d-don’t,” you pant heavily from the heavy ache in the pit of your stomach.

Another slap hits your cunt, ripping a shrill whine from you, followed by a slew of whimpers when his fingers fondle with your clit again. “What’s that again?” Oikawa hums on your neck.

“I’m a slut! I’m a slutty girl, so please. Please don’t stop again,” you admit defeatedly, overwhelmed by the intense craving to be fucked properly.

“See, Shoyo-kun? Your good friend over here is a pervert who has a talent for begging.”

You look at Shoyo, ready for the scandalized and disgusted look on his face. But what you see is mesmerized hunger with his eyes on your body.

“I want to fuck her ass too, Oikawa-san.”

Tooru takes out his dick as Shoyo requested. “Go ahead, Shorty.”

Shoyo grips your knees and pushes them back a little before he probes your entrance. Oikawa tilts your face to his and engages you with a messy kiss where he darts his tongue inside your mouth right off the bat.

Then he puts his hands back to work, one on your tit and the other on your pussy, distracting you from the pain of Shoyo’s size penetrating your other entrance.

“It’s so big,” you whimper on Tooru’s mouth, which makes him stop all his ministrations and retreat a bit. “Geez, y/n. Are you trying to insult me?”

“N-no, it’s just uughhh.” You feel the whole of Shoyo’s length inside your rear end.

“Does it feel good, y/n?” he asks even though he’s already moving in and out of you with less sympathy than he used to have as he doesn’t let you adjust to him. And when you’re finally used to his girth, he pulls out completely and hammers it inside your sopping pussy.

He thrusts a few times then gets back to your ass again. He does this several times, the pleasure barely setting in on one hole, then proceeds to fucking the other before it feels too good for you.

“Shit, Shoyo. That’s fucking hot. Our y/n here loves it. Look at her.” Just as he’s ogling at you, you watch him as well. He’s completely lost in it, his eyes trained on where your bodies are connected, not aware that he’s driving you mad with the way he’s abusing two holes interchangeably.

“Shoyo…”

“What?” His voice is gruff as his alternating thrusts are getting faster, making you squirm on Oikawa’s chest for you can’t decide what you want to tell him. You don’t know if you want Shoyo to fuck your cunt or your rear.

You’d hate to admit it, especially with Tooru holding you captive in his hold, but you want both caverns stuffed to the brim.

“Can you choose one? I want to fuck her too, Shorty,” Tooru’s voice is laced with need which wasn’t there earlier. Finally, you agree with him on something. It pops off Shoyo’s enthralled selfish state of gratifying his pleasure alone.

“My bad,” Shoyo mutters before slotting his cock deep inside your pussy, choosing it for him to ravage on, which leaves your behind for Tooru.

When you get what you’ve been craving for, it’s mind-shattering. You’ve been edged non-stop that the feeling of being pummeled by Tooru’s and Shoyo’s cock shatters any slew of dignity and shame you had. Your head is filled with nothing but their dicks battering your insides with an uncoordinated, wild rhythm.

“Yesssss ahhh. ”

Tooru’s chest vibrates from his low laughter as he asks, “Does my cock feel good in this hole of yours?”

Shoyo spreads your cheeks apart, increasing the effect of Tooru’s words as he glides in easier and faster from Shoyo’s action.

“Yes! Please, keep fucking my ass, Tooru. Oh god, fuck. Shoyo, you’re hitting so deep, I - haaaa. ” Oikawa starts sucking a sensitive spot on your shoulder while Shoyo leans down inches from your mouth.

“Can you stick your tongue out, y/n?”

You don’t ask anymore, you just do it. You poke your tongue out as Shoyo requested. He does the same to play with yours, his moist, warm muscle clashing and colliding over yours.

Shoyo is different from usual and so are you. You feel so perverted, but you’re relishing every second, every thrust by both dicks.

“‘ m genna cuuhhmmm,” you slur.

Shoyo retrieves his tongue, leaving yours hanging out of your mouth. “I can’t believe you’re this slutty, y/n.”

You lose it. Shoyo’s crude words make you convulse on top of Tooru as your orgasm comes crashing down on you. You didn’t expect such treatment from Shoyo. You also didn’t expect you’d cum because of it.

You try to arch your back but Tooru is quick to grab one wrist while his arm snakes around your waist to prevent you from doing so. You’re left with no choice but to stay a whimpering, writhing mess in between two men who continue to slide in and out of you while you reel from your second climax.

With your one free hand, you wearily reach for Shoyo’s wrist. “Let me rest.” Your body is beginning to feel overwhelmed from the consuming pleasure they’re assaulting you with.

“Ehhh? That’s boring. Wanna try something fun, Shoyo?” You don’t miss the naughty suggestive tone of Tooru, but you’re too out of it to react.

Shoyo disregards your frail request and nods eagerly at the man behind you. With Shoyo’s approval, Tooru slips his cock out of your ass and pushes it into your pussy that’s already occupied by Shoyo.

“GAAAAAAAAAHH!!”  You struggle again to break free from Tooru’s embrace but combined with your fatigue and his strength, it turns out futile. The stretch is atrocious. It’s like you’re being split open to no end.

“Too tight,” Shoyo bites his lip with distress.

“Spit on her cunt,” Tooru quickly provides a solution which Shoyo does without thinking twice, gathering drool in his mouth then barbarically spitting on your pussy.

“I can’t do this. I’m going to break,” you voice out to no one, hoping that one of them takes mercy on you.

Tooru growls right on your ear. “Now won’t that be interesting?”

Then he rams his dick inside you, successfully joining Shoyo’s.

Another scream rips out of you as the two of them try to fit inside your already wrecked cunt. It hurts. You feel the burn of being outstretched together with discomfort of overstimulation. Even then, the moans that come out from you are of carnal thrill and elation.

It hurts, but in the best ways possible.

Your toes are curling from the lack of grip on reality while your hands tremble as they sought for anything to hold on to. One is shaking as it grips on Tooru’s forearm while the other is quivering at nothing in mid air.

Finally, Shoyo takes notice of you. You don’t care how you look right now, but you’re just glad that he’s looking your way again.

He hooks your calves to his shoulders, freeing both of his hands to hold yours. He intertwines them with his, allowing you to ground yourself on him that way.

Tooru’s thrusts become erratic as hands find purchase on your tits to paw. “Fuck, I can’t take it anymore. I’m gonna-uughhhh -cum.”

Your response is one driven by vulgar desires. “Cum inside me, Tooru. Pleasee,” you tell him as you look him in the eyes.

“Fuck yes! ”

The slap of his skin against yours gets louder and faster while his high-pitched whines fill your ear. “Yeaaah, cumming, Ms. Local. Shiiiit.” He stills completely while you feel spurts of warm liquid fill you up.

His hot breath fans your neck as he comes down from his climax, but he doesn’t budge and remains inside you. You wiggle above him, trying to get his cock to slip out, but he only fastens his grasp on your waist.

“Trust me, y/n. I’m doing this for you. Without my cock, this cunt of yours will loosen up. You and Shoyo-kun will take even longer to cum with how stretched and wet you already are.”

Shoyo, on the other hand, pummels inside you even faster from the lubrication Tooru gave. “You feel so amazing, y/n. Hmmmmppp. So tight, so sexy, so haaaa.” His fingers are almost crushing your hand, but you only feel the pleasure of being drilled with his dick.

Tooru’s hand flies to your sex and frantically plays with your clit again. But this time, the effect is even more immense as he consistently rubs it with his calloused pads in rapid up and down strokes. His other fingers add another stimulation for you, tweaking one perk nipple - pinching and pulling at his leisure.

Your whole body is on fire. You feel so dirty with sweat, drool, and cum all mixed and squelching from your slit. You feel it - the impending orgasm that feels different from the rest. Your head’s all fuzzy while your vision is getting blurry for some reason.

When a hiccup escapes your mouth, you figure out why - you’re sobbing. Tears are welling in your eyes from the overstimulation. “Too muuuuchhh, is tooo muaaa-aaaahhh.”

“Almost there, y/n. Just a bit more,” Shoyo says with eyes closed and clenched jaw as he continues roughing up your already sore pussy.

Shoyo starts thrusting a bit upwards, hitting a spot that’s doing something inexplicable to your senses. “Something — oh god, something’s uuuhhh, noooo.”

You hear a deafening wail from you as clear liquid gushes out from your sex while you thrash uncontrollably. “Holy shit, she squirted.” Tooru’s voice seems distant with how you’re still teetering from the violent orgasm that exploded from you.

“What was th- shit! I’m cumming. I’ll cum inside you too, y/n. You’ll let me, riiight?”

His hips rut viciously onto yours, prolonging the intensity of your own release. His mewls get louder and louder paired with your cries until he delivers one sharp thrust that unloads his seed inside you.

You feel so full with two dicks still inside you with both their cum dripping down your pussy. Tooru is the first to pull out while Shoyo is puffing with his hands still tightly clutched onto yours.

A massive weight looms on your chest, extending all over your body now that the euphoric yet salacious fog in your head is slowly being stripped off. Your vision is clearing out, the light bulb on your ceiling suddenly seeming too bright for you. The tenderness of certain body parts are getting noticeable. The sweat and saliva on your skin suddenly feels too sticky, too filthy, too disgusting.

You’re not even aware you’re trembling once again.

Oikawa, being the one holding, immediately takes notice. “Y/n?”

Your response to him is a whimper. “Shit. Let go of her. Now,” he says with urgency.

Shoyo opens his eyes and is alarmed when he sees you in a rattled distress. He softly draws you away from Oikawa and cradles you himself.

Oikawa stands up and goes to your drawers. Hinata doesn’t know why but doesn’t mind and turns his attention to you instead.

“Y/n?” He caresses your shoulder down to your arms, trying to ease whatever it is that’s bothering you. You hang onto his bicep but it slides down from the dampness of his skin. His concern grows when you let out a soft sob.

He holds your hand delicately, brushing his thumb against it. He tries to get you to look at him but you persistently shun your face away. “Please look at me. I’m so sorry. Was I too rough?”

You swing your head side to side, refuting his assumption. “I feel nasty and gross,” you sniffle. “But you’re not. You were so beautiful and sexy and amazing,” he says truthfully as he remembers how ravishing you were laid out for him.

You finally look at him, the most vulnerable he’s ever seen you.

“Really?”

He nods earnestly before planting a tender kiss on your forehead.

Oikawa comes back to bed with fresh towels at hand. He wipes the clammy fluids on your body, patting the warm cloth on your arms, thighs, and torso which alleviates further your malaise. Then, he wraps a new one around you and lifts you up to a sitting position.

“You’re far from being disgusting, y/n,” Oikawa whispers on the back of your head. He carefully lays his hand on your shoulder, testing if his touch triggers any unpleasant reaction from you. He skims it towards your neck and cups it. With no resistance put up, he places a chaste kiss on your nape.

“You were incredible,” he hums on your skin. “Let’s take a shower? Get you cleaned up, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you murmur weakly. Oikawa looks at Hinata and signals him to carry you since you’re more comfortable with him.

You sigh once the warm trickles of liquid hit your skin. It’s calming, soothing the distraught uproar in your thoughts and nerves.

A hand rakes up the wet strands of your hair and lathers your soap on your back. On your front, a familiar set of lips kisses you while water streams down on both of you. It feels like a hazy, tranquil dream. You just hear the cascading of water, echo of footsteps in the wet tiles, and a couple of sighs.

Next thing you now, you’re snuggled up in bed with someone drying your hair. You open your heavy lids and catch sight of a topless Tooru seated next to you as he tucks you with a blanket that smells like your drawers.

The bed is no longer drenched and everything feels crisp and fresh, lulling you deeper to rest.

“Stay with her until the morning, Shoyo.” It’s Tooru’s voice.

“You’re leaving?” Shoyo questions him as he stops patting the towel on your hair..

“Nah. She doesn’t like me. She’ll probably scream or hit my face first thing in the morning.” He’s about to get up when you muster whatever energy’s left of you to grab his wrist.

He regards you with care as he takes hold of the hand you’re tugging him with. “Yes?”

“Stay.”

He smiles with affection, a novel sight he’s shown you only now. He joins you in bed, filling the empty space on your left side. You close your eyes again, relishing the soft caresses and gentle pecks on your body as you peacefully drift off to sleep.

--

You wake up with the warmth of another body radiating onto yours. A heavy arm is draped across your waist and your cheek is nestled to a chest that rises and falls in a calming tempo that makes you want to drift back to your slumber.

But curiosity gets you. You slowly open your lids and are met with rays of sunlight glazing the orange strands of hair of the man next to you.

‘Sunshine on sunshine,’ you thought.

It’s a stirring sight to behold, but you have to wonder. He’s never stayed until morning. What happened last night that made him do so?

You scuff around, getting ready to sit up when you feel a heavy ache from your abdomen all the way down to your legs.

Wha- oh.

Oh.

That happened.

After your mind refreshes itself and replays some key scenes from last night, you glance back at Shoyo with no ounce of regret from what happened. You give him a soft peck on his chest and carefully shuffle out of the bed, making sure you don’t wake him up.

Up on your feet, you walk to your dining room and find what you’re looking for - the other accomplice of last night’s feat.

He’s seated comfortably at your table with a hot cup of coffee. “Buenos dias, señora,” he greets in his own dazzling way.

“I thought you were leaving,” you state with no trace of hostility as you trudge to the kitchen from how tender your lower body is.

“I clearly heard you asked me to stay,” he ripostes.

You get your own cup of coffee and join him in the dining area. “I did, didn’t I?” you ask with a soft whimsical grin ghosting across your lips.

“Mmhmm,” he sips from his mug leisurely then asks, “Any regretS?”

You meet his mellow eyes with your own. “Weirdly, none.”

The smiles that spread on your faces mirror each other, humored and satiated. Last night was definitely an experience - a mind-blowing one, and you’re extremely thankful that the aftermath of it was extremely catered for you as well.

The remaining contents of his coffee were spent in comfortable silence. “I think this is when I say thanks for the sex and coffee, then leave.”

Your reaction should be of animosity. This is the part you detested, when you’re treated like a part of the Rio de Janeiro local tour. But for some reason, you found the current situation funny.

“I believe it is indeed that moment,” you agree congenially.

“See you when I see you, Ms. Local,” he gives you a wink and gets up. The smile you had doesn’t go away as you bring your cup to your lips.

You hear your door open and a sudden need to tell him a parting message bursts on your chest.

“Hey, Tourist,” you break the stillness of your apartment as you call him out and turn around on your seat to face him.

“Hmm?” He regards you quaintly with his hand still on the doorknob.

It is long overdue and inappropriate in various sorts of ways, but you say it anyways.

“Welcome to Brazil.”

masterlist of other stuff I wrote

Taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai  @babythotshq @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @crescenttooru @yashuaaa @liberhoe @richkookie @hqbeesun @megatron-1199​ @kawaiiisis​

#oikawa smut #hinata smut #haikyuu smut #oiikawa x reader #hinata x reader

[notveryglittery]

we could fall through december

summary: winter made everything so slow. roman didn’t think it fair.  ship: romantic roceit (roman/deceit) / wc: 1,600 warnings: sympathetic deceit, self-doubt/hatred, seasonal affective disorder, emotional outburst. let me know if i need to add anything. a/n: first fic of 2020 and it’s a gift!! feels good, feels organic. hope you like this, @rusted-but-golden <3 

read on ao3 | @fandersfic-roceit​

—  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  — 

Roman wondered what it was keeping him from getting out of bed.

Was it the “loss of interest?” Maybe it was the “sleep deprivation.” It just as well could have been the “lack of concentration.” Knowing his luck, it was all of the above. It was every symptom Google had listed, the apathy and the mood swings and the fatigue. He had so many things to do. There was plenty of time to do them. It was barely even noon yet which meant he had the entire day to finish the projects he’d started…

The clock flashed mockingly at him, reading 3:27. The projects he’d started had been ages ago. He couldn’t remember the last time he had picked them up. He wasn’t even sure what the date was.

Roman rolled over, burying his face into his pillow. It made breathing unnecessarily difficult. Kind of like how everything else was unnecessarily difficult. Like, why couldn’t he just kick the blankets off and get his feet on the ground? He was a prince! He was a knight! He was tough, self-assured, resilient! He had faced monsters larger than this. He faced blows to his ego like this daily.

Why did the lack of sunshine make so much of a difference?

Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of sunshine in his life already! Patton himself might as well have counted as one’s regular dose of vitamin D. Sometimes, Roman was lucky enough to be on the receiving end of Virgil’s smile or to hear a rare but treasured laugh from Logan. Those alone ought to have been enough to combat any gloomy day.

Finally lifting his head, Roman narrowed his eyes, squinting out the window. Not to mention, Thomas lived in Florida! The Mindscape should have reflected that. They barely had winter! It was more like extended fall. It didn’t even snow or rain (save for their consistent 3pm storm that lasted no more than an hour every day). Sure, the sun was obscured often by cloud cover but… well, it was still there! He had no excuse to be all mopey and sluggish just because the temperature had dropped.

…

Maybe he ought to just take a nap. Roman blinked, hard, and released a frustrated groan. With more effort than he’d care to admit, he lifted his arm and scrubbed the heel of his palm against his eyes, which had, quite rudely, begun to burn suddenly with tears. This was so stupid! Forcing himself to sit up felt like a herculean task, but he shoved the covers away and reached blindly for his bedside table. Instead of grabbing a tissue, though, his uncoordinated movements instead just knocked the box of Kleenex to the floor.

“Oh, come on!” He snapped, choking back a sob.

A knock sounded at the door.

“I’m busy,” he called back, without hesitation.

“You’re lying,” responded the visitor.

Roman muttered a curse under his breath. Any other day, he’d be delighted to see his beloved. As it were, he’d been avoiding Deceit just as much as he’d been avoiding everyone else. Was it a good idea to isolate himself when there was a figurative (might as well have been literal) storm cloud hovering over his head? Of course not. Not like he ever had any good ideas to begin with, anyway.

“Roman,” Deceit purred from the other side of the door.

“Fine, fine,” Roman sighed, unlocking the door with a halfhearted snap of his fingers. “Come in, then.”

At least Deceit’s arrival had distracted him from crying any more. Running a hand through his hair to try and tame his bedhead, Roman watched as Deceit let himself in. He closed the door gently behind him. He looked as exquisite as always, not a hair or thread out of place. He was carrying two containers.

“Move over,” Deceit said, seating himself on the mattress without waiting.

He set the tupperware down and turned to Roman. His eyes scanned over Roman’s face. A lot of good his poker face did him when Roman was intimately aware of every one of Deceit’s expressions and facial tics by now.

“Hi,” Deceit said softly.

“Hey,” Roman replied, muted.

Roman shifted, pulling the sheets more tightly around his waist. God, he hated winter. It was so cold. He didn’t even have the energy to conjure a space heater or electric blankets.

“Brought you lunch,” Deceit offered, picking one of the meals up and prying the lid off.

The container was full of grilled cheese sandwiches, cut into hearts. Roman looked at Deceit, unable to resist grinning a little bit.

“Patton insisted on helping,” Deceit grumbled.

Roman reached for the other and found it filled with tomato bisque. It was warm in his hands. Without a care in the world, he lifted the bowl to his mouth and drank the soup straight from it. His arms ached doing so but damn if it didn’t taste good.

“There are spoons, you know!” Deceit said, scowling.

Roman licked his lips. “Sorry.”

They ate in relative silence after that. Sometimes they took turns dipping the grilled cheeses into the soup. At one point, Roman shyly held up one of his half-eaten heart shaped sandwiches and Deceit rolled his eyes as he held his own half up against Roman’s. Deceit would talk occasionally; about Virgil and Patton taking up the living room for a blanket fort that no one else was allowed in; about Thomas and Joan’s latest additions to Reasons to Smile; about the debate he and Logan had recently regarding whether or not Pluto was a planet.

“Did he end it with viva la Pluto, fuck you?” Roman asked, reaching forward to… His fingers twitched and he pulled back, looking away.

“Of course he did,” Deceit answered. He waved a hand and the containers disappeared. A heated blanket appeared in their place. “Come here, then.”

Roman hesitated. Deceit twirled a finger in the air, changing into comfy loungewear. The next movement was directed at Roman, whose pajamas were replaced with clean ones that smelled just slightly of lavender. Deceit shoved the blanket into Roman’s lap.

God, again with the stupid tears—

“Shh,” Deceit hushed him, hands coming up to cradle Roman’s face gently. “I know. It’s okay.”

“It isn’t,” Roman croaked, allowing himself to curl his fingers around one of Deceit’s wrists. “I’m supposed to be str… stronger than this.”

“Is Patton weak when he has his Days?”

“Of course not,” Roman defended, vehemently.

“Surely, Virgil is when he panics over the tiniest of things.”

“He isn't!”

“Then why, Roman, would you think yourself weak for this?”

“It’s just a lack of sunlight,” Roman scoffed, dropping his hand to his lap, where he proceeded to pick at his chipped nail polish. He tried to turn away, tried to break their locked gaze. He was pathetic enough without having to see Deceit’s pitying expression.

“Ro,” Deceit interrupted those thoughts, tone scolding. He let Roman go, knowing better than to keep his hold when it wasn’t wanted. “Logan’s with Thomas right now but don’t think for a second that I won’t call him here if that’s what it takes.”

“We’re not going to bother him with this—”

“Bother?”

“You know what I mean!”

“Actually, I don’t,” Deceit disagreed, sneering. He hated when it came to that. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

“The first result for "things people also ask" when you search for seasonal affective disorder is whether or not it’s real,” Roman snapped. “And I’m not real, not technically, so how can something like seasonal fucking depression affect me!”

Roman gestured towards the floor to ceiling windows that comprised one wall of his room. The sky was bright blue. “Even if it did, I have complete control over the Fantasy Realm. I could just pop in for a few hours of basking in the sunshine and I’d be all better! I can’t even do that, though!”

“Dearheart, you know vitamin D in the Fantasy Realm would work just as well as hugs and food do.” Deceit tried not to think about the last time Roman had forgotten this. It’d been… frightening, to say the least.

“They literally have lamps that do the same thing but go off I guess.”

“Alright.” Deceit said abruptly.

He grabbed the heated blanket and draped it over Roman’s shoulders. Then, with perhaps more force than necessary, he pushed Roman back down onto the pillows.

“Hey!” Roman shouted, not appreciating being manhandled, thank you very much.

Deceit didn’t answer and instead just sprawled himself on top of Roman’s chest. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but whenever you start to talk bad about yourself, one of the reasons is because you’re touch-starved.”

“I am not—!” Roman would have finished his sentence if Deceit hadn’t buried a hand into his hair and scraped his nails along his scalp. Goosebumps erupted on his arms and at the back of his neck. “That…” Roman’s eyes slid shut. “That is cheating.”

“We’re not done talking about this,” Deceit promised, carding his fingers through Roman’s locks. “Right now, though, I think you could just use some physical affection and a nap.”

“I’m…” Roman sighed, melting under Deceit’s gentle touches.

“Hmm?” Deceit hummed, shifting so that he was a bit more comfortable and so that Roman could still breathe easily. “What is it, my articulate amor?”

“M’sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Deceit insisted, leaning up just close enough to press a kiss to Roman’s jaw. He tucked his face into the crook of Roman’s neck.

“... Okay,” Roman agreed haltingly. “I love you, darling.”

“I love you, your highness. Rest now.”

Whatever Roman had wanted to say was overtaken by a huge yawn. He shuffled as best he could further under the blankets, warmth wrapped around his shoulders and laid reassuringly on top of him. The idea of returning to this discussion scared him more than he thought it ought to but… He supposed he could work through it if he had someone so secure and patient like Deceit to help him.

#sanders sides fan fiction #romantic roceit #roceit #roceit fan fiction #ts deceit #roman sanders #deceit sanders #dani writes

[jeonginify]

hi! i’m not sure if your au requests are still open and u can ignore this if not, but i’d love to see 4, 8, 5 with hyunjin! <3

mafia!au + exes!au + “you have the emotional capacity of a brick.”

wc: 1k

You have dated your fair share of idiots. It comes with the territory of being romantically interested in the male species, you suppose. But really, Hwang Hyunjin is one for the books, because you can’t quite remember the last time one of your exes was this stupid.

“Hyunjin, you cannot just kidnap me off the street and expect me to not be angry!”

He looks at you, confused, with those wide and somehow innocent eyes, and you are once again reminded why exactly you started dating him in the first place.

“But I don’t see the problem… I needed your opinion on the roses.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair.

“And you couldn’t send me a fucking text?!”

He pouts. “I didn’t think you would answer.”

He’s right, of course—you wouldn’t have answered. Partly because up until an hour ago, you had been busy. Mostly, though, because you knew if you responded, you probably would have ended up calling him, which would have led to him asking you on a date for the third time this week, which would have been hard to say no to (the first two times were painful to refuse, okay, and you’re weak when it comes to him. Who can blame you?)

“That doesn’t mean you send Jeongin to where I work and ambush me when I’m leaving!” You cry out, exasperated.

“But Jeongin said he missed you and he wouldn’t mind going to pick you up!”

You turn to the side of the room, where Jeongin is standing stock still, looking the ever present image of fear with a gun holstered to his hip and those stupid sunglasses that make him look like a thug covering his eyes.

“Really?” You ask, glaring at him.

He turns away from you, and you swear he shrinks into the shadows a bit under your gaze.

“Hey, you know I have to take Hyunjin’s side now that the two of you broke up…”

You sigh, turning your glare onto the man in front of you. He looks good, like always, in his crisp black suit and polished black loafers. You can see those dumb sushi socks you bought him a month into your relationship peeking out of his pant leg, and an unexpected wave of sadness hits you.

“You know we aren’t dating anymore, right?” You ask him. 

He nods obliviously. “Yeah, I know.”

“Then why,” you inhale sharply, “am I here?”

“I never know what flowers to get my mum,” Hyunjin says, oddly bashful. It’s a sight, you think, to have a mafia boss look at you like this—with such childlike trepidation, as if you hold his world in your hands. “But she always loves what you pick out…”

You deadpan. “She also loves what Jeongin picks out. She also loves what you pick out.”

“No,” Hyunjin says insistently, “but you’ve always been the best at this.”

A moment passes as you think about what to say. You’re at a loss for words, honestly. Being back here, in this giant mansion that doubles as the base for whatever illicit activities Hyunjin and his gang do—it brings back so many memories. 

It’s nostalgic, and you can almost imagine that when you leave after this conversation is done, you’re heart might break once more, like it did when you decided to end your relationship with Hyunjin.

“Hyunjin,” you say gently. “You can’t do things like this. I have things to do, a life to live, and I can’t—I can’t have you bulldozing in like this just because you need my opinion on what flowers to get your mother.”

He won’t meet your eyes.

“You aren’t my boyfriend anymore,” you remind him.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” you repeat. “So, can I go—?”

“But!” He says quickly before you can finish. “You didn’t tell me what you think of the roses.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “They’re fine!”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, and so you roll your eyes and stalk over to the door that Jeongin is standing next to.

“Wait—Y/N!” Hyunjin calls out, running to block your path.

“What?” You say, increasingly annoyed.

There’s a moment of silence, you have to take a deep breath to stop yourself from yelling at him.

“Can’t we… Not be broken up?” He mutters finally.

You gape at him.

“I mean,” he hastily corrects himself. “Why can’t we not be broken up? You were happy with me, weren’t you?”

You inhale, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Hyunjin,” you start. “You have the emotional capacity of a brick, and apparently, the mental capacity of one too.”

He scoffs in indignation.

“Well, that’s just rude…” He mutters.

“Yet somehow,” you shake your head. “That’s not even why we broke up in the first place.”

“Then… why?” He whispers, looking oddly vulnerable.

It hurts you to see that look in his eyes, and so you turn your gaze away quickly.

“We already talked about this,” you tell him, voice soft and not unkind. “You lied to me, Hyunjin, for months, about all this! You’re a criminal, and you didn’t bother to tell me until I accidentally found out from Seungmin.”

“But, I was protecting you,” he says, voice thick with emotion.

You turn to look him straight in the eye.

“I didn’t need protecting. I needed the truth.”

“You know now, though!” Hyunjin says, desperate. It’s like he can feel you slipping away, and he’s grasping on—reaching for any part of you that is still left.

There’s a prolonged moment of silence, with the two of you staring at each other.

Then,

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

Your voice is deathly soft, and Hyunjin just continues to stare. There isn’t anything for him to say, and you have your answer.

Without another word, you turn on your heels and walk out the door.

This time, Hyunjin doesn’t try to stop you.

“So,” Jeongin says once you are gone. “What do you want me to do with the roses?”

Hyunjin groans. 

“Give them to Felix.”

#drabble ask game #m:hwang hyunjin #this started of light and got ~angsty~ a bit bc i felt basic for deflecting with humor once again #thank u for the ask love! <3333

[obligatorynasty]

The Weight of the Knife, Part 1: Edgeless

— Sequel to I’ll Be the Fight to Your Flight, Baby. [Read on Tumblr | AO3]

Part: [1] [2] [3] | Read on: AO3 | WC: ~10k | Please excuse any typos.

Main Tags: BadBoy!Tony, Highschool AU, NFF, Angst, TW:Mentions of Blood, TW:Abuse, TW:Graphic Depictions of Violence, TW:Bullying, TW:Underage Drinking and Smoking, Bruises, Choking, [Read all tags on AO3]

Dedicated to @starker-stories, whose love for this AU kept me motivated to write more.

~*1*~

When Peter crossed the threshold into the Stark mansion, the first image that etched itself into his mind was the painting that hung in the foyer. It was massive; nearly covering a two-story wall from ceiling to floor. Adorned with an ornate frame, it stood out from its modern surroundings – partially due to the happy visage of Howard Stark and the even happier young Tony – but mainly due to the large white sheet draped over half of the frame. Peter could tell from the gentle feminine hand placed atop the young Tony's shoulder that it was his mother, Maria Stark, who was obscured. It was hard to fathom – covering a painting in such a blatant way – but watching Tony completely ignore it was even harder. The image was so ingrained that the impact Peter felt was nothing more than a diluted normalcy to Tony.

So Peter didn't bring it up. Instead, he made small talk about the twelve car garage and the unbelievable size of the chandelier that hung in the dining room. He remarked about the mansion’s eerie spotlessness; a feeling like no one lived there or, as Tony clarified, like a dozen house staff maintained the property. He chatted about the practically untouched furniture and how the polished marble tiles squeaked beneath their sneakers, echoing against the high ceilings, as they hurried to the lab. 

“Are you sure we’re allowed to be here, Tones?” Peter asked, each new step into the mansion scratching at his latent anxieties.

“Definitely not but that just makes it more fun, doesn’t it, baby?” 

Tony delivered the line with a heap of charm and that signature bad boy grin. He was so nonchalant, never bothered and always teasing. Sometimes Peter couldn’t believe he was dating the infamous bad boy; the fearsome fighter; the unhinged delinquent; Tony – fucking – Stark. Yet, in their six amazing months as a couple, Peter has had the pleasure of seeing him more as the remarkable genius, the hilarious car singer, and the loyal friend. Sure, Tony was a bad boy through and through but Peter had given him the space to be anything other than that and, so far, they were thriving because of it.

“Maybe it’s more fun for you, but I’m stressed. I’m anxious. I’m-” Peter was stunned into silence when Tony ushered him into the lab. The workspace was a sharp contrast to the rest of the house. It was cluttered; multiple workbenches and desks scattered with complex machinery and technological marvels. “I’m in heaven.” Peter sighed dreamily.

Tony laughed, leaning close, whispering in Peter’s ear a very flirty, “I know something else that could take you to heaven.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Tony!” Peter giggled, jumping away from his boyfriend, his face flushed pink. “We’re in your dad’s lab !” His laughter trailed off as he wandered the room. His nerd senses were on overdrive and his attention to everything else was waning in the face of all the robotic spectacles and hologram capabilities. 

“You’re right.” Tony threw his hands up in surrender. “Wouldn’t want to get caught in here.”

“Exactly,” Peter nodded, brows furrowing in focus as he examined a circuit board that seemed to be forgotten in a pile of desk clutter. “Are you sure your dad isn’t coming home any time soon?”

“I’m sure enough." Tony smiled, stepping forward to hook his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “But let’s stay focused, sweetheart. I promise I’ll show you around more next time.”

“Okay,” Peter pouted, ditching the circuit board and falling out of his tech-obsessed trance, allowing Tony to lead him to the large hologram screen at the center of the room. 

“Plus, we have that thing at your place later,” Tony said as he began navigating the screen with small flicks of his hand. “I just need to find one thing on this computer and then we can go to the... what exactly did Auntie call it again?”

“Our six month anniversary dinner extravaganza,” Peter punctuated each word with grand hand gestures, all coated in sarcasm. “Catered by chef May ,” Peter joked, mocking his aunt’s voice. “Why she thinks we care about things like that is beyond me.”

“Oh?” Tony glanced at his boyfriend with a raised brow and a sly smile. “But I got you a gift, baby.”

“No, you didn’t!” Peter laughed, playfully pushing against Tony’s shoulder. “You said we’d celebrate a year. You said that.” He paused, eyebrows momentarily knitting in concern, “Wait, you didn’t actually get me something, did you?”

“And what if I did?”

“I would obviously fall into an empty-handed panic.” Peter feigned terror, emphasizing his jest by throwing a dramatic hand against his forehead before letting his expression drop into a small pout. “But, really, did you get one?”

“Maybe, maybe not, but it’s not like I need a gift in return.” Tony stopped searching the console, glancing at Peter with suggestive eyes. “You can just let me fuck the lights out of my virgin boyfriend and we'll call it even.”

“Tony! Oh my-” Peter blushed, covering his face and laughing into his hands as the embarrassment bubbled within him. “O-Okay, first of all, MJ says virginity is a construct.”

“And as usual, she’s right,” Tony joined the laughter, shaking his head as his focus drifted back to the computer. “Virginity is a construct – and with all the shit we’ve done, calling you a virgin just wouldn’t do that mouth justice, sweetheart – but still, it doesn’t stop me from wanting to fuck you until you’re a mess.”

Peter froze, his cheeks going a deeper red at his boyfriend’s candid words and his mind running through memories of their most fervent makeout sessions. Like the time Tony used Peter’s mouth – just fucking used it however he wanted. Or the time he naively wondered how his boyfriend managed to last for so long and Tony proceeded to edge him for an hour. And Peter still got goosebumps whenever he thought about that time in Tony’s backseat when he first learned what frotting was. Fuck , he could go on forever but the soft touch of his boyfriend’s hand smoothing through his hair pulled his focus.

“I know we’re joking and shit but- will you...or I mean, do you want to?”

And Peter could tell by the way Tony averted his eyes, speaking so nervous and low, that the question was serious. So, for a moment, he considered if this was the right time to say yes; if this was the right time to go all the way. Yet, he struggled with that phrase – that right time and the inherent importance it somehow held. As if sex was a special frontier that he needed to cross with care. It was strange because although this type of sex was new, being sexual was not; being close to Tony was not; being intimate was not. There were far more important milestones to worry about, so why was his heart thrumming so loud at the mere thought of answering?

“Okay,” Peter finally spoke, solidifying his answer with a smile and a nod. “How about during the break? I-Is that okay?”

“Wait, for real?” Tony perked up, his expression beaming. “I mean, no pressure, baby. You don’t actually have to if you don’t want to, but if you want to – like really fucking want to, not some my-boyfriend-wants-to-so-I-want-to bullshit – then yes. Hell yes. The break is fucking perfect. It’s-”

“Okay, don’t get too excited,” Peter giggled, leaning against Tony’s shoulder and breathing in the older boy’s scent to calm his nerves. “I want to, so I’ll have to p-prep and stuff, but yeah- last day of school is in two days so we’ll have time this weekend to – I don’t know – focus on it, or I mean- um... fuck , talking about it like this is weird.”

Tony pressed a kiss to the top of Peter’s head, “First rule of fucking: Don’t do any fucking until you can actually talk about fucking.”

“Good tip,” Peter crossed his arms and grinned. “Should I credit Pepper or Bruce for that one?”

“Wow, excuse you,” Tony shook his head, mirroring Peter’s grin. “It was actually Rhodey. His dad taught him about sex stuff and he taught me.” His smile faded then, “I mean, it’s not like my old man would teach me anything about that shit anyway.”

Peter’s expression fell solemn, “The important thing is that you learned it, right?” He slipped a gentle hand underneath Tony’s leather jacket, rubbing comforting circles into the small of his back. “If it makes you feel any better, ever since we started dating, May won’t shut up about safe sex. Every morning, when I’m trying to have a peaceful breakfast, she’s there talking about condoms or lube or – oh my god – ‘anal cleanliness’ and I’m just mortified in front of my cheerios.”

“Glad to hear Auntie has been advocating for me to get my dick wet.”

“Oh god,” Peter shook his head, gripping his sides from laughter. “Do not say Auntie and dick wet in the same sentence!”

Tony laughed, “I was just- oh shit, hold up, I found it,” Tony focused on the screen, quickly moving to transfer the file to his phone. 

Peter leaned in to get a closer look, “Found what exactly?”

“The file I need to upgrade Jarvis.”

“Wait, why do you need your dad’s file to upgrade Jarvis?”

“It’s less of an upgrade and more of a key... well, it’s not really that either,” Tony explained. “My dad has this elaborate dynamic encryption protecting the Stark Industries file system and, where Jarvis is right now, he doesn’t have the processing power to brute force the encryption before a new key is set.”

“Oh!” Peter joyfully interrupted, “And this file will give Jarvis access to the encryption key, which would, in theory, give you access every time the encryption algorithm changes to a new key.”

“Fuck, baby, you really know how to turn a guy on.” Tony playful bit his lip and wiggled his eyebrows at Peter.

“Tony!” Peter blushed, rolling his eyes with a smile. “Seriously.”

“Sorry, couldn’t help it,” Tony laughed, turning his attention back to the downloading file. “But you’re almost right. This file is the encryption algorithm so by having Jarvis learn this, he should be able to learn not only how to break in, but also how to predict any improvements made to it.”

“So you’ll never be locked out of Stark Industries again.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Now that’s something to get turned on about.”

Tony raised his brow and turned towards Peter, placing a gentle hand on the younger boy’s hips. “Am I making you hot and bothered, sweetheart?”

“Maybe a little,” Peter softly spoke, bracing himself on Tony’s arms as he was hoisted up onto a desk. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What am I not going to do?” Tony playfully whispered as he stepped between Peter’s knees, wrapping his arms around Peter’s svelte frame, pulling their chests together and closing the gap between their lips.

Whenever they kissed, Peter was reminded of their first. He was reminded of how nervous he was; how bashful; how shaky. Sitting in his bedroom with his face cupped in Tony’s hands, feeling that heated closeness and the warm breath tickling his lips. Their first kiss was tender, slow, and full of emotion. It was so different from the kiss they shared now.

This kiss was frantic and hungry, filled with emotion but fueled by lust. Their lips crashing together like being apart was agony and their hands exploring every inch of exposed flesh, just aching to dip beneath hems and seams. Peter had gained confidence in kissing, even when open-mouthed and graced by tongue. Threading his fingers through Tony's hair had become commonplace and moaning into Tony's mouth was a thoughtless eventuality. A few months ago, he would have cringed at the thought of making such needy sounds but now, he reveled in it. 

Not a lot made him nervous these days. His stutter was practically gone and his skittish nature seldom made an appearance. Something about facing his bullies head-on just changed him. He was the picture of courage, dauntless and bold, the most fearless…

Oh fuck. Peter was dragged from his thoughts by the electric sensation of Tony’s hand on his nipple, pinching and rubbing at the tender nub as the kiss became rougher. Tony tugged Peter’s bottom lip through his teeth, pleasantly groaning at the satisfied expression on the younger boy's face.

Peter gasped, dipping his head down to hide his surely flushed cheeks and clutching at Tony’s leather sleeves like they were the ground that kept him from short-circuiting. “T-Tony, th-that um - that’s-”

“What is it, baby?” Tony gave a smug grin, bringing a hand up beneath Peter’s jaw, gradually squeezing as he guided Peter’s gaze to his. “Go on, tell me.”

And all Peter could do was whine, shakily and through a strained breath. The lightheaded rush of being choked and the mere presence of Tony’s touch making him bulge in his jeans. His hands trembled where they grasped and his eyes yearned for more. So Tony gave a final hard squeeze before pulling his hand away, opting to grab a handful of Peter’s curls. “I asked you a question, sweetheart.”

“T-Tony, I-I’m- um ...i-it’s-” Peter stuttered, falling back into his nerves like they were never really gone. “It’s g-good.”

“There you are,” Tony whispered, a mischievous smile working its way to his lips as he grazed his fingertips against the hardness just beyond Peter’s zipper. “All nervous and cute just for me.”

The only response Peter could muster was a high-pitched Mhmm and a slight pull on Tony’s sleeves, making the older boy lean in for another kiss – and holy shit was it a really fucking good kiss.

So good that the Jarvis alert was background noise and the click of the door handle was their first indicator that Tony’s dad had arrived. The sound made Tony’s shoulders go rigid as he recoiled away from Peter, quickly closing the hologram console before glaring at the door with tension in his eyes. 

Howard stepped into the room, dressed in slacks and a button-up shirt with rolled sleeves and a loose tie. His face was cast in a five o’clock shadow. His eyes were dark – darker than each swig of whiskey from the glass he cradled in his left hand. “So this is your newest boy toy, Anthony?” He shook his head, “I’ve got to say, I’m underwhelmed by this one.”

“ Don’t call him that.” Tony practically growled, his voice taut and his tone a bit deeper.

This was the first time Peter has ever seen Tony and his dad interact. It was shocking – petrifying, really – enough to kill all arousal and compel him to absolute silence. 

Tony was seething, even more than usual, but Howard just laughed, short and belittling, “Of course, you would be more passionate about a slut like this than the company. Predictable as ever, Anthony.”

“Fuck you,” Tony spoke through clenched teeth. 

And from his place at Tony’s side, Peter could tell that the older boy’s knuckles were starting to lose color from how tightly he balled his fists. He could see that Tony was shaking beneath that leather like a boiling pot, brimming with fury and rage. He knew that Howard’s spiteful baiting was bound to make that anger boil over. 

Howard audibly tsked, downing the remaining whiskey in one large swig. And for a moment, the room was still, filled only with the sound of breath and the tick of a clock, when suddenly, it wasn’t. Howard spiked the glass against the floor. The shattering glass and subsequent splay of shards against tile cut through the lab and shook Peter to his very core. The erratic behavior eroding any doubt Peter held about Howard’s presence; imposing and threatening as it was, like watching a carnivore tear through his dinner. 

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Howard asked, his voice deep and menacing. 

And Peter thought that would be it. He thought Tony would boil over with anger, yell at his father for speaking to him like that; for acting like that. He thought Tony wouldn’t stand for it.

He was wrong.

“Nothing,” Tony shook his head and grabbed Peter by the wrist, radiating a feeling that Peter knew all too well. The fearsome bad boy was scared ; so scared that his hand began to tremble where it gripped; so scared that he started towards the lab doors with Peter in tow. Tony – never lost a fight – Stark was so scared that he was choosing flight and that alone was terrifying.

Without so much as a glimpse in his father’s direction, they rushed towards the doors. Nearly there, nearly escaped. Yet, in those few seconds, in those few breaths, in those few strides, Peter learned what made Howard Stark so dangerous.

“Always a coward, just like your mother.”

Tony flinched, his muscles tensing and his grip tightening on Peter’s wrist. “Don’t talk about her like that.” He spoke low, scared but provoked, thrashing in his father’s trap.

“Like what? Like the waste of space she was?” Howard scoffed. “All she did was birth a useless criminal son and left when she couldn’t deal with the pressure of raising you.”

And it was like throwing a grenade into a bonfire.

“She left because of you!” Tony exploded, screaming loud enough to rival the impact of the shattered glass.

Slap!

It was faster than Peter could process but the echo of Howard’s hand connecting with Tony’s cheek rang in his ears. Fear and anger ricocheted through his body like lightning in a bottle; yet, he could do nothing but watch. Watch how quickly Tony was shaken from his anger like a knife whose edge had dulled. Watch how unapologetic Howard was; how sickeningly pleased he was with Tony’s prompt obedience. Watch firsthand just how twisted Tony’s life at home was.

It was silent for a few heartbeats, then Tony gripped Peter’s wrist even harder than before and pulled him out of the lab. Walking with urgency and leaving behind the callous laughter of his father. 

“Tony,” Peter whispered, his fingers feeling prickly as the feeling started to fade from the pressure of Tony’s hold. “Tony, um-” He struggled to speak as he was practically dragged towards the front door. “Tony, my hand, you’re-!” He tried pulling against Tony’s strength but to no avail. So he planted his heels when they reached the foyer and the force of Tony’s momentum caused them both to trip forward. “Tony!”

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Tony screamed, grabbing Peter by his upper arm and looking at him with the same frustrated expression that he showed his father. “We need to fucking go!”

Peter’s eyes went wide, a twinge of fear bubbling in his chest before anger overtook it. “You were hurting me!” Peter snapped back, yanking his arm away and marching passed Tony, heading towards the car. 

“I- fuck , Peter, I didn’t-” Tony frustratingly ran his hands through his hair, following Peter into the garage. 

“Don’t,” Peter interrupted, raising his palm.

“Why didn’t you just say something?!” Tony yelled, still fuming as he slid into the driver’s seat. 

“I tried too!” Peter yelled back, slamming the car door on his way in and training his eyes out the window, trying to ignore the tension and the dull pain of the bruise on his wrist. “Can you just drive me home?”

Tony inhaled sharp, “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“That-!” Tony stopped himself and took a deep breath, finally dropping his tone. “Whatever.”

“Great, now you’re whatever-ing me,” Peter mumbled, crossing his arms and gripping his sides in a self-hug. He could feel his emotions in his throat, shaking and threatening to burst, and as he leaned his head against the window, he bit the inside of his lip to keep them at bay.

“If you don’t want to talk, then we’re not going to talk.”

“I never said that I didn’t want to talk.” Peter sniffled – fuck , he thought, as a single tear managed to escape. “I-I just don’t appreciate you t-taking out your anger on me.”

“I’m not!” Tony snapped again.

Peter’s voice was shaky, “T-Then why are you still yelling?”

“Because-!” Tony had a vice grip on the steering wheel, his face a blend of anger and fear and regret. “Because he fucking says shit just to get under my skin and he calls you all these fucked up things and ignores that you’re there and just fucking-” He paused, dropping his forehead against the wheel as well. “I just...”

The sight of Tony struggling made Peter’s heart hurt, but the sound of Tony’s sadness went beyond it. “You just?”

“Nevermind.”

“No, Tones. Don’t do that. Talk to me. I’m-”

“Drop it, Peter.” Tony started the car, ending the conversation like Peter stepped on his toes.

Then, they drove in silence. An awkward and deafening kind of silence – filled with the hum of Tony’s engine and whoosh of the passing scenery – but deafening nonetheless. The peeved energy radiating off of the older boy was familiar but, this time, it wasn’t remedied with silly lip-synced rock ‘n’ roll. No, this was different from those times. Peter couldn’t help but feel tense and, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop the way his body shook beneath that fact.

When they arrived at the apartment, the air in the car was so stifling that stepping out into the evening breeze was jarring. Peter tried on a smile, holding the car door open as he spoke, “Are you still coming in for the dinner thing?”

“No.” Tony kept his response short with his lips pressed in a hard line and his eyes fixed on the windshield. “See you at school tomorrow.”

And Peter parted his lips but no words came. So he shut his mouth and the car door, watching from his place on the curb as Tony drove away. For a short while, he stood there, inhaling deep breaths to stave off the tears, but soon, the patter of rain gave him cause to walk inside. 

The apartment was filled with the savory scent of pizza and the sounds of the evening news. It was warm and bright and there was confetti trailing from the front door to the dining table. Taped to the entryway wall was a sign, printed on multiple sheets of white printer paper, that read ‘ Happy 6-Month Extravaganz ’ with a sloppy letter ‘A’ scrawled on a sticky note at the end. 

And Peter didn’t know much more his heart could take.

“Hey boys, I ordered pizza! You wouldn’t believe the fight I had with the office copy machine! It was-” As May rounded the corner and saw the look on Peter’s face, she paused. “Oh, Peter, what happened?”

“Nothing,” Peter shook his head. “This all looks great, thanks Aunt May.” He smiled but even he couldn’t deny the feeling of wetness against his cheeks – he blamed the rain.

“How about some pizza?” May gave a small smile, moving to pull the sign down. “We can eat and watch some movies together. How’s that sound?”

“No, I’m- I’m tired and I’ve got- um, homework to finish up,” Peter sniffled, involuntarily using his sleeve to wick away his sadness. “So I’m just going to go to my room. Night May.”

~*2*~

“Okay, I’m just going to say it,” MJ shook her head, tossing her books into her locker, staring her best friend squarely in the face. “You look like shit.”

And Peter, whose eyes were puffy and whose shoulders were slumped and whose only form of expression came through exasperated sighs, gazed at MJ with tired eyes, “I know.”

“What happened, dude?” Ned questioned, slamming his locker closed and moving to put a comforting hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“A lot,” Peter dropped his forehead against his locker. “A lot happened.”

“Want to talk about it?” MJ offered, her eyes shrouded in sympathy.

Peter sighed, slowly shaking his head, “Not even a little.”

“Well, well, what do we have here?” It was Natasha’s voice, like nails being hammered into Peter’s sanity. “Why so blue? Did your psychotic dog run away?” She laughed, “Maybe for some other twink? Or – what did Loki say? – plaything , right?”

“Nat, stop,” Clint grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away from Peter’s group.

“No,” Natasha resisted, shaking her arm free, a smirk perched on her lips like she was invincible. “Didn’t see Tony with you this morning either. Did he get tired of his bitch?”

“Nat, fucking chill,” Clint whispered under his breath, trying once again to pull her away. “She doesn’t mean it guys. We’re sorry. Come on, Nat!”

“ Sorry? I’m not fucking sorry. ” Natasha scoffed, “Looks like he’s all alone today, maybe we should text Loki, see what he thinks about that.”

“Are you done?” MJ interrupted, glaring at the pair of bullies with her arms crossed.

“Not talking to you,” Natasha sassed, rolling her eyes at MJ. “I’m talking to bitch boy over here.”

Peter inhaled slow, calming the nerves that sat at the back of his mind. “Text them,” He challenged, lifting his forehead from his locker and turning to face Natasha with a bored expression. “Do it. I dare you. Go ahead and see what happens.”

And Natasha, with all of her brazen snark, was taken aback by Peter’s abnormally quick response. “Whatever, you’re not worth my time.” 

“ Whatever, you’re not worth my time. ” Peter mocked, his face unfazed despite the speed of his anxiously racing heart or the force of his grip on the seam in his pocket. “You’re not worth my time, Red.”

“Dude,” Ned held back a laugh, but MJ had no such control; her laughter pulled the attention of curious hallway students, including a guy Peter has never seen before. He was tall and a bit muscular, sporting a denim jacket and staring at Peter with a confidence a bit too reminiscent of Tony’s. It was weird, like locking eyes with a much more smiley and bright version of Tony. Why was this guy staring at him like that anyway? Peter didn’t have the energy to question it; besides, all his attention should be on not getting beat up again.

“Nat, stop fucking around, let’s go,” Clint didn’t give in this time, placing a firm hand in hers and walking away with her in tow.

“Fuck you, bitch. Stark can’t protect you forever!” Natasha’s final words, topped off with a flip of her middle finger, as she disappeared down the hall.

Peter gave a relieved sigh, hand over his heart like he narrowly escaped death, “I think I’m going to pass out.”

“Well, don’t,” Ned laughed. “That was fucking awesome, dude. Very Tony Stark of you.”

“Guess that’s what happens when you move up the food chain,” MJ joked. “Suck Tony Stark’s dick for protection one time and the whole school becomes your bitch.”

“We both know he’s sucked that dick more than once,” Ned smirked, bumping his arm against MJ’s.

“Please stop,” Peter rolled his eyes and started towards the lunchroom, “Let’s just go eat.”

MJ laughed, moving to walk beside Peter, “Where is Tony today anyway?”

“Yeah, he’s usually at your locker before lunch starts,” Ned added. 

“Like I said,” Peter sighed. “ A lot happened.”

“Oh, okay, fair enough,” MJ shrugged as they entered the lunchroom. “No further questions.”

“Well, I have a question,” Ned interjected, following behind Peter to the lunch line. “What the fuck are we doing for the break?” He posed the question with urgent eyes. “Because, and I don’t want to alarm anyone, but we have got to be the only juniors without spring break plans.” 

“Oh no, not that.” MJ feigned surprise, her eyes bored and her voice monotonous but not even her eye roll could stop Ned’s enthusiasm.

“Oh no is right, MJ! Peter, are your cool friends doing anything?”

“My cool friends?” Peter squinted as he grabbed a tray and moved down the line, unimpressed by the high school food but too exhausted to complain.

MJ snorted, “He means the big buff trio.”

Well, even Peter had to smile at that, “You mean Steve, Sam, and Bucky?”

“MJ, that codename is for private correspondence only,” Ned joked. “But yeah, have they roped you into any plans yet?”

“I don’t know,” Peter shrugged as they exited the line, surveying the lunchroom for Steve’s table and locking eyes with a waving Bucky. “Let’s go ask.”

“What?” Ned’s eyebrows flew upward. “You’re bringing us to sit with Steve Rogers?”

“I guess I am,” Peter gave a small grin. “I’ve got to introduce my cool friends to my new friends eventually, right?”

Ned dramatically gasped, “When did my best friend become so smooth?”

“He was always this smooth,” MJ laughed, following Peter to the table.

“Hey Peter,” Bucky smiled, gesturing to some empty chairs. “And MJ and Ned, right?”

“Yeah,” MJ said as she sat. “Nice to finally meet you guys.”

“Likewise,” Steve said before shooting Peter a skeptical look. “Hey Pete, where’s Tony?”

“Not sure,” Peter clenched his jaw, biting on the inside of his lip to stave off his lingering emotions, preparing himself to make excuses. “He’s probably just skipping today. No big deal.” He waved away any hint of sadness, replacing it instead with an over-enthused – and clearly forced – smile. “Anyway, we were talking about spring break, right Ned?”

“Right,” Ned said, blinking a few times before shaking his head. “Right!” He dropped his hands against the lunch table, pulling everyone’s attention – leave it to him to always have Peter’s back. “Spring break is next week, guys. Do you have any plans?”

“Well, me and the guys usually visit my family’s beach house,” Steve answered.

“How big is the house?” MJ asked.

“Oh, the house is huge,” Bucky assured. “If people doubled up in the beds, it could probably sleep like twelve people.”

“Did you guys want to come with us?” Steve offered. “We could make it a party. Tony could bring his friends too. What do you think, Pete?”

Peter was distracted, idly pushing food around his lunch tray and staring into the abyss of students. His mind wandered through yesterday’s events, silently wishing they never happened. He wondered where Tony was; where Tony had been all morning. It was like him to skip classes but never lunch. It was the only school period they shared. What was happening?

“Peter!” MJ snapped him from his thoughts. “You there?”

“O-Oh, what? Sorry, um- what were you-?”

“Spring break party at Steve’s beach house with all of us and Tony’s crew?” MJ summarized. “That sound good?”

“Yeah, probably,” Peter nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

“Great, then I’ll ask my parents if we can use the house and let you guys know what they say on Friday.”

“Thanks, Steve,” Ned excitedly said.

And the conversation went from there. Planning about what food to bring, what alcohol was the best, what games they would play. Some great mingling between mutual friends that Peter was barely present for. He was so in his own head that he didn’t realize who was approaching the table.

“Hey.”

Peter lifted his head, surprised to find that the voice belonged to the guy from the hallway, who was pulling up a chair to sit beside him. “Um...hey?”

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Definitely not kid .” Peter raised his eyebrow. “Who’s asking?”

The guy laughed, “My name’s Quentin – Quentin Beck – and I saw you, in the hallway, telling that girl off and I knew I needed to introduce myself.”

“Wait. That girl? ” MJ interrupted, looking just as confused as the rest of the table. “You don’t know who Natasha Romanoff is? Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m new here. Just transferred today. Nice to meet you guys,” Quentin was courteous, making eye contact with each person at the table before focusing his attention solely on Peter. “Especially you, kid.”

“Peter,” He introduced himself, feeling a bit uneasy with the unfamiliar attention.

“It suits you,” Quentin gave a bright smile. “Your shirt is also pretty funny.”

Peter furrowed his brow, so unsure about what shirt he threw on today that he had to glance down. Peaking between his unbuttoned plaid shirt was his ‘ if you believe in telekinesis, please raise my hand ’ t-shirt. A classic. Peter let out a light huff of breath that ended in the smallest of smiles, “Thanks. It’s actually my favorite one.”

Quentin gave a small laugh of his own, looking at Peter with adoration, “Suddenly, it’s my favorite too.”

“U-Um...you look good too,” Peter clumsily reciprocated. “I mean, your jacket is really cool.”

“You’re really cool,” Quentin shot back with a grin.

“O-kay!” Ned loudly interrupted, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get back to the spring break plans.”

“Agreed,” MJ nodded, staring at Peter with the strongest what-the-fuck-are-you-doing look. “Peter, do you think your boyfriend would mind driving?”

“ Boy friend, huh?” Quentin smirked, not looking away from Peter for even a second. “Glad to know we’re teammates, Peter.”

The line made Sam and Bucky burst into laughter. “Steve, you need to take some notes,” Bucky joked, smiling at Steve, who laughed as well.

“And you better be careful, new kid,” Sam warned, pointing towards the cafeteria doors. “Tony is literally coming this way.”

Peter perked up, surprised to see Tony sauntering towards them. The bad boy’s presence brought the lunchroom to a grinding halt and only when he made it to Peter’s table, did it resume. 

“Move,” Tony spoke directly to Quentin.

“Um...no,” Quentin snorted, seemingly unbothered. “Don’t be a dick. Just get another chair. I’m talking to Peter.”

Everyone, even Peter, was stunned by Quentin’s blind confidence. Tony, however, was immediately set off. “ The fuck? ” Tony cursed as he grabbed Quentin by the jacket collar and effortlessly yanked him up from the chair. “It wasn’t a fucking question.”

“T-Tony! Stop,” Peter promptly stood, pulling Tony’s hand away from the denim. “He didn’t mean it.”

“What?” Tony gave Peter an incredulous look. “Who the fuck is this guy to you?” He moved forward, shoving Quentin back a step. It was all the cafeteria crowd needed to be fully tuned in. Enraptured by the actions of the notorious bad boy and what seemed to be his latest target: a very confused Quentin Beck. A second shove had people whispering, but a third had them outright rowdy with their phones primed to spread the brawl to everyone in the school.

“Tony, stop it !” Peter snapped, his voice low but serious, immediately compelling Tony’s focus. “Hallway,” He demanded before walking off.

Tony tsk ed but followed with his hands shoved in his pockets and anger lingering his eyes. All the way to the empty hallway, where Peter now stood, arms crossed and disappointed, “What is going on with you?”

“Who the fuck was that?” Tony fumed.

“Nobod- wait, no, I-I’m asking the questions,” Peter stressed. “Why are you so on edge?”

“You know why.”

“Actually, no. I really don’t.” Peter pointed out. “You told me to drop it , remember.”

“Not that- fuck, that’s not what I meant.” Tony let out a frustrated sigh.

“Then what did you mean, Tony? Because skipping out on dinner really sends a clear message.” Peter could feel a sting in his eyes. “I’m so confused and hurt and I was looking for you all day today and you finally show up but you’re not even here for me. You just came to cause trouble, didn’t you?”

“No, Peter, that’s-” Tony stepped forward, grabbing Peter’s hand. “I am here for you. I only ever come to this fucking place for you.” He shook his head, “I didn’t want to fight, I just- Why would you even think that?”

Without warning, the lunchroom doors swung open and Quentin emerged, “Oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“Yes!” Tony yelled, in sync with Peter’s very annoyed, “No.”

Peter pulled his hand from Tony’s, “Did you need something, Quentin?”

“Oh, um- I just wanted to say sorry for what I said in there,” Quentin seemed apologetic, looking at Tony with remorse in his eyes. “I didn’t realize that you were Peter’s boyfriend. I overstepped. Sorry, man.”

It appeared a sincere apology, but Tony remained silent.

“Tony, he’s apologizing ,” Peter emphasized.

“So?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Peter whispered, shaking his head and moving towards the lunchroom doors. “I don’t want to talk anymore. Skip the rest of the day for all I care.”

And Tony did just that.

~*3*~

When Peter said skip all day, he didn’t think Tony actually would. He was convinced that, despite the tension, his boyfriend would follow their normal routine. On a regular day, Tony would be there within minutes of the buses leaving, ready to drive him home. So Peter stood outside the school, hopefully waiting for his boyfriend to pick him up. Yet, as the minutes ticked by and the school became emptier, Peter realized that Tony wasn’t coming.

Left with no choice, Peter started the walk home, just as he’d done countless times before; trekked the three miles whenever the weather was nice or he missed the bus. After all, getting driven around by his boyfriend every day would make him lazy. There was no harm in putting feet to the concrete, exercising his legs, inhaling some fresh air. No, the harm started after the first two blocks, when the sky decided on rain and not just any rain – no, this was soak-through-a-backpack , fuck-you-Peter kind of rain.

And Peter nearly screamed, his frustrations pooling as he dashed to take shelter beneath a storefront awning. In the cover, he dropped his head into his palms, convinced that the universe hated him. He didn’t have an umbrella, he didn’t have anyone to pick him up, and no matter how much optimism he tried to muster, he knew an hour-long walk in the pouring rain would break him.

Beep!

A car horn close enough to Tony’s that Peter’s whole body experienced a wave of happiness but, as he lifted his head, the wave dissipated. The car wasn’t Tony’s or MJ’s or Steve’s. Just an ordinary sedan that he was set to ignore, but then, the windows rolled down.

“Well, if it isn’t Tony Stark’s plaything.” It was Loki, parking the car against the curb and stepping out into the rain with vengeance in his eyes. “Where’s Stark?”

Shit. Peter tensed, “Fuck off, Loki. Tony’s on his way.” A bold-faced lie – one he wished were true; one he hoped appeared as true.

“Is he?” Loki smirked deviously, moving closer and closer to Peter, “You see, I received a quite interesting text from Natasha today.” He cracked his knuckles, “What was it you said to me that night? Touch me again and I’ll have him break the other one ?” He recalled, standing inches away from Peter. “Now, that only works if you actually have a him , doesn’t it?”

Yeah, the universe definitely hates me. Peter thought, inhaling sharply as regret seeped through his body and he backed against the brick of the storefront. The very thing he tried so hard to contain swarming to the surface: fear. “Don’t come near me! T-Tony will find out! H-He’ll know, he-”

“There’s the Parker I know,” Loki smirked, grabbing Peter by his collar, “Once a scared little bitch, always a scared little bitch.” He gave a dark laugh as he slammed Peter against the brick with one hand. The other winding into a fist and poised to deliver a punch.

And Peter closed his eyes, relaxed his jaw, and prepared for the inevitable, a pit in his stomach from knowing Tony wouldn’t be saving him. He wanted to cry.

“Hey! Get off of him!” 

A perfectly timed interruption that stopped Loki in his tracks and filled Peter with a thankful relief. It was Quentin, emerging from an expensive, tinted-windowed sports car and bolting towards them without hesitation. With his fists balled and ready to defend, he promptly stepped between them, shoving Loki back a few steps.

Quentin’s serious eyes were striking, especially when paired with that confident grin and the way he hovered his fists like a trained fighter squares up for a brawl. Or the way he pulled off that denim jacket and draped it over Peter’s head like he was protecting something important. Or the way he so reassuringly affirmed that Peter would be fine, so hold this for me, kid. I’ll handle this.

And Peter would be lying if he said it didn’t remind him of Tony.

However, what happened next was nothing like the notorious bad boy. Quentin wasn’t a violent fighter. Though Peter appreciated the protection, the way Quentin fought was boring. He didn’t seem to enjoy the conflict – in fact, he only threw punches when Loki threw them. He was clearly trained but instead of a self-serving show of brutality, he leaned toward ending it as cleanly as possible. In the end, Loki stopped the fight. Not because he was dazed or bruised or bloody, but because Quentin’s resolve was stronger.

And much like Natasha, Loki left Peter with a warning before driving off. “Sooner or later, you’ll run out of assholes to protect you, Parker. And you and I both know that a scared little bitch like you can’t protect yourself.”

Quentin exhaled, winded from the fight and thoroughly soaked with rain, but smiling bright nonetheless. “Hey, Peter! Do you need a ride somewhere?”

Maybe the universe didn’t hate him after all. “Y-Yes!” Peter spared no time in rushing to Quentin’s car and following him inside. “You’re a lifesaver, Quentin.” He said as he shed his wet clothes, denim jacket first, plaid long sleeve second.

“Beck.”

“Hm?”

“My good friends call me Beck.” Quentin smiled, slicking his wet hair away from his forehead.

“Oh,” Peter nodded. “Beck, then. ” He sighed, leaning back against the seat, thankful for the heat pumping through its vents. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“No need to thank me. I’m just glad I showed up when I did,” Quentin gestured to Peter’s wrist. “Before he could do anything else.”

Peter flinched, covering his bruised wrist like he was caught doing something wrong, “This was- um...yeah, I’m glad too.”

Quentin furrowed his brow, “Who was that anyway? And that Natasha girl too?”

“That was Loki,” Peter sighed, “They’re my... enemies , I guess?”

“Enemies?” Quentin gave a soft laugh, “That’s pretty intense. What’d they do?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

“No, I don’t like getting too much into it,” Peter shook his head. “I was duped and Tony helped me. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Tony helped you, huh?” Quentin repeated, clearly annoyed. “Then where was he just now?”

“He was just busy today.” Peter was making excuses. Again.

“Too busy to protect his boyfriend?” Quentin scoffed. “If you were my boyfriend, I would protect you all the time. No matter what, even if we had some stupid argument at school.”

Peter’s eyes went wide at Quentin’s sentiment, “We weren’t arguing. We were just-”

“I’m not blind, Peter,” Quentin interrupted. “I heard you both fighting in the hall. Tony seems quick to anger and, honestly, you don’t deserve that.”

Peter crossed his arms and stared out the window, “And how do you know what I deserve?”

“I don’t, but I know you don’t deserve a guy that would leave you stranded in the rain.” Quentin sighed, “Look, I can tell you’re upset, so I’ll drop it for now, but at least think about what I said, okay?”

Peter glanced over to Quentin, whose eyes seemed so genuine that he felt bad for being annoyed. “Okay,” He nodded, relaxing his arms, feeling a bit embarrassed for being so peeved. “Um...so, your car is... nice.”

“Thank you. It belongs to my parents,” Quentin gave a bashful laugh. “I couldn’t find my bus stop this morning and when I finally got there, I missed the bus so I took the car.”

“Without telling them?” Peter rose his brow.

“Without telling them,” Quentin slowly repeated with a grin. “I’m definitely going to be in some deep shit so let’s enjoy it while it lasts.” He pressed a button to the right of the gearshift, “Seat warmers,” He said as he pressed another button, switching on the radio and filling the car with the low hum of rock music. “Surround sound and–” Another button. “Self-driving navigation. Put your address in and we’re all set.”

“Wow, this is my first time in one of these,” Peter mentioned as he inputted his address on the touch screen. “There. Did that work?”

“Perfectly.” Quentin nodded as he started the ride and the car pulled away from the curb. “Now, sit back, relax, and enjoy your warmed butt. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Peter almost laughed at that one – almost – instead, he took the advice. He relaxed, soaking in the warmth and peacefully listening to the radio mixed with the pitter-patter of the rain. But then an AC/DC track played. “Can we skip this one?”

“Not in a ‘Shoot to Thrill’ kind of mood?” Quentin asked as he skipped the song.

Peter shook his head, leaning forward slightly, “It’s not that...it’s other stuff.”

“Does this other stuff wear leather and have a surprisingly high grip strength?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, “By the way, sorry he did that to you.”

“No worries,” Quentin shook his head. “Let’s not talk about him. I want to know more about the kid, Peter Parker.” 

“I am not a kid,” Peter lightheartedly complained. “We’re probably like one year apart.”

“I know but you get so worked up over it,” Quentin grinned. “I can’t help it.”

Peter sighed but smiled, “Fine, what do you want to know?”

Quentin beamed, “Do you have any hobbies?”

“Comics, I guess,” Peter answered. “I have a collection up in my room.”

Quentin gasped, “Can I come in and see it?”

“Sure, I guess.”

And when they arrived at Peter's apartment and ventured into his room, talking about comic books turned to playing video games for a few hours. And that turned to homework together and raiding the fridge for snacks. Chats about sharing interests turned to lending comic books, which very quickly turned to hey, Beck, do you want to come on our spring break trip? Somehow, it all turned Peter’s awful day into something a little brighter.

“Thanks for hanging out today, Beck,” Peter flashed a quick smile, leaning against the door frame.

Quentin smirked, “And thank you for the comic book. I promise to bring it back with all its pages and exactly one unidentifiable snack stain.”

Peter laughed, an honest laugh, “Sounds good.”

“Wow,” Quentin smiled, moving his hand to gently tilt Peter’s chin upward, “Your laugh is really cute, Peter.”

“W-What?” Peter blushed – what the fuck? blushed? – he pulled away, quickly laughing it off like one big joke. “My laugh is actually quite manly.”

“Anything you say, kid.” Quentin gave Peter one last smile before turning to head down the hall. “See you tomorrow!”

“See you!” And as he closed the apartment door, Peter scoffed but there was no denying the smile on his face; no denying that Quentin’s company had cheered him up.

Just as Peter turned to head to his room, the door opened again. It was May, “Hey Peter, who was that boy in the hall?”

“His name’s Quentin,” Peter answered. “He gave me a ride home today.”

“He was here until now?” May glanced at her watch. “It’s past seven. What about Tony?”

Right. Tony.  

Peter sighed, the flurry of negative emotions washing back over him at the mere mention of his boyfriend’s name. “What about Tony?” He mumbled, stalking into his room like the moody teenager he was.

~*4*~

The next morning was just as rough as the last but, at least, the sun was up today. Peter rode the bus to school, thankful that the ride was quiet despite the rumors that were starting to brew. According to a very frantic text from Ned this morning, students were starting to gossip about his relationship. The question at the center of speculation: are Tony and Peter breaking up? And it hurt to not know if that speculation was justified. After all, they had been arguing a lot and tensions were high.

Peter sighed as he stepped off the bus, ready to resign himself to another day of sadness, but then a voice called out to him that made his chest feel tight.

“Peter!” It was Tony, leaning against his car in the parking lot, smoking and gesturing for Peter to join him. He seemed less angry today, less brooding. The sight filled Peter with joy, but he was reluctant to show it. He was still upset. He was still confused. He was still hurt, but none of that could stop his feet from carrying him across the lot. “What?” He asked, crossing his arms, keeping his eyes on the pavement.

“I want to talk,” Tony said, flicking his cigarette away. “Can we?”

“You ditched me yesterday,” Peter whispered, unsure why his hands started to tremble in his pockets. “It was raining and I had to walk and-”

“ You told me to skip,” Tony interrupted. “Why didn’t you take the bus?”

“Because I didn’t think you would listen to me,” Peter sighed, shaking his head. “I waited for you.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Tony let out a frustrated huff of breath, dragging a hand through his hair.

Peter bit the inside of his lip and turned on his heel, “If I’m bothering you, then we can just-”

“Wait, no!” Tony reached out, grabbing Peter by his wrist.

The same bruised wrist as before. Peter flinched at the contact, inhaling sharp through his teeth as a dull pain erupted up his forearm. “L-Let go!”

Tony’s eyes went wide, releasing his grip immediately. “Sorry! I’m sorry, baby, I forgot-”

“How could you forget something that you did!?” Peter snapped, clasping his bruised wrist in his hand, holding it to his chest. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

“Peter,” Tony’s voice was unsteady, frantic, worried. He reached out again, a gentle hand in Peter’s, but the younger boy just yanked it away.

“Don’t touch me.” 

Tony paused, slowly closing his hand and stuffing it into his pocket. “Okay, but please, baby, just talk to me, I didn’t mean-”

“No,” Peter shook his head, once again starting towards the building.

Tony followed, keeping his hands to himself but unrelenting in his pleads. “Please. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad, baby, just stay and talk to me.”

“Stop calling me that,” Peter fumed, irritation dripping from every word. 

Tony jogged forward, stepping in front of Peter to halt his strides. “Okay, okay , but I really just want to talk. I want to fix this, I-”

“I told you no,” Peter repeated, stepping around Tony without even looking him in the eye. “The bell is going to ring soon. I have class.”

“Peter,” Tony reached out again, grabbing almost desperately at Peter’s hand.

“I told you not to touch me!”

“I don’t know what else to do-!”

“Is there a problem here?” All of sudden, there was Quentin, fearlessly interjecting with one hand pushing against Tony’s chest and the other hovering in front of Peter in protection. His shoulders rigid and his body braced for a clash more intense than their last.

Tony scowled, his eyes cast in a dark and threatening glare, “Move the hand before I break it.”

“He told you not to touch him.” Quentin challenged, ignoring the warning and shoving his hand harder against Tony’s chest.

And Peter watched with a sinking feeling as Tony grabbed Quentin’s wrist and fingers like he was leveraging to snap the bone. “Tony, don’t!” He yelled, louder than he has in a while and Tony must have taken notice because he released Quentin without question.

But then Quentin scoffed, putting two and two together, “You’re the one that fucked up Peter’s wrist, aren’t you?” He laughed low, his tone unsurprised, “And you left him in the rain to get beat up?”

“What?” Tony squinted, “What the fuck is he talking about, Peter?”

Peter shook his head, panicking, “Quentin, stop, you don’t have to-”

“No, he should know that because of him, you almost got the shit kicked out of you by that Loki guy.” Quentin asserted. “I’m glad I was there to take you home.”

“He took you home?” Tony’s voice went stagnant, coasting somewhere dark that had Peter struggling to find the words to respond.

“Yeah, I did,” Quentin boasted. “I was there to protect him, to spend time with him, to get his mind off all the stress you put him through.” He said, stepping back and throwing his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “So, don’t worry, I’ll be taking him again today.”

Peter froze, staring into Tony’s eyes and feeling a swarm of guilt in his stomach, “I didn’t- um, Tony, we didn’t do anything-” He pulled away from Quentin, “It was just-”

“Was he in your room?” Tony asked, tone unchanging.

“Yes, but-”

Tony closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through clenched teeth as his hands balled into fists. Anger was radiating off of him, billowing into the air and making it hard for Peter to breathe. Yet, as Tony opened his eyes, his fists relaxed and his fury seemed to wane as he brought his hand up slowly, threading his fingers through Peter’s hair, “I’m taking you home today.”

And Peter understood that it wasn’t a question.

“Okay.”

~*5*~

After school, the tension had grown beyond control, especially now, as the spring break group convened for a quick meeting – meaning Steve, Sam, Bucky, MJ, Ned, and Tony were hit with the surprise of Quentin’s invitation all at once. To make things worse, the sheer pressure emanating from Tony was making the atmosphere unbearable.

“So,” Steve began, smiling at the group despite the clear unease. “I’ve got good news.”

“We got permission to use the beach house!” Bucky blurted out, beating Steve to the punch.

“Steve’s parents said we can have it for the week.” Sam added, “Monday through Friday.”

“Like they said,” Steve shook his head, playfully putting his hands over their mouths. “Before I was so rudely interrupted. We got the okay from my folks.”

“Yes!” Ned exclaimed, shaking Peter by the shoulders, probably trying to relax the mood. “Spring break!”

Steve laughed at Ned’s enthusiasm, “Is he always like this?”

“Always,” MJ assured. “So is everyone clear with what they’re bringing?”

“We’ll handle the drinks,” Bucky gestured to Sam, Steve, and himself.

“MJ, Peter, and I will get the food.” Ned gave a thumbs up. “But someone else needs to get stuff to light the grill.”

“I can handle that,” Quentin offered.

“Perfect,” Steve nodded. “Tony, you’re friends are good with getting the music set up and the games, right?”

“Yeah,” Tony shrugged. “Happy’s bringing his car.”

“I’m bringing mine,” MJ added.

“Me too,” Quentin and Tony said in unison, only adding to the tension nagging at Peter’s insides.

“Having four cars is perfect,” Ned interjected, laughing awkwardly. “Everyone will have legroom.”

“Sounds good to me.” Steve smiled, waving to everyone as they dispersed. “See you all on Monday!”

No one lingered – not that Peter blamed them – the conversation was strained and uncomfortable. He was relieved that Quentin didn’t start something as they exited the school. Maybe it was because Tony was so silent and Quentin wasn’t the type to start a fight on his own. The walk to the parking lot was quiet, even quieter was the drive to Peter’s apartment. Another awkwardly silent drive with Tony’s unease imposed on the atmosphere.

As Tony parked the car against the curb, Peter opened the door before saying, “Do you want to come in?”

“No,” Tony said, keeping his car running and his hands on the wheel.

“We should talk now, Tones,” Peter closed the door. “I’m sorry about what Quentin said.”

“Which part?” Tony stressed. “The part about Loki, or that he brought you home, or maybe that he was in your fucking room ?” His voice got louder and louder with each word.

Peter’s voice caught in his throat, “W-We didn’t do anything.” 

“How long was he there?”

“I don’t know...until May got back,” Peter shrugged. “We just played video games and did homework. I lent him a book,” His hands were starting to tremble again. He hated it. “He’s my friend.”

“Sure, a friend ,” Tony scoffed.

“What are you trying to say?”

“You let him touch you,” Tony seethed. “You couldn’t stand me touching you but you didn’t seem to care when it was him. What the fuck happened to I’m yours, but you’re mine too , huh?”

“Nothing happened to it!” Peter was starting to panic. All of their conversations had spiraled out of control, escalated beyond what they should have been, and this one was no different. “I was just upset with you and he was nice to me so I didn’t think about it. I didn’t mean to-”

“I wanted to end this shit today.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat, so scared by the vagueness in those words that his whole frame began to shake. “W-What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Tony shook his head. “Get out of my car.”

“What?”

“I said get out.”

“Tony.” That came out more pitifully than Peter wanted and – oh no – his vision began to blur behind tears. “I don’t like him,” His voice was distorted and breathy and on the verge of sobs, but somehow, that didn’t stop him from getting angry. “You’re the one that started this!” He yelled, looking up to combat his tears. “You’re the one that got mad first! I was trying to talk to you about your dad and you-”

“I don’t want to talk about him!” Tony snapped, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. “Why don’t you get that? Why can't you just fucking let it go?!”

“Because he hit you, Tony!” Peter snapped back. “He hit you and I couldn’t do anything and I could tell you were scared and that-”

“Peter, stop! Just fucking stop!” Tony dropped his face into his hands. “This isn’t something you should worry about.”

“Tony, I’m your boyfriend ,” Peter stressed, wiping at his tear-stained cheeks. “How can I not worry? It happened in front of me and I-”

“Can you just get out?” Tony lifted his head, his expression was blank but his eyes were wet, so clearly filled with tears of his own.

“But Tony, I-”

“Peter, I’m serious, get the fuck out of my car.”

“If that’s what you want then fine!” Peter fumed, throwing open the car door and stepping out. “Be that way!” He yelled before slamming the door shut and turning towards his building, not bothering to glance back, even when the roar of Tony’s engine disappeared down the street.

As he ambled into his building and up the stairs, Peter wondered if this was what it felt like to be at his wits’ end; to feel utterly crushed by the weight of his emotions; to feel his heartache and be at a loss when trying to fix it. He stepped into the apartment, surprised to see May’s shoes by the door and hear her bright greeting. Right, it was the weekend, she was home earlier than usual. 

“Peter!” May was stunned when she laid eyes on her nephew, rushing over to pull him into a hug. “What happened?”

“I don’t know!” Peter started to break down. “Things just keep getting worse and we keep arguing and I-” He sobbed, “I don’t know what to do!” And the tears he so viciously tried holding back fell freely and he was hopeless against them. 

“Okay, calm down,” May rubbed gentle circles into Peter’s back. “Come sit down,” She said as she guided him to the couch, where he continued to cry. Where he continued to weep as she headed into the kitchen and prepared two cups of tea. Continued to sob as she grabbed a box of tissues from the linen closet and calmly sat, waiting for the tears to run dry. And once they did, she finally spoke, “Now, explain.”

“Tony hates me,” Peter’s voice was hoarse. “All we’ve been doing is fighting with each other and Quentin made it worse.”

“The boy from the hall?”

“Yeah,” Peter sniffled. “He’s my friend but Tony thinks I like him and we’re fighting about that too now.” He sighed, taking a sip of tea before continuing, “And everyone’s going on that trip to Steve’s family’s beach house. And it’s just going to be the worst, Aunt May.”

“What were you fighting about before Quentin?”

“I-” Peter hesitated, “It was something that happened at Tony’s house.”

“And what happened?”

“Something bad,” Peter mumbled, placing his mug on the coffee table.

“I’m listening.”

-

Read Part 2: Here.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark #badboy!tony au #obligatorywrites

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

What I Need

Dean Winchester x Reader

A/N: Something I just wanted to write. Also fills a square for @spnfluffbingo2019

Square Filled: Cuddling

WC: 2K

Warnings: Anxiety, panic attacks, floof

Summary: Separated by distance, Dean and his girl are both struggling with how to make it work without losing their respective minds.

She waited, for what felt like hours. The anxiety that was triggered in her nerves was maddening, but she knew that she had to be patient. There was no worse feeling in the world than waiting for Dean to return from a hunt… well… except maybe waiting for him to call when she knew he would be out and about, blowing off steam with Sam at a bar in whatever dingy town they were staying in.

Those nights were almost harder than the hunts themselves. Getting a call that he had been hurt was one thing… knowing he didn’t call because there was another woman in his bed, was a whole different story. This night, was a mix of both and it was when she started to question whether or not she could really do this with him. Long-distance was hard enough, but long-distance with a hunter who had a penchant for pretty blondes was something else entirely.

She had to trust him. She had to have enough patience, trust and love in her heart to believe that he would always come home to her, even when it was easier not too. That was the promise they had made when it all first started. But that was almost six months ago, and in that time, she had more than her fair share of nights where the anxiety and the fear of losing him became overwhelming and she acted out, self-sabotaging everything she wanted and didn’t realize she had. But that was how this disorder went, and for as much as she loved him, her brain would always believe that he loved her just as much.

She wanted to stop doubting and stop worrying that anytime he was silent, that she was losing him. Deep down she knew that would be the one thing--other than him falling victim to some monster--that would be how she did end up losing him. 

Sitting around wasn’t helping her anxiety, either. There had to be something she could do to break the patterns of the disorder that plagued her. Calling him to check in wasn’t enough, she felt the need to take action, do something to prove to him that she could just sit and wait, but why should she? She thought if she could find ways to make him understand just how much she loved him, reassure him that his efforts weren’t in vain, maybe it would help her, too.

Dean looked around the bar and realized there wasn’t a clock in sight. His phone’s battery lost its life earlier, so he couldn’t even check that. With technology being what it was, there wasn’t even a working payphone nearby that he could call and check in with her. Dean, normally calm and clear-headed, began to feel that tick of anxiousness in the back of his neck and absently rubbed a hand there trying to make it stop.

‘If I don’t call soon, she’s going to think I’m fucking someone else… or dead... actually think the first one would be worse,’ he thought, as his eyes scanned the room searching for his little brother, so he could go and take his phone. 

No Sam insight, which means he took a girl back to their shared room, or he was with a girl in the back seat of the Impala. Either way, Dean growled in frustration and felt that nagging feeling begin to grow. He needed to call her. He needed to make sure she knew that he was safe and very lonely, sitting at the bar, nursing a whiskey and thinking of only getting back to her. 

That was something new for him; that feeling of needing to keep her reassured. Everyone had hang-ups, right? That’s what he told himself. Hers just happened to be an overwhelming fear of being left behind because she wasn’t good enough to keep around or just not enough in general. Not like she didn’t have reason to feel that way, but Dean decided it was on him to help waylay those fears because she WAS worth it. She was worth every damn second he could give her. 

Slapping down a twenty on the bar, Dean threw back the remainder of his whiskey and abruptly left the building. The cool night air smacked him in the face, sending any remnants of the liquor’s effects packing. He was completely sober and aching to feel his girl beside him. 

It only took a moment for him to locate the Impala in the bar’s parking lot, which was blessedly empty. The motel was only across the street, so Sam could have easily walked over with that petite brunette he had been chatting up. Dean didn’t really care either way, but it was ingrained in him to watch out for his little brother. He had to remind himself that  Sam was a big boy and could take care of himself. His girl, however, needed him; and maybe, he needed her a little, too.

He got in and started the engine, about to pull away and realized just how long it would take to actually get to her. She was more than a thousand miles away, and it would take two days, at least, before he’d be able to see her again. His heartfelt heavy with the recognition of it; his eyes tired and weighted with tears he refused to let fall. Exhaling with a growl, Dean put the Impala in drive and turned towards the motel instead of the freeway, just praying that he’d be able to charge his phone quick enough to call her and that Sam wasn’t there in the middle of … something.

The room was dark and empty, to which Dean sighed with gratitude. He dug into his duffle bag to retrieve the charger and found an open plug beside his bed. He waited a few minutes for the phone to take some charge before he powered it up and dialed her number. Straight to voicemail. His heart sank. The only time her phone went straight to voicemail was when she was deep down in the rabbit hole of self-doubt; completely convinced that he stopped loving her and had abandoned her for someone else. 

“Fuck!” he barked and dialed again with the same results. Angry that he hadn’t been able to call or text, earlier, he tried to calm himself and think rationally. He knew all of her fears and did his best to help her deal with them, but sometimes things were out of his control. He hated that she was most likely home, crying, thinking all sorts of wrong thoughts about where he really was, or what he was really doing. Sometimes, it made the relationship feel hard and he knew it would be far easier to just walk away… But the way he loved her didn’t allow that to be possible. The truth was, he was just as scared of losing her because, in all his life, no one had loved him the way she did; certainly, no one made him feel as good, as she made him feel.

This time he dialed Sam, wanting to know where his brother was because he had every intention of jumping back in the Impala and driving in her direction; sleep be damned. 

Sam’s went straight to voicemail, too. No matter how much he wanted to pick up and leave the state, without having at least talked to Sam, he couldn’t. So instead, he kept dialing them both, alternating between numbers for the next hour or so until sleep finally claimed his weary mind.

Hours later, Dean’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of the hotel room door opening. He had been perfectly sober when he fell asleep, so why did his head feel as if he had polished off that bottle of whiskey? He attempted to open his eyes, but the light that came in through the front door made that impossible. Figuring Sam was coming in after a night of tantric sex with the brunette from the bar, Dean exhaled with a low rumble and crossed his arms over his chest, burrowing back into his pillow and trying desperately to get back to the dream he was having. 

He was nearly back there when he felt the weight of someone sitting on his bed. Concerned that Sam was hurt, he forced himself to lift his head and turn over, checking to make sure his little brother was alright.

“Sammy?” he rasped, his voice thick with sleep. “You alright? Tried calling--”

“Dean…”

It was her voice. But it couldn’t be, it was still a dream…

He sat up more and used his fist to dig the slumber from his face. When his eyes were able to open and adjust to the morning light that had filtered into the room, he saw her familiar form next to him on the bed and thought, for a moment, he was simply back in his dream after all.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” she said softly, and when she touched his arm he realized she wasn’t a dream… his girl was really right there beside him.

“What the--How did you--?!” Dean sat all the way up and felt his chest heave with relief that she was within arm’s reach. 

“I needed you,” she replied softly and moved across the bed to be closer to him. “It was getting bad again… and it's not fair that you always have to make me feel better. So, I figured I would come to you. Because--”

“C’mere,” he said, cutting her off as he pulled her close. 

Dean’s arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her back to his chest. He spooned her closely as her arms covered his, gripping them tightly as she trailed kisses across his hands before tucking the tangled mess of their fingers into her chest. 

“I tried to call…” he whispered, the warm of his breath causing her to close her eyes and feel relief coat her skin. 

“I figured. I’m sorry I couldn’t wait, I just needed to be with you.”

“Baby, I couldn’t be happier to see you. I almost started driving last night… I--I needed you, too.”

“Dean... “ she paused and turned her head as much as she could to look back at him. “Can I stay? Go with you this time? I know its dangerous, and I promise not to get in the way. But being without you isn’t working for me… I need to--”

“Yes,” he replied simply, his one-word answer enough reassurance to pause her nervous ramblings. “Whatever you need, sweetheart. Besides, I don’t think I’d let you leave even if you wanted to.”

“Good.” 

He felt a stray tear from her eye splash against his arm and found room to hold her even tighter. He wanted her, he always did and this night was no different. But as they lay together in the growing morning light, all Dean wanted to do was hold her to make up for all the nights he hadn’t been able to. His eyes closed, and both of their breathing slowed and found a syncing rhythm with the other. 

“Wait… where the hell is Sam? He never came home…” he said suddenly, opening his eyes again and feeling a slight bit of panic at the realization that Sam was MIA.

“Sam’s fine. He’s the one who picked me up from the airport,” she admitted and bit her lip nervously. “I called him when I couldn’t get a hold of you last night. Told him I needed to see you and wanted to surprise you.”

“So that’s where he disappeared to,” Dean snorted, “Remind me to kick his ass for that; damn kid had me worried when I came back and he wasn’t here. Where is he now?”

“In the room next door. Said he had some business to attend to with a cute brunette,” she said and rolled over out of Dean’s embrace so she could face him. 

“Well, maybe I’ll say thanks, instead,” he smiled lazily and brushed his thumb against her cheek before sitting up a little to gently kiss her lips. 

She simply smiled and nodded, “I think that’s a better idea. Besides, I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight for a while, so let Sam have his fun and we can just lay here if that’s okay. I missed you… more than I thought it was possible to miss a person.” 

That nagging ache at the back of his neck was gone and quickly replaced by a lump of feeling that caught in his throat when she looked at him. He loved her in a way that words couldn’t always express and the fact that she came to him when he felt like he needed her most, was the kind of gesture he didn’t realize he craved in return. What they had was real, and it was worth fighting for. It drove him to want to continue to do whatever it took to make sure she knew how much he loved and wanted her.

“I missed you, too,” he rasped, knowing words weren’t his strong suit. It was enough for her body to relax against his as Dean exhaled with a weighted relief once she tucked herself snugly back into his embrace, and they let exhaustion carry them both away.

Everything Tags: @coffeebooksandfandom // @sorenmarie87 // @yallgotkik // @thefaithfulwriter // @sister-winchesters99 // @thymeheals

SPN Tags: @wings-of-a-raven // @negans-wife // @kazosa // @deans-baby-momma // @hobby27 // @breereadsthings // @maddiepants // @screechingartisancashbailiff // @winchesterxfamilybusiness // @cloverhighfive // @spnhollis // @unlikelygalaxyiver // @linki-locks11// @stoneyggirl // @clarinette07 // @lefthologramdeer​ // @closetspngirl​ // @whereismyangel-damnitdeanshare​ // @katehuntington​ // @81mysteriouslyme​ // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @deathofmissjackson // @lauravic // @akshi8278 // @rebelminxy // @fictionalabyss // @blackcherrywhiskey // @his-paradox

Dean Tags:  @teaspoin // @adoptdontshoppets // @whiskeyandapplepie

#spnfluffbingo2019 #Dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader insert #cuddling #comfort fic #tw: anxiety

[little-dragon-stories]

Friends to lover, on the beach

Jimin invited you for a week on an paradisiac island. On the first day, something happened that leads him to commits himself.

(Sorry the gif doesn't fit, it doesn't look "polished". But after my 5th attempt to upload it, when it finally worked, I deckded to let it intact...)

Wc. 5236

Well yall, it's a smut, a romantic smut.

«Come on baby, don’t be shy… I want to bury my dick between your boobs, what’s wrong with that» the stranger says.

«Leave me the fuck alone» you answer harshly.

«I bet that pretty mouth of yours would do an amazing job too… don’t play hard to get. Come on». The man was playing with your nerves.

What a horrible way to start your sejour at the beach! Your friend Jimin came here last year, claimed that it was the most beautiful place he visited with his band. He kept telling you how clear is the water, how white is the sand. You just arrived a few hours ago and as soon as you entered your room, you changed onto your sportswear to go for a little jogging on the beach. Jimin was so tired, he fell asleep as you were waiting for your luggages in the room. You should have waited for him to wake up and come here accompanied. But you were too eager to jog on the beach and he was so pretty, sleeping like the angel he is. You didn’t want to wake him up.

Why did you follow this little path? Why haven’t you stayed on the beach shore? You didn’t expect to meet that stupid man along the way, that’s for sure. As far as you look, you cannot see somebody around to help you out. Although it’s kind of scaring you, you will have to take care of the situation all by yourself. Can you handle him?

«Leave me alone. My boyfriend will be very mad at you if he hears you talk to me like that».

«Nah, I’m sure you don’t have one. You are too arrogant to have a man. No one can handle a foul mouthed like yours. Plus, I didn’t expect you to lie to me like that on our first and only date. Yes, I have to take the plane tomorrow, how sad. It’s your only chance to have me for yourself. Come on, I will let you suck me all you want… I can see how badly you want it».

The thought of him following you from the hotel to here scared the shit out of you. What is he capable of? You have no idea!

«I said leave me alone. I don’t want you. Go wank wherever you want man, but leave me alone».

Then unexpectedly, Jimin’s soft voice came from behind the man. You look above the stranger’s shoulder and see him coming to the rescue. Your friend was beautiful. Even in that very moment, you can’t help yourself but to witness his unbelieving beauty.

«Hey Jagi, there you are. Why haven’t you wait for me? I told you I wanted to jog with you» he took your hand and kissed your palm as soon as he was by your side.

«Sorry my love» you answer fastly playing the game, «I wanted to let you sleep» and facing the aggressive stranger you said “See? I told you I had a boyfriend. Now leave me alone you bastard».

«Man you’re a lucky one» he told Jiminie, «You must have a lot of fun with a girl shaped like that».

«I can’t complain man, I can’t complain. My girl is talented. Now if you excuse us, we will go for our jogging». He said, blinking at the stranger.

What the hell is he saying? You don’t have time to think about it, he places his hand on your lower back and guides you out of sight of the stranger.

«Just play the game», he murmures. You both jog in silence for a couple of minutes and when the path opens on the beach and the view is clear, you stop. Damn, you went far.

«Are you ok y/n? Did he hurt or touch you?» is the first thing your savior amiably asks you. «No, he didn’t. Thank you so much for saving me. I will be forever grateful for that» you stated as you glued yourself against him.

«I am sorry for the way I talked in front of you» he says, frowning his eyes and caressing your hair gently.

«I hope you are. You told him we have sex when clearly we have not» you snapped.

«Well, I let him believed I was having… well… fun… with you. In my defense, I thought it was the only vocabulary this man would have understand. I thought it would be easier to just pretend whatever he implied and leave». He is so cute, trying to justify his behavior. So cute and sexy at the same time with those shorts that shows his thighs. You have always loved his delicate but defined body shape. His cute, baby face but his manly shape.

«You’re right, he’s not the kind of man you want to provoke. You had the perfect attitude. Thank you so much. For a split second I was scared. I was ready to fight before you saved me».

«Hey, don’t panic but he’s there, he’s jogging. We will just pretend that we stop to talk before we return to the hotel».

You lift your chin up to look into Jimin’s eyes, unsure on how you should react. He was really stunning. A beautiful man, no doubt. «He’s close now, don’t look back. Just follow my lead ok?». You nod. Jimin is not very imposing physically, he’s not super tall or super muscular and scary. But nevertheless, you know he will protect you from the arrogant man. You are certain of that.

«Am I interrupting something» you hear the man ask, not so far from you anymore.

«Yes bastard» you answered, cocky since you know you are protected now. «Go, NOW. Leave us the fuck alone» you barked.

«Your girlfriend needs to be tamed» he says to Jimin. «You should make her shut that mouth, man if you know what I mean» he chortled.

«Yes, I will take care of that. Come on baby, let’s go to the hotel, you need a lesson». You don’t know how to react. Nobody ever talked to you like that and even though Jimin is just acting, it’s still disturbing to hear him say this. You decide that you won’t say anything and start to walk towards the hotel.

After a dozen steps, you feel Jimin’s hand in yours, soft and warm. He made sure that the stranger disappeared before you enter in lobby of the hotel, still holding hands. You just realised now that you never broke this contact with him, as you silently walked. Strangely, you were comfortable. Jimin and you cuddle from time to time but you never hold hands together. Not that you didn’t feel good with him, just because the opportunity never really presented itself. You wish you had a better reason to do it today.

For your first ever trip together, you and Jimin decided to take seperates rooms that can communicate together. This way, it will be easy to talk late at night without having to go in the hallway and also, you keep your privacy. You both enter his room and as soon as the doors closed, he says: «If you don’t mind I need a shower. I guess you too, after your jogging. Let’s meet up in an hour so we can go take diner together». It was not a question or an offer. It was an order. He was not only angry, he was furious.

«Jimin, my little mochi, are you mad at me?» you tried to lighten the atmosphere, showing off your cutest smile.

«Absolutely not. See you in an hour» he says between his clenched teeth. You couldn’t add anything, he slams the door right in your face. «What is wrong with you Park Jimin» you murmur. «Why are you acting like that? Because I didn’t wait for you to jog?» You were not sure at all what was going on with him.

Dumbfounded, you went directly in the bathroom and run the water of the shower. As the water was running on your back, you thought of the events that just happened. You have to admit, you should have wait for him. He made it clear that he intended to go jogging with you before he fell asleep. You were just too excited to discover the landslide he told you about so many times as you were preparing this trip.

You wash yourself quickly, chose a long skirt and a tank top, island style. You braid your hair and twirl them on top of your head in a pretty bun leaving a few stray of hairs freely encircling your face. You look at your image reflected in the mirror, you are satisfy. It’s not too sexy, not too dull. Some may even think you are pretty. Hopefully, Jimin will think that.

As soon as you are done, you went into Jimin’s room until he gets ready. As always, he was taking his precious time.

«Jimin I am here. Waiting for you on the couch my little mochi»

«Alright, it won’t be long».

It must have been long, cause you had the time to fall asleep. Although you were on the couch when you were waiting for him, now you are on his bed, your shoes removed and a blanket on you. There is a cold meal on the nightstand and a note «I was not able to sleep yet. Went on the beach for a walk. I will come see if you are awake later».

That was it. No «Your mochi that loves you xxx» like he usually signed. No «Take care lovely y/n» or «I miss you already». Not a single tender word although the gesture of covering you to keep you warm was sweet and caring. What is wrong with him? Why is he so cold suddenly. You decided to go meet him on the beach with the intention to talk about it. It was only your first day on this island, you would like to make things clear right away. You don’t want any kind of misunderstanding between you for the rest of the sejour.

You saw him very fast, he was the only one on the private beach shore. Sitting and looking at the ocean. He’s so beautiful, it’s mesmerising. If you were an artist you would have want to paint or draw him like that, his perfect profile exposed to your gaze. You remember the first time you met him. You still can’t believe you were that lucky. You were an army, you never lied about it. You have met him completely out of luck, in a museum. You were contemplating a painting when the soft voice of Tae had brought you out of your dream. It’s with Tae that you have talked first but it’s with Jimin that the real connection was made.

«Jimin, can we talk» you say with the softest voice you can. You know he’s not happy. It shows all over his face.

«Hi, you awake? What are you doing here, didn’t you get your lesson earlier»? he snapped, still angry at you.

«What’s going on? Why are you mad at me? We just arrived, you can’t be so disappointed in me already».

He stayed silent. You sat down beside him and as you lift up your chin to look at him you notice his eyes are red and puffy, like he cried. Touched by the sight of a sad Mini, you automatically take his hand in yours.

«Jimin, wh...»

«Don’t look at me y/n. Please». He interrupt.

You do as he said and looked at the ocean, overwhelmed by your tiring, exhausting day of traveling and the situation earlier. Combined with a sad Jimin, it’s barely tolerable.

«Jimin, tell me what’s going on. Please. We never fought in the 6 months we have known each other. Now you are mad at me and sad. Am I so deceiving?»

«What? Why does it have to be about you?»

«Well, it’s at me you were mad earlier»

«Y/n, just let it die, can you?»

Let it die? Of course you won’t let it die. You and Jimin shared so many good moments together. You have the feeling that if you don’t get to the bottom of this, something will break between you and this is something you can’t let happen. You love your friend too much to risk this. Gathering your courage, you turn your face towards him and kiss him gently on the cheek, rubbing your nose against his skin for a split second.

«I’m sorry love but I can’t do as you ask. We need to talk about this, Otherwise, we won’t have a good time this week, it would put a shadow on our holiday».

«You did nothing wrong Y/n. There’s nothing to talk about».

«I beg to differ»

He wanted to stand up, probably with the intention to leave the shore but his hand was still in yours and you didn’t let him do it. You pull on his hand, bringing him closer to you. He looked at you with fire in his eyes. Angry, mad, overwhelmed by all sorts of emotions he don’t want to feel at that very moment.

«Let me go»

«No»

«I said let me go, right now»

«Jimin, the way you act is childish. It’s immature and...»

«WHAT?» he exclaimed, furious. «I am the childish one? What about your own behavior?»

«Tell me Jimin, I want to know. What have I done to you?»

«You did nothing to me but you were childish. You always act childish. I should have known it was not a good idea to come here with you». Those words, they hurt deeply.

«What? How?» are the only words you can say, shattered. «I am not childish. I am not irresponsable. What are you talking about?»

«You’re right. It’s very mature to go jog alone along a isolated path on an island you don’t know about».

«It was still the middle of the day. It was lit outside. It was safe».

«Oh really? Was it safe when you met that man? Did you feel safe with his gaze on your body? Were you safe when he was coming towards you, hard as a rock and ready to jump on you?»

A chill runs through your entire body. You are frightened by his words as much as by the emotions that inhabit it. He’s so angry that his fists are closed and his jaw is tight. He has furrowed eyebrows and eyes as black as the moonless night ahead tonight.

«Jimin, I should have wait for you because I knew you wanted to jog with me. But you can’t blame me for the altercation. Can you?»

«I can blame you for that and I will. You put yourself in a dangerous situation».

«Jimin… stop before you become a complete jerk. You can’t blame me and you know it. A woman has the right to walk outside unaccompanied without fear of being the prey to a predator».

He breathes deeply once, twice. It doesn’t seem to be calm him down.

«Y/n… You should have wait for me. You didn’t know what you were exposing yourself to...»

You don’t let him finish his sentence, you are too pissed.

«Ok! You are being a jerk for real. I am going to sleep, goodnight».

Your try to stand up. His turn not to let you do it.

«Let go of my hand Mr. Park or I will be very mad»

«Y/n… please hear me out»

There is something different in his voice, his tone is lower, guttural. Nothing to do with the sweet mochi you are used to.

«Sit down and listen to me».

«If you are to be like that, I won’t stay you can be sure of it».

You sit down nevertheless, waiting for him say something. He was looking at the ocean when he said:

«I can’t Y/n».

«What? What can’t you Jimin?»

But he didn’t answer. He seemed too deep in his thoughts. What is he talking about? He can’t be here with you? He can’t still be friend? He told you you were childish, this is not the usual Jimin. Normally, he treat you like a queen. Like you are the most valuable treasure in the world.

«Jimin, for some reasons, I am more scared right now that I was this afternoon».

He continues to look at the sea in front of him, illuminated only by bright stars now as the night deepened.

«Jimin, please Jimin… talk to me. I never saw you like that. And I hate to be the reason of your anger and sadness...» you bawled, a silent tear rolling on your cheek. You looked at him, not even trying to hide the water in your eyes. He will know anyway, he always read in you like you read in him… Normally.

«Y/n, when I think about somebody touching you, I can’t breath...»

«wh... what?» you stammer.

«I said… This afternoon, this man… I could have kill him if he dared to lay a hand on you… Not only him if you want me to be honest. I don’t want another man to touch you»

«Jimin… what are you trying to say? Another man than who?»

He closes his eyes.

«Y/n, we had a rough day. Let’s just sleep for now. We shall talk tomorrow. Ok?»

There is no way in hell you will let this go like that. He started something, you want to see the end of this conversation. If he implies what you think he does… You leave his side and kneel in front of him. Gently stroking his arms.

«No, it’s not ok. Listen, I want to know what you mean»

«I meant nothing, really...» He was deceiving himself. He wanted to tell you how much he loves you but couldn’t find a good way to put it.

«You are a liar and a coward Park Jimin. You start something and you don’t want to end it»

If he was mad earlier, you don’t even have a word to describe what you acknowledge right now. You could see his cold, dark eyes as he lift his chin up. He tries to seem calm but his trembling hands betrayed him. Maybe you went too far.

«What did you just say?»

«I said you are weak, coward, gutless, scaredy-cat, spineless, craven… you want me to go on? And no, let me talk» you stopped him as soon as he opened his mouth.

«You deserve all those adjectives Park Jimin because there’s something you seem to want but you’re too scared to dare and try to get it. Am I right?»

Within a moment, all of his body language changed. What you perceived as anger turns into desire. His face softens and his jaw relaxes. However, his eyes remain as intense and black as they were.

«What is it that I want miss? You have an idea?» he smirked.

You decided that you won’t make it easy for him.

«You want me, of course. But I don’t like cowards, unfortunately for you». you replied, looking at him in the eyes, lifting up your chin proudly.

«Really y/n?»

«Really Jimin»

«I wonder how long it will take for you to take what you want».

Playfully, you start to open your tank top blouse. Slowly twisting each button with your fingers. Jimin watches each of your movements with a growing attention. When your blouse finally fell open, as Jimin still didn’t flinch, you started to lack self-confidence but you won’t show him that. You will play the seductive game that you started. You run your finger along your breastbone.

«Is this where you want to touch me, Jimin?»

His eyes leave your breasts and stick right in yours.

«I’d say this is a good start. But…no» he teased.

«Alright, let’s see what else I have to offer». You replied, gently sliding the straps of your bra over your arms. In all your life, you would never have imagined yourself playing strippers to seduce your friend. Nevertheless, you will help him make his move.

Keeping your bra in place, you cup your breast and start to pinch your nipples between your thumb and finger. That is when he reacted. With his left hand, he grabs you by the hip while he gently start to brush the delicate skin that wasn’t covered by your lace bra. You could see him swallowing harshly as if his mouth was dry.

«Something’s wrong Jiminie?» you mock him.

«Everything is perfect. Could not be any more perfect than that» His stare is intense, his eyes can’t betray the desire he has for you.

«I beg to differ Jimin. We haven’t started yet». You said, reaching out to your back to loosen your bra. He stopped your action.

«Wait, we are on the beach. People can come...»

«No Jimin, we are alone here»

«But people could...»

«Jimin, we are alone on an semi private beach. Plus, we are not cowards, are we?» You said, blinking.

«I think you speak too much» and that’s when his lips joined yours for the very first time. It was a soft but burning contact at the beginning. Jimin was gauging your reaction. He knew you were trying to seduce him but he is still unsure of where you want that seduction game to lead.

With his full lips, he deepened the kiss as soon as your lips parted, you felt his tongue slide urgently into your mouth to play with yours. Jimin was an amazing kisser. You could feel his smile against you.

After a moment like that, his and your breathing become ragged. He leans back, stares at you.

«You are beautiful» he murmurs softly. When you thought he was about to kiss you again, he surprised you. He grabs you by the hips and slides you on his thighs spreading your skirt on either side of your two bodies thus joined. Still too far from his center in your opinion. You feel the need to hug him, to bring him closer to you any way possible. Encircling his neck, you carefully slide yourself closer, rocking your hips against him. Looking in his eyes to see the effect you have on him while you feel it on your center for the first time. Jimin is already hard for you, you feel his dick twitching against your panties as his hips are filling the distance when you let a tiny space separate your bodies. That’s when his smells hits you. Raw and woody but still sweet. A smell that somehow makes you feel home but at the same time put fire in you. At the thought of your head in his chest, breathing in, your knees buckles. Jimin feels you and his hands firmly cups your buttocks.

«You need to be careful».

Grinning, you answered:

«No, I need to sit. I need to sit on you, with a good support point if you know what I mean».

He swallows with difficulty, his eyes going from your eyes to your breasts. Perfectly shaped to fit his hands. He can’t wait to discover if you have the color he imagined so many times before. «You are full of surprises miss y/n. I won’t complain».

«You haven’t seen anything yet my sweet mochi» you whisper, your voice full of a desire barely contained.

You start to play with his lips again, gently tugging on his lower lip with your teeth. Jimin pushing his pelvis against yours, eager to leave as little distance as possible between the two of you. His hands traces your spine from your neck to your butts. As he met your bra on his way up, he skilfully loosen it, never breaking the kiss.

«Jimin, I want you» you whisper between the kiss.

«You have me, you need more?» his mouth twist into a sexy sideways smile. Your mind refuses to keep things clean as his tongue meets yours again, furiously needing for more, always more. His kisses become tender as he slides his lips down to your neck, flutters them onto your chest and clamps them onto your nipples which he take in his mouth one by one, teasing them with his teeth. Swirling his tongue around them. His thumb running small circles on your covered clit as you gently stroke him above his linen pants.

«Enough of those games Mr Park, I need your cock inside. I need to sit on you» you say, yanking your panties down to your thighs. Jimin’s hand came to meet your cunt automatically, palming your center, gently sliding his fingers along your fold. Delicately. Almost like if he is touching the most fragile thing in the world.

«Beautiful» he murmurs before plunging his fingers deep inside without further ado. You can’t hold back a soft moan, your thighs shivering under that delightful touch. Your head leans back but you soon came back to your senses. Well, not completely but enough to make you take the situation to another level.

You loosen his pants, he lifts his hips and you hardly release him from his clothes, carefully freeing his hard member. You are torn between licking his thick dick and take him into your mouth or ride him. He doesn’t seem to hesitate at all as he lift you up enough so you can impale yourself on his dick. Slowly sliding you down on him, filling you up in one smooth movement.

«Oh My God y/n… You feel so good. Stay still please. I want to savor the moment»

He’s looking at you with a needy, loving look on his face. With what you called his heart eyes numerous of time.

«Jimin… Jimin… I love you» the words escape your lips too fast, you can’t hold them back. For a moment you were so mad at yourself for saying it. Quickly thought, you’re relieved to hear Jimin whisper «I love you y/n. So much»

Gripping his hair, you arch your back and wrap your legs tightly around his waist. His hands taking a grip on your shoulders from behind to keep you closer. You worried you might passed out from pleasure if things keep being that good. You begin by rolling your hips in slow smooths circles. You want to feel every inch of him between your folds. He lean over to take a nipple between his lips then suck it hard, making you shiver. When his mouth was not on you, He looked you straight in the eye, vulnerable and strong at the same time. Not scared to show you all the power you have on him right now.

As you feel him moving, looking forward to having more, you begin to rock your hips back and forth, slowly at first then harder, faster. Jimin’s hips meeting yours half way. You try to take him deeper by bouncing up and down on him but your legs were tired already.

«My girl is so needy… You need it more deep, don’t you?»

«Jimin it already feels so good… » Orgasm was slowly building inside of you.

«Wait love, hold still» You freeze. He kisses you and gently rub your clit, making you shiver.

«I love how we connect together, I love our bond. I love our connection. It feels good right?»

«Baby can we talk after, right now, I am still unfinished».

He started to laugh.

«Your wish is my command. You needed deeper, I will serve you deeper. Do you have strong arms?» He asked with a smirk.

«What do you have in mind?»

«You will see soon enough baby, you will see soon enough».

He gets on one knee in front of you, asks you to throw your legs on his shoulders.

«Hands on the ground please baby, you will need to support yourself. Let’s see if you can handle deeper» he commands.

As soon as your palms touches the sand below you, he lift your ass up and brought you closer, holding you in that position firmly. Like this, there is no touching possible but this is the most pleasant position you never experienced so far. It hits you some places you didn’t even know existed. He thrusts deep into you, filling you completely, fast, never slowing down the pace. You struggle to catch your breath and feel dizzy but it isn’t finished yet. Jimin is pounding hard. With a hint of ocean breeze, his delicious smell mingles with yours and fills the air.

«Oh, god Jimin...» you gasp as the orgasm is building again. «Jimin, please don’t stop...»

«This is not my intention my lady. I don’t intend to stop until we sit on that plane next week».

The sensations are overwhelming and you can tell he’s nearly there too. You feel your arms lack strength but you don’t want to move an inch, you almost reached your orgasm. Without ever breaking eye contact with him, you say:

«Faster Jimin, harder… I won’t last long».

«It’s ok baby, let’s go of your hands and touch yourself for me»

You carefully did as he commanded. As soon as he see your delicate finger rubbing a circle on your clit, his face contorts, desperately containing his scream as he comes deep inside of you, filling you with his juices. You arch your back against the sand as the waves of orgasm overwhelms you too, delicious ripples flowing through you from head to toes. Softly moaning through your closed lips. Jimin stays in position and continues to thrust into you until you can open your eyes again.

Smiling at each other, he puts your ass gently on the sand, crawling between your legs to come lie on top of you. Your breathing slows as you stare at each other like you can’t quite believe what just happened. He then grin and start to kiss your face as you gently caress his hairs.

«Your arms must be tired, lay on me completely please. You’re too far already» you utter.

Instead, he lays down on your side, dragging you against him. Still kissing your face.

«Jimin, I love you. I am in love with you since the first day I met you».

«I know… » he smiles.

«You know?»

«Yeah… Tae is my best friend you know. He couldn’t help but tell me my crush also had a crush on me».

«Oh! My! God! I will kill him!» you pretend to be mad.

Jimin laughed, kissed your eyelid softly. Then your nose, your lips.

«Nah! You won’t kill him. Because of him, I had courage to invite you here».

«Jimin… screw that separate room. I want you in my bed for the rest of the week» you firmly affirm.

«Only the week my love? What about next one? I haven’t touch you the way I wanted to yet.»

«Let’s be together for a long time then».

«Let’s be together for a very long time» he agrees.

As you walk hand in hand towards the hotel under the moonless sky, Jimin tells you:

«From now on, I am the only person that can touch your body. I will make sure to satisfy all your needs».

Shivering, not from the cold but from what those words implies, you let yourself go against him. No doubt it was a good idea to come on this island with him.

#bts #bts fluff #bts smut #jimin #jimin scenario #bts imagine #bts fanfic #jimin bangtan #bangtan smut

[sweetshadcw]

henlo my lovs it’s ur friendly neighborhood babie again !! thankfully my muse + personal reasons have been sorted so here i am bringing u all a brand new child. he’s v much inspired a fav character of mine (from a play that i wrote !!) so i can say w utmost certaintly that he is a Certified Babie. n e way, u all kno the drill, pls message me on discord or click the lil heart in this post and i’ll throw gian ur way for all d plots !!

[ MUSE 18 ] ●● is that JOSHUA BASSETT? no, that’s just GIAN DONOVAN, the 17 year old CIS MALE who is a HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT. some say they’re TEMPESTUOUS AND RETICENT, but their family and friends will swear they’re ALTRUISTIC AND EMPATHETIC. when i think of them, i think of the gentle tattoo of rain in the middle of the night, drywall dust covering bruised knuckles, iced coffee in the morning, chipped nail polish dancing on guitar strings, coming up for air in a swimming pool. i wonder if HIS family knows that HE’S QUESTIONING HIS SEXUALITY. ●●

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒  .

full name: gian paul donovan

nickname(s): gi

age: seventeen

date of birth: july 4th

zodiac sign: cancer

place of birth: ashcroft, ma

gender: cis male

sexual orientation: questioning

romantic orientation: questioning

occupation: high school senior

hogwarts house: hufflepuff

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓  𝐆𝐈𝐀𝐍  .

for the longest time, gian was what you’d consider a golden boy of sorts. impressive grades, extremely talented, loved by any authority figure ever, on the road to a getting a college scholarship. literally the one kid every parent wished was their son tbh,

gian is a great listener. i can guarantee you that he’d hear out a total stranger just because they have no one else to reach out to. he always wants to be that person who helps everyone out even if he doesn’t get anything in return

he’s very much the good kid yea, but that’s pretty much all everyone knows about him ?? he doesn’t reveal much about himself, instead choosing to put on that good kid facade in front of everyone

in actuality, gian if far from the perfect image a lot of people have crafted for him. behind his mask he can be... a bit of a mess, and way too emotional for his own good. his temperamental attitude and need to hit things as a coping mechanism has definitely nearly gotten him into trouble many times

his parents’ death has arguably made him feel the worst he’s ever felt. he still tries to be the golden boy but it’s hard when his heart is heavy and his brain if filled to the brim with grief. a lot of the negative parts of him start to show every now and then and it only makes him feel worse.

it doesn’t help that he’s in the middle of a whole ass identity crisis aksjkf nearly a year ago he began dating his best friend. and yea, he genuinely liked her for a while, but it wasn’t until a month into their relationship that began having feelings for a certain boy, which ok for him was WACK because he’s never felt that way before

he broke it off right away tho bc he’s a good boi and didn’t want to lead her on any further. they’re def still best friends and love each other a lot, and she’s been v supportive and helpful while he tries to figure out wtf he is

the one other constant in his life is for sure music. it’s his escape. he can sit for hours just playing on his guitar and if he feels like it, writing a couple of songs. it’s a passion only a handful of people know and in fact, he can count on one hand the number of people who have heard him perform a song he wrote himself

in conclusion: give him a big hug he needs it thanks !!

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃  𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒  .

best friend/ex-girlfriend: i might make this a wc if no one snatches it up but basically they’ve been friends forever, but at some point in the beginning of the year they began dating. it only lasted a month because gian told her he was into a guy and was unsure of how he felt about her, but to his surprise she was v supportive. they’re still best friends and there’s no one he loves more in the world

crush: uhhh the boy who sent gian into a giant gay panic !! they could already be friends or maybe they’ve never even talked at all but at some point gian started looking at him differently and now he’s not sure what he is anymore. they’re definitely on gian’s level but he can’t help but think he’s waaaaay out of his league. i just want someone to make gian flustered when he’s around pls

friends: self-explanatory kids he needs some !!

enemies: idk man maybe they just don’t vibe w each other ?? ngl gian might b babie but when he’s mad u don’t wanna fuck w him i promise

literally anything i will give u all my love

#* ╱ 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 : ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ɪ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ › about . #ashcroftintro.

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Closer (Starisi)

Coauthored by the fantastic @giraffe-puppy

Summary: There are a lot of reasons they shouldn’t be doing this. They work together. They probably can’t handle just one night. Peter’s never done anything with a man before. But they’re going to do it anyways.

Warnings: internalized homophobia, mentioned homophobia, smut, alcohol

WC: 5100

Read on AO3

Peter’s already waiting in the bar when Sonny gets there. They have an unspoken agreement that Friday nights are spent drinking the week away. Usually, they don’t get too drunk, but they still have enough for their inhibitions to lower and their shoulders to brush against each other between flirting teases just short of innuendos. This week hasn’t been great, to say the least, and Sonny’s really looking forward to a chance to relax with Peter and not have to overanalyze, overthink. A beer is already waiting on a napkin for him, unopened, when he sits down.

“Long week for you too, counselor?” he asks, nodding to the glass Peter has of something definitely stronger than Miller Lite.

Peter doesn’t look up from his glass, instead he takes a sip and gestures for Sonny to sit. He turns to him, a worn out expression in his eyes that settles into the lines of his face. He looks a older, drink in hand, staring up at Sonny. “Something like that.” Sonny looks like he wants to push, but instead he sits. Peter downs the rest of his drink before flagging for another.

“You sure you’re okay, man?”

Over time, he’s learned that someone’s eyes will tell you a lot more than their words. Ribbing between friends is given away by the twinkle in their eyes. And Peter’s obvious contemplation shows in how he’s looking at him, but not really. He’s looking, not seeing. Time and time again, Sonny’s seen that haunted look in the eyes of someone who thinks they’re going to lose everything. A long time ago, he had the same listless look in his own eyes when he thought that he was going to go to hell for something as simple as watching the swim team with a dry mouth and a tracing gaze down their toned bodies. He’s always had a thing for bigger men. It’s taken time, but he’s come to reconcile his beliefs with who he is. Besides, it’s not like he’s a little kid easily scared by hateful preachers anymore. Sonny knows who he is and he’s proud to say so. Peter, it seems, isn’t so lucky with whatever’s burdening him.

When Peter looks at Sonny, he feels a little lighter inside. Like the world isn’t crushing him, pressuring him to be his father’s son. He sees a man he can be himself with, no formalities, no facade, just two friends talking over drinks. The warm burn of alcohol settles in his stomach and makes his head feel a little looser. Things are a little easier to handle, and life doesn’t feel like one big problem anymore.

“It’s been a hard week,” he says, sipping his scotch, “felt appropriate to end it with a proper drink.”

“Cheers to that.”

As they clink glass to bottle, Peter can feel it ebbing away, stress shifting to the back of his mind until there’s only his friend by his side and a drink in his hand. All his life he’s been plagued with an insufferable shadow. The shadow of his father, looming over him like a vulture waiting for prey to fall over and die. He can never be Peter Stone, he’s always “Ben Stone’s son.” A title he has been cursed with since the day he was born. Sometimes Peter wishes Ben wasn’t his father, sometimes he wishes for a more accepting and loving family. Something you see in those Hallmark movies.

“Sounds like most around here. At mass last weekend they were uh, they were talking about how homosexuality’s a sin. Not exactly a great way to start my week, you know?” The words come out before Sonny can censor them. It’s hard to be openly upset about it, not when his family still doesn’t know and Sonny hasn’t had a boyfriend in a year, a one night stand in a month. “I keep tellin’ myself that they’re misinterpreting, or that I should just walk out but… I never can.”

Peter’s not sure what surprised him more, Sonny’s openness about this topic, or the fact that he can talk about it so casually with him of all people. It must show on his face, because Sonny looks down and takes a long draw from his beer.

“I can relate, my old man had these expectations for me. No matter what I did, I couldn’t escape his shadow. It felt like I was lying to myself… Hiding this part of me so deep inside-”

Peter cuts himself off before he can finish that sentence, he can’t do it. He can’t tell Sonny about this no matter how much he wants to. It feels like a vice around his throat, preventing the words from escaping his lips. When he glances at Sonny to gauge his reaction, he’s sitting there with a concerned expression. Pink lips pulled into a frown, brows furrowed in worry that makes his eyes glimmer with something sorrowful. Peter feels the gnawing guilt flutter in his stomach and tries to push it down with another drink. Even if he could summon the nerve to tell him, he won’t be able to escape the looming shadow placed over his head.

“I know the feeling. My family- it would break my Ma’s heart,” Sonny says.

He almost laughs to cover the awkwardness. It never occurred to him that Peter could be anything other than straight. He played baseball, and he’s always flirting with Olivia, and he just doesn’t seem the type. Besides, it’s not like Peter said anything about being gay, all he mentioned was hiding something from his father. Part of Sonny wants to deny that it’s possible Peter could be gay because then he has to face the fact that he doesn’t have a chance because of his own inherent flaws as opposed to just lack of compatible sexuality.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But hey, doesn’t mean I can’t dick around sometimes to blow off some steam.”

Peter laughs, the joke helps ease some of his tension. Anxiety and guilt still gnaw at his gut, but it’s not so bad now. Laughing with Sonny makes it easier. Everything is easier with him, Peter knows why, but if he says it then it makes it real. If it’s real then he can’t hide behind anything anymore, and his closest friend will see him. Bare and vulnerable. Peter’s not sure if he’s ready for that. But if he kept hiding behind the lie, how long can he keep it up? Surely the way he’s acting tonight must give it away. He swirls his drink and takes another sip, letting the scotch slide down his throat in a soothing burn, with a bitter aftertaste that matches his feelings.

“I know exactly how you feel, Sonny.” Peter leaves it at that. He doesn’t want to clarify, doesn’t want to be vulnerable just yet. Not when they’re like this. But it’s out there now, open for interpretation, and he hopes Sonny understands.

Polishing off his bottle, Sonny flags down the bartender for another. “You don’t seem the type who picks up guys in bars and just fucks them once.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Peter splutter. It takes everything Sonny has not to openly laugh at him and the flush on his cheeks. There’s innocence to him, inexperience that makes Sonny a little curious about things he’s never considered doing to Peter outside of late nights alone under the covers when he needs just a little bit more to get off. He asks, none too gracefully, if Peter’s ever even had sex with a man before.

A blush crawls up Peter’s neck, dusting over his cheeks and pinkening his ears. He feels an array of emotions, embarrassment, surprise… want. The last one lingers like cigarette smoke, curling around him and invading his senses with every breath. He pushes down the feeling by finishing his drink. Sonny is his friend, he’s just joking around. He can’t mean what Peter’s thinking.

“Y-yeah,” he answers awkwardly. There’s no right way to tell Sonny he’s gay. And there’s certainly no right way to tell him he’s never had sex with a man.

Peter grabs his coat and stands, he can’t handle this. Not here, not now. The twisting, gnawing feeling is back in full force, it’s suffocating him.

“Wait-” Sonny gets up too and stops Peter with a hold on his arm. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry. We can forget about it. But you know, if you haven’t, it’s okay.”

The hesitation on Peter’s face makes Sonny’s stomach twist and burn. He crossed a line, like he always does, and now his closest friend is leaving and might not come back. He pulls him lightly back toward the bar, relieved when he follows along and sits down on the stool to finish his drink. At the way Peter’s tongue flicks out over his bottom lip between swallows, Sonny’s heart skips a beat.

Anxiety is still swirling in Peter’s chest, but it ebbs away when Sonny smiles at him. Those lips, soft and pink, turning upward at the corner when Peter had sat back down. He flags the bartender down, this time for coffee. Booze won’t settle his nerves tonight anyway.

“I-I’m not sure how I feel… About you. About anything. It feels wrong, like I’m not supposed to be this way,” Peter feels a memory resurface. A flash of images when he was younger. “There was this boy. He lived three houses down from me. His name was Patrick. I liked him. A lot. And one day, my old man told me not to hang around him anymore. He said that Patrick was a.. a queer, that he was a bad influence on me. I knew he wasn’t worried about me though, all Dad ever cared about was his image.”

Peter spits the last word out like venom, the thought an unpleasant one that sticks to his brain like hot tar. That was the day he knew he could never be out. Whether it was his father’s shadow, or the closet, Peter remains trapped in the cage of the old man’s expectations.

The coffee arrives as ordered, but Peter regrets it now. He craves something stronger, something to wash away the taste of his hatred.

“Well, he can’t control you anymore, and there’s nothing wrong with being gay, Peter. Or bi. Or pan. Or whatever, I don’t know. But what I do know is that liking men isn’t wrong.”

Talking through this is a strange feeling. It’s great to be able to help someone in the same place he was years ago, but it dredges up emotions that Sonny would rather not explore. As he’s thinking about that, Peter’s first words hit him hard. What does he mean, how he feels about Sonny? The very idea that there could be more sends a thrill down his spine in the best way. He doesn’t push it, not sure if that’ll scare Peter off again, but he can’t deny a certain warmth and satisfaction over it.

By the time Peter drinks his coffee, it’s lukewarm. But he swallows it down to give himself a boost for what he’s about to suggest.

“Do you want to talk about this somewhere more private? I don’t know if I feel comfortable… here.” He loosely gestures to the bar and restaurant area. Forlini’s is a high end restaurant, where people come for business meetings or relaxation after a long day in court, not for deep conversations about one’s sexuality, Peter thinks.

Sonny nods and puts a few bills down, grabbing his coat. Peter follows suit. He’s not sure if this is a good idea, but he can’t be here anymore. Places like Forlini’s remind him too much of the oppressive role his father burdened him with in his passing. Besides, anywhere would be better than here.

Outside, Sonny hails the cab. “My place okay?” At Peter’s nod, he rattles it off to the driver and digs more cash from his pocket in preparation for paying at the end of the ride. Neither of them speak, the atmosphere tense and awkward. More than once, Sonny catches himself staring at Peter and tracing the contours of his face with his eyes. He manages not to get caught, turning his attention out the window every time he realizes what he’s doing. The streets drag by for almost fifteen minutes before the cab stops in front of his building and he pays the driver before opening the door for Peter.

The building isn’t nice- the security camera outside has a cracked lens, and the front doors open easily without a lock. When they get into the elevator, it creaks under the weight and hums up several floor before reaching Sonny’s, where he leads Peter into his apartment. It’s nothing special, with Ikea furniture, only a couple of pictures on the walls, and a small but nice flat screen sitting on an entertainment unit against one wall.

“Do you want another drink?”

Peter takes a shaky breath and shakes his head. His mind is foggy from the four drinks he had, any more and he’d be drunk enough to do something he would regret. Sonny grabs some waters for them and guides Peter to the couch. It’s a standard sectional, comfy enough to nap on perhaps.

“So how’re you feeling?”

That question sparks a million reactions through him. He’s scared, mostly. Confused. A bit hopeful. He wants this, but he’s not sure how to ask. He isn’t sure if he has it in him.

“Scared… but I want to believe that this can be a positive thing.”

Sonny smiles at him, and Peter feels the small flutter of hope bloom into something vibrant. He could watch Sonny smile forever, he thinks, but right now he wants to feel better. He wants to feel something real and alive instead of his dead father’s expectations weighing on him. Peter wants to know it’s ok to have these things, to feel this way. He wants that with Sonny. But damn him, he can’t bring himself to ask.

Sonny’s heart is in his throat. “Peter, can I kiss you?”

That’s not what Sonny meant to ask, but he’s glad he did because Peter nods in a continuation of the shy demeanor that didn’t exist before tonight. With his own fear of rejection in his mind, he cups the back of Peter’s neck and pulls him into a gentle kiss. It’s nothing if not sweet. Peter is careful with him like he’s something precious, all relaxed and tender, pulling Sonny closer by his waist. He’s obviously unsure, but he doesn’t pull away and lets Sonny take the lead.

They separate and rest their foreheads against each other. There’s hope and uncertainty in Sonny’s baby blues, a beautiful contradiction when paired with a few stray hairs falling against his forehead. Peter wants to run his fingers through the once perfectly styled coif and feel Sonny close. He wants to feel this man against him, wants his calloused fingers tugging him closer.

Suddenly, Peter can’t get enough of him, and they’re kissing again. It’s more passionate this time. He pulls at Sonny until the other man is almost straddling him. His lips, God, they’re so much better than he imagined. So kissable and sweet. He tastes like pastries and beer, an odd combination, but very Sonny. Peter rucks up his shirt a bit, feeling the soft skin underneath the layers and marveling at the slender muscle he’s built. “Sonny,” he breaks the kiss again to look into his lust blown eyes. “Need you. Please.” Peter isn’t sure how much longer he can resist, but he wants, needs, to take this further.

“Are you sure?”

If he isn’t, if he regrets this… Sonny isn’t sure he could take it. He searches Peter’s eyes for any sign of hesitation, but all he sees is desire. All he feels in Peter’s hands on him is want. All he hears in Peter’s voice is need.

“I’m sure,” Peter says.

He’s barely finished talking when Sonny kisses him again, deeper and a little rougher than before. Internally, he reminds himself that this has to go at Peter’s pace. They have all night to explore each other and to feel everything that they can. Since Peter is already pushing at his shirt, he breaks the kiss again to just yank away the fabric until he’s left shirtless. He grabs at Peter’s suit in response, pushing the coat off his shoulders and plucking the buttons open one at a time. While he already knows that Peter isn’t exactly slim, he doesn’t expect the well defined muscles that move with every ragged breath. His head swims with the desire to see every inch of Peter spread out and open for him.

Peter throws his shirt off impatiently, already working on Sonny’s belt when he stops him. “Let’s take this to the bedroom, okay?” His breathe hitches at the look Sonny gives him, like he wants to eat Peter up.

He lifts Sonny with ease, holding his body against his chest and kissing him all the way to the bedroom. Peter lays him down on the mattress and starts kissing down his jaw to his neck. He wants to mark Sonny up, paint his pale skin with hickeys and love bites so everyone knows who gave those to him.

Peter slides Sonny’s pants off the same time he sucks a pale pink nipple into his mouth. Sonny moans and writhes underneath his touches, but Peter isn’t done exploring yet. He wants to feel, to taste, every inch of him. But just as he moves lower, Sonny surprises him by hooking a leg over his waist and flipping them over.

“Be honest, Peter,” he says gently, “I need you to be honest with me. Have you done this before?”

“No.”

Not once do Peter’s eyes leave Sonny’s body, taking in his exposed torso and the smooth skin of his long legs.

“That’s okay. Let me do the work, yeah? I’ll open myself up for you, then I’ll let you fuck me until I forget my own name. Sound good?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good boy.”

The pet name comes out of nowhere, but as soon as Sonny says it Peter inhales sharply, so that’s something he can use to his advantage. He leans over Peter’s body to get the half-empty bottle of lube from his nightstand and drop it onto his covers. “I’m gonna blow you while I finger myself, that okay?”

Peter nods and watches Sonny slip down his torso until his face is level with his boxer briefs. He gulps, half wondering what it would be like to be blown by a man, half worried that Sonny would be intimidated by his size. But as soon as his underwear is tugged off, Sonny’s eyes flash with hunger. He wraps a hand around Peter’s cock and strokes slowly from base to head, twisting his wrist on the upstroke. Peter hisses in pleasure and clenches the sheets in his fists, God, Sonny is way too good at this.

He looks down just in time for Sonny to wrap his lips around the head and suck. Moaning, Peter bucks up, shoving more of his cock into his mouth to chase his pleasure. Sonny takes him easily, swallowing around the girth and wrapping his hand around whatever can’t fit into his mouth. The slow, soft pace is driving Peter up the wall. He needs more. He whines and bucks into Sonny’s mouth, desperate to finish even when they’ve barely started.

Pulling off, Sonny looks up at him with a lazy smile. “Easy. I still want you in me tonight, yeah?”

While he grabs the lube and drizzles some on his fingers, he pulls off and rests his face on Peter’s thigh and kisses lightly at the sensitive skin. The lube is cold, but he’s less concerned about that than he is getting a chance to ride Peter tonight. He’s thought about this more than he’d like to admit. At the first press of his middle finger, he shuts his eyes and wills himself to relax. Nothing he hasn’t done before.

“Watch me,” he says in a voice an octave lower than normal.

He waits for Peter’s eyes to meet his before he goes back to work. Knowing now that he can’t go too fast, he just mouths up and down the side, tracing a vein with his tongue. Peter makes a strangled sort of sound and reaches for Sonny’s hair. He doesn’t pull, but the gentle pressure makes Sonny’s brain hum in satisfaction. With Peter’s silent urging for more, he adds another finger and moves them a little faster. Even if he could reach his own prostate like this, he wouldn’t seek it out because this has to last. He can’t help a whine at the stretch, however, which makes Peter tighten his grip on Sonny’s hair.

Peter's not sure which is better, Sonny tracing his cock with his tongue, or the sight of him fingering himself open. He absentmindedly thinks about being the one to finger him, to watch Sonny writhe and twist in pleasure as he seeks out that spot. The teasing is almost unbearable at this point, he needs more. He needs to feel Sonny wrapped around him, all tight, wet heat.

Sonny seems to be done prepping himself, because he kisses up Peter's torso, sucks on his sensitive nipples for a moment to watch the man squirm, and kisses him on the lips. Peter moans at the taste, a mix of Sonny and himself blurring over his senses. Need coils tighter in his stomach, making him hump against the thigh slotted between his legs. Soon he pulls away and positions himself over Peter's cock.

“You ready?” Sonny looks like a dream, skin flushed and lips swollen from sucking him off. His hair is mussed from Peter tugging on it, a beautiful mess. He shudders and nods, and Sonny sinks down on him.

Fuck. Peter’s big, Sonny knew that, but he feels much bigger inside of him. Filling him up, making it hard to do anything other than moan and collapse on Peter’s chest. He can’t move right away, too busy getting used to the feeling, but he feels Peter unraveling beneath him, struggling not to move even as his hips keep twitching up helplessly.

“Give me a minute,” Sonny breathes, lifting his face to kiss him again. It’s still as soft as it has been, even though they’re both breathing heavily and flushed. “Christ. Jesus fuck, God.”

“Breathe.”

“I am, God, I am.”

When Peter laughs breathily, Sonny’s tempted to tell him off but instead he sits up and slowly raises himself up until he’s almost completely empty before slamming back down hard enough that he whimpers. Okay, so not like that. He sets an easy pace grinding more than fucking, enjoying the feeling of being so full. He knows that Peter needs more, but he can’t keep up a pace for it.

“Oh God,” he moans.

It takes everything in Peter not to buck up into Sonny's tight, wet heat. He holds Sonny's body close, letting him slowly adjust to his size. “Fuck. You're perfect, Sonny.” Slowly, he's building a pace, now it's less of a grinding movement and more of a gentle fuck. Peter's nearly losing his mind with need, part of him wants to flip Sonny over and fuck him up to the headboard. But he doesn't want to hurt the man. “Please, Sonny. Need you,”

Peter throws his head back and moans as Sonny starts a faster, rougher pace, gripping both of Sonny's hips. He’s not really fucking up into him, he just needs to hold him close. To feel his skin, his sweat, he needs to feel that Sonny's real. That this is real.

He's already so close to the edge, but determined to make Sonny cum first. Peter plants his feet down on the mattress to add more force Sonny's thrusts, and takes his lover’s cock into his fist to pump him. It’s awkward from the angle, but it can’t be half bad because Sonny starts with the most pathetic moans and now he’s an absolute mess, going as quickly as he can manage.

“You gonna come for me?” Peter asks.

Sonny nods, unable to form words because he’s so overwhelmed with how good it feels. He goes silent when he does come, mouth open in a silent scream with his vision whiting out and his entire body humming at the sensations. As he slowly comes down, Peter grabs his hips and keeps him moving. He’s too sensitive, but the only protest he can muster is a drawn out whine. The sound of Peter grunting and repeating his name is absolutely killing him. Christ, if he could go another round so soon he’d get off on that alone.

Peter's so close he can taste it, he just needs a little more. He's chanting Sonny's name like a prayer while fucking up into him, then, slender fingers pinch and pluck at his nipples.

He cums, nearly screaming as his orgasm rolls through him like crashing waves. Peter's hips stutter a bit before slowing to a stop, and Sonny collapses on top of him. He rolls them onto their side and slips out of Sonny, who’s panting, worn out.

“That was amazing.”

Peter looks into his eyes, baby blue glazed over in a post-sex haze. Sonny hums in agreement and snuggles closer. He's more than happy to give his lover the comfort.

They shift until they're spooning, and Peter can feel the sweat cooling on Sonny's back as it presses against his front. He snakes an arm around his slender frame and lazily locks their fingers together. Finally, his mind is at peace. So many things are going through Peter's mind in this moment. He searches for any of the earlier guilt or anxiety, the weight of his father's shadow. It’s there, resting quietly somewhere in the back of his mind, but for now, there’s only him and Sonny.

Peter can’t help thinking about how this changes things. They can't go back to the way things were before… well, before. Things are different now, feelings complicated and muddled up into a grayish haze of uncertainty. Does he even want to go back to the way things were? Would Sonny want that? The more he thinks about these things, the further any hope of sleep goes. The fear of rejection swirls like a storm in his chest, and all Peter can do is lay there and let it rage into a hurricane of anxiety. He doesn't regret sleeping with Sonny, but what if the man next to him doesn't feel the same way?

Similar thoughts come to light for Sonny. This was fun, and it felt really good, but he thinks he might like Peter a little more than he should. Then there’s the fact that this is all new to Peter, he’s probably not going to be ready for a relationship with anyone, let alone Sonny. A sickening sense that he might have taken advantage of the situation makes him a little nauseous but he hides it by pressing even closer to Peter and pillowing his head on the curve of his bicep in a way that makes him feel like the world is crumbling around him a little less. Everything that needs to be discussed can be worried about in the morning.

However, he still doesn’t want to deal with the no doubt heartbreaking conversation by the time he wakes up in the morning still in Peter’s arms. He drags himself out of bed despite how warm and comfortable he is and digs through his clothes for sweatpants to pull on while he makes a pot of coffee. The caffeine has to wake him up, make everything make sense.

Sunlight filtering through thin curtains wakes Peter, as well as an uncomfortable crustiness on his chest. He vaguely remembers Sonny cumming all over him last night, which explains the crusty, white flakes on his torso. He decides to head for the bathroom to clean up. The hot water soothes his sore muscles and clears his mind. They has to talk about this. They can't float around this bubble of uncertainty forever, at least asking where they stand will make things easier. Peter summons the courage to exit the shower and dress in his strewn about clothes, walking in on Sonny making pancakes and eggs in nothing but a pair of sweatpants.

“Good morning,” Peter brushes Sonny's shoulder with his knuckles and swears he can feel some sort of spark under his skin. He pours himself a hefty cup of coffee before helping himself to the bacon cooling on a paper towel covered plate.

Sonny smiles at him and serves them both the breakfast he made. Peter can't help loving the domestic atmosphere between them, like this should be a natural thing. He can already imagine them getting ready for work together, making breakfast and talking between sips of coffee with files strewn over the kitchen table. Kissing at the building entrance before going separate routes. This feels right, but is it right for Sonny?

“Should we talk?” Peter breaks the silence first. “About last night, I mean.”

Quickly, Sonny swallows his bite of pancake, a contemplative expression on his face that makes Peter's stomach twist up in anxious knots.

“Yeah, probably.” He says. It’s much easier to focus in on his breakfast than it is to turn his sole attention to Peter and talk about what they did last night. He doesn’t regret it, but he’s terrified of what this will do to their friendship, to their jobs, to them. “Look, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, we can just forget it.”

When Peter’s face falls, Sonny’s heart drops with it. “Do you want to?”

“No. No, I don’t because I think I like you but I don’t wanna pressure you into anything and last night was fantastic and you’re really pretty and smart and nice and I don’t know what to do because I never thought anything would happen and I can’t breathe-”

“Sonny.”

He stops in his tracks when Peter’s hands curl around his wrists. His head is spinning. Their faces are inches apart, and at gentle soothing repetitions to breathe, he calms down until he can focus on the bright green color of Peter’s beautiful eyes.

“I like you too. Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

#starisi #fic #smut #angst #mine

[loftyexecutor]

somnium vidisse se dicat in extremis orbis terrarum - 4

Chapter; 4 Rating; M WC; 1565 TWs; multiple character deaths Pairing; AddElsAin [transform] AU; modern/dreamsharing scifi Summary; Being the best in the industry had its perks. Herrscher’s name was known far and wide, work offers coming in left and right, extort this, extort that. But that still didn’t stop his boyfriend from getting too tangled up in one of his dreams and switching places with the shade in his head. The shade that he had offered to extort ages ago. Fuck, this is a mess. Notes; multiple character deaths used a plot device. rating adjusted to M. edited to have the real chapter 4

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It was almost surreal to see how little has changed over the last couple years. Herrsch felt like he was back at the testing facility, with a rookie research assistant reading off the summary of a test while technicians hooked them up to the prototype ADSSU, which used to be no less than three times the size of their current one, even with Centurion’s add-ons. Their homebrew machine, Dox’s baby, was even smaller than the commercial ones, though not by much.

He watched the team, mentally shaking his head as he refused to call it Laby’s title, and found he could predict what everyone would do.

Iblis still made Anular put her IV in, scoffing off Shakti’s offer; he put in his own moments later, and made sure Shakti turned them on at the same time. Apparently, some undesirable problems still arose if they didn’t enter at the same time. Queen let Shakti do hers, pointedly looking up at her face instead of at her arm. Morphy and Dox were already under. Nova opted to have his needle further up the arm, his elbow looking all shades of fucked since he couldn’t alternate arms. Sariel battled with hers only for a moment before handing it off to Shakti, and so did Twilight. Laby swallowed a sleeping pill instead — Shakti would hook her up after she passed out, which still seemed ways off, with how she energetically explained to Prime some plot of a new show she had started watching. Prime herself looked almost gone, already hooked up with the drugs dripping into her bloodstream.

It was hard to believe it had been three whole years since the DDTP disbanded, deeming the research enough for commercial usage of the ADSSU. He could see this same scene unfolding in his memories, with the addition of a few faceless, always-rotating personnel. 

Finally, when everyone’s eyes closed and even Laby dozed off, Shakti hooked him up as well, leaving the girl in Centurion’s care, obviously pleased with the numbers that the numerous screens were displaying. “Good luck in there,” she told him, with a smile unbefitting someone who had just inserted alarmingly large needles into at least five people. 

It almost always surprised him how quickly he could feel the somnicin act, his vision swimming with black spots until he couldn’t hold his eyes open anymore.

“Thank you.”

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

Morphy had gone all-out with this dream. Sure, it might’ve been made for a dream exposition, for art-crazed rich people to stroll through, but the care put into every detail was impeccable. It made the dream feel dazzling, like stepping into a fairytale.

They stood atop a circular platform, the roof of a spire, with stained glass beneath their soles, polished and shining and casting an array of rainbow lights onto the apparent greenhouse that was housed inside the spire itself, only the top of the tree that wound throughout the whole spire through the holes in the floors. The only thing that didn’t feel like it belonged was a tall golden stand with a tapestry hanging off of it, placed in the middle of the roof. It read ‘Welcome to Layer one!’ in flowing cursive. There was a gold-gilded staircase winding around the tower, and when Nisha looked over the edge of the roof, leaning onto the railing with all its carved decor, she could barely make out the ground beneath them.

‘It’s like a tower floating in the clouds,’ Laby chimed in her head, her insistence making Nisha lean further, despite the unease in her stomach.

‘It is beautiful,’ Nisha acquiesced, finally pushing herself off from the edge and back to the middle of the platform where everyone was gathered, now that Herrsch, too, joined them.

‘We should explore!’

‘Later, Laby. We can ask Morphy to give us a tour.’

Morphy’s dream hadn’t stopped at just this tower — there were multitudes of them all around, sticking through the hazy fog like columns of faintly shimmering glass, marble, silver and gold. And it had affected them as well. Nisha found herself in a gown-like dress, twined with golden thread through layers of sheer lace and tulle, the most extravagant thing she had ever worn, even in a dream.

Herrsch donned a midnight-blue coat with tailcoats hair’s breadth from touching the floor, so much golden thread everywhere he looked like he spilled a tub of glitter on himself. Everyone else seemed to be in the same boat, looking ready for a gala instead of a deep dive into the dreams.

“Conwell, you will stay here with Morphy. Be ready to boot anyone if you hear the hint,” he said, “Nova, we’ll go recon layer two. Laby,” he turned to her and corrected himself, “or, Nisha, you’re coming with us. Dox, check in in ten. Fifteen maximum.”

Dox pulled out his phone from the pocket of his blindingly white pants, lips moving the barest amount as he started counting to circumvent the messy flow of time. Nisha nodded, turning away just in time for Herrsch to pull out a handgun from the inside pocket of his coat. 

‘Laby, close your eyes,’ she instructed. She liked to believe Laby listened, even though she had no way of checking. She walked over to the railing. ‘Keep them closed, okay? Can you tell me what happened after Roy and Sarah kissed in the last episode? I fell asleep, I didn’t see.’

There was a moment of hesitation, but then Laby started a tirade, words gushing out like they had been held back by a dam until just then. ‘Roy fel bad, so he made them both go home, but they left all their friends in the cabin, and they were looking for them, and Roy wouldn’t answer their calls because he wanted to talk it out so he turned his phone off, but Sarah thought there wasn’t really anything to talk about—’

Nisha took a breath and hopped over the railing just as the first shot rang out. ‘What happened then, Laby? Keep your eyes closed.’

‘T-they ended up talking, because Roy started crying, and he… thought Sarah only kissed him because she felt pressured to, and he didn’t want—’

The wind howled around her as she fell, passing window after window, greenery blurring behind the glass. For a moment, she felt weightless, arms spread and catching the air as it passed her, and then the second shot rang out and she hit the ground.

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

Nova awoke with a grunt, raising a hand to rub at the crust in his eyes. The dream he had was already fading from his memory, even though he was sure it had been vivid.

He threw the covers off of himself and sat up, back popping loudly as he did. His room was dark, maybe it was too early to wake up, maybe he still had time to go back to sleep. A cursory look over to the bedside table and the alarm clock on it told him it was only 25:90. He still had time, then.

He entertained the thought of grabbing a glass of water, but finally decided against it and just rolled back onto the covers.

“No, it’s time to get up, come on,” Herrsch said, making him grunt again. He rolled over to crack an eye in his general direction, finding him in the middle of the room, another unmade bed just behind him.

“But it’s just twenty-six o’clock,” he grumbled.

Herrsch cocked an eyebrow. “Mind telling me what exactly is wrong with what you just said? I’ll wait.”

Muttering under his breath, Nova sat up again. The clock still read 25:90, he wasn’t sure what Herrsch’s deal was. “I know how to read clocks, you know.”

“Yes, as I’m aware.” The sarcasm in the air could be cut with a butter knife. “Anyway, you have a bug on your hand.”

With a frown and, frankly, confused about what a bug had to do with clocks, Nova half-hearted swatted at the back of his hand. “Look—“

“No, no, the other hand. Can’t you see it?”

Nova looked down at his other hand, finding no bug on the synthetic casing. He turned towards Herrsch to give him an earful about dodging the subject, but then he did a double take and looked down again.

The soft mechanical sounds that filled the air as he flexed his fingers were the only sounds in the room for a few moments. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping.

“Can’t believe it happened again,” he said.

Herrsch shook his head. “It’s only natural, don’t beat yourself up over it. Come on, Immo is here, I can feel him.”

“Ah yes, you and your human mementos. Wish I could know it was a dream just because someone was in it with me.”

“It’s not just anyone.“

“Might as well be, since you never dream without one of them.”

Herrsch could feel heat rushing up his cheeks, so he turned away. He was sure the dimness of the room would hide them, but he didn’t want to risk anything. He didn’t offer a reply to Nova’s remark. “I sent Nisha to anchor layer three. Dox will be here... soon.”

Coordinating such a large group was bound to be messy, but even Nova had to admit they had some dangerously well-equipped dreamers for the task. Dox in particular.

“Let’s recon, then.”

#elsword #addelsain #.elsword #.addelsain #.adssu

[cruelafterglow]

dramione camp halfblood au

pairing: DracoHermionesetting: camp half-blood auwc: 4435notes: written for an anon on tumblr. Hope you will like it. also on ff.net

Draco Malfoyis the son of a stranger with great power. He is the son of justice, of balanceand of revenge.

Since he’sa baby, he’s thirsty with belonging somewhere, with earning a place, his place.

A placesomewhere else than in his manor on Cobble Hill with his mom, blond and richand craving for satin dresses and hearing her own name again and again.

HermioneGranger is the daughter of Athena (she knows it. She’s intelligent and restlessand wise and determinate and –

Most of thetime, she is just lonely but she doesn’t tell.)

The rest ishistory, you will tell but if we must be honest, we’ll tell that all there’sleft is ruins and embers.

i. I’m still alone in my mind

HermioneGranger is so proud of her dad. He’s an eminent dentist and he is so wise thatshe can barely compete with him but she tries because it’s what she does, it’swho she is. She hits a brick wall on a good challenge, on a hard enigma. No onelooks at the bruises, no one looks at the scratches that it left.

Buteveryone keeps their gazes on her big tooth and her fuzzy hair, on her bigbrain.

She’s a brainy, they tell. They don’t ever bother to whisper.Oh yes, she thinks.

She hugsher dad, every night before climbing to bed, she thanks him for the pile of bedon her nightstand even if she has some difficulties to focus. Doctors have saidit’s ADHD, nothing she cannot deal with, right? Nothing she cannot overcome?

Oh yes, but I am so much more.

She’s thedaughter of a giant (her father is tall. Like very tall.) and of a goddess (shehas looked for her in books at the public library.). Her father has told herwhen she was something like six years old. She was not scared, she was not sad,not even when it was Mother’s Day and that she was left with a card and no oneto whom give it.

She was resilientand the blood in her veins was red and gold. Older, she learnt to cursecautiously: she was a fucking miracle

Now she’sjust lost with visions at night and monsters tracking her smell and her legacyat day.

“What can Ido?” asks her dad, after work hours. He keeps his glasses on his nose and hetakes off his surgical gloves. They are green and the surgery’s lights make himlooks so pale, so thin.

She’s bravefor the both of them. If she could, she would erase his memory makes him leavemonsters and the United States and the memories of a goddess met under theshape of a pretty patient with grey eyes and a collection of pencil skirts.

But it’snot one of her talent. She thinks to ask her mom, briefly, but she’s not a girlwho asks, who begs. She is independent and she doesn’t need to rely on others.

She cannoterase his memory but she’s very good at running. So, she runs, a backpack fullwith books and toothpaste, a brush, clothes and a kitchen knife.

She doesn’tknow where but she will figure it out. She doesn’t know when but she will findout that she cannot keep up with 3 monsters attacks a day longer.

ii. where they don’t know my name

For Draco,it’s easier. He is born with a mother and a manor. He is born with warm embraceand material safety. There is a fire burning in his chest and a bitter taste inhis mouth but he ignores it.

One day, aguy comes and rings at the door. His name is Gregory Goyle and he takes moreafter a billy goat than after a boy with such bad manner. He has a strangetwitch in his knee. Disturbing.

Disturbingis not even an adequate word when he announces to Draco that he must take himto the camp Half-Blood because he is some kind of Greek demigod. This boy, inthe end, is no longer a boy but a satyr.

For Draco,it’s easier. He is born with a mother and a manor. His mother has lied to himabout his dad, saying he was a criminal spending his life in jail forcorruption and misappropriation of funds. That there was no love story but a wrong place wrong time hookup story. Hiswhole freaking life.

Acid burnshis stomach. His father is a god (her mother explains him that she needed tokeep it secret for him, for his protection. The monsters smell knowledge andpower. She doesn’t explicit which one but he has a gut and a fire burninginside of him. The god is hurt, he is fire and revenge.), he watches for thebalance on earth but there is no balance when he has spent his whole childhoodhidden behind walls of lies and marble just to keep away the monsters.

(His motheris the worst of them, he thinks. She cries. He leaves. She has packed up forhim, sweets and chocolate. A photography in glossy paper.)

On the way,Greg becomes his first friend, his first ally. He’s all crooked smile and bighugs. He has none of the sharp angles that shape Draco, and it’s okay.

There isdifferent way to survive. For some of them, it’s kindness.

It doesn’tstop the burning in his stomach or the pression in his eyes holding up thetears, it doesn’t decrease the anger, the rage, the appetite for revenge on aghost life, aching and twisting his fists and his back. But until they will beon the top of the hill, it will be enough.

They don’tknow his name yet, but they will learn.

He looks atall these people who don’t know his name or his burden. There is a chief (thereis always one) except this one is called Remus, has a tired face and brownchocolate hair stripped with gray.

He has afirm but kind voice. He talks about schedule and integration, he talks aboutfriends and about heroes but Draco Malfoy is not used to this kind ofqualifying (he’s a coward, he’s a lone wolf, he’s a villain.)

He hasnever been keen of authority except the one of his mother (when she had powerand love.)

So, hekeeps his mouth shut and his mind blank. He follows his new chief to Hermes’scabin where are the lost and the wanderer.

There is alot of people in there. Small. Nervous. A boy with black hair, messy like if hehad been in a thunderstorm, green eyes and a nerdy pair of glasses. It’s nothis kind of ally. He has a weak smile but a weaker bone structure.

There is ablack guy. Same age. The smile of a prince, the charisma of a young god andeyes dark like death. They shake hands.

“My name’sBlaise. Blaise Zabini.”

“Malfoy.Draco Malfoy.”

“What can Ido for you, Malfoy?”

“Introduceme to the good kind.”

DracoMalfoy doesn’t know how to make friends yet but he knows how do businesspartner and deals.

They leavethe overcrowded bungalow (with his old brown chipped of paint and his too manycampers and hammock and laughs and sounds and – it’s more that he can bear.) indirection of the strawberry fields.

Closing thedoor behind him, he notices a girl. Her skin is lighter than Blaise’s but hereyes are just as intense. There is a strong and powerful curiosity in her gaze.He shuts the door before she could read on his face.

“Who isshe?” he asks to his partner with his usual poker face and a whisper swallowedby the wind.

“This girl?Her name is Hermione Granger. She’s here since a month or two, I think. She washere before me. Unclaimed like us. There’s rumors about her. They say that sheran away from home, fought more monsters than most of us to come here. She’snot really a confident one, not really talkative.

“Yeah, I’vefelt it too. A question, Zabini: unclaimed? What is it?”

“It’s whenyour godly parent hasn’t claimed you yet. Once it is done, you are assigned tohis cabin and you are officially his or her son.” He answers quietly.

It remindsDraco of the birds flying dangerously around his old home. The hours spentwatching them from the window of his bedroom.

Ravens.

“Don’t youknow who he is? Your parent?”

Blaisefreezes but it’s delicate. There are just in front of the strawberry field. Thesweet smell of the juicy fruit comes to Draco and he closes his eyes. Hebreathes. He’s alive and safe and powerful and no one will take it from himbecause he is – A burst of laughter interrupts his meditation.

In thefields, two girls are sitting between the young plants. Shiny hairs, polishednails and nice dresses.

They turntheir heads to him.

Deadlyglares.

“I have myidea” affirms slowly Zabini before greeting his friends. “Malfoy, this isDaphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson. Hope you’ll find your place among us.”

It’s nevereasier.

It willnever be.

iii. i never have time

Finally,the gods claim their children one night. It’s all sparks and gasps andsurprises.

Good orbad.

Draco isthe son of a goddess. It makes his world collapse and break and shakes. Hiswhole body is shaking below the sign of the red balance.

He wants toscream, he wants explanation from this mother who was not his. He wants to knowwho is Narcissa Malfoy (certainly not a mom. A mask, a shadow. A liar.)

All thelies pill up on his head, threatening to bury him under their suffocatingweight.

Blaise isthe son of death, Hades like they call him. Draco doesn’t shiver like the restof them do.

HermioneGranger is the daughter of Athena, wise as hell, like a skinny freckled tallboy named Ron Weasley.

The otherboy, the one with the emerald boy and the thunder in the voice, Harry Potterthe legend, is the son of Zeus and it surprises no one.

Draco isgood with learning, memorizing. He knows hierarchy. He knows who has power downhere and who would do crazy things to earn it.

He alignshis behavior with those who could help him. He moves in Nemesis’s cabin, meet astrange boy, Theodore Nott.

“Hello,brother.”

It soundsfake, it sounds swallow.

“We’re notrelated Nott.”

“You’rewrong, kiddo. Except maybe for the blond platinum hair. We can’t at least besure that we have not the same dad.”

DracoMalfoy is secretive so it’s not like he was going to share his family tree withhis stranger came from nowhere, occupying a bed in front of his own, with aspace clearly untidy. The floor is covered up by clothes, gum papers and asword –

A sword.

Dracolearns two things about Theodore Nott: one, his not a big fan of cleaning up,two, he’s dangerous and maybe psycho.

He burieshis head in his pillow but it’s not an efficient barrier to shield him againstNott’s dark laugh.

He sleepslike a rock in spite of his new situation, not knowing who he is, what he is,nor why he is like this but –

DracoMalfoy has listened to Remus when he was describing heroes,

He wantsblood and revenge thus he needs a weapon – He sleeps but it’s never simple todream.

HermioneGranger, on the other side, is as happy as she can be about this new place shecan call home. The blood boiling in her veins, mix of red hemoglobin and goldenichor, she will own it. She has plenty of brother and sisters who likes to playchess (like this redhead with a stomach barely larger than his light. He smellslike sun and he looks like a knight.) or reads books or learns or beingferocious and vivacious and wise and –

Aftermonths of fighting and searching and struggling for a safe place, she is there.She has a clean bed, stimulating conversations, answers. No goals.

The olderones are the most complicated to deal with because they already have done everythingthat she could have thought doing. She has no use, no purpose. She is just alittle girl, head up to heroes.

She is noteven the smarter one anymore. It bugs her but, when night comes, she doesn’tcry. She is focused: she planned her next more, a step ahead in the conquest ofthis new playground.

She hearsabout prophecy and quests. Since this day, there is no second without this goalseeded in her mind. This is why she’s born. She is mean to be a hero. Asalvation.

(Here itis. Heroes are born again under the benevolent smile of the moon and the quietwhispers of gods and titans in their dreams. It’s a whistle of rage and foamingblood but they are just children training with weapons bigger than them, sothey just hear opportunities, future, and treasure. Whatever they are.)

They haveno time for each other. Draco looks at her when she is not aware, her brighteyes when she discovers more and more about Greek gods, about this language whowas like an odd gut for her until she finds the camp. She is a brilliantstrategist; her blade is as sharpened as her mind but she makes him feelssomething very wrong. Something very primal for someone who is called DracoMalfoy and has been raised in lies and marble.

It’s notlove. It’s fear.

She hascrawled in the mud, she has blown up the cage of her own childhood to becomewho she is. There are rumors about her, about how she has reached this heavenafter a journey into hell, blood splashed all over her face, and a broken arm.

She doesnot give up. Never. She has something to prove and Draco – he’s not really acurious kid, just a coward – doesn’t want to have anything to do with it.

He has aweapon now, and he surrounded by powerful and determinate people who willsupport him (to the end of the world.)

He’s justscared that she will cause him trouble. That she will try to stop him, to fighthim, to be competitive.

When helooks at her, her eyes twitching with concentration, the sides of her nosequivering when she succeeds to master a new type of weapons (she’s good withspears. It’s like a wand, like an extension of her own arm come to life.), he’safraid that she will win.

They growup and grow up like trees do. They dig their nutriments and values andresources out this godly soil. They are two vigorous trees but theirs branchesnever touch.

They haveno time, they have to reach the sky.

iv. i know you’re dying to meet me

Hermioneasks for a quest to Remus on her seventeenth birthday.

He says yesbut his face is ravaged by old scars, making creases in his textured skin. Heis so old but he is also kind. She has seen the monsters out there, he has tooand he trains heroes every day because it is the reason he has for waking upevery morning.

But he hashope. No matter the blood on their hands or the monster’s body lying out there,lifeless, he has hope.

Hermione islooking for hope in this quest.

Remus talksabout the necessity to have companions. She said yes, she’s a littledistracted, a little ambitious. She does not care about beginnings and newroots, she’s only here for the end.

She goesfor the quest. She’s sure it will lead her to answers.

She is notfrightened by the smell of the oracle nor by her patchouli-infused threats.It’s an old skeleton with vintage pearl necklace and bracelets, colorful scarfsand too much dust everywhere.

It’s not adanger. Hermione Granger knows the face of danger when she sees it and it’s notin the once-human features of Sibyl Trelawney.

DracoMalfoy, Blaise Zabini and Harry Potter follow her on the forbidden land. Theyfollow her on the burnt land, where the gods are no longer listening.

Theydestroy a city while trying to save it from the monsters. Hermione is wise butshe cannot find a way to stop this building to fall on this young lady, pinkstiletto and bright smile, top bun. The mortal is collapsed under the ruins.

Hermionefreezes and watches it. There is blood on the corpse’s clothes.

She wondersif the gods saw it. She wonders if it is Malfoy’s fault.

Because,apparently, it is always his fault in this quest. It is his fault if the godsare angry (and if Nemesis is angrier.)

It is hisfault if Blaise has raised an army of skeletons to save them from worse thandeath and bones.

It is hisfault if she is still bleeding. (he has not learned how to patch wounds andhe’s not even good to comfort her.)

It isalways his fault because the quest, it was not hers. It was his. They needed tonegotiate something from Nemesis, something precious. A scale. To reestablishthe order of the world or something like that. It was perfect, it was allbruises and burns and challenges. It was a success.

UntilMalfoy made mommy angry and –

This boyhad some serious self-control issues and parental ones and she’s angrier thatshe looks out after him because –

Now, thereis a minor goodness hunting them and cursing them and throwing hell on them.

Thegriffins with their wings and their claws are ripping their bare skins.

While theyare running (sweat covers Blaise’s face and Harry throws lightning bolteverywhere around them. It’s dark. Except the neon signs of obscure and greasyfast-foods the only thing she can see between the flashes is blood. So muchblood.)

The woundson her chest is infected. It’s not ichor, it’s sticky blood and yellowish pus.She keeps her mouth shut and she takes a sip of ambrosia, just a tiny sip – ittastes like home and toothpaste and mint – because they are in a worstsituation.

So muchworse.

Malfoycrawls to her on his elbows. His face is covered in dust, and his lips istinted with carmine blood.

“I’m sorryGranger. I didn’t want this to – “

“No, you’renot.” She answers. Her tongue is sharp and her patience nonexistent. “You’re acoward, Malfoy. You are her son and you wanted revenge. You got it, champion.”

He stayssilent for a while. Harry and Blaise are nowhere close to be found. Even goingto supermarket is a threatening ride yet they are clearly seizing opportunityrather than staying between the two of them. The walking chaos and the bitterwarrior.

It was herquest. It was supposed to be her last trial.

He kissesher, this night. She bites him but he doesn’t taste the difference. He’salready bloody.

She kissesher back and her lips (god, her lips.)

It’sunreal.

v. baby, as soon as you meet me (you’ll wishthat you never did)

It is, infact.

She burstsin laughter, it’s not her laugh. She kisses him but it is not how he has everimagined (not that he has)

Either sheis far more anger than he could thought either she’s not herself. Withoutbreaking the contact between them (he feels her lashes flushing against hisskin, her heartbeat, the dryness of her lips) he takes out his dagger of hisbelt. He’s Narcissa’s son and she has at least taught him that she loved himeven if he did not love himself.

His life isprecious and there is no way he dies kissing a ferocious girl.

Heapproaches the blade to the back of her neck, where the flesh is tender, whereher hair begins to grow, she keeps kissing him and that’s when he knows –

“HermioneGranger is hyper-aware of everything that threatens her life and curiously,even more when it’s me.”

He stabsthe thing in the back without a blink. It still has her face, her dirty stainsof mud or blood on the cheek and her light in the eyes.

He watchesit fade slowly into a glassy last look.

(he hasnever dreamt about her dying, about killing her)

There is noblood on his own hands, just gold. Rivers of it, flowing on his palms.

Then hehears a scream.

She is –Hermione Granger, the true one – behind him. She looks terrified and he caneasily imagine why. He drops the bloody weapon and open his mouth to explainhimself but she doesn’t let him the time.

She’sbetter than him at reunions.

She punchesa goddess – his mother, actually – in the face and she shouts at him

“Don’t youdare kill me again in the back! You, coward!” she turns her head to heropponent, wings growing out of her white dress, black eyes like divine revengeand ichor dropping from her nose. “And you…” she yells at Nemesis “Don’t youdare to toy with him again! You, pathetic mother!”

He’samazed. As are Potter and Blaise, gasping, almost dropping their grocery bags.These guys have a great timing, truly.

“What’shappening?”

“I’vekilled Granger and now she tries to make us more in danger than we used to be.Quite a routine.”

“Nice”comments Blaise laconically.

It was niceindeed.

x.

The fact isthat Nemesis has met his father, a powerful and resentful man, in February.Coldest month to meet a sharp woman, a deadly goddess.

9 monthslater, he was married. 9 months later, he was in jail for fraud letting behindhim a spouse, a huge manor with peacocks and hedges high like ramparts. And ababy.

NarcissaMalfoy called him Draco because his father was a snake and his mother a dragon,but she loved him anyway.

The fact isthat Nemesis does not like competition. She only lives for justice. And she’snot the best mother, just the second one.

x.

She swearsto let them in peace. She doesn’t look at Draco in the eyes but she gives himthe scale without a word.

The goddessdisappears and everything returns to normal: Blaise and his charming smile,Harry, his broken glasses and his messy hair. Everything except Draco.

She goes tosleep, he takes the first turn of guard (just in case.) and the next morning,she finds him sleeping against the grey wall of cement.

She shakeshis shoulder a bit too strong and she makes his name turns to cold then tonothing in her mouth.

He rises onhis feet, quickly. He hasn’t wash the ichor on his shirt or his hands, he hasgolden blood stuck on his face and on his hair.

She doesn’tswipe it. She shakes his hand instead.

“It’s over,Malfoy. The quest is finished. Our collaboration is over.”

“Granger –“

She walksaway and she lets the steam of the public shower chase the image of his handfrozen in the space, like if he was holding on the ghost of her own.

She hasonly five minutes of peace before Blaise knocks on the door to announces thedeparture.

The journeyback is long and quiet. They slide monsters in silence. Harry and Blaise fillthe void with their incessant chatting but in the end, it’s just an annoying backgroundnoise and she just wish she had a book to avoid to stare at Malfoy’s glacialmouthline.

The camp isjust as they’ve left it. Same sickening-sugar strawberry smell. Same orangecotton shirt. Same problems and same wars between cabins. Same books on theshelves in front of her bed, same sticky-gloss written messages on the door ofthe Aphrodite’s.

And DracoMalfoy is more an empty body than a heroic soul.

But she candeal with it. She can deal with the shush and the gossips and the praises, shecan deal with new ranks and admiration glowing in the eyes of new campers.

He shows upon her porch, one morning.

“Granger, Ithink we need to talk.”

“Malfoy, Ithink we do not.”

“You died.”

Oh –

She looksat him, with his platinum hair and his angular face, edges like a broken mirrorreflecting long evenings of memories and nightmares of feathers, claws, andfalling buildings.

She cannotbreathe.

Oh –

She hastried so hard to remember. To fill the blank space. To put herself in thisthing’s place, to imagine her heart slow down and her erratic need for air, forhelp. She has tried so hard.

Sometimes,she forgets that she is not the one who is dead, and neither the one who kissedhim.

Oh –

He waits.His leg twitches. But she cannot move and she cannot take back her wordsbecause it’s over and he has stabbed her in the back, he has kissed her, he haskilled her. But she can’t remember because it was not her and it was her andshe’s not sure that he’s doing a difference and he’s on her porch –

Sometimes,she wants to be the one who kissed him, a night in an abandoned bungalow.

Oh –

He jumps aflight of steps, she grabs him by the collar.

“I don’tlike you Malfoy. You’re not wise enough to be on my side in war.”

“I know.But I’m sure that you don’t want me on the opposing side now that are know whatyour weak points are.”

“Do you?”she asks, the reminiscence of the dagger precisely driven between her twoblades floating between them.

Her chesthurts when she bends over him to grab his chin.

She kisseshim, he tastes like ambrosia and end of the world and regrets.

But hisskin is clean and the sun warms their intertwined bodies.

It’s enoughfor now. Maybe one day, he will be brave enough to forgive to Narcissa, hisfather and Nemesis.

Maybe oneday, she will be soft enough to come back home, to make an appointment at thedentist.

For now,they are just demi-gods, scared of what they have done, searching forexpiation.

#answered #My writing #dramione #Draco Malfoy #Hermione Granger #hp #slytherdornet