#was bored must draw men in tight shirt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 15.5k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex/voyeurism/exhibitionism as usual, an extra lil tidbit of exhibitionism this time around though, thigh riding, choking/erotic asphyxiation/breathplay, degradation, dumbification, objectification - all consensual, but y’all wanted meandom jimin so i delivered, please read at your discretion - dom!jimin obv, sub!reader, oral (m receiving), throat fucking, punishment/discipline, footjob kinda (socks are worn, it’s not bare feet), aftercare as usual, mentions and implications of mxm

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and femboy friday

please note there are hyperlinks in this chapter ! they link to specific images that i thought might help you visualise some things ;) all links are safe

DAY NINETEEN

Your body clearly still isn’t right again by Friday morning, but it’s nothing a good breakfast can’t solve. Fortunately for you, Jin is more than happy to turn it into an occasion for a large, communal meal, and with barely any prompting, he’s whizzing away in the kitchen like a madman.

As you wait, you sip away at some vaguely herby-yet-fruity tea that he’d brewed you, watching his broad shoulders shift beneath his shirt when he chops vegetables, and his brows furrow in focus when he measures out spices.

“I don’t suppose I’d have time to- Nevermind,” Jin mutters at some point, carting a bladeful of crushed garlic from the chopping board to a simmering pan.

You sit up, ignoring the billow of steam from your mug. “Time to what?” He shakes his head, but you keep on him, watching his eyes dart to your figure leaning against the counter, and back at his work. With a gasp, you thrust the mug at him accusingly. “Were you going to put the moves on me?”

He scoffs low in his throat, but doesn’t respond.

“You were! Was making breakfast for me just a ruse, then?”

Jin turns around at that, lifting his brows and giving you a mock look of offense. “It was not! I’m just an opportunist, that’s all.” His shoulders sag. “But I don’t want the meat to burn, and it’s only time before the irresistible aroma of my delicious cooking reaches their doors and draws them down like rats to the pied piper.”

“Are you calling the others rats?” you ask with a giggle bubbling up your throat.

The cook pauses. “I suppose I’m not not calling them rats,” he allows, “but that’s not the point. I’m taking my time with you.” Perhaps the comment would be more sexy or romantic if he wasn’t using a kitchen knife to gesture.

Your interested piqued, you take a slow, thoughtful sip of the quickly-cooling dregs of tea. “You could always tell me,” you offer up, watching his head tilt in curiosity. “Tell me what you would’ve done to me if you weren’t worried about time. Or burning meat.”

His lips part slightly, a strange look in his eyes, like he’s appraising you. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” Though it’s probably meant to come off as a joke, his voice is too soft for it to carry. “If I tell you, I’ll have to change my plans for the prompt. Keep you on your toes?”

“Plans?” you question. “I thought you were an opportunist.”

Even though his back is faced to you, stirring some vegetables amongst the strips of meat, Jin speaks clearly, every word enunciated like it’s a mantra. “I’d kiss you ‘til you couldn’t breathe,” he begins, “and when you were overcome with need, I’d lift you on that counter and get to my knees. Eat you out like you were my last meal. Finally, if you still wanted more, I’d lie you down on the tile and fuck you well like you deserve.”

Your cheeks are hot, searing skin and throbbing pulse. Jin turns around to spoon the cooked stir-fry into a bowl on the countertop, looking far more unaffected than you. His eyes dart to you, a bemused and genuine smile quirking at his lips when he sees you flustered into silence. “It’s your turn,” he remarks in an easy drawl, placing the bowl beside you before he goes to the fridge to retrieve a carton of eggs. “What would you do if you weren’t worried about time?”

You take a breath, nostrils flaring at the rich mix of buttery vegetables and perfectly seasoned meat. “I’ll be honest with you, Jin,” you quip in a small, unobtrusive voice, “I’d probably get you to finish cooking first. This smells fucking incredible.”

Jin’s pealing laugh is punctuated by the cracking of an egg into the still-hot pan, and as the sizzling echoes through the room, you feel the air settle back into something lighter. Good timing, too, as it’s then that you hear footsteps behind you.

Before you can turn, your sides are crushed by a tight back-hug, arms wedged into your sides. “Feeling better?” a smooth voices asks, and you’re surprised to recognise it as Namjoon’s.

The academic had woken before you, so was fully coherent when you’d gotten up with a roiling stomach. With more than a tinge of concern, he’d let you shower first while he’d passed the message on to Jin, the only other awake member of the household. He now smelt fresh, like mint and citrus, and his skin still radiated heat from under his shirt.

He releases you just as quickly as he’d wrapped his arms around you, nothing more than a greeting, and Jin doesn’t even lift a brow at the affectionate display.

Before you can answer however, there’s a fourth party entering the room, a familiar sleepy drawl as Yoongi pads into the kitchen and beelines straight for the coffee machine. “Still sick?”

“Still?” Jin questions, narrowing his eyes in concern as he scrambles the eggs with the corner of a silicon spatula. “How long have you been sick?”

“Just since yesterday,” you deflect, “it’s probably nothing.”

Namjoon goes stiff beside you. “You don’t think it’s...you know? A problem with your birth control?”

Your eyes furrow in confusion before you process his words a moment later. “Oh, I- surely not? I have an implant, so it’s not like forgetting a pill or anything.” But the thought niggles in your mind, and you seek out Yoongi, who slumps against the counter while his drink brews. “It’s not like… morning sickness, is it?”

A disbelieving laugh leaves Yoongi’s lips. You gape at him, but he just waves a hand in dismissal. “Don’t stress about it. You have an IUD, right? They’re 99% effective, and morning sickness generally starts around the six-week period. When did you get the IUD?”

You think back. “Once I cleared all my tests for the show, I guess? I think it was a couple days before we came here. Why?”

Yoongi seems to wake up very quickly after that, face falling slack. “Wait- A couple days? First of all, unless you were having unprotected six roughly two to three weeks before you came here, I highly doubt you have anything more than a slight cold or at the most, food poisoning-” Jin shoots the doctor an accusatory glare, which Yoongi ignores in favour of abandoning his coffee and rounding the corner. “But I think we have a different problem to worry about.”

You blink, your sick stomach returning as his concern starts getting to you. “I wasn’t having sex at all two to three weeks before the show. But what’s the problem?”

Yoongi looks stern, what you imagine he’d look like in his clinic giving serious medical advice to a patient. “Were you on your period when you got the implant?”

Reflexively, your cheeks heat at the personal question, hyper aware of Namjoon, Jin and Yoongi’s collective attention on you. “No. Why?”

“Fuck,” the doctor curses. “Come with me.”

“What’s going on?” You take his outstretched hand, heart racing as he leads you towards the front door, away from the other two who wait in confused and concerned silence. “What’s happening, Yoongi, you’re stressing me out?”

Yoongi’s fingers squeeze yours reassuringly as his face softens, holding the door open for you. “I’ll explain when we get to Sejin’s van, sweetheart, you’re fine.”

Though the sun has well and truly risen, it’s relatively cloudy, and the two of you aren’t even wearing anything more than house slippers and socks as you rush across the gravel towards the production van. There are lights on inside, and Yoongi doesn’t bother knocking before he’s bundling you and him inside.

The van is relatively cramped, some modest floor space with a single bed and then every other surface filled with monitors, paperwork, and a bank of screens displaying the cameras inside the Villa. Sejin, with his bulky headphones around his neck and his chair faced towards you, clearly must have seen you coming, as your sudden entry doesn’t catch him off-guard.

“How can I help yo-”

“Did nobody do their fucking research?” Yoongi spits immediately at him, giving no introduction or pleasantries. “I know there are speakers in the rooms, I know you heard us, so you better start explaining otherwise if you’re not lucky you’ll be facing a massive fucking lawsuit.”

Sejin sighs, his eyes darting to you in sympathy, before they return to Yoongi. “The requirement was that Y/n was on birth control by the time the show began. She was.”

“Yeah, well, not effective birth control,” Yoongi counters.

“The IUD Y/n got is 99% effective. She and all of you signed off that using additional birth control such as condoms beyond that was your choice. If you’ve chosen not to, that’s legally not our responsibility. The condoms have been made available.”

You furrow your brows, finding comfort in his hand tightly cradling yours. “Yoongi, I don’t understand…”

The doctor sighs, pinching his brow, and turns to you. “Y/n, when you got the IUD, did they not warn you about the seven-day window?”

You feel the blood drain from your face, the feeling that bad news is imminent. “What window? No, the lady didn’t say anything.”

“Un-fucking-believable,” Yoongi curses, rubbing a palm over his face. “Well, listen up the two of you for a quick lesson in intra-uterine devices. If you aren’t currently on your period, they can take up to seven days to be considered effective. So while it’s highly unlikely that you have morning sickness right now, Y/n, I’m pretty fucking concerned for what may have happened during that first week.”

You bite down harshly on your lip as tears spring to your eyes, you naturally feel yourself wrapping your free arm over your stomach. “How do I- What do I do?”

Yoongi’s face softens at the action, and he turns to Sejin with a sigh. “You need to get an early detection pregnancy test, so that we can know for sure. Plenty of couples have unprotected sex without any pregnancies, so it’s not a definite, but we need to rule it out quickly so that Y/n can decide how she wishes to proceed. How quickly can you get one?”

Sejin, who had been looking greener and greener as Yoongi spoke, finally lets out a rushing breath, jumping up. “I’ll go down to a pharmacy now. Y/n; are you wanting to come with to do it sooner, or...?”

You sniff, shaking your head quickly. “Can you just bring it back here? I don’t want the others to think something’s wrong.”

Sejin nods stiffly, patting you once on the shoulder as he passes you. “I’m so sorry, Y/n, Yoongi’s right. We should’ve done more research. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Yoongi goes lax the second Sejin shuts the van door behind you, pulling you into a tight hug. “Either way, you’ll be just fine. You always have options,” he assures you, cheek pressed to your hair, rubbing your back.

Like your mind is desperate to find something to relieve your sudden crashing wave of stress, a hysterical laugh jumps out of your throat. “A fucking pregnancy scare,” you bemoan, “this is meant to be slutty Bachelorette but it’s just a slutty telenovela.”

Yoongi freezes when you begin laughing, but quickly falls in on the joke. “I even have a secret twin,” he jokes. “We better keep an eye out to make sure Jin doesn’t fake his death to steal the show’s budget.”

You sink further into his secure embrace, chuckling at his remark but quickly sobering up. “What am I gonna do, Yoongi? I can’t have a baby, especially not if it’s some- some mutant mix of seven different dads!”

“Sweetheart, please don’t stress yourself over it before you even know,” Yoongi pleads. “If it’s any consolation, that’s not how biology works at all. That would make for a riveting episode of Jeremy Kyle, though.”

You let out a groan. “God, how would they fit eight armchairs on the stage?”

Yoongi chuckles, smoothing a hand down your back before he gently breaks the hug. “Do you want to stay here, or go back inside and get something to eat? We don’t have to tell the others; Jin and Namjoon are mature enough not to ask pry, especially if there are others around.”

Your growling stomach answers the question for you.

Inside, Jin and Namjoon stay quiet just as Yoongi had anticipated, the former simply announcing that you were just in time for breakfast.

The table was set, most of them already seated, and you gape at the impressive display. The stir-fry from earlier, several individual small bowls of rice, a deep brown broth, scrambled eggs, and even some rice porridge fill the table.

Taehyung, Jungkook and Hoseok are on one half of the table, Jungkook looking like it physically pained him to restrain himself. Jin at one end, an empty space at the other, and the final long edge has Namjoon sitting beside two place for you and Yoongi. Just as you open your mouth to voice the absence, Jimin comes around the corner from the stairs and snags a place on the head of the table beside Taehyung.

You wish him a good morning as you sit, the smells of all the different dishes mingling in your nose the second your butt hits the seat. “Sorry for holding you all up,” you apologise, pasting a smile on your face even as your insides still wriggle in anxious tension. “Thank you for the meal, Jin.”

“Anytime,” he deflects, and like that word was a command, Jungkook bursts into action, shoveling food into his bowl like he’s on the verge of starvation. Jin sighs, reaching for the stirfry. “Quickly, before the vulture gets it all.”

Breakfast, once you force yourself to enjoy it and stay in the moment, is impeccably delicious and a lot of fun. As it turns out, Taehyung’s been making good use of his free schedule, and he regales the table with anecdotes of teaching Mango a number of ‘useful’ tricks like high-fiving, playing dead and turning in tight circles to beg for a treat. It’s while watching a video of the small white dog lolling out her tongue after Taehyung pretend to shoot her with his fingers shaped like a gun that there’s a sudden knock at the door.

Immediately, the thought of the pregnancy test comes to mind, and you’re rushing to the door before anyone else gets the chance.

What you don’t expect to open the door to, however, is a simple delivery worker, with a decently large box under one arm and a small electronic pad in the other. You stare blankly at the man as he consults the label on the box. “Looking for a Jung Hoseok,” he states gruffly, eyes barely reaching you from under a yellow cap branded with the company logo.

Your eyes widen, and you turn back, calling through to the kitchen. “Hobi, it’s for you!”

Rather than returning to your seat, you wait in rapt curiosity as Hoseok practically skips to the front door, smoothly signing off the package with an easy grin. Once he takes it and shuts the door behind the already-departing delivery man, you press against his shoulder to catch a glimpse at the label.

Though Hoseok tugs it away from you with a tut, and you aren’t able to read the packing sticker, you manage to take note of a dark red stamp inked heavily on the top left corner of the box. Two Rs, back-to-back with lush flicks on the outer downward strokes.

The dom parades the box around the foyer, making sure he’s visible to the rest of the guys at the kitchen table, before taking it upstairs with a spring to his step.

Taking a seat again, you let out a disbelieving whoosh of air. “I think it’s from his work,” you tell the others conspiratorially.

Jungkook’s eyes widen, his right cheek stuffed with meat he’s pushed to the side. “Like the Red Room? Kinky stuff?” he questions with a slight lisp, before chewing frantically and swallowing the food. “Are we allowed to do that?”

“It seems so,” Jimin murmurs, his eyes glinting with interest. “Just because we can’t go out doesn’t mean we can’t bring stuff to us, I suppose.”

Jin watches the two youngest with a strangely amused look on his face, twirling his chopsticks against the tabletop. “I’m surprised the two of you have kept quiet so long?”

Jungkook frowns. “Huh? Oh!” Suddenly, his and Taehyung’s faces light up in unison, glancing down at themselves.

Taehyung claps the table in excitement, staring at you, Yoongi and Jimin. “Do you know what day it is today?”

“Friday,” Yoongi answers shortly. “Is it a public holiday or something? It doesn’t really matter if we’re still stuck in here, does it?”

“No, hyung,” Jungkook enthuses, “do none of you go on TikTok? It’s femboy Friday!”

Jimin furrows his brows in utter confusion. “It’s what?”

In their haste to stand up, Taehyung and Jungkook just about tip their chairs over, knocking the table with their knees. Your mouth drops as you see instead of sweatpants or jeans, both boys are sporting skirts.

“Femboy Friday,” Taehyung repeats with a shy smile as Jimin’s eyes rake shamelessly over his figure, “we’re saying fuck toxic masculinity and celebrating feminine boys and proving that clothes don’t have gender all in one! Namjoon, don’t you love it?”

Namjoon, to his credit, manages to nod dumbly, but it seems like that’s his only remaining executive function as his jaw hangs slack, eyes wide.

You can’t blame him, however. You can’t stop looking at the two either. Jungkook has a casual, loose black t-shirt tucked into a high waisted skirt that’s the same shade. Tight around his hips and flaring in an a-line down his thighs, silver chains and buckles give it an edgier look. As he does a twirl, you catch a glimpse of the definition the fabric gives his ass, everyone watching with rapt attention.

Taehyung, on the other hand, has gone for a sweeter look, with a white blouse tucked in to a dove grey plaid skirt that falls in perfectly ironed pleats. It’s relatively cool inside, so he’s shrugged on a cream-coloured jacket somewhat reminiscent of a school blazer. It’s clear by the tentative smile and blushed cheeks that he’s more shy about the getup than Jungkook is; the latter stands tall with folded arms, like he’s daring you to say something.

Once the rest of you at the table get over the initial shock, followed by the silent awe and appreciation, it’s Jimin who speaks up first, his lips parted in a shocked pout. “Why did nobody tell me?”

Jungkook blinks. “Huh?”

Jimin pushes his chair back, brows furrowed. “Where was this announced? I wasn’t informed.”

Taehyung sends him a boxy grin, his skirt swishing with the slightest movement. “It’s a TikTok thing, Minnie! You should do it with us!”

Jimin tilts his head with a thoughtful hum. “I’m not sure that I have any skirts in my suitcases. Some lingerie, sure, but not-”

“Oh, I just got mine out of the little costume wardrobe in the cupboard,” Taehyung explains easily, jumping forward to tug at Jimin’s arm. “I got a schoolgirl one, but I saw a cheerleader one in there too, come on!”

Your mouth hangs open as the two rush away, and Yoongi splutters, clapping a hand on the table to punctuate his shock. “Wait, sorry, I must’ve- wait,” he babbles, shaking his head in disbelief, “Jimin has lingerie? I’m making tomorrow Panties Saturday.”

Jungkook giggles. “Hyung, that’s not how it works! Femboy Friday is like, a thing, you know? Tae and I made a video earlier and it’s already doing numbers. If we all did it, I bet we’d go viral!”

Yoongi winces. “In my line of work, ‘viral’ is not a good thing.”

You turn to him with a grin. “Come on, Yoongi,” you entice warmly, “it would really cheer me up.”

Keeping your mind off other things is definitely a priority now, and by Yoongi’s reluctant sigh of defeat, you know he knows it. “I don’t want to wear a skirt,” he states, “my legs get cold easily. Is there any compromise of some sort? Anything else I can contribute to the cause?”

It seems you and Jungkook get the idea at the same time, judging by the way his eyes light up.

Before Yoongi can voice his concern, a triumphant clearing of a throat catches the room’s attention. Looking demure in his schoolgirl-esque getup, Taehyung stands tall in the doorway, glancing behind him. “Announcing,” he calls out more noisily than is needed, “the head cheerleader himself, Park Jimin!”

When Taehyung had mentioned cheerleader, and again now, you’d expected the typical red get-up, maybe a sweeter, more innocent look, but at this point in the show it’s about time you realise that Jimin never restricts himself to the obvious route, preferring to defy expectations.

Stepping into the gap Taehyung leaves for him and resting an elbow casually against the doorframe, Jimin looks like the type of student that would run the team with an iron fist. Or, judging by the rings laden on his hands, a silver one. It looks like the only things he’s taken from the cheerleader costume is a pleated pink skirt and some white thigh-high stockings, slipping slightly on the foyer tile. A simple but sexy Gucci shirt is tucked into the obscenely high waistband. Though the logo is gold, red and green, stamped onto the centre of the white fabric, it doesn’t clash with the skirt, instead making an addicting contrast. Shrugged on top, loose around his arms, is a black jacket with red and gold detailing on the shoulders. His gaze is piercing and superior, wearing the skirt like it’s armour as he slinks forward and sits in the chair with a smug look on his face.

Your mouth feels dry. Reminded of the last time he wore more typically feminine attire, it’s like the temperature of the room has increased by several degrees. “I think this is my new favourite day of the year,” you admit quietly, though it carries well enough in the awed room. “You guys look incredible.”

Jimin smirks. “Who’s next, then?”

Jungkook brightens up, wiping the corner of his lip surreptitiously. “Yoongi! Hyung, we need makeup; lots of it.”

Yoongi blanches. “You what now?”

Jin sits forward eagerly. “Wait; if we’re all making ourselves look pretty, I want in. I’ve always wanted to look like the rich hot mom from Parasite,” he divulges openly, turning to you. “Y/n, do you have some jewellery I can use?”

You grin. “I guess so. I know Jimin has some too, and I think Jungkookie? We can get you iced up. Ah, I feel like a little girl dressing up paper dolls. Let’s go get some supplies and we can make a day of it!”

You stand up too quickly, head lurching and stomach protesting, and like the crashing of a freezing wave, you feel dread wash over you. Before you can even dwell on it, Jin’s behind you, steadying you and holding you upright against him.

“Alright?” he asks in a low voice as the others begin to discuss a game plan.

You nod. “Just stood up too quickly.”

Jin’s mouth twists, unconvinced with your answer. “Let’s go upstairs and raid your closet. Take a breather.”

Leaving the others behind, you let the noise drop away as Jin carefully leads you up the stairs and to your room, sitting you carefully on your bed.

You collapse back against the mattress, feeling weak now that the pressure in your head is beginning to recede. Unsurprisingly, Jin doesn’t immediately beeline for the wardrobe or set of drawers. The springs adjust to a shift in weight. Jin’s hands finds one of yours, wrapping it between the two and squeezing it in reassurance. You’re smart enough to recognise this as the start of a Talk, capital letter intended.

“I’m worried about you,” he starts softly, his voice warm and comforting like cotton. “You don’t have to feel obligated to tell me a thing, and I know I’m no medical expert like Yoongichi, but I do know a lot about sex and relationships, and I know that surprises and accidents can happen. I’m here for you in any capacity you need, Y/n. Any at all.”

You swallow, staring at the slightly uneven, off-white paint on the ceiling. “I might be pregnant. It’s a big might but, you know…”

Jin’s hand tightens on yours briefly at that word, like a flexing of muscle, and relaxes again. “The not-knowing is still scary,” he finishes lightly.

“Yeah.” With a frown, you focus your awareness inwards, feeling your stomach rise and fall with your breath. “I don’t feel pregnant. But then- how the fuck would I know what that felt like?”

Jin is silent for a moment. “That isn’t really something I could help with, sadly.”

You huff out a humourless laugh through your nose. “It’s fine, Jin. I appreciate your concern. Sejin’s bringing back a test soon, hopefully, and then I can just… deal with it then.”

“Do you wanna talk about what those results would mean for you? What you feel about the possibility of-”

“Absolutely not,” you cut in sharply, sitting up so quickly that your vision spots. “I’m refusing to dwell on it until I have an answer.” You swallow down the nausea that rises in your throat the more you think about it, turning to face him. “If you wanna help, Jin, and I can’t thank you enough for wanting to- then just distract me.”

Jin pauses, nods, then a grin stretches across his face. “Deal.”

“This is ridiculous,” Hoseok huffs for the hundredth time, nails digging in to the arms of the chair he’s sat at. “It could’ve been anyone else but him. Y/n, why didn’t you help?”

You beam innocently, watching as an equally tight-lipped Jimin settles on a stool in front of the dom, a palette of brown and beige pressed powders and a small brush in hand. “Minnie’s way better than me at it, Hobi. Don’t you wanna look pretty?”

“I chose to pass this in the truth or dare game for a reason.” Hoseok tenses and recoils violently when Jimin’s hand lifts suddenly towards his face. “He’s going to make me look ugly on purpose,” he accuses.

Jimin scoffs, hand falling again. “Are you going to keep talking about me like I’m not here?”

“Ideally, yes.”

The blue-haired man tuts, lazily swirling the soft, short bristles over a particular shade, collecting more pigment. “It would be easier to make you look ugly, but I always relish a good challenge. Don’t worry; you’ll thank me when I’m done.”

“I most certainly will not,” Hoseok pouts stiffly. “Just get on with it, Peaches.”

Jimin’s hand overshoots and streaks a thick tan line on the strip of naked skin between his short skirt and thigh-high stockings. “Fuck. Keep your mouth shut, Jung.”

“You said you’re just doing the base stuff, why does my mouth need to be shut?” Hoseok complains.

Jimin levels him a glare. “Because if you open it, I’ll shove this down your throat and use you as storage.”

“Kinky,” Hoseok banters back, but settles into silence, only flinching slightly when Jimin raises the brush to his face again, dabbing delicately at Hoseok’s dainty nose.

Like some sort of makeshift salon - the second time all eight of you had gathered together to do so - the dining table has been transformed. At the head, Hoseok and Jimin glare at each other with less than a ruler’s length between them. Jungkook and Taehyung have descended on Yoongi like makeup kiosk employees, gushing over his smooth skin and graceful eye shape as the man protests noisily but otherwise seems very content being fussed over.

Jin is wearing enough necklaces, bracelets and earrings that he jingles with the slightest movement, of which there are many as he compulsively makes the eyeliner on his lids longer and thicker and longer again. The brief moments of silence that descend usually consist of him holding up the hand mirror and staring intensely at his reflection, sometimes holding it close enough that his breath fogs it up.

And finally, you and Namjoon are in between the three parties, the academic patiently holding his hands steady as you file away at his nails, shaping them a bit. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” you check in.

Namjoon immediately shakes his head, leaning in closer to watch your motions and the dust shavings that pile up on the folded paper towel beneath your hands. “I’ve always wanted to get my nails done,” he says, voice a casual low timbre.

That surprises you. “Really?” you ask, gently tugging on his hand so he can present his thumb for filing.

“Well,” he amends quickly, “always since yesterday.” At your bewildered laugh, he cracks a sheepish grin and explains. “One of the fans sent in something mentioning it when I visited the confessional booth at lunchtime. It’s sort of been on my mind since then.”

“I’m glad I can help you fulfil this lifelong dream of yours then, Joonie,” you remark with a smile of your own. It’s impossible not to cheer up in Namjoon’s company, your heart always feels lighter in his vicinity. “Are you wanting a colour? I don’t have many, sorry; Jin’s hogging the white and the pink.”

“It’s for a French tip,” Jin calls out imperiously, never one to miss his name mentioned in conversation. You know he’s chosen to help himself so that he can quietly keep an eye on you, and the thought makes you feel more secure and unburdened, appreciative of his attempts to keep your mind occupied. “It’s high class fashion, baby.”

“Maybe in 2010,” Jungkook retorts without glancing away from the blush he’s patting onto Yoongi’s cheeks. “These days it’s all about nail art, hyung.”

Namjoon pipes up. “Like drawing pictures and stuff on the nail? I think some of the girls in my class get those.” He gasps, wriggling in his seat as he turns to you with as much urgency as he can while his hands stay still in your loose grasp. “Do you think you could do that?”

You laugh self-consciously. “I’m not really an expert,” you begin, but Namjoon’s look of veiled disappointment is too much to bear, “but I could give you some nail stickers? They’re just like, love-hearts and stars and leaf patterns and stuff, but-”

With a gasp Namjoon leans forward. “Can I have the leaf ones?” After receiving your confirmation, his knee jiggles under the table in suppressed excitement as you pick up a bottle of nude base coat, the colour of milky tea with a hint of pink to warm it up a bit. You’d used it many a time when you just wanted something plain, and it’ll serve you well today as a blank canvas. Namjoon holds his breath as you uncap it and hold up his pinky finger, carefully coating the smallest fingernail in the glossy polish.

His hands are warm, pliant under your grasp. As he goes quiet to let you focus, the sounds of the rest of the room fill in the vacuum.

“You get that away from my eyes,” Yoongi hisses at one point, making his two stylists tut in reproach.

“It’s just an eyelash curler, hyung,” Taehyung defends, Jungkook providing a resounding ‘yeah!’ in the background. “People use them all the time, it doesn’t hurt.”

“People wax and get tattoos and piercings all the time, Taehyung, and those are still painful. You will not be using that medieval torture device on any part of me.”

Taehyung huffs, and you hear a petulant clank as he drops it back onto the table. “Enjoy your boring straight lashes then, Min Yoongi.”

“I will, actually,” he retorts automatically. “Are you almost done? I feel like I’ve dunked my face in cake flour.”

“Not even close,” Jungkook responds cheerily. “Now it’s time for the fun part though, don’t worry.”

“And what’s the fun part?”

A familiar sticky thwack echoes through the room. “Lip gloss,” he declares with a pleased voice.

Just as Yoongi lets out a pitiful groan, Hoseok gasps from the other end of the table. “Jimin,” he squawks in offense, “why aren’t you giving me lip gloss?”

Jimin just about growls in response. “I said not to move,” he chastises, “now you’ve gone and fucked up the smokey eye, so thanks a lot.”

“I believe you’re the one that fucked up, Jimin,” Hoseok answers haughtily, “a poor worker blames his tools.”

“If you’re calling yourself a tool, I’d be inclined to agree,” Jimin responds, his tone clipped in a way that means he’s focussed. “Okay, that’s looking better. And we’re not doing lip gloss, it looks tacky.”

Finished with the bottom layer on both of Namjoon’s hands, you glance up in just enough time to see Jungkook gasp and turn Yoongi around violently, presenting him like a piece of evidence in court.

Jimin appraises him silently, Yoongi blinking and waiting for his opinion. Taehyung and Jungkook have done a great job, giving him delicate hints of pink shadow just under the outer corners of his eyes, short swoops of eyeliner and baby pink lips coated with a thick sheen of gloss reflecting the light. With an indignant tut, Jimin turns back to Hoseok. “It looks tacky unless you’re Yoongi,” he corrects.

Yoongi seems more content than Hoseok with the answer, and steals Jin’s mirror to inspect himself. He tilts it every which way, mouth slowly opening. “I do look kinda hot, don’t I?”

“See?” Jungkook cheers with a small pump of his fist. “We did good, right? Oh. Jin-hyung, do you need the mirror back? Wait, let us help you! We come highly recommended, Taehyung and I.”

Tuning out the others, you turn back to Namjoon. “Okay, let’s put on some stickers.”

It takes the rest of the morning for everyone to finish up, but none of you seem in a rush. Yoongi, routinely smacking his lips together to feel the texture of the gloss, starts getting different dishes together to make some lunch, and his two little helpers go over to make Jin look like the tiger mom of his dreams. Jimin can’t hide his pride at how well Hoseok’s smokey eye and peachy lip turn out, and Hoseok can’t help but admit that he likes it. Namjoon covers each nail in a thoughtfully selected and arranged sticker, and keeps cooing over them as you cover them in a clear top coat.

Finally, when all of your boys are prettied up and you’re just about to tuck in to lunch, there’s a knock at the door.

You rush up to answer, and this time it is in fact Sejin. He looks harried, chest heaving like he rushed to get here, and before you can even greet him he’s thrusting a brown paper bag towards you.

“Traffic,” he gasps out, “I’m so sorry about the wait, there was a hold-up. I got you it,” he murmurs, before raising his voice so the others - who are no doubt listening in with curiosity - can hear, “so I got you the ginger pills for your stomach, and then just some vitamins that the lady at the counter told me were good for immune systems. Take it easy. Send me a text if you need anything, or if you don’t need anything.”

His voice sounds so awash with concern, his eyes softened in sympathy even as he looks out of breath from getting back here as quickly as possible, that you throw yourself at his chest and wrap your arms around him in a quick hug. He stays frozen for a moment, then pats your back and squeezes your shoulders fondly once you pull away. “Thanks, Sejin,” you say with a smile, “I’ll be sure to let you know.”

When you shut the door lightly behind him and poke your head into the main room, where everyone’s acting like they were’t eavesdropping (Jungkook and Taehyung are thumb-wrestling, Jimin has grabbed Namjoon’s hand to inquire about the little leaf stickers, Hoseok’s turned his face a full one hundred and eighty degrees from you, staring wistfully out the window, and Jin and Yoongi share a look). “I’m just going to duck upstairs and take some of the ginger pills and the vitamins he got me, I won’t be long. You can start without me; don’t let it get cold.”

Though you try and stay calm, when you shut yourself in your bathroom, your hands are trembling. The thin cardboard box tears as you open it, a thick folded wad of instructions and warnings falling out. The longer you take, the more suspicious it is, so you just scan over them to get a general idea. Piss on a stick, you think to yourself, how hard can it be?

So nervous that your muscles lock up, it’s hard enough to actually do even that, but once you’re done, you wash your hands and the handle of the small white stick, and wait. Unable to look, you leave it on the counter and sit on the toilet seat lid, feeling your heart race a million miles a minute. Breathe.

A knock on the door makes you startle violently, a hand instinctively rising up to press against your chest. With a racing heart, you call out to ask who it is.

“It’s us,” Yoongi’s voice echoes through the door. “Me and hyung, I mean. Is it the- the test, sweetheart?”

Opening the door, you let the two men in with a silent nod, returning to your stoop. “Just waiting,” you explain when they glance at the plastic stick on the counter. Your voice has never felt so small and distant to you. It makes you want to curl into yourself and disappear.

Yoongi hovers near the test, checking his watch, but Jin immediately comes over to you, smoothing your hair back and pressing your head and shoulders against his torso. You slump into him, into the embrace that always reassures you. Jin smells still like his cooking, and breathing it in gives you some small comfort.

The three of you don’t speak. There’s nothing to say; not yet, not when you still don’t know. Yoongi stands by the test like a guard dog, not looking himself, and Jin rubs your back and strokes your hair, holding you close.

After what feels like a cold eternity, Yoongi consults with his watch again and clears his throat lightly. “Do you want to come and check, sweetheart?”

You get the thought of you leaving Jin’s hold, of going up there and taking the piece of plastic and seeing two blue lines, and you shake your head, pressing yourself more firmly against Jin. “Can you just… Can you check it and tell me?”

As Yoongi turns to pick it up, you feel yourself tense. Two blue lines, your mind chants over and over, and even as you’re terrified you’re going to somehow conjure that result by thinking too hard about it, you can’t stop.

The plastic rattles against the counter, and you’re watching his face, eyes narrowed on his expression with laser focus. He picks it up, looks at the result, and the slightest exhale gives him away. A tiny puff of breath, his shoulders dropping an inch and the line between his brows smoothing out. Your heart soars in raw relief even before he confirms, “you’re not pregnant, Y/n.”

Even though you’re happy, so grateful of fate working in your favour, the underlying fear of the past few hours comes crashing down on you like a tsunami, and you burst into tears, your whole body shivering and juddering with sobs that you muffle against the soft fabric and solid chest you’re leaning on.

“Hey, hey,” Jin’s voice calls to you in a soothing croon, “you’re okay, baby, you’re fine. You’re safe.”

The reassurance only makes you wail harder, feeling so unburdened, so unanchored, like you could float away were it not for your grip on his sleeves. He rocks you gently, back and forth as his fingers card through your hair and cradle your back. It’s not until you hear the hollow clatter of the test going in the trash can that you feel the ghost of your fear and worry leave you, and finally you go slack against him, tears dried up.

As you sit up and dab at your eyes, Yoongi passes you a tissue to properly clean yourself up and Jin pats your hair back down. “Sorry,” you pipe up with a croaky voice, “I got your shirt messy.”

Jin smiles softly and offers you a hand to stand with. “Never you mind that, young lady.” He’s quite a sight to see now; even with a soft expression, his eyeliner is sharper than the point of a knife and the imperious dark red of his lips makes anything less than a grin look pouty and dramatic. “Do you want us to let the others know you’re feeling under the weather? I can bring some food up here for you? Are you too cold? Too hot?” You giggle tearily as he lays his hand across your forehead and pinches your cheeks lightly, clucking in worry.

“I’m fine,” you reply. “I’ll take ten minutes or so to calm down a bit and then I’ll join you all. Can you just tell them I’m on the phone with a friend or something? I won’t be long.”

Jin furrows his brows. “Are you sure? If you need anything, I’m here for-”

“Hyung,” Yoongi chides gently, “let’s give her a breather.”

By the way Jin sucks in a deep breath and nods stiffly, it might be him that needs the breather. Yoongi drags him away as you thank them, and soon enough you’re once again alone in the bathroom.

Stumbling on weak legs to your bed, you all but collapse onto it, feeling totally devoid of energy. You just need a moment to recharge, that’s all. Just need a moment to acknowledge that no, there isn’t a life form inside you right now, and yes, everything can go back to normal.

And if it’s well over ten minutes by the time you make it back downstairs to reheat your portion of lunch, no one mentions it.

The afternoons are often a lazy affair in the Villa. Unless you’re off getting fucked (not uncommon, of course) you tend to hang around in the lounge with whoever’s in the mood for socialising, and put something on TV.

You’re starting to realise that perhaps there are better uses of your time, which is why when Namjoon asks how Jimin got so good at makeup, you enthusiastically accept Jimin’s generous offer to be his model.

Once again your communal area gets renovated into a mini studio fit for purpose. Two of the couches are pulled closer together, a tight arrow shape around the coffee table corner. As is often the case, Yoongi and Jin are noticeably absent, with Namjoon and Jungkook on one sofa, leaning forward in their eagerness, and Taehyung and Hoseok on the other, the younger looking like he’s just about to fall asleep on Hoseok’s shoulder.

You perch on the edge of the table between them with nervous anticipation as Jimin darts upstairs to collect his tools. “How come you’re wanting to learn, Namjoon?” you ask lightly.

The academic scratches his neck lightly, knee bumping against Jungkook’s as he shifts in place. “It’s interesting, and I love learning new things,” he states, his voice lilting up at the end.

Jungkook nudges his elbow into Namjoon’s side. “He thinks Jimin’s focusing face is hot.”

“I did not say that!” Namjoon insists, but the violent blush in his cheeks betrays him. “I enjoy watching, that’s all.”

“I’m sure you do, hyung, I’m sure you do,” Jungkook commiserates with a wise and somewhat sarcastic nod, but before Namjoon has any further chance to defend himself, you hear the thud of socked feet coming down the stairs.

Jimin’s skirt flounces around his thighs with every step as he rushes back in, a heavy-looking back held against his chest. He pauses in front of you, breathing slightly elevated. “Up you get,” he instructs.

You do so without thinking, but then stand awkwardly beside the coffee table as he takes your spot and dumps the makeup bag beside him. “Where do I sit?” you ask hesitantly, but Jimin just pats his thigh wordlessly.

Glancing out at the four onlookers, you suck in a breath and place yourself delicately on his lap, perpendicular so that your shoulder is against his chest and you’re facing Namjoon. Clearly it wasn’t what he was after, as Jimin clicks his tongue with a huff and grabs you under the knee, parting your legs so that you’re facing him, balanced on a single, stocking-clad thigh.

Your eyes widen as you’re suddenly face-to-face with him as he raises a brow at you. “Namjoon wants to learn, little mouse,” Jimin instructs, “so you’re going to be nice and still for me, right?”

You’re hyper aware of the pressure of his corded thigh against your core, even through your loose cotton shorts, and the four sets of eyes on you that are just outside your peripheral. “Yes, Jimin.”

His eyes darken in disapproval, fingers tightening on your knee. “A good doll doesn’t make any noise either,” he chastises. “Pinch me if you want out, otherwise stay still and be quiet.”

You swallow, recognising his introduction of a non-verbal safeword. But there are others watching, and he was just meant to be doing your makeup. Your eyes dart to risk a glance at the others, blurry in the very corner of your eye. They’ve gone dead still, Jungkook and Namjoon still leaned inwards towards you, Taehyung close to Hoseok but definitely no longer napping. You aren’t allowed to nod or say yes, so you give your lack of response as confirmation.

Jimin lets out a short hum and drops his gaze from you, unzipping the makeup bag. “Lots of steps in makeup have to do with personal preference,” he explains, glass, metal and plastic clattering together as he draws out a bottle. “But starting with primer is like prepping a canvas, so it’s always a solid first step.”

For a moment you’re confused, before you recall that Jimin’s teaching this all to Namjoon. He glances at the academic briefly, giving you a glimpse of his graceful side profile before he turns back and clicks open a narrow tube, piping some of the creamy formula on the back of his hand. When he dips a clean beauty blender into it, collecting it on the narrower end, you notice it glistens just slightly.

“I ran this under the tap upstairs to get it damp,” Jimin continues, and you fight the urge to flinch when you feel it begin to dab along your nose, spreading out to your cheeks. “These blenders are good because the sponginess is a good texture to make everything smooth, but they’re so absorbent that if they’re dry they’ll suck up half the product. If they’re a little damp, you won’t need as much.”

You can’t bring yourself to meet Jimin’s gaze, or even lift your eyes to his face at all, far too intimidated by the proximity. Instead, you watch the rhythmic way his chest rises and falls, rippling the Gucci logo on his white shirt. The afternoon had brought a low, hot sun, and all of you had stripped off any outer layers. Jimin was no different, ditching the jacket, and you can just make out his upper arms flexing past the short sleeves before the blender gets a little too close to your eyes, and you snap them closed.

“Once you’ve done that, I’d go in with a foundation…” Jimin lets out a small sigh through his nose. “This shade won’t really match exactly, but it’ll do. Finding the perfect shade is like finding a pair of shoes that fit just right, it can take ages but once you’ve got it, you’ve got it. Unless you go and get a tan.”

Slowly you begin tuning Jimin’s voice from coherent sentences into one smooth, lulling river. Soft whispers of brushes and cool swipes of liquid make your skin tingle, and the solid, unmoving presence of his thigh between yours anchors you in the moment.

After every step, or whenever there’s a specific technique to show off, you feel the searing heat of his fingers on you, turning your head to the side with a tight grip on your chin, displaying you to the others. Every time, that heat moves downward, pooling in your core.

“Eyes open,” a voice rings out, short with impatience.

Upon following his command, you focus on his face with a few blinks, just in time to see him come at your eyes with a narrow, pointed brush. Instinctively jerking away, you gasp when the movement causes you to grind against him slightly, pleasure blooming at the friction.

With an annoyed curl of his lip, Jimin uses the hand not holding the brush to grab your chin again, fingernails digging in and pulling you closer. “Stay still,” he hisses, and lets go after you freeze into place again.

This time, when he brings the brush back up, it goes not onto your eyes, but above onto your brows, and you remain obediently motionless as you feel the stiff brush press on something powderlike. As he explains its purpose and use to Namjoon, however - the other three watching just as intently - you don’t listen to his words, instead directing all your focus downwards.

If you move, just slightly, the smallest shift of your pelvis, you can press your clothed clit against the strip of bare skin between his skirt hem and the stockings, where the flesh is stiff with tensed muscle. You watch his face as closely as you dare, wary of a reaction, but there’s none.

It’s not much, and it’s not nearly enough, but you sate yourself on that dull pleasure as he finishes your brows, and begins working on some eyeshadow. He takes longer here, dipping into different shades with pretty names that you forget the second you hear them, because it’s riskier now, with your eyes closed again. You can’t see if he’s aware of your minute motions, but you’re too desperate to stop.

When there’s suddenly a sharp poke on your lid, your instinct takes over and you jerk back with a gasped yelp.

Jimin growls, and the noise makes you open your eyes in alarm. He’s holding a jet black eyeliner wand, and his face is tense, displeased. You even open your mouth to apologise, before quickly thinking better of it.

“Sorry for the technical difficulties, gentlemen,” Jimin states to the others stiffly. “Give me a moment to sort out my equipment.”

A rush of heat floods your core at the dismissive way he refers to you, and when you feel his hand tighten - not on your jaw, but on your throat itself - you melt into his grasp. The cold bands of his rings dig into the flesh as he inflicts just enough pressure to make your heart race.

Still able to breathe comfortably, just with that physical reminder of his strength and his control, you go pliant in his hold, eyes fluttering before they naturally settle shut.

“There we go,” Jimin murmurs, “now let me continue.”

Jimin uses your cheekbones to prop his hand up as he paints a delicate stroke of black across the bottom of each eyelid, his voice like honey as he walks Namjoon through every last detail.

The weak rutting had barely given you any relief before, but now with Jimin’s hand on your throat, it’s not even enough to keep you sane. Your brain knows there are four other people trying to watch the processes of applying makeup, but that logical part is being steadily overridden with primal need, a need that’s going unfulfilled.

Jimin has to remove his hand to show you off, then to turn your head back and reach for something else, the sticky sound of it opening, and the wet bristles that you can only just feel against the edge of your eyelids tells you it’s mascara.

“Look up,” Jimin commands shortly, tapping your temple. You follow command and glance up, curling your fingers into your own thighs to stop yourself from flinching when the wand comes so close to your eyes.

When he shows off his work this time, your eyes are finally open again, and so you find yourself facing the others properly. Namjoon’s doing a decent job of pretending he’s actually interested in the makeup, but his eyes spend too much time on the space between your legs, and Jimin’s face to be really focused. Jungkook’s got his feet up on the couch, with an arm shoved in front of his crotch, rocking against it to relieve some pressure.

On the slightly less affected couch, Hoseok sits back with his gaze hooded as he stares you down. Taehyung, shoulder-to-shoulder with the dom, has a swollen bottom lip pinned tightly under his front teeth. You don’t doubt he wishes nothing more than to be between you and Jimin right now.

Jimin pulls you back too soon, and as he retrieves the familiar short, round casing of a tube of lipstick, you can’t hold back any longer. No longer worried about accidentally being stabbed in the eye, you keep your face still but tighten your thighs around his, grinding your core against him.

You know you aren’t being subtle, but you’re beyond caring, just needing something to relieve the desire boiling over inside you.

As he uncaps the lipstick - a deep wine red that looks ridiculously expensive - he sends you a warning glare. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he chastises in a low tone.

You choose to ignore him, propping your hands on the top of his thigh, over the soft pleats of his skirt, to get better leverage, moaning between closed lips at the feeling.

“That’s disappointing,” Jimin admits, and as your heart begins to sink at his tone, his free hand lifts up once more to wrap around your neck.

This time, instead of his grip being an implication of consequence, he starts to tighten and tighten and tighten, slowly and steadily. You feel the pressure on the sides of your throat, where his fingers are, not on your voicebox, and it makes you start to feel a little hazy. He keeps going as you feel the first brush of lipstick against your parted lower lip, and there’s a heat in your face, a slight tightness. His fingers curl in more, just slight changes every time, but your brows furrow at the slight pain, and without you even reaching out to pinch him, he’s eased back to that sugar-sweet lightheadedness.

It’s easier to let your eyes flutter - not open but not quite closed either - as your lips are coated in red, hand moving with just as much case as his other. Although you can breathe, it’s thin, and you feel yourself go lax at the slight deprivation, like you’re floating above yourself. Once the cap of the lipstick clicks, his grips falls away, and you instinctively suck in a breath, your exhale sounding closer to a pleasured sigh.

You begin to sink forward, seeking out more contact as the endorphins of an oxygen rush lift you higher. Jimin hums, the lipstick clattering noisily on the coffee table as he grasps your shoulders and turns you slightly, so that you don’t faceplant into his chest. A strong hand keeps your chin up, air flowing so easily that you feel drunk on it, strength returning to your limbs.

“Isn’t my doll so pretty, Namjoon?” Jimin asks sweetly, before he ducks in and nips sharply at your earlobe, voice lowering to whisper harshly in your ear. “I only gave you two very easy, very simple commands. Be quiet and be still. And yet that’s seemingly too much to ask of you. I have no qualms about punishing you in front of everyone, little mouse. You’ve used up all your chances. If you make a single noise or move out of turn, I’ll discipline you right here without mercy.” His fingers are featherlight, tender as they turn you back to face him, pressing your foreheads together. His eyes dance in mirth, a smile playing on his lips. “Is that understood?”

You only just manage to prevent yourself from answering or nodding automatically.

Jimin laughs through his nose at the way your lips twitch, leaning back just a few inches. “That was mean of me, wasn’t it?” His smile falls in a second. “Then again, I think I’ve been going too easy on you lately. And I don’t make mistakes a second time.”

Blessedly, all he has left are delicate dustings of blush and highlighter, and some setting spray. He moves your face this way and that, tells you when to open your eyes and when to close them, and although it feels like your insides are vibrating hopelessly, you manage to keep still and silent, a perfect doll for him.

“All done.” When Jimin says those two magic words, and gives you permission to move again, you feel relief crash down on you, making your knees weak as you get up off him and collapse onto the couch in the gap between Jungkook and Namjoon.

Your relief is short-lived. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

You blink up at Jimin. “Um… You said we’re done.”

“The makeup is,” Jimin corrects, looking unbelievably intimidating even in a white t-shirt and pink cheerleading skirt. “We are not. You still deliberately disobeyed be, little mouse. You’re in trouble.”

On either side of you, Jungkook and Namjoon retreat, ducking out of Jimin’s line of sight so they can look on from the sidelines. You frown at him. “But I didn’t do it again, and you said you wouldn’t do it if I-”

“Goodness, were you so desperate that you stopped listening entirely? I said I wouldn’t discipline you in front of the others, Y/n. You haven’t earned absolution. You just get the dignity of privacy when I punish you. Go up to my room; now.”

There’s no protesting his command. There’s a safeword, or there’s obedience, and the choice is easy. You feel positively electric with arousal, excited at the concept of Jimin no longer going easy on you, and what that might entail.

You jump up, spare one glance at the four men that remain, open-mouthed on the couch, and make your way towards the stairs, Jungkook’s whines about ‘missing out’ fading away with distance.

Jimin’s room is relatively tidy, but it’s not the neatly made bed or overflowing tabletop of neatly arranged jewellery, watches and belts that catch your attention. At the foot of his bed, a heavy wooden armoire with his initials engraved is unable to ignore, a constant reminder of just how fucked you were. You didn’t know half the things he had in there, had only really experienced a few of them yourself, but something tells you that digging around inside it while you wait will just get you in more trouble; although you aren’t opposed to acting up for some extra attention, you’re in new territory with Jimin right now, and you want to get a feel for what you’re in for before you make things worse for yourself.

You’re proven right very quickly, when the door creaks behind you. “At least you know how to wait patiently,” Jimin’s voice calls in a sultry whisper. Turning around to face him, you can’t help but gulp at the glimmer in his eyes and the smirk that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That lipstick shade looks so beautiful on you, little mouse. Mind if I try it on?”

With two smooth steps, he’s upon you, a hand winding around the nape of your neck and the other keeping your chin steady as he presses his lips to yours, forceful enough that your teeth begin to dig in to the delicate flesh. You exhale roughly through your nose, a whimper stuck in your throat at the sudden contact. As plush as his lips are, he kisses you with a ferocity and coldness that has your mind reeling.

When he pulls away, your eyes flutter weakly open, and that whimper makes its way to the surface. He looks like sin personified, that deep blue hair low across his brow, exposing a narrow triangle of his forehead, a smokey eye and those lips of his, stained with red. Of course it’s not a neat application - you imagine yours must be even more ruined - but the messy smears of colour across the middle of his mouth just serve to make him look wilder, a creature of lust and raw desire. “Jimin,” you say, voice hushed like a prayer.

His eyes narrow minutely. “Did I say you could speak? On your knees, shorts and shirt off.”

You follow without hesitation, just about scratching yourself in the haste to remove your outer layer of clothing. Though your ribs practically vibrate with how fast your heart races, your skin still prickes into goosebumps now that all you wear are your panties and a bra. The fibres of the carpet, though soft, scratch against the bare skin of your knees and shins as need makes your nerves extra sensitive. You look up at him and shiver at the sight this position awards you.

You haven’t specifically drooled over his thighs before, but now that they’re bared to you, directly in your line of sight, you feel yourself grow wetter. You knew he still had the corded strength of a dancer, too, and the thought of him using that power to fuck you into the floor makes you seek out some friction, crotch pressed to your heels and rocking against them. From this angle, you can’t see up his skirt, but the fabric is thin enough to expose the bulge of his cock beneath it. Looking up further, craning your neck to see his face, you appreciate how even from below, he has a jaw that could cut diamonds - especially when he’s clenching it, like now.

Your eyes widen, taking in the tensed look of disapproval he’s giving you. With a start, you realise your hips are still rocking back and forth absentmindedly, and you freeze with an apologetic whine.

His hand comes down to stroke back your hair, deceptively lightly compared to iron lines of his face. “Oh, doll, you really can’t follow any basic commands, can you? So needy for cock that you can’t even think?” He lets out a teasing laugh, the sound like windchimes. Slowly, he trails a single finger down the side of your face, then diverts inwards along your cheekbone and pushes down against the seam of your lips, making you naturally part them. “Such a mess already,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Shall we see how much more that lipstick of yours will hold up? See how long it takes you to become just a mindless little doll for me to play with, hm? Maybe you’d behave then.”

Your eyes plead with him as he toys with your lips lazily, running that finger inside, collecting your saliva to smear it over, your cheeks a hazy red at the humiliation. It only serves to make you needier, though, as you wait for him to do something, to use you like you know he will, and judging by the grin on his face as he messes you up, you know he’s well aware of his effect on you. But good dolls don’t talk, and they don’t move on your own, and so Jimin makes you sit and wait, letting him take his time.

When he finally pulls his finger away and wipes the drool - tinged pink with the dislodged lipstick pigment - on your cheek, you could groan in relief, but he still seems in no hurry, lazily toying with the hem of his skirt as he tilts his head to the side like he’s appraising you. “Look at you, trying so hard to follow the rules,” he coos, “did you not like me calling you cockdumb, little mouse?”

You bite down on the inside of your lip to mask another whine, blinking up at him as it takes all of your effort not to grind against your heels. You can’t answer, but it seems your response was explanation enough.

“Oh, so that’s it…” Jimin grins, eyes alight with the condescending mirth that makes you feel so deliciously small beneath him. “You like it a little too much, huh? I should’ve known. I’ve been spoiling you; Tae too. In fact, I bet every guy in this house has spoilt you rotten, and now the only thing on your mind is when you’ll next get some cock..” You swallow at the way he slowly begins lifting his skirt, knuckles grazing on the skin of his thighs as more pale golden flesh is revealed. His voice is sultry, addictive. “Rest that pretty little mind of yours, little mouse, you don’t have to think about a thing. Just open your mouth and be a good doll for me, and I’ll give you what you need.”

You widen your jaw and let your tongue rest on your lower lip before he’s even bared himself to you, and he chuckles as he holds the skirt to his lower abdomen, showing off the cotton-candy pink underwear he’s donning. The satin-like fabric is so narrow across his hips and between his legs that it’s clearly not meant to contain his cock, but he doesn’t seem bothered about the precarious way the weeping tip pokes out of the skinny waistband. There’s not much time to dwell on it, or even admire it, however, because he quickly reaches in with his free hand and pushes them down, letting his cock bob free.

Your eyes grow lidded with desire as he holds himself at the base with three fingers and taps the head against your awaiting tongue teasingly, drool quickly pooling there.

Jimin grins at your needy reaction. “I’d love to tie your hands back and fuck your mouth, but I want them to be free if you need to use them,” he states lowly, before shrugging, “maybe next time. For now; open up.”

You stretch your mouth even wider, wanting to obey his every command, and feel his cock begin to fill it, the salty tang of his precum sliding over your tongue. Focusing on breathing through your nose, you fight the urge to gag. Though he takes his time, and certainly isn’t as large as some of the other members of the house, he hasn’t have any qualms about burying himself to the hilt, making your eyes tear up.

“Fuck, just like that,” Jimin curses, and your heart sings with the praise even as you struggle not to choke around the intrusion in your throat. Unsure if he wants you to properly suck him off, but knowing the last thing you should do is move without permission, you just keep your jaw as wide as possible, lips pulled back slightly to cover your teeth. As he draws back with a pleasured sigh before beginning his slow drive back in, you think Jimin’s more than happy with what he’s getting.

He takes his time, but throat isn’t exactly something that adjusts like your pussy would, and so it doesn’t get any easier to stop your gag reflex from kicking in when you feel him past the base of your tongue. You can breathe through your nose, but there are so many things to keep track of that you don’t get quite enough air to your lungs, trying to make every inhale you do manage as deep as you can.

His groans and breathy praises are enough to keep your nerves on a livewire, so turned on you could cry - and, in fact, your eyes tear up as he gently but thoroughly fucks your throat, so that when you glance up at him, he’s blurry in your affected vision. That doesn’t stop you from knowing that he’s grinning, because you can hear it in the way he assures you that you’re being “so perfect, little mouse; just drunk on cock, aren’t you?”

You groan around him in your mouth, and feel a spot of wetness on your sternum, that you don’t doubt is your drool beginning to spill over. Even as your cheeks flush with humiliation, he doesn’t tell you to suck him off, or do anything but leave your mouth wide open, and so you stare up at him with tears in your eyes and remain obediently still.

It could be a minute, it could be ten, but at one point, when your nose is pressed to the waistband of Jimin’s skirt and his hand is gently cupping the back of your head to hold you there, you become aware of a foreign presence between your legs.

It takes you a moment to recognise it, that probing pressure that quickly seeks out your clothed core, but you blink away the sheen from your eyes and and close your thighs just enough to feel the outline, and it’s the textured fabric against your skin and the teasing way he wets his lips that helps you make the connection. The object moves again, a stiff drag right over your clit, and the sudden burst of pleasure makes you choke around him, spit running down your chest now. He’s rubbing his foot against you, the foot that’s covered in pretty white thigh-high stockings.

Jimin pulls out to give you a moment to cough and splutter, and thankfully doesn’t call you out on the involuntary breaking of the rules, but you barely manage to suck in two breaths before he’s clicking his tongue at you, telling you your brief respite is over. You clear your aching throat one last time and spread your mouth wide open again, but Jimin just hums and pats your cheek. “Could my doll handle one more command? You’re doing so good, taking me well like I knew you would.”

You nod straight away before freezing at your unintentional mistake. The blue-haired man just lets out a dark chuckle, pulling his foot away. This time, you at least manage to prevent a whine, biting hard on the inside of your cheek at the loss.

“That was mean of me, wasn’t it? I understand, little mouse,” he coos, crouching in front of you so that you’re at eye-level, “I do. It must be hard for you to remember all these pesky rules and orders, isn’t that right?”

His gentle croon of sympathy cracks you once again, your need to please overriding your better judgement, and you nod again.

This time, he openly laughs, making you shiver as he runs a line through the spit that’s fallen between your breasts. “Let me give you a deal, then,” he begins, voice dripping with apparent sympathy, “I’ll take away those rules. I’ll let you move, and moan, and say my name, but only if you promise that it’s because you’re too cockdumb to follow them, hm? Can you say that for me?”

You swallow, opening your mouth to take a heaving breath. What’s worse; not being able to move, or having to admit that you’re so desperate that you can’t stay still? “I’m just c-cockdumb, Jiminnie, can’t think about anything else but feeling you inside me,” you confess, and as he strokes back your hair and smiles at you like a prized pet or small child, something beloved but not all that smart, it’s strangely freeing.

Your sex drive had skyrocketed since coming on this show, and even with having sex almost once a day, sometimes more, you found yourself missing the feeling of each guy in the house while they awaited their turn. It had been what felt like ages since the last time you actually, properly fucked him, even though it couldn’t have been a week, and you longed for it. Admitting that you were too desperate to even follow basic commands, letting yourself be reduced to a creature of need, with no coherent thoughts alleviated any shame you had about that thought. Jimin was here in front of you, skirt barely covering his spit-slicked cock, lips still a sinful wine red, and he loved your need, your desperation.

Jimin stands back up again, and makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat. “That’s my good girl,” he praises, and any scant notion of tainted dignity that remained within you flies out the window. “I shouldn’t punish you, should I? When you couldn’t help it.”

“No, Minnie,” you agree with a whine, clenching your thighs together in a poor imitation of the stimulation you briefly had, “‘couldn’t help it. You don’t have to punish me.”

“And what would you want instead, little mouse?”

You widen your eyes in plea. “Fuck me, Minnie, I’m your good girl.”

He tilts his head to the side, and it’s the bemused smile that graces his lips that makes you realise he’s not going to give you what you want. “What a shame, then,” he murmurs, his fingers delving into your hair and tightening around a fistful of it, “that I have to punish you anyway. How else will you learn?”

You gasp as he steps backwards, pulling you with him by the grip in your hair. You’re forced to stumble forward on your knees and the tips of your fingers as he sits down on the edge of his mattress and settles you in front of him. “Minnie,” you whine, your own hands reading out to clutch at the fabric of the duvet in front of you.

“Y/n,” he teases in a singsong voice, “remember that new command that I wanted from my doll?” He spreads his legs open further, and the pink miniskirt rides up to expose his cock, smeared with a deep red from your ruined lipstick, dripping with saliva and precum. The hand in your hair tugs you closer. “It’s suck.”

Jimin isn’t gentle with you this time. Now that you have the advantage of responsiveness, sucking him down and swirling your tongue, he doesn’t bother sugar-coating it, and obscene noises emerge from your mouth as you swallow, gag and choke around him. He curses, using the handful of hair like a handle, guiding you up and down.

It’s barely any time at all before you feel a familiar sensation against your soaked panties. Jimin’s stockinged foot grinds against you with so much pressure you almost want to wriggle away from it. Your nerves are so touch-starved and your clit is so swollen that the slightest touch would’ve made you shiver, but the intense way he rubs the ball of his foot over your panties has you gargling hopelessly around him, mouth going slack.

He chuckles. “Too much? I can stop if you need, little mouse, I can’t have you getting distracted from your main use.”

Your hands detach from the duvet and wrap around his calf, fingers digging in and holding him there. Rutting your hips against it, you seek out the pleasure yourself but make sure to throw your efforts twice into blowing him, making him curse when you bob on his cock faster than your hips move.

“God, you’re fuckin’ filthy,” Jimin breathes out through a groan, “humping my leg like a fucking dog. Thought Tae was the pup, not you.” You’re unprepared for the hand that shifts and slips under your jaw, tightening around your throat so that you can feel his cock even more inside you. You gag, but swallow through it, the slight restriction of air bringing back that delicious heady feeling from earlier. Jimin catches your moan, even though it’s muffled around him. “Maybe I should get you a collar, little mouse. Make sure to buckle it tight.”

The thought makes your grinding falter, and you don’t doubt he feels the sudden rush of heat between your legs, because he suddenly kicks into action himself, grinding harshly against you as you cry out gutturally around his cock.

His grip on your neck loosens only to take a hold on the back of your head again, fucking your throat to chase his orgasm. The faster he snaps his hips, cursing lowly and groaning praises, the faster he jerks his foot against you, and it’s not long before the heat is gathering in a tight coil low in your belly.

You moan around him, jaw aching and lips stretched, and suddenly Jimin twitches inside you, spilling down your throat. Quickly, he pulls his cock out, and you only get the briefest taste on your tongue before he’s rubbing his tip across your swollen lips, spreading his cum across them.

His leg slows down as he releases, but you were so close to the edge yourself, and so you feel no shame in seeking it out, grinding yourself against him as you stick your tongue out to lick your lips clean.

Jimin groans, chest heaving, but lets you rut yourself against him, cum dripping down your chin, until finally you give a violent shiver as your orgasm runs through you. It’s mellow but toe-curling, and you clutch his leg to anchor yourself through it.

“Fuck,” you gasp out, head lolling forward onto his thigh, where the stocking turns to flesh, then the soft ironed pleats of his skirt.

Jimin’s hands are in your hair, stroking it away from your messy face and brushing out the tangles. “Oh, Y/n,” he chants softly, his voice a far cry from the dom that teased you before, “I love to play with you. How are you feeling?”

You feel drained, your entire body weight collapsed against him and the bed. “Mm.”

Jimin stifles a chuckle. “Could I have a colour, my little mouse?”

“Green,” you manage, “I’m green. But are we done now? If I don’t get some lip balm on now, my lips might just fall off.”

“Indeed we are,” he confirms, and bends down to slip his arms under yours, picking you up off the floor with ease. “As much as I love you being drunk off desire, I miss my clever, sweet, cheeky girl.”

Even with your body screaming in exhaustion, barely able to help him get you laid down on his bed and tucked under the duvet, your cheeks heat in a blush. “Don’t compliment me when I’m vulnerable, that’s cheating.”

“I’ll save them for later, then,” Jimin bargains with a tired smile, before he gets up and cringes, looking down. “As much as I’d love to collapse into bed for a nap with you right now, my sock is drenched thanks to you.”

Your eyes fly wide, and you manage to pull yourself up enough to glance over the side. Jimin isn’t kidding. All over the toes and top of his foot are dark patches in the stocking, clinging to his skin. “I’m so sorry,” you say with a wince.

“Don’t be,” Jimin assures, stripping it off with two fingers hooked into the fabric, “it was hot at the time. It just, uh, feels weird when it’s gone cold.”

Half the blood in your body has probably rushed to your face as you cover it with an embarrassed whine, burying yourself deeper in the sheets. “Maybe if you fucked me, I wouldn’t have gotten your sock wet,” you mutter petulantly, shamelessly deflecting.

“I’ll know better next time,” he quips, a grin evident in his voice. By the time you poke your head back up, he’s stripped down to just his white Gucci shirt, his bottom half totally bare as he retrieves a pair of boxers from the set of drawers. Stepping into them with no qualms about the temporary nudity - though, you suppose it would be stranger for him to be camera shy - he glances back over his shoulder. “And as much as I love to fuck you, we have just enough time for a cuddle before dinner. I miss you.”

Your heart warms, eyes soft. “Jimin,” you croon softly, “come here.”

He smiles, but hesitates. “Could I- I’m just- Should I text Tae?” he asks, lips twisting in uncertainty, still tinted a faded red. “I’m pretty sure nobody’s getting suspicious, and it’s not like we’re technically-”

“Text him,” you instruct with a beam. “I miss having you both close. We live in the same house; it sucks having to stay so separate.”

With how quickly Taehyung bundles into Jimin’s room after he sends the text, he must not have been far. He’s on you in a second, jumping onto the bed with enough vigor that the springs creak, and wriggling under the duvet beside you.

You seek him out with as much earnestness, if not enthusiasm, and hum happily when he lies back to let you rest your head on his chest. The bed creaks again, and Jimin’s body heat warms your back, his arm slung over your waist.

“It’s about time,” you hear Taehyung’s voice say, echoing through his chest, “I’ve been cuddling with one of Jin’s plushies these past few nights. It’s a sorry substitute for a whole human to snuggle.” He pauses to lift his chin, glaring imperiously at the blinking camera in the top corner of the room. “I missed having platonic cuddles with my friend Y/n. Cuddling is a favourite non-sexual pastime of mine.”

You giggle, curling into him and inhaling his comforting scent, like brown sugar or caramel. “I think you’re good, Tae.”

“Can we sleep now?” Jimin whines as he holds you tighter, face buried in the crook of your neck as he huffs. “I just had the soul sucked out of me.”

“I know, I know,” Taehyung grumbles, and if the comment strikes you as odd, it only takes the steady heartbeat and low hum of his breathing to blur the thought from your mind as you let yourself drift off.

Yoongi glances worriedly over his shoulder, ear straining to hear past the glass sliding door.

“They’re occupied,” Jin reminds, “besides, I doubt they can hear us all the way out here. Did we really have to come out to the patio just for a talk? It’s hot out here.”

The doctor shrugs, placing the package of fresh sliced beef onto the tabletop. “We’re having a barbecue tonight. At least this way we can pretend we were just getting set up.”

Jin narrows his brows, eyes softening in concern. Quickly, Yoongi drops his gaze, knowing it’ll just make him weak. “Yoongichi, talk to me. What’s up? What’s got you so nervous?”

Yoongi swallows. Thinks of what he rehearsed, of what he’d written in the notes app of his phone, read over and over that morning. This has been fun, but we’re kidding ourselves. Or maybe he’d skip the pretense and avoid beating around the bush. I can’t keep having sex with you while my feelings are on the line. “Um… A lot happened today. With Y/n.” Maybe he can beat around the bush a little bit, just to work up his courage.

“That it did,” Jin responds slowly, leaning against the outdoor dining table. Yoongi takes one of the wooden chairs, nails digging into the arms as he feels tension stiffen his body. “Though it seems like the others are doing a fine enough job of keeping her mind off it.”

Yoongi doesn’t miss the bitter tone in Jin’s voice. “Are you jealous? Of them, I mean.”

“Of course not,” the therapist answers immediately, “I have no right to be. She’s a free woman, and this is just a show.”

He frowns, heart sinking. “You said you wouldn’t lie to me about her, hyung. We started this so that you had an outlet. Physical or otherwise.”

Jin pauses for a moment. “I don’t think she would’ve told me,” he says finally, “if I wasn’t already there when part of it happened. If you hadn’t have asked me to look after her. She hasn’t told the others. Not even Namjoon, I don’t think.”

“And that bothers you?”

“It shouldn’t bother me,” Jin deflects.

Yoongi doesn’t miss a heartbeat. “That’s not an answer.”

Jin lets out a hollow laugh. “Since when you get so smart?”

Upon hearing those words, Yoongi feels a sudden shard of glass cut deep inside him, enough to make him wince. “I was always smart,” he replies stiffly. “I wasn’t dumb before I started fucking you, Jin. I didn’t get emotional intelligence through osmosis.”

At least Jin has the good grace to look pained. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to say you weren’t, I phrased that poorly. I just meant…” He trails off, seeking out the right words. “I suppose I’m realising how much you’ve learnt about me in the time we’ve been spending together lately. I feel like I don’t know much about you.”

Maybe because you don’t care about me like I care about you, Yoongi wants to say. Maybe because you only think about Y/n these days. “You could always ask,” he says instead, and curses himself for the pathetic way his voice wavers in the air.

Jin’s brows furrow deeper, and his hand begins to rub against his thigh. Self-soothing, Yoongi knows. Jin always started stroking at his own thigh when he was stressed. “It’s probably good that you asked to have this talk. I’m not sure this is best for both of us. I appreciate how you’ve stuck by me, and the support you’ve given me-” Yoongi wonders why he doesn’t just call it like it is, fucking, “-but it really seems like it’s doing more harm than good for you. Maybe we should put an end to this, Yoongichi.”

Yoongi sucks in a breath. He came out here to say that. He came out here to end it. But hearing it from Jin’s lips, it sounds abhorrent to think of. “Don’t,” Yoongi blurts without thinking, nails digging into the wood, “don’t take it all away from me just based on that. I know what I have with you, Jin, and I know that right now it isn’t ideal, but it’s better than nothing!”

Jin’s brows knit together as he shakes his head. “I don’t think this is healthy. It was irresponsible of me to lean on you in the first place, but I swear you aren’t just a substitute for Y/n. I care about you, Yoongi, it’s why I came to you.”

“You came to me because you knew I’d say yes,” Yoongi corrects, a sad smile on his face. “Because you knew how I feel. It’s just my shitty luck that you don’t feel the same. I mean, I’m crazy about you, you’re crazy about Y/n, fuck, I’m even starting to- starting to think about her and me like that too, and…” He takes a breath, feeling like a speeding train about to run out of tracks. “And I know Jimin and Tae and Jungkook are all head over heels for her and each other, Namjoon just about worships the ground she walks on, Hoseok looks at most of the people in this house like he wants to eat them alive in the best way possible, and it’s just- All these feelings are all over the place and it just seems cruel that you couldn’t just like me. To want me to still be in your bed when you wake up, to want to cook for me not just with me, to maybe kiss when we fuck, I don’t know, it’s-” Yoongi forcefully cuts himself off before he digs that particular hole any deeper. “I guess the odds just aren’t in my favour here. Do you even like men? Romantically, I mean? A good fuck is fine, but-”

“I do, yes,” Jin says with a wince.

Yoongi’s heart sinks. “Just me then,” he surmises in a hollow tone. “That’s okay.”

Jin frowns. “I’m not entirely sure what you wanted to achieve with this conversation,” he says, in a voice so soft it could shatter, in a voice that sounds like he’s worried Yoongi might be the one to shatter, “but it sounds like whether you want to admit it or not, this friends with benefits thing just isn’t right for us. There’s too many loose strings and it’s getting messy.” Yoongi goes to butt in, but Jin isn’t done, raising his brows to get him to pause. “I want to be fully honest with you, Yoongi. I don’t think it’s wise for you to put your wellbeing on the line for a possibility. We should end this.”

There’s a part of Yoongi that’s writhing in relief, at seeing a light out of the cave, an escape. But that part of Yoongi is drowned out by the majority of his being, the part that can’t bear a goodbye. “It’s not messy,” Yoongi blurts against his better judgement, “I told you I’d keep my feelings out of this and I will. I want to fuck you, hyung, and you want to fuck me, and I see no reason to stop when I’m perfectly fine.”

“Are you?” Jin asks dubiously. “I’m not going to continue this a moment further if I feel like you’re suffering because of this, Yoongi. It would be wrong of me.” He opens his mouth to continue, but is interrupted by a swooshing noise.

Yoongi jumps and whirls around just as Jungkook hops through the sliding door, grinning at the two of them. Yoongi sighs, relieved it seemed like the kid hadn’t heard anything. “This is a private conversation, Jungkook.”

“Is that, like, your code?” the youngest asks. “Wait, doesn’t matter. Anyway; I want in.”

Jin frowns. “You what?”

Jungkook’s smile just grows wider, exposing his teeth. “I want in, hyung, you two always sneak away to fuck, so I’ve come to join. I brought supplies.”

Yoongi’s mouth drops open as the black-haired boy pulls his hand out of his pocket to reveal a fistful of condom packets. “Do you just carry those around in hope, or…?”

“I specifically went upstairs to get them,” Jungkook announces proudly. “So can I join the sex pact now?”

Jin pinches his brow. “There is no sex pact, Jungkookie, and now’s really not a great ti-”

“You can join, Kookie,” Yoongi interrupts, ignoring the disbelieving stare Jin sends him. The older man wanted to be assured that Yoongi was fine? He could do that. “Come sit on my lap.”

Jungkook looks like a kid on Christmas morning as he scrambles over, shoving the condoms back in his pocket. He clambers onto Yoongi’s lap with a touch of clumsiness, but settles in proudly, back against his chest. Automatically, Yoongi wraps his arms around him, low over his hips like a seatbelt.

Jin still seems to disapprove, hand dipping below the table to rub at his leg again. “This isn’t a good idea,” he says with a frown, “things will get messy if we start involving more people.”

Yoongi grins, leaning forward to press chaste kisses against Jungkook’s neck, making him giggle and squirm. Proving he was fine was one thing, but making Jin jealous? Making him feel what Yoongi had felt every time he gushed about Y/n? Yoongi wouldn’t turn an opportunity like that down. “Come on, hyung,” he coos teasingly, one of his hands lazily pressing down on Jungkook’s quickly-stiffening bulge, “our pretty boy just wants to play. If you aren’t interested, I’ll just fuck him myself.”

Jin’s eyes flare, watching Jungkook wriggle in Yoongi’s lap as he begins to suck a trail of hickies over the sensitive flesh. “I’m sure we’ll give him a better time together,” he says in a gravelly voice, and gets up out of his chair, stalking over to the pair. “But first, don’t you want to put on a show?”

Yoongi lifts his head up as Jin’s fingers brush over his cheek, and in a moment he’s being kissed with bruising intensity, all tongue and teeth. Jungkook whines and clutches at Yoongi’s shoulder, wanting in, but Jin’s lips taste like possessiveness and jealousy, and Yoongi thinks they’ve never been so sweet.

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

861 notes · View notes

autumnsart22 · 3 years

Text

A Dream Come True: Shigaraki x Dabi x Reader part 2/2

Part 2 of the fanfic my friend wrote!

Warning: SMUT 🔥

Dabi strode off down the hall and you started to work on putting the rest of the groceries away, and cleaning some dishes in the sink. Shigaraki stood up from the table and walked into the kitchen. He looked around before looking at you, raising the empty beer bottle. You opened the drawer that held the trash and recycling and he threw it in with a loud clunk. He stood there in the middle of the kitchen for a little while before you finally asked,

“Can I help you?”

“You’re standing in front of the fridge.” he states plainly. You roll your eyes and move out of the way as he grabs another beer. He makes his way back to the table and sits down.

You both pass the time in silence as he sips on his beer and you finish cleaning the kitchen. At some point Dabi comes out of the bathroom still drying his hair with a towel wearing nothing but your brother's old pair of black joggers that look slightly too big but the strings in the front were tied tight preventing them from falling any lower. Dear god what have you done to deserve this? He switched with Shigaraki who took his turn in the bathroom while you scoured the apartment for extra blankets and pillows and threw them on the couch. When Shigaraki was done in the shower he came out in a long sleeve white shirt and your ex-boyfriend's old pair of grey sweatpants. He joined Dabi who had heated up one of the soba cups from the store.

“Okay I’m gonna go shower, you can just...yea” you spoke out loud trailing off as neither of them paid you any attention, and you left to go to the bathroom. You peeled off your work clothes, just some black jeans and a black blouse, throwing them into the same pile of clothes as Dabi and Shigaraki’s. You took your time washing your hair and and shaving your legs feeling like you deserved to pamper yourself a little given your night. You weren’t that tired given that you basically turned nocturnal since working at the bar. When you felt fresh and clean you dried off and wrapped yourself up in a towel to head to your room. Once you changed into some sweats and a tank top you made your way back out to the living room to find Dabi, now wearing a black t-shirt, and Shigaraki on the couch both nursing another beer while talking in hushed tones which again halted the moment they saw you. They both looked at you.

“What?” You said confused on why they were both staring at you.

“I have more questions,” Shigaraki stated, finally averting his gaze away from you, although it seemed reluctant.

“Okay...shoot” you said walking into the kitchen for a glass of water then plopping onto the middle section of the couch in between them. If there was one piece of furniture you splurged on it was this couch. It was a huge ‘U’ shape and could fit up to 10 people if they squished side by side. Shigaraki and Dabi were both sprawled on the two sides of the couch with you sitting in the bottom of the U.

“What sort of art or shit do people create about us?”

You almost choke on your water. That was not the sort of question you were expecting.

“Why?” you said suspiciously.

“You mentioned it earlier and I’m curious,” Shigaraki said, making large hand gestures swinging his beer bottle around. He must be getting kinda tipsy.

“Fine but if I’m answering these questions. I’m gonna need a stronger drink”

“All out here princess” Shigaraki says, taking the last gulp of his beer and waving it towards you.

“Same here.” Dabi says holding his beer bottle up, as though expecting you to take it. You stand up and grab both bottles and chuck them into the recycling, then grabbing a bottle of rum from the back of your cabinet. You make your way back to the couch and take a large swig shuddering as it goes down. Shigaraki motions for the bottle and you hand it over passing it to Dabi afterwards.

“Okay so back to my question”

“Well people write and draw all kinds of shit. Everything from just realistic art or funny art to overtly sexual” Shigaraki raises an eyebrow at this.

“What you don’t believe me?” You ask laughing slightly cause if only they knew.

“People think of crusty in that way?” Dabi laughs.

“Hey like you’re any better staples. Y/N who do people like more?” Shigaraki shoots.

“That’s gotta be Dabi. He’s pretty well known as being attractive”

“Fuck you” Shigaraki pouts and Dabi smirks to himself.

“Hey it’s not my fault, and trust me there’s still a ton of shit about you. And some of both of you” You said this last part quickly while taking another large swallow of rum. You couldn’t help yourself.

“What do you mean the both of us?” Dabi and Shigaraki looked at you hesitantly.

“Well people like to put you two together. It’s called shipping, or they just pair you together as like a duo in fanfiction”

Both of their reactions looked like they were about to gag and murder the other at just the thought of what people had had them do to eachother.

“Okay that’s the most disgusting thing I have ever heard in my life” Dabi says reaching for the bottle which you hand over willingly.

“Moving on from that,” Shigaraki says, shaking his head as though to physically erase his mind. “So Y/N you’re obviously a fan. Who are your favorites?”

“I don’t know. I have a lot of people I like and don’t like. It depends.” At this point your brain was becoming warm and fuzzy but you didn’t want to let anything slip out that could be potentially embarrassing or would make the two men turn against you.

“Bullshit. Spill”

“I told you it depends”

“On what?” he said this with a sneer.

“I don’t know” You said exasperatedly. “my mood, who’s been most present in the media. It just depends on what I’m looking for.”

“What you’re looking for?” Dabi repeated confusedly.

“Next question” You state simply.

The two villains raise their eyebrows at you, curious at your evasion of the question, but your lips stay shut.

“Fine we’ll come back to that one Princess.” Shigaraki complies.“What do we look like in the show? I mean do we look different in real life?”

“Shouldn’t we be trying to figure out how to get you guys back?” you ask.

“Not much we can do about it. I’m sure the rest of the league and Kurogiri are tracking down those thugs right now, so answer my question”

“I don’t know. I guess you look kinda different, but I can still recognize you. I can show you if you want?” Shigaraki looks at you with affirmation. You get up to get your computer which you hook up to the tv screen in front of the couch. Dabi and Shigaraki turn so they can see the television, both laying down on their backs. You open your laptop (sorry I am basing it off my computer) and type in your password.

“Is that Shoto?” Dabi says disgustedly. There was in fact a fanart picture of Todoroki amongst the collage that was your background screen.

“Oh yeah. He would be in the it depends list” you say timidly quickly opening up the browser to cover up the background.

“Why the fuck did he look like some 20 year old model?”

“I told you, it’s fanart. People draw characters the way they see them or want to see them. Shoto is also really popular amongst fans if not the most I would say”

Dabi makes a noise of revulsion. You turn back to start typing in Shigaraki’s name into the browser and instantly images pop up as well as the fandom wiki and regular wiki articles. You click on images and start to scroll through.

“This is weird” Shigaraki says slightly in awe but disturbed at seeing this world's visions of his life. “Here give me that” he says gesturing towards your computer. You hand it over reluctantly.

“Seriously?!” he says grabbing the laptop.

“What?” you say hesitantly. Did you forget to close out of something?

He lifts the computer for Dabi to also see the two stickers on the sides of your trackpad.

“The anger explosion boy and pro eraserhead?” Dabi said, judgement was obvious in his tone.

“What?” you said defensively.

“Nothing I just thought you’d be a villain girl and all”

WTF, you think. What was that supposed to mean?

“Why do you think that? And who says I’m not?”

Dabi raised an eyebrow in interest but didn't answer your taunts, instead turning back to the screen. Shigaraki has been scrolling through and tapping on pictures of himself making little noises and reactions.

“This is fucking weird” He states again, the screen was stopped on a very sultry piece of fanart of Shigaraki.

“Take that down you freak. No one needs to see your crusty dusty body like that. Hand it over.” Dabi tells Shigaraki.

Shigaraki passes the computer over and Dabi searches his own name seeing all the pictures of him, although significantly more fanart pops up for him. He scrolls for a little bit but becomes weirded out or downright just bored at the photos of him. He then goes back to the wikipedia page and starts to read. While the two men continue to look at the screen and read information about their show, you stand up and head to the kitchen feeling peckish. You wander through the kitchen opening and closing all the cabinets waiting for something to catch your eye. You open the fridge and close it moving onto the freezer. Your eyes scan the contents when you spot the pint of chocolate fudge ice cream. You take it out and grab a spoon making your way back to the couch. When you get to the couch both Shigaraki and Dabi are staring at you again with intensity and amusement.

“What?” you say, plopping back into your spot, struggling to tear open the plastic and resorting to using your teeth. With both of them still staring at you as though waiting for something, you look at the screen and see that your messages are open. You take a second to read the new text from your friend.

‘Dude have you read this Shiggy Dabs fanfic? It made me 🤤🥵’

‘This ones similar to the last one you sent me, so be prepared⛓️😂’

Your heart sank as you saw the familiar logo of Ao3 underneath those texts.

“What were you saying about being a villain girl?” Dabi said, smirking.

“I––” You had no idea what to say.

“Aww is the Princess embarrassed” Shigaraki says teasingly.

You try to get up to leave but a hand roughly pulls you back down and you hide behind your hands refusing to look at the two villains. This was so embarrassing. What were you going to do? Now they knew that you liked them. That you were like the other people in this world that they had been disgusted by all night. They weren’t likely to just let this go. If only you could get to your room and lock the door maybe they would just leave.

“Come on don’t be shy. Are we on your depends list?”

They take your silence and continued evasion as an affirmation.

“Hmm…” You hear Dabi hum lowly. “What exactly are we dependent on? What are you looking for when you search for us?” Dabi asks, already knowing the answer.

“Come on tell us” Shigaraki coos. You shake your head. You could feel both of the boys drawing closer to you like school bullies cornering you in the bathroom, but you didn’t dare look up at them, too embarrassed. That’s when you heard typing. Your head whips up to see Dabi replying to your friend.

‘What exactly do you mean by similar?’

By the time you read what he wrote they were already responding.

‘You know 😂 the usual non-con threesome with you and dabs and shigs. Kidnapping, ropes, degradation, similar to all the other fanfics 😋 tho in this one you cum four times and each a dif way😳 ’

If your stomach dropped even more. It would have touched the ground.

“So not only are you a villain’s girl but you’re a kinky little slut too?” Dabi says chuckling. He was practically next to you staring at your frozen figure as you looked at the screen.

“I should have known when you walked out here with these cute little things poking out” He reached over and pinched your nipple tugging on the metal barbell through it. You squealed instinctually pulling away but he caught the top of your tank top effectively pulling it down revealing your breasts, each decorated with a metal piercing.

You motion to cover them, but your hands are once again forced behind your back, however this time Shigaraki had the pleasure of restraining you.

“Let go of me!” you yelped at the humiliating assault.

“I thought you liked this?” Dabi said in mock sympathy. “Just how many times have you gotten off to us?”

You were squirming trying to remove yourself from Shigaraki’s grip.

“Answer the question” Dabi said, pinching your nipple again. You yelped in pain but you could feel the slick starting to build between your legs.

“A lot okay. Now let go!”

Dabi and Shigaraki complied surprisingly. You regained your breath and pulled your tank top back up. The next few minutes passed in silence as Shigaraki took another swig of rum and Dabi continued to scroll through the different My Hero wikipedia pages. You got up still in shock taking your forgotten ice cream back to the freezer. You had lost your appetite.

What were you supposed to do now? You were still slightly scared of them after what just happened but you couldn’t ignore the arousal that had been sparked deep within you. You had dreamt of this many times. This wasn’t much different than the different fanfiction you had read, and honestly this would be on the tamer end, but that was just fiction. But were you really going to pass up this chance? How could you? Yet why’d they stop? You were surprised and honestly kinda disappointed they had now that you were standing in the kitchen. And with that you had made up your mind. You are not going to pass up this chance you could never forgive yourself.

You made your way back over to the couch but didn’t sit down. You stood in front of them silent staring at your feet, trying to figure out what you wanted to say.

“What?” Dabi said as though nothing had happened.

“Why’d you stop?” you asked timidly.

“Hmm? Because you said so.” Dabi said as though this was an obvious answer to a stupid question.

You looked at him surprised.

“Don’t believe me?” He said with a small chuckle.

When you didn’t seem to get any less anxious he continued with a sigh.

“Look Princess, I may be a bastard and sadistic villain but I don’t go wishing pain on everyone, especially ones with cute tits. Of course if they’re into that then I’m down” He said this so casually it seemed almost wrong, all while he continued to watch your computer screen. You assumed it was in part due to the alcohol, but still.

“you’re blocking the screen,” Shigaraki said annoyed.

“Was that all princess?” Dabi said mockingly

“Well….”

“What?” Shigaraki spat.

“Hurry up,” Dabi said flatly.

“What if I wanted to continue?” You said finally looking up at them. They both looked at you intently, then gave each other a look and were smiling when their eyes fell back to you.

“Our little Princess wants to live out her dirty villainous fantasies...huh?”

You nod. Wait did they just say our?

“Come on tell us what you’ve dreamt about?” Dabi says beckoning you over to him with one finger.

Once you’re in front of him, he pulls you down onto his lap so you're facing him. You look at him hesitantly biting your lip.

“You’re the expert of these little situations, Princess” he says holding his hands up for you to guide them. You take his hands slowly, unsure of your actions and guide them back to your breasts. He gives you a smirk and gives you a good squeeze, causing a small moan to escape your throat. You instinctually grind down into his lap feeling his member start to harden beneath you. You lean your head back as Dabi pulls your tank top over your head. You look over at Shigaraki who’s staring at you starting to palm himself through the sweats.

“Him too princess?” Dabi asks you, giving your nipples a pinch causing you to moan all the while still staring at Shigaraki “Mmmhmmm”

This was enough for Shigaraki to slide down the couch to where the two of you were.

“Tell him where you want him, otherwise he won’t know what to do, I can’t imagine he’s done this before” Dabi encourages.

“Oh shut up” Shigaraki hisses, but he focuses back on you when you grab his hand and bring it to your neck. He insticutally keeps one finger raised, but you push that finger down with the rest deep into the side of your neck limiting the oxygen flowing to your brain, enough to give you that high. Flooded with pleasure you grind down again into Dabi feeling your underwear starting to become uncomfortably wet.

Looking into Shigaraki’s crimson eyes, you could feel them boring into you just as hungry as you felt. He leans in close, lips barely ghosting over your own. You could feel both of your breaths mixing in the millimeters between you two when Dabi gives a harsh tug to both your nipples causing you to gasp. Shigaraki seized this opportunity to violently smash your lips together. Your hand reaches into his hair, gripping for support as the initial ferver and clash of teeth dies down into long passionate tangling of tongues as you explore each other's mouth. His rough lips scratching into your’s was a sensation you’ve imagined many times but none of it lived up to reality. He nipped lightly on your bottom lip making you lean into him more.

Dabi’s hands continued their exploration of your torso, moving down your sides to your hips and around to your ass. He squeezed and kneaded them with his strong fingers. Shigaraki squeezed your neck again sending another rush of euphoria to your head making you moan into his mouth before he pulled away to attack your neck and take over teasing your breasts. You look back at Dabi with hunger in your eyes.

“What now princess? What do you want?” He says with a devilish grin.

You grind down into his cock again which is now hard as ever.

“Uh-uh. Use your words.” he says giving your ass a squeeze.

Shigaraki rolls your nipples in between his harsh fingers sending waves of pleasure and pain throughout your body, causing you to roll your head again and let out a short moan. When you look back at Dabi, you speak in a low breathy tone, almost a whisper.

“Abuse me”

With those few words, Dabi smirks and slips his hands underneath the waistband of your sweats. “As you wish”

Shigaraki continues his attack to your neck sucking and biting, leaving red and darkened patches curving down your shoulder and back. Dabi continued his groping, and you could feel the rough staples scratching at your flesh and his nails digging in harsher than before. His hands slide down the curve of your ass tugging your soiled underwear to the side.

“Hmmm you’re so wet.” Dabi said, ghosting his fingers over your dripping entrance.

“You little whore. Getting so wet for a couple of villains” You shiver at the sensitive touch and degrading words. Gripping to Shigaraki’s shirt and grinding down trying to gain friction, you notice Shigaraki palming himself again. You replace his hand with your own, wrapping your fingers around his clothed cock, squeezing lightly. Shigaraki groaned deeply in your ear, sending vibrations straight to your core while Dabi’s fingers dip slightly into your needy hole but only enough to tease more juices and whimpers out of you. You try to push down onto them only for him to retreat.

“Please...stop teasing” you whine.

“So needy Princess huh? You want my fingers in that little cunt of yours?”

“Yes. Dabi. Please” you didn't care at this point how pathetic you sounded. The pressure in your core was building and you needed to be pushed over the edge.

“Go on...make yourself cum on my fingers. Show me how much you want it,” Dabi said sneering at how desperate you looked. He finally allowed two fingers to sink into you as you lowered your hips again. You were always amazed at how much deeper fingers other than your own could reach, and Dabi’s in particular could reach places you could never dream of finding on your own.

The effect was immediate. You started to roll your hips, bouncing slightly on Dabi’s fingers. You’re grip on Shigarak’s member stalls as you’re overwhelmed with pleasure. Shigaraki, displeased by this fact, guides you inside his sweats, pumping himself with your hand. You could feel the precum leaking from his slit as your fingers smear it up and down his shaft. Shigaraki continued his abuse of your flesh, moving down biting and sucking till his teeth latched onto your sensitive nipple. You whine as Dabi’s other hand had found your clit. He twirled it between his fingers letting his nail drag over it. This added stimulation drove you closer sending shivers up your spine.

“Mm close” you whimper as your movements on Dabi’s fingers become sloppy.

“Come on princess. Make yourself cum, make a pretty little mess all over my fingers”

Dabi presses into your clit and you grind down hard again. Dabi wickedly curls his fingers pressing into that soft spot inside you releasing the knot of pressure that had been building in your core.Your legs shake and you clamp down hard onto his fingers which are still moving in and out of you, prolonging your orgasm.

You weakly fall forward onto Dabi’s chest as Shigaraki releases your hand from his dick. You can feel Dabi’s fingers pull out of you and when you open your eyes you see him playing with your sticky release coating his fingers. You watch as Dabi brings his fingers to his mouth, smearing some on his lip and licking it before taking them into his mouth, sucking and cleaning yourself off of him.

“Princess you’re delicious” He says smiling down at you making you blush at the crude compliment.

“My turn to taste'' Shigaraki said, pulling you off Dabi’s lap. He positioned you on your back, your head resting on Dabi’s thigh. As Shigaraki did away with your sweats and underwear, you pulled Dabi’s mismatched lips to yours. The feeling was heavenly. You could still taste yourself on his tongue as he explored your mouth. You tugged needily at Dabi’s shirt and he pulled it off only breaking the kiss for a brief moment.

You savored the wet and slow pace opposite to Shigaraki’s fast and rough, both pleasure in their own ways. You’re breath hitched and you moaned deeply when you felt Shigaraki’s wet tongue lick the length of your core, swiping up the sticky left overs from your previous release.

You look down at Shigaraki. He had positioned himself between your thighs, knees slumped over his shoulders. He was staring up at you licking his lips before attaching himself to your clit sucking at it harshly. You could feel that ball of pressure tighten again in your stomach and you let your head fall back to Dabi’s thigh, eyes shut, focusing on the feeling of the hot wet mouth working at your sex. You’re hand threaded its way into Shigaraki’s silky blue hair, tugging lightly, only making him suck harder.

You felt Dabi’s hand on your cheek and you opened your eyes looking up into his sapphire eyes before he turned your head. You were met with Dabi’s unclothed cock. Your eyes followed the Jacobs ladder of staples up his shaft to the head where you could see a bead of precum sitting at the slit. You smile thinking how in the hell fanfic got this detail right.

“What’re you smiling at? Impressed?”

“Hmm...No piercing, huh? Guess they got that part wrong”

“You people are sick” he says chuckling before directing his dick into your mouth.

You take it gladly bobbing your head down his shaft, hollowing your cheeks before sliding back up, letting your tongue catch on each of the staples. Dabi let out a low groan, putting his hand in your hair to keep it away from your face.

You continue to work your mouth on Dabi’s cock while Shigaraki continues to swipe his tongue through your sensitive folds. You moan around Dabi’s length when Shigaraki slips a finger inside, causing you to buck your hips, pushing his tongue deeper into you.

The vibrations from your tight throat had Dabi pushing your head down taking his entire length. You gagged around his cock, choking for air but that only drove you further into your pleasure. Shigaraki added another finger and started pistoning into you violently while sucking at your clit once again. You moaned, tugging at Shigaraki’s hair, signaling you were close. You could tell Dabi was close too as he took control and started face fucking you, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat with every thrust.

Shigaraki added a third finger stretching you wider and driving you over the edge for the second time as you gasped around Dabi’s cock, legs squeezing around Shigaraki. Your orgasm drove Dabi to the edge as he thrust into you again and kept your head down as your throat tightened around his length. Thick ropes of cum shot from the tip and slid down the back of your throat. You took it all swallowing until you couldn’t breathe anymore pushing Dabi away. You’re head lolled on Dabi’s lap as you recovered from your high.

Dabi was leaning back breathing deeply with his eyes closed. Your brain was still foggy but it wasn’t long until you felt something back against your sex. Looking down you see Shigaraki lining himself up with your entrance, coating his cock in your juices. Your eyes widen at seeing his length out in the open. It was not as decorated as Dabi’s but it held the same presence, being about an inch longer although not as thick as Dabi’s. Shigaraki looks up at you when he lines himself up, the tip merely resting against you, and sees your nervous expression.

“Huh didn’t think I was getting you this wet for nothing. I ain’t wasting a drop of this pussy”

He stared into your eyes as he steadily pushed into you. The stretch was almost unbearable. You squeezed your eyes shut trying to make it through the burning stretch.

“Shit you’re tight. Feels like my dick is in a vice... fuuuuuck… relax” Shigaraki hissed.

You could barely register his voice let alone his request. You could barely breath focusing only on the pain as Shigaraki continued to push against your walls.

“Hey patchwork stop sleeping and get her to breathe”

Dabi shifts underneath you and you feel his hands run down your sides outlining your torso. Even though he didn’t have his quirk, his hands were hot and soothing as they rubbed against your skin.

“Come on Princess.” You open your eyes slightly to see Dabi looking down at you patronizingly.

“You’ve been doing so well,” He said brushing your jaw with the back of his hand. “And you wanna feel good right?”

You nod meekly.

Dabi leans down so his lips are hovering centimeters over yours. The smell of alcohol on his breath tantalizing and his minty scent making your head spin.

“Breathe Princess. Just focus on me” He whispers before putting his lips on yours. You melt into the kiss doing exactly what Dabi says, exhaling through your nose and focusing on the way his cold staples scratch against your skin while his soft tongue dances with your own.

When you break the kiss for air it’s only because Shigaraki has managed to bury himself to the hilt. You can feel him pressing against your cervix deep inside you. You look at him again and find him head tilted back, eyes closed, taking in the feeling of you pulsing around him. Even though you know it’s not out of consideration but pure self indulgence, you're glad that he hasn’t started moving yet as you adjust to his length. Eventually it seems the lust of needing to rearrange your insides trumped being his own personal cockwarmer. His eyes fell on you again as you pulled out till only the tip was inside before bottoming out once again. Each time slowly pulling out only to thrust back in at full force.

You were still adjusting to his length, but soon the burning sensation of being stretched and pounded turned into addicting pleasure. You resumed your kiss with Dabi whose hands had found their way to your breast as Shigaraki increased his pace. Soon you were being knocked senseless by Shigaraki’s ruthless pace. He always has been fast on screen, so why did you think he’d be any different here. Moans and gasps escaped your mouth as the tip of Shigaraki’s cock hit your cervix. Once again the pressure began to build in your core. You began to whimper as you were pushed closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuckkk I’m close. It’s like you're pulling me deeper. So fucking good” Shigaraki panted out falling to his hands on either side of your hips for support. You whimper again and claw at the couch cushions as you could feel yourself just on the brink when Dabi’s hand slides down your stomach and begins rubbing at your clit. You cry out and clamp down hard on Shigaraki legs shaking and eyes rolling back as Dabi’s ministrations send you through your third orgasm of the night.

You feel Shigaraki thrust once more hard and then hot thick jets of white paint your walls. You shudder at the feeling of being pumped full, your sex still milking him of everylast drop. Shigaraki finally pulls out of you and lays back on the couch catching his breath savoring the last waves of his high falling down.

You too were recuperating and limp, unable to move. Your mind was hazy from the alcohol and the relentless stimulation. You were so tired that you didn’t even care about cleaning up but rather drifting off to sleep right there. However you were jostled from these thoughts as Dabi had rolled you off his lap and onto your stomach. You could hardly keep up with his movements as he stood and walked around you. It wasn’t until you felt a pair of hands lifting your hips that you looked back to see Dabi fisting is dick that looked painfully hard. You couldn’t fathom another round right now but you were still so weak from your last high that you didn’t have time to prepare before Dabi thrusted into your already abused hole.

He sighed once he was buried inside you. He leaned down so his chest was hovering above your back the heat making your skin prickle. He leaned down till his breath could be felt on the back of your neck.

“Mhmm… ’m so close already and you’re gonna let me pump you full, aren’t you princess”

You couldn’t respond because your overly sensitive body was already reacting to Dabi's hard cock pressing into you, stretching you wider around his girth. Even though your mind was fading in and out, you involuntarily pressed your hips back to make him go deeper, seeking out the friction your body needed to overdose on.

Dabi was the exact opposite of Shigaraki. He took his time, thrusting in and out, making sure you felt every staple and ridge of his cock dragging against your walls savoring the way they pulled him in. Overstimulation caused tears to form in the corners of your eyes only soft whimpers escaping your mouth. Dabi continued slow and deliberate, letting out low breathy grunts with every thrust. On the edge once more, never fully recovering from before, you were longing to be undone one last time.

“Please Dabi” you mewl.

Dabi snickered in your ear before snaking his hand under you and pressing his fingers to your clit which was all the stimulation you needed to moan out and squeeze around Dabi who came at the feeling of your gummy walls constricting around his pulsing length. You felt his seed fill you up and mix with Shigaraki’s inside you. Dabi dropped down next to you, rolling you onto your side so you were effectively spooning with his cock still inside you. You could hear movement apart from you and Dabi, and in opening your eyes you saw Shigaraki standing pulling up the sweats that were bunched at his thighs. He noticed you staring at him.

“Tch. I don’t cuddle Princess and I gotta piss” His tone was crude but laced with content from having a good fuck. “Don’t let a single drop out Dabi” Shigaraki stated before walking down the hall.

Dabi didn’t respond but seemed to have no intent on moving as you felt his member begin to soften inside you. You couldn’t be more concerned about the implications behind Shigaraki’s comment or the fact that you still had a dick inside you. You were just tired and groggy from the night's events and thankful that you were finally able to be comfortable and close your eyes. You didn’t think Dabi was really a cuddle after sex with a stranger kinda guy but you weren’t complaining. He was warm and made you feel safe despite knowing he would most likely kill you in any other context. You let your eyes close again, head falling onto Dabi’s arm, giving into the waves of exhaustion coming over you.

When Shigaraki came back from the bathroom he found you and Dabi still in the exact same position he left you in. Dabi opened his eyes when he heard Shigaraki come back into the room.

“Is she out?” Shigaraki asked.

“Think so,” Dabi said, finally pulling out of you and tugging the joggers back up to his hips. He slides out from behind you, but you don’t even realize, body only curling inwards at the loss of heat. Dabi stands and looks down at you with Shigaraki. You look so worn out and peaceful. Your body exposed for them, hickeys and bruises forming where Shigaraki ravaged your neck. Your ass is still red from the pounding, and welts forming where Dabi’s strong fingers dug into you. However the best part was probably the shine of slick spread on the inside of your thighs as a stream white cum dribbled from your used hole.

Shigaraki notices this and sits down by your feet.

“What’re you doing?”

“I told you I don’t want any of it out. Got a problem with that?”

“Nope.” Dabi said rolling his eyes and walking away. “I’ve learned to not try and figure out your sick mind”

Shigaraki looked back down at you.

“Good. I have plans for her.” Dabi rolled his eyes again and walked down the hall to the bathroom. Shigaraki ran a hand up your thigh and you flexed at his touch, still unconscious. Shigaraki ran his fingers down the length of your core smearing the juices there before scooping up the stream of cum still leaking out of you and pushing it back inside you. His two fingers easily slipped into your stretched whole, but that didn’t stop a small whine from slipping from your throat. Shigaraki moved his fingers lazily in and out of you pushing the cum deeper. His eyes shot to your face when your hips bucked instinctively against him, your face was scrunched and staggered breaths and sniffs escaping your slightly parted lips, but you were still out, lost in whatever continued fantasy your fatigued brain was conjuring.

Shigaraki pushed into you a few more times selfishly pressing into the soft spot inside you that had you clamp down onto his fingers one last time. You gasped and curled further into a ball. When Shigaraki pulled his fingers out you hummed, face still scrunched, but he got up and left to the kitchen to wash off his hands.

When Dabi came back he met Shigaraki in the kitchen grabbing a glass of water and leaning against the counter.

“What do we do now?” Dabi asked casually.

“Well I don’t know ‘bout you but I’m fucking exhausted”

“Do you really think the rest of the league will be able to figure this out?”

“Kurogiri is smart enough, even if the rest of the league is useless with this sort of thing. However I am curious what this sick twisted universe has to offer us”

“Whatever you say” Dabi says walking back to the couch, and lifting you bridal style. You lean into his warmth as he carries you to your bedroom plopping you down on your bed and closing the door.

When you open your eyes the next morning, you feel your head throbbing against your skull. The bright light streaming in through your window was enough to make you want to stab the sun till it was nothing more than an ember. You closed your eyes again trying to remember the dream you were having but as you searched your brain, pieces of your dream seemed to turn into memories. You shot your eyes open and sat up. It was just a dream right? Realizing you were naked and that your skin felt sticky and dirty was enough to make your head pound harder than before. Wasn’t the fact you were hungover proof enough that last night events had taken place? No, there was still a chance you had just gotten drunk and imagined it all, but you had to be sure. You sprang out of bed and pulled on some loose shorts and a shirt, impatiently throwing open the door and speeding down the hall to where the proof you needed would be.

The living room was lit by the bright sunlight streaming through the curtains. The golden rays illuminated messy blankets and pillows strewn across the couch, an empty rum bottle, a pair of your sweats and tank top buried on the floor, but no one was there. You felt nauseous trying to piece everything together along with the aftermath of the alcohol. You rush to the sink in the kitchen and puke up the contents of your stomach. You grip the counter and close your eyes until you felt more confident in your body's ability to keep everything inside. You slowly open your eyes and look around, mind going back to what happened last night. However you get sidetracked by a bright blue sticky note sticking up from your countertop. Walking over to it you read.

“Kurogiri is a smart man. We’ll be back Princess. PS I want the blood out of my pants.”

#shigaraki #shiggy #tomura #Dabi #shigaraki x dabi #dabi x shigaraki #dabi x reader #shigaraki x dabi x reader #shigaraki x reader #smut #anime #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic #spicy

88 notes · View notes

chaseatinydream · 3 years

Text

pirate king (10) || atz

How did you end up in this situation?

Cobblestone under your feet, smoke in your eyes and sandwiched uncomfortably between two men. When you look to your left, the purple haired gunner grins easily and the arm slung over your shoulder tightens, sending you into some form of secret-to-hide panic. When you turn to the right, Jongho merely looks away, your mind coming up with a hundred and one reasons why he hates you.

After treating Jongho’s wound, the quartermaster, Mingi, had announced that the ship had finally arrived in the pirate town of Tortuga. San had brought you up to the forecastle deck, where you watched civilized land come into sight for the first time since your awakening.

The ship had docked in one of the empty piers, much to the excitement of the crew. You knew many of them loved the ocean, it was their home, but you had to admit that seeing the same thing for weeks had to get boring after a while. It was also difficult to bring fresh food onto ship as it spoilt fast, so most of the ship had been buzzing excitedly about all the delicacies they would eat once they had the chance to explore the town.

But you had a different mission.

After Mingi had gone to the docks to settle the toll, San had pulled you to the side. You frowned at him as he produced a long list from his pocket.

“Uh, Master, what is that?”

“I need you to go shopping in town for me.” The healer had told you, pressing the list into your hands. You immediately started to panic.

“Me? Master, I can’t! I barely know my way around the ship, let alone a new town I’ve never been to!”

Your reasoning fell on deaf ears.

“It’ll be fine! I’ll have Jongho follow you, he’s going into town as well for some shopping.” San chirped happily as he pulled a coin pouch from the inner folds of his shirt. You stared at him in abject horror as the coins clinked in your hand.

“Master! You can’t send me with… with Jongho-hyung! Why don’t you send Seonghwa-hyung or Yeosang-hyung instead?”

No way. No way in hell were you going to be with the young battlemaster for long, extended periods of time. He’d probably “accidentally” lose you in town somewhere as revenge for shooting him on accident and you had no wish to die a terrible death in some dank, dirty alley.

San had cocked his head at you curiously. “Seonghwa-hyung is busy fixing the ship as the head carpenter on board. Yeosangie is helping Mingi negotiate for a lower price to pay for the toll. I need to stay here to treat the wounded and Jongho can’t tell a marigold poultice from marmalade.” Then the corners of his eyes crinkled a little and he gave you a sly grin. “Or is there any reason why you don’t want to be alone with Jongho?”

You glared at him. Your master must have felt the tension in the room between you and the young battlemaster earlier, and now he was just milking it for all it was worth instead of helping you out.

San had laughed at the sour look on your face and relented a little. “Alright, alright. How about this? I’ll send Wooyoungie with you and Jongho.”

“Send who with me now?” You were utterly confused. The healer sighed.

“The head gunner?” He tried to jog your memory, gesturing wildly with his hands as if that would aid you in remembering anything. “The one with the dolphin laugh? The purple haired one?”

“Him?” You were sent into a moment of panic, flailing your arms desperately. “But I don’t know him either!”

San clapped, the sounds starting to get annoyingly loud. “All the better! You can finally get to know more of your crew mates!” He steered you by the shoulders towards the gangplank, which had been lowered for the crew to disembark the ship, all while ignoring your cries of protest. “Just wait there for Jongho and Wooyoung!”

And that was how you had ended up in this terrible situation.

“So, you’re our little stowaway, aren’t you?” Wooyoung beams at you, arm around your shoulder. His hand is hanging alarmingly close to your chest, but you can’t push it away without garnering suspicion. You try to give him a smile, but it comes out more like a painful grimace.

“Yes?” Your answer sounds more like a question.

“Aigoo, you’re so cute!” Wooyoung smooshes your cheeks together much to your complete embarrassment. Then you hear a muffled snort from your right and you really want to crawl into a hole and die. The purple haired gunner is way too close, way too touchy feely, way too physical. Honestly, you’ve just met the man!

You give him an awkward chuckle through your squished cheeks and pull his hands from your face. The shackles around his wrists jingle as his hands fall back to his sides.

“So, where are we going?” You try to distract the man before he tries to hug you again. You don’t think your heart can take any more surprise embraces before it gives you a heart attack.

Wooyoung stops in the middle of the street you’re in, glancing around. The place is bustling with people, vendors peddling their wares, women in colourful dresses picking out accessories and hairpins.

Your fingers reach up to brush the short, messy braid your own hair is in and for a lingering moment, a feeling of yearning rushes through you.

“Do you want a hairpin, stowaway?” Wooyoung’s head rests on your shoulder and you leap into the air in fright. The gunner miraculously twirls out of the way with insane reflexes, barely saving his jaw from being crushed by you.

“I’m so sorry!” You squeak, horrified, but Wooyoung merely waves you off with a grin.

“Aww, it’s no problem.” He smiles merrily at you and you’re starting to get a little scared from how he doesn’t seem to stop grinning. Then he looks over your shoulder, his eyes crinkling to adorable half moons as his smile somehow grows even wider.

You turn to see what he’s looking at.

A gorgeous woman stands there, dolled up beautifully with a fair face and red slicked lips. Her dark hair is done in a shower of ringlets, pinned on top of her head with an intricate silver butterfly hairpin. Dressed in a tight leather corset and a ruffled lace skirt that barely comes to midthigh, she and her group of friends draw eyes from everywhere.

Wooyoung beams and waves at her.

The woman looks shocked for a moment before her lips curve up in a sultry smile, her finger beckoning him forward in a come hither motion. The head gunner grins at the two of you.

“Well, I’ll be going now!” Wooyoung squeezes you and Jongho into a tight hug, much to your panic. The maknae stares at him in mounting shock and fury. “Remember to take care of our baby stowaway, Jongho-ah!”

“Hyung, you can’t just leave me alone with him, you shameless basta-”

But then Wooyung is gone with the mysterious woman before the two of you can blink.

Jongho practically has steam pouring from his ears. “I’m going to kill that little son of a bitch the next time I see him. Ditching me to babysit while he sleeps around-”

A frown pulls on your lips as Jongho rants on to nobody.

“Why doesn’t Wooyoung-hyung just sleep on the ship?” You pipe up timidly, and Jongho whirls around to stare at you in shock with a hand pressed against his mouth.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment.

Then Jongho starts rambling with the most unnatural smile you’ve seen plastered on his face. “I can explain-”. He pauses for a long moment, then shakes his head furiously. “No, scratch that, I actually can’t explain. Well… Wooyoung-hyung doesn’t like the hammocks on board, so he prefers sleeping on land-”

“So is the woman his friend?” You ask, glancing back at where the two had left, a lavishly decorated building of marble and stone, the letters above it spelling “The House Of Pleasure” in crimson red.

Jongho’s smile turns rather strained and his eyes flit around desperately as if looking for something. “Yes?” He finally chokes out, not quite meeting your gaze as he steers you away from the building and down the dusty street.

“Their skirts are really short.” You muse to yourself quietly. You wonder if that’s practical and turn to the silent maknae to ask, but his face is as dark as a thundercloud and you’re immediately wary of his temper. Swallowing your question, you follow him as he stomps down the alleys and winding streets, meek and silent as a mouse.

Eventually the two of you end up outside a small, dingy shop, the windows dark with grime as if they haven’t seen a clean rag for centuries. A wooden sign hanging from the doorway depicts a picture of a snake curled around a short staff.

“This is an apothecary.” Jongho jerks his thumb at the shop. “Get whatever the hell you need fast so we can get back to the ship.”

You jump a little at his curt tone, but you can tell he’s still simmering with rage at how Wooyoung just up and left the two of you alone with each other. Your head droops. He must really dislike you after the little stunt you pulled with the musket yesterday. And now he’s stuck with you, forced to take care of you and stay with you.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble quietly under your breath, but Jongho hears it anyway and whirls around to stare at you.

“What?”

The two of you stare at each other for another awkward moment. Well, shit, you hadn’t meant for him to hear that, but since he had, you might as well tell him what you had wanted to.

You repeat the words a little more clearly this time. “I’m. Sorry.”

Jongho waves off your second apology impatiently. “Yes, yes, I heard you the first time. Why are you apologizing, though?”

You look down at the ground, your booted feet kicking back and forth at the cobblestones. “I’m sorry for being such a burden to you, Jongho-hyung.” Your voice comes out smaller than you thought it would be.

The young battlemaster remains silent for a moment. Then he grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you towards the shop, much to your surprise.

“Get your stuff.” His voice is a little softer, gentler, kinder now. You’re a little confused by his sudden change in attitude, but you do as he says and enter the apothecary.

“Marigold poultice, green tea leaves, honey…” You move past the shelves, studying the handwritten labels as Jongho trails behind you. The maknae looks utterly lost in the small shop, his shoulders brushing the glass jars on the shelves dangerously as he glances around curiously at the dried herbs hanging from the rafters.

“That’ll be twelve silvers, child.” You whip around in shock to see a wizened old man standing there. The bottles and herbs almost tumble to the ground, but Jongho scoops them up before they can shatter into pieces.

“Don’t scare him, old man.” The young battlemaster shoots the shopkeeper a dirty look as you thank Jongho profusely. The elder simply smiles expectantly. His silvery eyes are almost unblinking and you’re a little creeped out for a moment.

Then you remember you’re supposed to be paying him and rummage around in your shirt pocket for the coin pouch. Carefully counting out twelve small silver coins, you press them into the old man’s hands. They feel rough, like sand, against your fingertips.

“Your first time in Tortuga, huh?” The shopkeeper’s laughter sounds more like a dying wheeze. You and Jongho both stiffen at the words. Then the young battlemaster’s eyes narrow as his fists tighten.

“What’s your deal, you old geezer?”

The man merely lets out a derisive snort, pointing at your chest. For a moment, dread grips you as you fear he may somehow figured out that you’re a woman, but then you realise that he’s pointing to the silver necklace dangling from your neck, the clear cut crystal resting against the rough fabric of your shirt, strangely out of place.

“No smart person would leave such a pretty piece for the taking in a pirate town. I’m doin’ you a favour, kid.”

You rush to shove the necklace back underneath your shirt, heart thumping wildly in your chest. It must have slipped out somehow when you had been walking through town. A bead of sweat clings to the curve of your jaw. “Thank you for your help.”

The old man snorts, turning away as he shoos the two of you away. “Don’t expect to meet another kind soul like me here. Get lost before someone tries to steal it from you and I’m caught in the crossfire.”

The pair of you exit the shop, and you hurriedly shove all the things you’ve bought into a cloth bag. Jongho looks a little on edge from the man’s warning, grabbing the bag from your hand and taking you by the wrist.

“Let’s go.”

168 notes · View notes

justthehiddleswrites · 3 years

Text

My Life is a Lie | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader (more of a gen fic)

Summary: Tom takes his ten year-old son, James out to Benedict’s for a boy’s night out. James discovers the truth of how his parents met.

Warnings: Fluff, Humor, boys night, Underage Drinking, just a sip of beer

“James!” you yelled up the stairs as Tom gathered his keys and phone. “Your father is ready to go.”

“Coming, Mum!” a small voice echoed down to the hallway.

“Are you sure you are okay here alone?”

Tom’s deep baritone rumbled against your back as his arms wrapped around your waist. He nuzzled against your neck, his three-day-old whiskers tickling the skin. You giggled and twisted in his grip.

“That tickles.” Tom nuzzled a bit more until you leaned away. “I’m fine. You and the boys have fun tonight. I will just be here, alone. I get to watch whatever I want on TV, rather than Heat for the hundredth time.”

“You said you liked it.”

“One time. I liked to watch it one time. Not twenty times.”

��So what are you going to watch instead?” Tom spied up the stairs to see no sign of James. He spun you to face him.

“Well, I haven’t watched Crimson Peak or The Night Manager in years.” You swirled your finger across his chest.

“If you want to see my ass, you can do it in person.” Tom teased as he leaned down to kiss you.

“But it looks so much bigger on screen.” You wrapped your arms around his waist, your fingers splayed across his backside. The two of you continued to kiss, Tom’s hands tangling in your hair as he held you close.

“Aw, gah!” a disgusted voice broke your passion. “Are you guys ever not kissing?”

You turned to see James standing on the bottom step. His face twisted into the ultimate “what the fuck” face that only a ten-year-old can accomplish. You tucked your head against Tom, shoulders shaking from laughter.

“No, James.” Tom responded. “We are constantly kissing.” He pecked your lips over and over. “Because we realize how much you love it.”

Tom pulled you tight against his chest and kissed you deep and passionate, making it extra loud and sloppy. James gagged in the background.

“Try not to torture the boy too much tonight.” you giggled, smoothing down Tom’s sweater.

“Of course not. That is what Benedict and Luke are for.”

“Poor boy.” You turned to James, who was now standing by the door. “James… Hugs!”

You stretched open your arms and waved him towards you. He rolled his eyes before slumping his way into your arms. You make a big show of pulling him tight to you. “Keep an eye on your father.” you whispered in his ear before sending them on their way.

Tom chuckled as James placed his token into the jail square.

“You do the crime, you do the time.” he taunted and picked up the dice.

“Seriously, Dad? You say that every time!” he groaned.

“Yeah, Tom.” Benedict piped in. “Get some new bits.”

“I agree.” Luke joined.

Tom leaned back in his chair, covering his heart. “You’re supposed to be my friends. And my own son! Betrayed!!!” Tom slumped in the chair.

“Drama queen.” James muttered as he passed his bail money to Ben, who was acting as banker.

“Do you expect anything less, Ben?” Benedict quipped back.

“Why do you always call me Ben?” James asked, scrunching up his nose. “My name is James.”

Benedict choked on his beer as he slammed the bottle onto the table. Luke’s eyebrows raised as his eyes darted the two other men.

“Tom! You haven’t told him?!” Ben bellowed.

Luke calmly placed his beer on the table and pushed his chair about six feet away. “Not touching this with a ten-foot pole. Good luck, mate.” he gazed with pity at Tom.

“What’s he talking about dad?” James questioned.

Tom pressed his lips to his beer, taking big swigs. He didn’t want to answer the question. Benedict stared at him for a fair amount before pressing the issue.

“Yeah, Tom, what am I talking about? Have you never told the boy his name?” Benedict’s lips pulled to a thin line.

“Seriously, Tom? How has this never come up before?” Luke narrowed towards Tom. “He’s ten years old. What were you waiting for? His wedding?”

“Not helping, Luke.” Tom gritted out as he took another long draw from his bottle, emptying the bottle.

“My name’s James Patrick Hiddleston.” his tone irritated. He hated when adults talked about him like he wasn’t in the room.

“Not entirely.” Ben quipped. He slid a fresh bottle towards Tom.

“What on earth are you talking about?” James’s brows furrowed, a perfect mixture of his father and mother.

“Your full name is James Benedict Patrick Hiddleston.” Tom stated.

James’s mouth dropped open and his head bounced between glaring between his father and the man he considered an uncle, his godfather. His eyes caught Luke.

“Don’t look at me. I thought you knew. Blame your father. Or better yet…” Luke smirked as he glanced at Tom. “… ask your mother about it.”

James reached for his pocket to pull out his phone when Tom leaped into action. He ripped the phone from his son’s hand and placed it back on the table.

“That won’t be necessary. We don’t want to disturb her evening. Here,” Tom pushed his beer towards James. “Take a sip.”

James took a sniff before sipping. His face screwed up in disgust and he pushed the beer back to Tom. “That is disgusting. So what’s the story? Why am I named after Ben?” He jerked his thumb to the other end of the table.

“What makes you think there’s a story?” Tom asked.

“Because…” Benedict interjected. “… there is always a story when it comes to you.”

“Not to mention you are a huge drama queen.” Luke scooted closer to the table.

Tom narrowed his eyes at the shorter man. “Why haven’t I fired you yet?”

“Because I know where all the bodies are buried.”

“So tell the story.” James urged.

“There’s not much to tell. I asked for a favor and your name was the price. I gladly paid it.” Tom scoffed.

Benedict let loose a hearty laugh from the other end of the table. “That is the biggest load of bullshit I have ever heard in my life! You lie to your son?” He leaned in close to James. “Remember last year, when your dad had to have that cap replaced?”

“Yeah.” James rolled his eyes. “He got so loopy. Mum couldn’t stop giggling as he wandered around the house screaming that he was ‘burdened with glorious purpose’.”

Tom’s head snapped as Luke joined in on the giggling. Luke stifled his laugh.

“Outstanding job, Tom.” Benedict started again. “you’ve moved on from Shakespeare.”

“Like when he met Mum.”

Tom paled.

“Exactly, my dear godson. Exactly.” Benedict wrapped his arm around James as he never took his eyes off Tom whose face was as white as the shirt he wore. “Did he tell you I was there?”

James’s eyes widened. “No. Dad never told me the entire story. He always said I wasn’t old enough.”

“Must have slipped my mind.” Tom groused. “There’s no need to bore the boy with mushy romantic stories.” He tried in desperation to end this conversation. “Let’s get back to the game.” He reached for the dice, but James snatched them up first.

“I recognize that look. Mum says that is your ‘oh shit’ look. I need to hear this now.”

“Traitor.”

“Good boy. You’ve had your first sip of beer, you are old enough to know the truth.” Benedict complimented. “So your dad was a ghastly car accident on set ages ago. Before he turned into an old man. And me, being concerned about my investment as executive producer…” Ben winked at Tom who rolled his eyes before slumping into the chair. “… I followed him to the hospital.”

“You are on the list. Luke put him on the list.” Tom snapped his fingers towards the man.

“Of course, sir.” He gave a salute. “You’re the boss. Benedict is on the list.”

“There’s no list.”

Tom leaned forward. “Oh there’s a list. And you now at the top of it!”

Luke shook his head no behind Tom’s back.

“Anyway… So your Mum was working that night in the ER and your father was smitten from the moment he saw her.” Tom quirked an eyebrow. “Or it could have been the drugs talking. Either way, your father knew he would marry your Mum.”

James groaned. “Is that why they are always kissing?”

All three men laughed.

“I suspect that is part of the reason.” Ben winked at Tom. “So back to the story. Your dad asked me for a favor before he went into surgery.”

“What was the favor?”

“He wanted me to get your Mum’s number for him.” Ben leaned back.

“And is that where my name came in?”

Benedict slapped James’s knee. “Right on, boy-o. Tom, you have a smart boy here. He must take after his mother or his godfather.” Benedict smiled.

Tom gave up on even arguing at this point. They outnumbered him. James spun to face him.

“How did Mum take all this?”

Tom cleared his throat. “Well, I didn’t tell her for a while.”

“How long is a while, Tom?” Luke quipped.

“She was six months pregnant with James.” Tom mumbled.

“And you lived to tell the tale?! She must really love you.”

“It was touch and go for a while. She yelled something about not naming our child after breakfast food.”

“So we compromised, didn’t we, Tom?” Benedict added.

“We did. Benedict would be your middle name and in exchange, that man…” Tom flung his hands in Ben’s direction. “… gets to taunt me about it in perpetuity. You robbed me.”

“I don’t know. I thought it was a fair trade.”

“And where were you during all of this?” Tom turned his ire towards Luke.

“Me?” Luke glanced around in mock confusion. “I was there. Negotiating on the behalf of Benedict.” Tom shot daggers. “Can you blame me, mate? That story is brilliant.”

“Fair point.”

James sat silently while Luke, Tom, and Ben stared at him. He drank his soda before placing the bottle on the table. “My life is a lie.” he sniffled.

His eyes grew wet, and Tom’s heart twinged with guilt. He reached towards him, but James jerked away.

“What else have you lied about? Am I adopted?! Are you even my real dad?” Tears threatened to spill onto James’s flushed cheeks.

“James, no! Your mother and I were going to tell you. I never dreamed you would get this upset. If I thought even for a moment you would get mad, I would have told you sooner. Believe me.” He reached again, but James stood up, his fists balled up.

“I just can’t believe…” James turned his head and his shoulders shook. “… you actually fell for that!” He spun with an enormous grin on his face.

Tom leaped to his feet, knocking over the chair. “Why, you little…”

“You’re not only the one who can cry on command!” James yelped as Tom lunged for him but the young boy was too quick.

“You taught him too well, Tom!” Benedict yelled as the two Hiddleston boys streaked off around the house, Tom gaining on his son.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff

101 notes · View notes

whats-rambled-rambled · 3 years

Text

Long Nights - part 7

Neil x Reader

Chapter 7: Wicked game

(see chapter 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1)

summary: it’s time to come back to life, and sometimes it involves Neil dragging you to a social event

warnings: 18+, language, alcohol mention (beer is considered alcohol, right?)

author’s note: 3k words. It’s not exactly what I had in mind for that chapter, but they have a mind of their own, as always.

Almost there.

The song for this part is Stone Sour - Wicked Game (acoustic, live)

Enjoy and let me know what you think, please? All feedback is greatly appreciated.

——————

Tag list: @cxnnienikas @neutron-stars-collision @ergunbilge @invertedneil @wanderedaway @i-wanna-b-yours @wonderwoman292 @buckysgoldenheart @townmoondaltwistle @theriverbeneaththeriver (please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list)

-----

It didn’t matter how many times you saw him do that, the effect the sight had on you was pretty much always the same. Filling your mind with thoughts that were quite counterproductive, one could say.

The veiny patterns covering hands and forearms. The long fingers running through the buttons. The tilted chin, extending the neck, drawing attention to that impossible jawline. The slight pout. The brows drawn together in concentration--

You smacked your tongue and shook your head

“Y’know what, those shirts of yours are so rude, but the way you wear them, the rolled-up sleeves?”

Neil looked at you through the reflection in the mirror, puzzled. “What about them?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely disrespectful,” you sighed heavily and leaned against the door frame.

Playful lights danced in the blue eyes. “Oh yeah?” he teased, giving himself a final glance-over before turning to you. “And what you’re gonna do about it?”

“Nothing,” - you shrugged, crossing your arms - “because you insist on dragging me to a social event.”

The faint resentment ringing in your last words didn’t get lost on Neil.

“So boring of me,” he said as he closed the gap between you, trying to keep a straight face. He put his hands on your waist and smirked. “But maybe after that we can come back here and continue the conversation.”

As you fixed his collar, a shade of smile hid in the corner of your mouth.

“Really wanna listen to me listing all the things that drive me mad about you, huh?” you asked smugly, gliding your fingertips along the delicate stripes of the greyish beige shirt.

Neil’s thumbs brushed over your hip bones as he hummed, “I have a feeling it might lead to a rather pleasant conclusion.”

When you let out an amused scoff, his lips captured the snarky comment that was bound to follow. He pulled you closer and lifted you up, and the next second you were sitting on the edge of a vanity cabinet, breathless from the kiss, tugging at the striped shirt.

A buzz right next to you.

You jumped, startled, and glared at the phone. “Is it too late to tell Matthias the Uber driver that we’re not going anywhere?” you asked without too much hope as you nuzzled your face to Neil’s neck, breathing in his scent, unwilling to let this moment end too quickly.

Neil chuckled and stroked your arms. “Come on, it’s gonna be fun.”

You still didn’t know where he was taking you - he’d assured you that it would be casual, and that was basically all you cared about. He knew you enough, and you trusted his judgement, after all.

“It better be,” you pouted, pulling back, but as soon as you met the bright blue eyes your heart sang in your chest. After spending all that time in the darkness, not sure if you’d ever see his face again, you caught yourself taking an extra second every now and then, just looking at him. How the light played on his features, now soft in the elaborately illuminated hotel bathroom. How his lips curled whenever he found your gaze. How utterly stunning he was.

Smiling gently, you ran your fingers through Neil’s disheveled mane, taming the blonde mess if ever so slightly.

“Let’s not keep Matthias waiting, then,” you sighed and slid off the cabinet.

-------

The afternoon was quite warm for late autumn. As you were arriving at your destination, you watched the sun shining through the scarce leaves left on the trees, adding vibrance to their colours. Too mesmerized to pay attention to the route, you recognized the place only when the car stopped. The training site. You turned to Neil in confusion, but he just wiggled his brows and proceeded to thank the driver and got out of the car. You followed him out and right through the gate of the now-empty paintball outdoor facility which served as a front for the agency’s base, hidden a bit further inside the forest.

“Picking up something on the way?” you asked, matching his pace as you strolled towards the training grounds.

Neil shook his head and smiled mysteriously. “Not really.”

“Alrighty then, keep your secrets,” you snorted, rolling your eyes. “Aren’t we a tad overdressed for a little playground fun, though?”

“A rematch?” he pondered and smirked. “Didn’t plan on that, but it’s tempting.”

Indeed. “I’m kinda out of shape, but keep those baggy trousers on and I’m game - wanna beat you fair and square again.”

Neil let out an exasperated huff. “Baggy?! They might be a bit loose but --”

You giggled at his offended expression as he got busy looking down at the target of your remark, ready to defend his fashion choice. Your laughter was enough to stop Neil in his tracks, and when he met your playful gaze, he reached out and drew you into his arms for a tight hug. After a brief moment of perplexity, you eased into his embrace, moved by the force of sudden affection.

When he pulled back, you touched his cheek. “What was that for?” you asked, searching the blue eyes, but finding nothing but joy there.

“Being cheeky.” He scrunched his nose while tapping the tip of yours. “And brilliant,” he added, and for a second you were sure there was something else he wanted to say; instead, he laid a gentle kiss on your lips. “And maybe stalling a minute longer before I’d have to share you with all these people.”

You gaped at him, about to ask what people, but Neil already grabbed your hand and led you around the corner of the building - and you heard them even before you spotted them.

“Oi, there they are!”

“Finally!”

“We’ve just considered sending a rescue party in case you got lost in the woods!”

The unexpected eruption of cheers and greetings made your fight-or-flight reflexes kick in, but as you instinctively took a step back, Neil squeezed your fingers reassuringly.

A split-second exchange of looks.

All right?

When he saw your tiny nod, he let go of your hand, focusing on the team gathered at the makeshift chillout zone. “Not everyone has your poor sense of directions, Seb,” retorted Neil, flashing his teeth in a grin.

The young man’s protests got drowned in laughter as you approached the group together.

"Luckily not the case with our rogue here,” said Ives, elbowing his way in between other people. He shot you both a disapproving look, toned down by a smile dangling in the corner of his mouth. "Really, roofs? Didn't know you had it in you, mate."

"Me neither,” admitted Neil, going in for a clasp of hands and a brief hug. “When I saw that gap, I was sure that was it. Someone convinced me otherwise."

“The secret is to avoid looking down,” you shrugged, meeting the commander's amused gaze.

"Thanks for bringing our favourite nerd back in one piece." As Ives extended his hand, there was something serious about his expression, mixed with a sense of relief, and you realised he must have been in the response team Neil had called for help.

“My pleasure.” Beaming, you shook his hand. “Thanks for providing backup.” And scraping me off the pavement.

Neil’s gasp was almost theatrical. He smirked and nudged Ives lightly. “Aw, I’m your favourite?”

“Careful, that privilege may be revoked any minute,” grunted Ives in a weak attempt at keeping up appearances, but he couldn’t fool anyone. Now that you had a chance to observe them in the after-hours situation, the bond between the two men was clear as day, and your heart warmed up at the thought.

Waving back at Mahir, you scanned the group for other familiar faces. Wheeler, a couple of people you recognized from the HQ halls, and a bit isolated from the others - the big man himself, manning the barbecue station.

Overwhelmed by the attention you got from the team, you excused yourself and walked up to The Protagonist. You couldn’t help but smile at the confident vibe he radiated with as if he spent every weekend doing nothing but this.

“So dad of you, boss.”

He flopped a sizzling piece of meat to the other side, glancing at you humorlessly.

“How are you feeling?” he asked with polite concern.

“Grand, healed up nicely, thank you.” You circled your shoulder and grinned. “Not in a marathon condition, mind you, but that’s not exactly new.”

“That’s good, Neil was worried about you.”

Not sure if it was the lack of eye contact or something else in his presence, but you decided to stop ignoring the gut feeling.

“You don’t like me,” you said, tilting your head. A mere statement of the fact; you weren’t hurt, only curious. “It’s okay, you don’t have to, just been wondering why.”

TP sighed heavily. And when he finally met your gaze, the dark eyes were sad, only deepening your confusion.

“I’m sorry.” Then something cracked and a shiver ran down your spine, because suddenly, in front of you there was a man who’d seen a lot, suffered too much, and cared even more. The weight of it all slumped his shoulders, and for a short while, he seemed almost helpless. Taking a quick look at the hollering group, he sighed again. “It’s not your fault, it’s--“ he hesitated, searching for the right words. As he found them, there was no sign of the vulnerability from a moment earlier. “It’s a stressful business.” He sent you a crooked smile. “And I’m still mad about that watch.”

The lie was obvious. But the things you saw in his eyes made your chest clench painfully, and…did you really want to know?

Besides, that might have been a truce offering, and you weren’t bent on holding a grudge. Not with him, anyway.

“Hey, wasn’t it technically your idea?” you grinned, shrugging off the weird sense of dread.

A smile finally reached the dark irises. “I guess it was,” he admitted and patted you on the arm. “There’s some beer in the mini-fridge, could you --”

“On it.”

When the clank of bottles sealed your peace treaty, you caught Neil’s happy stare. You pointed at the beer in your hand in a question and he nodded, so you grabbed one more and joined him and the others.

That unfortunate mission must have been some sort of rite of passage in these guys’ eyes because out of the blue, you were no longer an outsider. The Cavalry accepted you with open arms as one of their own, and you couldn’t wrap your head around it. It was a nice feeling, though. Like you belonged. You saw some curious glances, but they came from a good place, and even the suspicious voice in your mind gave in under the cordial, jovial energy of the group.

Soon enough, you were joking with a young medic, having a balancing stand-off with Wheeler, or listening to crazy stories from some old operations, until everyone had enough booze in their systems that allowed them to direct some of the questions to you, as well.

“So is Neil a decent locksmith now?”

You puffed out your cheeks in a musing grimace, but when you spotted Neil’s raised brow, you started laughing. “I’d say even more than decent. Honestly? I don’t think there’s much more that I can teach him, he needs to polish his skills in real life now.” Mocking a teary sniff, you added, “They grow up so fast!”

Nobody would know that you did so while actively ignoring a faint sting in your heart.

You refrained from meeting the attentive blue eyes, though. Just in case.

“Oh cool, then what about a little contest?” Seb clapped his hands cheerfully. “You versus Neil, we could time you, and to make it fairer we could put a blindfold on you --” as he stopped for a breath, he realized - with some help from Wheeler’s elbow to his side - the slight faux pas.

But you barely acknowledge a curse and a mumbled apology cutting through the awkward silence, too busy exchanging amused looks and stifled giggles with your student.

“Neil, would you like to explain?” you asked, schooling your features.

He bowed his head as if he was accepting a great honor. “Gladly.” Neil took a deep breath and his eyes lit up. “See, my dear friend, had you known anything about lockpicking, you’d learnt that sometimes it’s easier to do that with, for example, your eyes closed. You need to listen to what the lock has to say because it’s all about feedback--”

You watched as Neil gave a full lecture, citing your own words from what seemed to be a lifetime ago. He did it with passion and understanding of the craft you’d never dreamed to see in someone else, and yet was so familiar when it came to him. Absentmindedly, you placed a hand over your chest, as if it was enough to stop it from bursting.

You couldn’t be more proud.

Neil finished his rant and looked at you, only to be met with all the appreciation and validation in your gaze, and he beamed even wider.

“All right, damn, we can cover Neil’s eyes then,” sighed Seb, a total resignation in his voice sparking a roar of laughter from the group.

----

As much as you enjoyed the energy of the team, your social batteries were getting drained, and you needed a moment for yourself before you could carry on.

Walking right outside of the periphery of light from the garlands, you let your gaze slide across the training equipment, now barely visible in the moonless night. The leaves crumbled under your feet as you smiled at the memories. Maybe one day you would actually complete the full run? You pulled on the sleeves of your sweater, hiding your hands from the cold evening air.

“Mind if I join you?”

You glanced over your shoulder at Neil, keeping his distance, ready to give you space. With him, it was always in the details he’d picked along the way, effortlessly weaving them into everyday life. “Not at all.”

Neil perked up and joined you in the shadows, inhaling deeply.

“Funny how the scent of the forest changes with the seasons,” he mused and you grinned, turning his way.

“That’s what I call a pick-up line,” you snickered and drew a long breath. “But you’re right, it’s too easy to forget that once you become a permanent city creature.”

He chuckled and lightly rubbed his hands up and down your arms.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked softly, fixing your oversized scarf.

“Yeah.” You brushed your cheek against his fingers, longing for his touch, now that you were somewhat hidden from the prying gazes. “You?”

Neil moved closer and wound one arm around your waist, then cupped your face gently, pressed his forehead to yours, and murmured, “Now I am.”

You hummed happily and slid your hands under his open jacket, resting them at his chest, and closed your eyes. Only then realizing how tense you were, you relaxed in his embrace, savoring his closeness. A steady heartbeat under your palms. The warmth carrying undertones of Neil’s cologne. A featherlike graze of his thumb over your cheek. His nose nudging yours.

But soon enough, you had to break a stolen moment. Trying to stifle a yawn, you hid your face in his shoulder to muffle the sound.

“Oh, my poor baby,” he cooed, biting back a giggle. “That tired?”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled against him on the verge of another yawn.

“Sure you are.” He kissed your temple. “The party’s almost over anyway, judging by decreasing amount of idiotic ideas per hour. Gonna call us a cab soon, all right?”

As you nodded, Neil tightened a hug and reluctantly let you go.

“Be right back, I’ll check if there’s any coffee left,” you said, gesturing towards the tables with beverages.

As your luck would have it, there was just enough for one sip.

A sudden sneer was enough to wake you up, though.

“Hell froze over.”

Mahir walked up to the mini-fridge to grab a beer and you met his mocking stare with furrowed brows.

“Vincent must be chattering his teeth now,” you joked, unsure where the conversation was heading. “Why?”

Mahir scoffed at the remark about your old associate, but he was still studying you closely, confusing you further. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Dude, you’re killing me today,” you sighed, wiping a hand through your face. “Thanks, but what for?”

“You and Neil?”

And when you shot him a puzzled look, he waved his bottle at the place where you stood together a moment before.

Breaking out in a cold sweat, you deadpanned, “Oh.”

Bloody hell.

“I thought you weren’t doing the whole love thing anymore.”

The pulse pounded in your ears, although not loud enough to tune out the sirens blazing in your head.

No.

It came out harder than you felt it. “I’m not.”

No, no, no, no, no.

Mahir grimaced doubtfully. “Uh-huh.” He looked over your shoulder at the team gathered together in the distance and raised a brow. “Does he know that?”

You couldn’t force yourself to follow his gaze. The panic drained your face of all colour, and that was enough of an answer for your friend.

“I see.” Mahir shook his head, losing the enquiring manner. His features softened as he patted your arm. “Neil’s a good guy.”

Please, no.

“They always are,” you choked out bitterly.

Not again.

“You know what I mean,” insisted Mahir, searching for your eyes.

That the history was not gonna repeat itself?

...or that he didn’t deserve any of it?

“Yeah. Maybe.” You faked a smile. “Excuse me.”

Pushing past him, you went inside the building. You needed to be alone.

Oh, the irony.

Weeks of deliberately avoiding the topic. Tricking yourself into thinking that you can keep it casual. That it didn’t matter that much. That it was nothing but a self-indulgent fling.

You couldn’t breathe.

Lesson learnt, huh?

Barging into one of the restrooms, you got to a sink. Clenching your hands on the cold ceramic, you fought nausea tearing through your body.

Pathetic.

The gasp for air turned into a sob.

...and then everything went quiet.

You raised your eyes to the mirror.

Your reflection was staring back at you with determination.

It was time.

(next chapter ->)

#neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet fanfiction #neil tenet imagine #robert pattinson #tenet #tenet fanfiction #long nights

42 notes · View notes

kamaria-sweet-writes · 3 years

Text

Laiken (A Mer-May prompt) part 2

**Laiken**

True to his word Barnabus woke me before the guests started to arrive. While the nap was restful, I could’ve gone for a few more hours easily. “Come on, Sparrow, you need to get ready.” Ugh, I don’t want to be paraded around right now. “There’s a dress and some shoes in your closet that I bought you to wear for tonight. I’ll see you when you come downstairs.” I acknowledged him with a grunt and I rubbed at my eyes willing the tiredness away.

After a few more minutes of procrastinating I finally got out of bed and padded over to the closet to see what dress waited for me. It was in one of those garment bags but it was easy enough to get out of it. Plaid? That was my first thought after seeing the fabric but it wasn’t some normal plaid. I’d never seen these colors used in plaids back home.

I finished pulling the dress out of the bag and laid it on my bed to get a good look at it. Beautiful. I started seeing colors I hadn’t before. Thin lines of teal and charcoal worked through the whole garment. I pet the fabric before going back to retrieve the shoes.

Just a simple black wedge to match with the deep colors in the dress. The laid back nature of the shoes and dress told me the dinner was going to be lax, that I didn’t have much to worry about in the way of impressing people.

*knock knock*

2 sharp raps pulled me out of my thoughts. “Guests are starting to arrive, Muffin.” She huffed “You almost ready?” I didn’t respond choosing to instead get my body into the shower. It was either this or deal with my mothers 20 minute lecture on timeliness. I wasn’t in the mood for the latter.

10 minutes later I walked out of the shower feeling awake and ready to deal with whatever was going to be thrown at me. It might’ve also been because I spent the whole 10 minutes muttering to myself about how I was worth it and I needed to show the world how amazing I am. Another of Dr. Z’s tools to get me through anything and I’m ridiculously thankful for it now. Back when I learned it though, not so much.

I slid on my panties and latched my bra before turning around to grab the dress. Catching sight of myself in the mirror I cringed a bit before standing tall in remembrance of everything I’ve been through. My body isn’t tight nor unblemished. It’s littered with scars and stretch marks that tell a story all on their own.

Tearing my attention from the mirror I settled back into the task at hand. ‘Let’s get dressed and meet all the people that came to see you, Laik. They’re your family, no need to be afraid.’ I gave myself a bit of a silent pep talk before padding over to the bed where the dress still lay. Again, I found new details about the plaid that made it seem even more unique, more beautiful.

The dress fit like a dream accentuating my shape by highlighting my best assets and downplaying what I deemed my problem areas. Before, I’d never buy something like this for myself out of fear that I wouldn’t do it justice. But, looking at myself in this moment I’d love to have ten dresses just like it.

Still high on the feelings of giddiness I made my way out of the room and down the stairs. Chit chat could be heard as I approached what I was sure would be the kitchen but stopped the moment I walked through the door.

All eyes were on me and my heart was pounding behind my ribs. They’re staring. Why are they staring? Do I have something on my face? Did I put the dress on wrong? Do I look like someone’s stay puffed marshmallow girl?

All of those thoughts melted away when I heard his voice. “Forget what I just said. I accept.” His voice was like soft suede. It slid against my skin and wrapped around me making me want to sigh in contentment.

I searched the room for the source of that voice and was rewarded with the sight of a ridiculously gorgeous man standing next to Barnabus. I studied him starting at his boots up to his mismatched eyes that seemed to be boring into my own. I found myself unable to look away as he stood there all vast and commanding like that.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, Muffin?” I jumped, not ready for her to sneak up on me like that. She chuckled before grasping my hand and guiding me toward a group of women that she favored “I see you’ve noticed Taine.” She whispered as we approached the group of waiting women “He’s a catch and a good man if you’re wanting to know.” I didn’t miss the lilt in her voice as she spoke to me.

We came to a stop in front of the women we’d aimed for. I stood there awkwardly twisting the fabric of my dress in my hands. No one spoke for a moment until my mother introduced me. “This is my Laiken.” Her pride surged through her words. “Laiken, these are your aunts: Dina, Dedra and Darcy. They’ve been waiting on pins and needles for the chance to know you.”

I looked at their faces noticing how much they all looked alike. I could pick out bits and pieces of my face in theirs and that just made my heart soar. I don’t look like my father so drawing the similarities between us usually stopped at our brown eyes and cocoa colored skin. Seeing these women though told me what I could expect as I got older and I must say, the future is looking bright if this is any clue as to what I’d look like.

My phone buzzed in my pocket drawing my attention. Pulling it out I noticed the photo flashing across the screen. A bear. I forgot to call him and now I’m about to hear about how I worried him to death. I let it go to voicemail with a reminder to call him after dinner but no sooner did the vibrations stop did it start again. I guess I have to deal with this now.

“Hi Daddy, sorry I didn’t call you earlier.” The sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line told me all I needed to know. I quickly excused myself and made my way onto the deck to take the call in a more private place. Here we go.

**Taine**

There are for more pressing issues at hand but for some reason Barnabus requested me to be at his daughters homecoming. I finished up my work on the boats before heading home to get dressed for the shindig. All I know about her is that she’s his little sparrow, he’d do anything for her and apparently she could likely be the first Chieftess our clan has ever had.

Big shoes to fill after someone like Barnabus. I don’t envy her. Being the first anything is wrought with hardship and without the others knowing her she will face her own fair share of persecution.

Just a meet and greet right? So not much thought needed to go into this outfit. I went with a nice fitted grey t-shirt and some jeans considering it sounded pretty lax to begin with. Showered, groomed and dressed I made my way over to the cottage letting myself in like I always do.

The environment was a little tense as Danae waited at the base of the stairs staring up them like she was waiting for someone to ascend them. “Everything ok?” She smiled nodding her head at the same time before turning her gaze back up the stairway. I made my way over to Barnabus leaving his mate alone to do whatever she was doing.

“She’s waiting for, Sparrow.” Barnabus spoke “Guests are here and she hasn’t made an appearance yet, makes Danae nervous.” His gaze shifted from me to his mate “Come now, Love. Sparrow will make her way down momentarily. No need to wait there and scare her.” She huffed before leaving her perch and making her way to waiting guests.

It seemed like most of the people in attendance were actual family members leaving me befuddled as to why I was invited at all. “Barnabus, why am I here? This is a family affair.” He huffed out a breath but didn’t answer me “Come on.” He stroked his chin before his soulful eyes found mine. He’s about to ask me to do something. Shit.

“Laiken is a strong, beautiful woman that needs a man to compliment that.” Are you fucking kidding me? “I trust you above anyone else to be that man for her. I want you to court my daughter.”

His smile punctuated the conversation like it was just some small thing. Courting leads to dating and dating leads to mating. Mating is for life. This isn’t a small thing, it’s huge and I don’t want the responsibility. “No” my word came out just the way I wanted to. Strong and steadfast leaving no room for error or miscommunication “I’m not interested. Try Denton or Merrick, they’re good men.” His face fell but I couldn’t let that sway me.

He didn’t bring it up again. Instead we spoke of plans to fortify our borders and put more thought into how to go about monitoring the other selkies that found work here. It wasn’t unlawful for them to do so but it was discouraged outside of the ferries shuttling people back and forth from the mainland.

The room grew quiet and I soon understood why. In the doorway stood the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on. “My sparrow” Barnabus whispered affectionately.

This was his Sparrow? There’s no way I would pass her on to anyone else. “Forget what I just said, Barnabus. I accept.” If the clap on my back was any indication of his feelings I’d say I just made the Chieftain a very happy Selkie. “We will hammer out the details soon.” With that I went about looking over the woman that would soon be mine.

I watched her eyes traverse my body slowly from bottom to top before her eyes locked with mine. Gone was the breath in my lungs as a smile tore across her features lighting her whole face up. Yeah, that’s all mine. Laying claim right here, right now before any of the other males even get a chance to.

She jumped when Danae whispered in her ear making the cutest squeak at the same time. I stood there waiting for more of her attention but she was whisked away to start mingling with the people that came here to see her. I kept a strict eye on her movements as she flitted person to person.

Turning my back but for a moment I’d lost her. One second she was talking to the Leery sisters and the next it seemed like she disappeared. “She’s outside on the phone.” Barnabus soothed my already frazzled nerves easily “Give her some time before heading that way. You know, I felt the same way when I met her mother. Fate is crazy like that hmmm?” He moved away from me leaving me with my thoughts. Yeah, fate was crazy alright but for now I’m following her headfirst when it comes to Laiken.

#exophilia creators #mermay2021 #selkie boyfriend #my writing #dont steal my shit #part2

27 notes · View notes

hexalianrebel-blackfeathers · 3 years

Text

Crossfire

Panda’s Notes: Hey, it’s a new fandom. >w< I kind of fell in love with the chaos and characters from Friday Night Funkin’, so I’ve got a few stories in mind. This one is based on this piece by @fluffymary!

Find it on AO3!

John didn’t have a side. Demons, mortals; the blood of both ran through him. All he really knew was war. The smell of the gunpowder; the ringing in his head from explosive shells; the sounds of tanks and jeeps rolling across their battlefield and the men calling—

“Sir!!” He flinched out of his inner monologue and spun around to see one of his soldiers panting softly in the doorway. “He’s back again.”

As if on cue, there was a chorus of shouts under a melody of loud gunfire. Usually, John wouldn’t bat an eye, but today, he snatched his helmet and the staff leaning beside his door.

“Get Squad 17 together; tell them it’s time.”

The soldier sprinted down the hall, and John took a brisk march in the opposite direction. As he passed the infirmary windows, he could see several soldiers already appearing in beds; and with enough frequency that they quickly began to appear on top of each other. The kid certainly wasn’t slacking this time either.

The soldiers that had recovered were quick to fall into line behind John as he made his way out of the building and onto the field, fanning out to return to where their weapons had fallen from their deaths.

The air screamed as something tore through it at supersonic speeds, and the bullets from several soldiers’ guns were redirected or ricocheted back into their own or a fellow soldier’s face. A cloud of dust suddenly appeared, swirling around the little beast that caused it with his sudden stop.

Fully clad in red and green scales, carrying a beast of an automatic rifle, and excitedly whipping a long tail was the brat they’d met all those weeks ago; and had been continuing to meet every time the bastard needed to blow off steam or something. The little dragon glanced over his shoulder, eyes glowing bright green as he smirked with sharp teeth at John.

John only huffed as the dragon disappeared in a burst of speed, and he drew a strained breath as he felt blood strike his face from a soldier that happened to pass near him. Oh, he was going to teach this kid a lesson alright…

“Sir, do you copy?” John’s radio crackled softly on his shoulder, and he glanced around warily before tipping it closer to catch his voice.

“Copy. What do you want?”

“Squad 17 is in position. On your mark, sir.”

John smirked this time, drawing his staff from its holster on his back and stepping forward. “Everyone, you know what to do.”

The soldiers mobilized quickly, scattering away from the main area and gathering up in a tight group on the target practice field. Many were less than thrilled about the position they knew they were in, and they could only clutch their riot shields and brace when the call went out.

“Here he comes!” Someone shouted, and indeed, the beast could be easily spotted perched on a lamp post and sneering down at them. The rifle in his hands glowed with his green aura before he ripped it into the pair of Uzis they were all too familiar with. The second he vanished, soldiers were dropping and vanishing left and right as bullets ripped through them.

John took his time approaching; there was nothing more that the little bastard seemed to enjoy beside playing with his prey. In the meantime, he leaned into his radio, reconfirming the position and preparation of every member in Squad 17. He could feel a surge of power swirl around him and his staff, and he couldn’t resist the smile on his lips as he finally called out to their attacker.

////////////

Pico adored the battlefield. Miles away from any cities or towns to damage or helpless people to put at risk; dozens of targets to mow through for his personal speed tests; and, most importantly, he knew he couldn’t kill any of them. Pico had known about the “Tankman’s” power long before he’d first been summoned to this place by Lilith’s own abilities. He’d always assumed it was just some kind of rumor; one if his mother’s exaggerated stories.

But here he was again, watching the same soldiers he’d shot through the head reemerge from the main building to come rushing back to the fray.

Fuck whatever Heaven’s got; this was the life.

He must have been a damn sight, tail wagging all over the place. He hadn’t razed like this since he was little, and even then, it was with his mother over his shoulder making sure he was sticking to the targets and locations she’d been assigned. Nothing like letting a fully loaded toddler do your job for you, after all.

He was smacked out of the casual memory by a bullet bouncing off of his armored hand. An attempt to disarm him, probably. Yeah, right. He lunged into a run, his aura spreading out around him. He never got tired of the way bullets hung in midair, easily redirected by a slap from his hand or tail and usually finding a new target in one of the soldiers firing at him. He paused again to catch his breath, unable to keep from laughing to himself as he rolled his shoulders and checked the stopwatch he’d mounted on his rifle.

He felt a sort of tingle as a new, powerful aura hit his senses. The half-blood; the leader; the Tankman. He glanced over his shoulder, sneering a bit fiendishly at the man before zipping off and sending a shot through the soldier that was running by him. He adored pissing him off almost more than mowing through his soldiers. Almost. Nah, no he didn’t.

He spotted a crowd growing at the far end of the training field, and he made his way to the top of a lamppost to get a good look. They were practically lined up, every other row bearing riot shields that wouldn’t stand a chance against Pico’s shots while the others were taking aim.

“Here he comes!” Someone called, and they all seemed to brace and cringe.

Oh, well, now he had to flex. He made a show of transforming his rifle into his favorite pair of Uzis before lunging down into the crowd. The sounds of his guns couldn’t even reach him with how fast he was moving, and he couldn’t resist tackling some soldiers to the ground to make room for a sweep of bullets before shooting them as well. His average time was coming up; he just knew it. He needed a good finisher. Maybe something flashy…

“Alright, you little shit!” Pico flinched at that familiar voice, looking up from his position of standing on a soldier’s chest. Oh, perfect! A high level tag. It’d be a first, for him at least, but taking Tankman down a peg in front of all his soldiers would be a fantastic note to head home on.

“This little game of yours ends now, ya goddamn salamander!” Tankman barked at him, holding a…a fuckin…glowing stick?

Pico blinked, capping the soldier he was standing on before turning to face his target. Why was it taking so long for him to catch his breath? He could have been over there by now. He scoffed as he caught sight of Tankman’s smirk; what’s a little headache if he got to punch that jaw in?

His aura spread out as he prepared to rush, and whoa, whoa, time-fucking-out!

He was dizzy; way too dizzy. He stumbled to a stop, keeping his distance from Tankman; but he was still shaking. His guns vanished, and his head cleared a bit. He could see the staff in Tankman’s hand glowing, and when he narrowed his eyes to hone his demon senses, he could see purple lines and symbols etched into the ground around him. Unfortunately, such an effort threw his head back into a spin, and he found his butt hitting the dirt as his tail and scales shifted off of him to leave him seated there in his school clothes. He pushed his red curls out of his face, panting softly as he glanced around at the soldiers surrounding his new little cage. Shit; there went his run.

“Men, I’d say Operation Coyote was a complete success.” Tankman said with a grin as he stepped forward, and the soldiers cheered and laughed around him.

Pico growled as he locked his gaze on Tankman. His face shifted suddenly as his eyes glowed, flames wisping between the gaps in his teeth as he—promptly faceplanted into the dirt from the sudden lightheadedness.

“Aw, isn’t that cute?” Tankman jeered as others chuckled, and Pico looked up to see him kneeling beside the edge of the circle, which seemed a lot smaller now than it had a minute ago. “He tried to do the scary eyes.” The man popped the visor off of his helmet, and Pico’s face fell as bright purple eyes bored into him from pitch black sclera.

Tankman sneered for a moment at Pico’s speechless staring, standing up as he reattached the visor. “Heh, and that’s how you do it, kid. You like your new playpen, brat?”

Pico blushed a bit, embarrassed, and quickly got to his feet. “It’s tacky, old man.” He growled, clenching a fist and trying a punch. He wasn’t surprised when his hand couldn’t go past the circle, but he was surprised when Tankman’s hand came through to grab him by his shirt.

“Yeah, it’s an older setup;” The man hummed, easily dangling Pico’s human form as the kid kicked against the barrier. “It’s amazing what you pick up when you’re raised by Demon Hunters, eh?”

Pico snarled softly, trying to pry those deceptively strong fingers off of his collar. “When I get out of here, I’m gonna fucking—!" He was shut up when his face was yanked against the barrier.

“You’re not gonna do a damn thing, you shitty little snake-spawn!”

Pico had winced a little at what he assumed must be the “Captain voice” he’d heard rumors about, a cheeky smirk seating itself on his lips to mask his nerves.

“We’re getting sick of your games, runt; and it’s about time you were put in—”

“What?!” Pico shouted exaggeratedly, tipping his head back and kicking the barrier again. “I-I can’t hear you; some old fuck blew my eardrums out with his bitching!”

He just knew Tankman was glaring at him through that stupid visor, and Pico couldn’t help laughing tauntingly until he was dropped on the ground. The man drew his hand back, resting it on his hip as the other tightened its grip on his staff.

“Men, next step. Get started.” He ordered shortly, stepping backwards.

Pico scrambled to his feet. Okay, he was fine as long as he didn’t use his powers; no problem. The soldiers were regrouping, and about ten of them stepped closer to the circle with staves or wands or whatever conduit they carried. Pico growled softly; he had a feeling he knew what they were doing, but dammit, he couldn’t tell which of them was going to attack first. He glanced over his shoulder, sure that they’d go for his blind spot, only for something to lash around one of his wrists.

He yelped, planting his feet and trying to lean back. He did his best to suppress the instinct to use his demon strength, and he growled angrily as he was forced into a tug-of-war with at least one full-grown man who didn’t look like he was having much of a problem keeping the magic coil still. The soldier beside him seemed to perform the same spell, another coil of magic energy zipping around his free wrist.

“Ack! F-Fuckers!” Pico barked, his sneakers dragging in the dirt for a moment before he was yanked down to the ground. He cried out as his tongue got caught between his teeth, and he struggled to find traction to pull against the magic ropes.

“Not bad, boys.” Tankman called, sauntering into the circle. He rested his boot heavily on Pico’s back, and a pair of soldiers managed to wrangle Pico’s flailing legs from outside the circle. “Well, kid, not so tough now, are ya?”

Pico growled up at him, but dammit, he couldn’t think of a response. They’d actually caught him.

“Pfft, no stupid quips either, huh?” Tankman jeered. “Damn, that’s almost sad. Stevie! Front and Center!”

Pico could hear footsteps running toward them, and another soldier made an effort to pass through his sightline and give him a wave.

“Hello, Pico.” He said almost politely, carrying a book under his arm; and Pico hated how genuine he sounded. “Ah, sir, the spell’s ready when you are.”

////////////

John couldn’t help a roll of his eyes when Steve greeted the little brat, given the position they were all in. He was a sweetheart to a fault.

“The spell’s ready when you are.” Steve said with a smile, the book floating out of his palm as his hands glowed. As the pages flipped rapidly on their own, John cracked his knuckles and grinned.

“Good to hear it.” He chuckled, removing the glove on his left hand. “Hit me, Stevie.”

Steve took a deep breath and spread his fingers, and John felt magic wrap around his arm. It coiled and tightened between his fingers, supplying his powers without the circle draining them away. His arm shifted: a dark black-purple form with sharp fingers, meant to reach and pull at souls and the essences of life itself.

“Alright, kiddo…” John hummed, curling his fingers and sneering when he caught sight of the brat looking up at him. “Time to learn ya a thing or two about messing with soldiers.”

The kid yelped when John’s hand clutched at his shoulder, and John’s eyes glowed behind his visor as he forced the brat into a partial shift. Scales quickly covered his back, and half of his head became dragonesque, glowing eye included. The soldiers restraining him had to plant their feet and pull as he got a burst of strength to fight.

“Stevie?” John huffed, setting his knee on one of the kid’s legs as his free hand gripped a handle on his belt.

Steve knelt in front of their captive, smiling in that calming way he does. “Now, Pico, I can imagine how upset you must be, but I’d suggest you keep still. All we’re going to do is a sort of test. Research purposes.”

“Fuck you…” The brat hissed, and John smacked him on the back of the head with his free hand before he could stop himself.

“Don’t fucking talk to Stevie like that, shitstain.” He growled, returning his hand to his belt to finally pull up the knife he’d been unsheathing. “Since you don’t want it sugar-coated, I’m going to scrape some scales off you so our boys can find out what kind of bullshit makes you so damn bulletproof. Knowledge is half the battle, you know.”

The kid’s glowing eye turned to him, a mouth half full of sharp teeth trying to snarl.

John just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, kid, I’m so terrified.” He flipped the knife in his hand, angling the blade against the boy’s spine.

Despite the fact that he’d spent at least an hour sharpening the damn thing that morning just for this, it simply rattled along the scales like a tire of the off-road track. John sucked his teeth, his shifted hand clutching tighter when the brat tried to kick again.

“Knock it off!” He barked, sounding closer to a whine from where John was kneeling.

John bit back a chuckle, but a smirk played his lips as he set the tip of the knife at the back of the kid’s neck. “Why should I? You haven’t quit shooting up our battlefield every other day for weeks! I’d say this is the least of what you ought to get.”

Steve was eyeing the kid curiously, and he took a seat on the ground to look a little closer. John crisscrossed the knife along the scales at the center of their prisoner’s back, growing a bit frustrated when he realized he was only dulling his blade.

“I s-said quit it!” The kid’s voice pitched to a squeak, and he tried and failed again to pull. John actually paused this time, quirking an eyebrow.

“Ah, I see!” Steve suddenly said, smiling happily as he tipped his head to try and make eye contact. “You’re a little ticklish, aren’t you, Pico?”

The kid promptly looked away from him, not even letting out a growl this time.

Steve smirked a little, crossing his arms. “Oh, you’re very ticklish; my mistake.” He corrected teasingly, purposefully raising his voice a bit and giggling at the look the kid must have given him.

John rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Takes one to know one, Stevie.” He said with a little smile of his own, attempting to curb his frustration with that cute blush on Steve’s face. Of course, after all this hassle, the damn kid’s dragon hide turned his sharpest knife into a tickle tool.

Wait a fucking second…

////////////

It probably would have been easy for Pico to just tell Tankman that his demon form was pretty blade-proof, but he couldn’t resist the chance to upset him a little for putting him through this. He quickly regretted that decision when the knife managed to catch his nerves despite not breaking through his armor.

“Knock it off!” He insisted, trying to keep any giggles from slipping into his voice. That “Stevie” guy was watching him closely, and Pico was too focused on trying to struggle to hear whatever Tankman was saying. A shiver shot up his spine when the knife made zigzags across it, and damn him, that tickled so bad!

“I s-said quit it!” He squeaked out, still unable to escape the magic coils on his limbs.

“Ah, I see~!” Stevie said playfully, watching Pico’s face as he struggled. “You’re a little ticklish, aren’t you, Pico?”

The human half of his face felt hot, and he looked away from that stupid smile. He was just trying to get Pico’s guard down; he just knew it.

“Oh… you’re very ticklish; my mistake.” Stevie taunted, raising his voice enough that a few soldiers behind him actually reacted.

Pico gasped indignantly, and Stevie just giggled. Oh, he didn’t care how nice this guy was; Pico was lighting him up next time. He heard Tankman scoff, and he realized the knife wasn’t touching him anymore.

“Takes one to know one, Stevie.” Tankman teased, but then he seemed to pause as Stevie was pouting at him. Pico blinked and shook his head as it suddenly started to shift back to fully human. He didn’t have the leverage to look over his shoulder, but he saw Stevie and a few soldiers behind him smile and snicker.

Before Pico could figure out what was going on, he found himself laughing loudly and trying to struggle again. Tankman’s fingers were digging and scribbling over his back and shoulders, occasionally giving more firm scratches right over his spine. His hands crawled up and shoved into the spaces between his shoulders to flutter along his neck, ripping a squeal out of Pico’s mouth as he tried to scrunch his shoulders up to his ears.

“Gee, Stevie, I’d say he’s definitely pretty ticklish~” Tankman taunted, wiggling his fingers against Pico’s neck where he could. “The little brat’s caught my fingers.”

Pico, indeed, was making an effort to keep Tankman’s fingers pinned where they were despite the squeaky giggles he kept pulling out of him. This was embarrassing enough as it was.

Tankman leaned slightly, and Pico heard him whistle. There was a bit of a murmur, and a few footsteps crunched on the dirt.

“Oh, quit being a bitch, he can’t hurt you. Now, come here.”

Pico tried to look back, only to squeak and squirm when Tankman so much as twitched his fingers. Another weight set itself on his left ankle, and he could feel his sneaker being worked off.

“W-Wait a minute; that’s not fa—!” He tried to protest, giggles mixing in as Tankman leaned over him.

“Oh, yeah? And why is that? Your little dragon paws tickwish too?”

“Fuck you!” Pico shot back, unable to keep from laughing when the new soldier scratched gently at the sole of his foot, seemingly tracing the snake patterns on his sock.

“You know what I think is unfair?” Tankman continued, letting his nails drag one last time as he finally pulled his hands away from Pico’s neck; Pico still hesitated to let his shoulders down. “I think it’s pretty damn unfair that you keep running in here taking pot-shots at my soldiers just for shits and giggles.”

Pico had to bite his tongue to keep from giggling as Tankman aimed a poke between his shoulders to punctuate the line.

“So, obviously, it’s only fair that they get a few pot-shots at you. And hell, if bullets aren’t going to work, we’ll stick to what does.”

Tankman’s hands burrowed into Pico’s armpits, and the poor kid shrieked and yanked his arms down. “Ohoho! There it is! That’s a tickle spot, alright!” Tankman’s left hand came to pry at Pico’s right arm, his free hand scribbling faster and digging to draw out loud squeals.

Fingers were scribbling all over his foot, and someone else was digging into the back of his knee. He let out a cackle when someone’s hand found the soft part of his side, almost catching the edge of his stomach. Stevie still sat in front of him, ruffling Pico’s hair with one hand while the other gave gentle scribbles around his ears that made him giggle even harder.

“Sir, why don’t we flip him over?” Stevie suggested. “Get the poor thing out of the dirt.”

“Heh, yeah?” Tankman asked playfully, hooking his hands under Pico’s arms. “Or do you just want to find out if his tummy is as bad as yours too?”

“John!” Stevie scolded with a chuckle, and Pico flailed a bit as he was lifted up. Two soldiers grabbed his wrists, and—Wait, when the fuck did his hands get free anyway?! Pico didn’t have a chance to think about it, since several soldiers’ hands returned to their positions of scribbling or pinching around his torso.

Pico’s voice was lost in squeals and cackles as he tried to writhe. That same bastard had ahold of his foot again, and someone else was reaching over to scratch under his toes. An arm was hooked around his leg, and fingers scribbled under his knee; a claw-shaped hand vibrated and squeezed around his stomach, catching the edge of his bellybutton every time he squirmed; knuckles dug and twisted against his ribs; and there was some feather-light tracing under his chin and down his neck.

Pico was a damn patient person. He’d have been willing to forgive all that shit.

If the fuckers weren’t teasing him!!

It was mostly the fact that they were laughing at him that irked him—no, he was not just going loopy from his own laughter, the soldiers were chuckling at his ordeal like fucking sadists—but the cooing in his ears and to each other about ‘how cute’ he was, and ‘poor thing’ and ‘Maybe we could let him go if he’s learned his lesson~”

Oh, yeah, that Stevie guy was so dead.

Tankman laughed beside him, arms crossed for a moment as he tapped his foot. “Nah, maybe a little longer. Kids like him tend to need some tutoring, y’know?”

Stevie gave him a little push, chuckling, and Pico tried his best to find some clarity.

A little headache was worth the glow that came to his eye.

////////////

John shook his head as he observed the chaos. Poor kid was kind of getting destroyed. Not that he didn’t deserve it, of course, but John certainly didn’t envy him right now.

Steve approached him with a smile, softly nudging John with his shoulder and adjusting his glasses with his thumb. “The guys are ruthless as usual.” He commented, sidestepping the poke John tried to give him.

“Yes. I’ve trained them well.” John chuckled, only to snicker and shake his head as a few of his soldiers broke off into their own little tickle fights.

“Think they should let up a little yet? I almost feel bad for poor Pico.”

John wanted to roll his eyes, but they stuck on Steve as he smiled fondly. “Yeah, no.” He snorted. “Good cop ain’t on call today, Stevie.”

“Maybe we could let him go if he’s learned his lesson~?” Steve suggested, raising his voice so the kid could hear him.

John let out a laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nah, maybe a little longer just for that. Kids like him tend to need some tutoring, y’know?”

“John, you’re terrible.” Steve giggled, punching his arm lightly, and John chuckled with him until he felt something.

He looked up to see the kid glaring at him as best as he could through all that laughter, one eye glowing a bright, flickering green. He rolled his eyes and smirked.

“Yeah, kid, I’m so scared…” He huffed, stepping forward and kneeling in front of him. “But as long as this circle’s up, your powers aren’t getting you any—”

Something rattled, and John spun around for a second. It had sounded like it was right against his head, as if he was wearing a rattlesnake around his neck.

Rattlesnake…

“John?” Steve called hesitantly, looking around for a moment as well. When John’s eyes fell on him, they widened fearfully before he could catch himself. A tiny spot of green light rested perfectly still on Steve’s chest. As he was pulling his staff from over his shoulder, a hail of bullets came down fast enough to turn Steve into a fine mist and hard enough to rip deep burrows in the dirt where he once stood.

“Stevie!!” He cried out, eyes narrowing sharply as he turned around. “Men, get back; get behind me!”

The air itself seemed to rattle with gunfire as the soldiers around the bastard kid were quickly thinned out. Those who had managed to get behind John were encased in the purple shield he cast. Slashing lines were cut deep into the dusty earth, cutting through anyone in their path, and, as John was quick to realize, upsetting the ground enough to break the barrier spell they’d spent so long setting up.

The kid seemed to realize, too, since he shifted quickly into his demon form and curled up tight to protect himself. The rattling came closer until bullets were battering John’s shield. He growled to himself, and the soldiers around him attempted to aid him in boosting the shield’s power, but it seemed to chip faster with their effort.

It burst within seconds, and all of John’s soldiers were gone before he could blink. And to top it all off, John’s body was thrown to the ground by a weight attempting to cave in his ribs. A heavy boot came down on his collarbone. When he was finally able to open his eyes, he found himself staring down the barrel of a rifle, his helmet lost or broken somewhere during the chaos.

Two rattling tails swayed slowly in his peripheral. Less than he was used to; she wasn’t too mad. The gun was shoved up against his cheek as she ground the toe of her boot into his neck.

“O-Okay, easy, easy! Krotalía!” John choked out, grabbing at her ankle with one hand.

“Sergeant John Captain…” She hissed slowly, eyeing him through the sights. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten my name. Maybe got your hand shot off in a way ya finally couldn’t fix it. Would explain why ya never write me anymore.”

John could hear his soldiers’ footsteps coming from the main building, but they knew to keep their distance from this one.

Krotalía continued with a snide chuckle. “But, nah. Here I find you: still in one piece; still running the boys up and down the field; and most importantly: Picking on my goddamn kid!”

“Ma, I was fine!” The kid suddenly argued, stepping forward half shifted. “I could have handled them!”

John saw one of Krotalía’s tails split into two, and a gunshot rang out as the kid was thrown backwards with a little squeak.

“Oh, we’ll be discussing your punishment in a second, ya little hell spawn.” She snarled, but John could see her smiling over her shoulder.

“Alright, Rattlesnake, cut the shit.” John huffed, giving a small grin of his own. “Let me up. We’ll chat, yeah?”

Krotalía hissed faintly, unable to keep the smile off of her lips as she finally pulled the gun away from John’s face. “Yes, let’s…” She stepped back, turning away from him and giving her son a playful kick where he was lying.

John sat up with a wince, coughing softly and spitting some blood between his teeth. “So, who wants to talk about how your little brat has been razing through our battlefield like clockwork for the past few weeks?”

The woman chuckled, lifting her kid up by the back of his shirt and setting him down. “Yeah, I had a feeling he’d been getting some training in somewhere. He’s been getting awfully competitive with me lately.”

John glared slightly; fuck him for expecting a mischief making snake bitch to discipline her mischief making dragon brat.

She laughed at him though, resting her rifle over her shoulder. “I know that look, Johnny; you read like a bad script.” One of her tails whacked her kid to nudge him forward. “Go on, Pico. Make nice for once.”

The kid crossed his arms and looked away, thumping his tail on the dirt behind him; and when he finally looked up at John, he just stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry.

John snorted before he could catch himself. “Y’know, if you’re going to act like a four-year-old, maybe you should expect the tickle monster to get ya again next time too.”

He blushed brightly and snarled, shifting suddenly and attempting to lunge, only to be caught in one of his mother’s tails. “Dammit, Pico!” She growled while John just laughed again.

She set him on his feet again, and he shifted back to a mostly human shape before she gave him another whack on the back of his head this time. He grumbled angrily and stepped forward, extending a hand.

“…You know I’ll be back, right?” He asked, hinting a smirk.

“You gonna call your mommy to bail you out then too?” John teased, but he was quick to accept the handshake before the brat… Ugh, before Pico took it back. He even ruffled that mess of red hair as he chuckled and let go of his hand. “Krotalía, you don’t have to make him apologize. We’re all friends here, yeah?”

Pico spit out a little spark of flame and tried to pout, but he couldn’t help smiling a little. Krotalía looked between the two of them and rolled her eyes with a sigh.

“Boys…” She snickered, slipping one of her tails around Pico to guide his turn away from John and the soldiers. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go over those numbers you got.”

Pico had bounced excitedly at the idea, but he glanced back as they were walking. He drew one of his handguns from thin air and sneered right at John. “I’ll get you, old man…” He growled playfully, getting a little smack on his arm by his mother’s tail.

John chuckled, shaking his head. He’d look forward to it.

“John!” John glanced back to his troops, and the crowd parted slightly to let Steve run up. John smiled as he caught him in a hug, sighing softly over his shoulder and squeezing him tight.

“Are they already gone?” Steve asked softly, having to fix his glasses when John let him go. “That’s a shame. I wanted to speak to her.”

“You would say that after getting fucking shredded, wouldn’t you?” John chuckled, giving Steve a playful shove before addressing the soldiers that had gathered.

“Alright, men! I’d say we handled that pretty well, all things considered…”

There was a chorus of chuckles and murmurs in agreement.

“Now, I think we all know damn well this isn’t the last time we’ll be seeing Pico rushing through here. More importantly, the kid’s not gonna fall for that trick so easily again. It’s time I put you all on some heavier demon hunter training.”

He glanced back at Steve, who was already flipping through his summoned spellbook. “Game on, Stevie?”

Steve smiled fondly and shook his head. “Game on, sir.”

#a panda writes a thing #friday night funkin #friday night funkin pico #tankman #Tickling #fnf tickling

18 notes · View notes

geminijoonie · 4 years

Text

Take care of you

Summary: “No I’m a surprise,” you say sounding all sassy and smiling where your cheeks fluff up and you look like a pufferfish and it always gets Namjoon. His eyes are crescents, dimples peeking from his cheeks.

“What would they say if they saw the big bad Kim Namjoon like this?” you ask raising your brow not as good as Namjoon but it gets the job done.

note: Hello, I am back after months with this piece. Feedback is always appreciated! Thank you for reading.

➡Mafia!Namjoon x reader

➡Warnings: 18+, Mentions of sex, reader’s family not letting her eat

Namjoon hates parties. Sure he’s the CEO, of one of the biggest crime syndicates in the world, the biggest and most feared in South Korea so he could have sent his associates or one of his brothers to attend this party but he was there for a very specific reason. Y O U.

With a frontal name of BigHit Inc., run by the most fearsome mafia BTS behind it, the most fierce crime lords and not by the old fashioned guns and murders way well, that sometimes yes, but mostly financial crimes, stealing money and intellectual property theft done so well they’ve been thriving the last few decades when their fathers, mafia bosses, seven families joined hands together to be sworn allies promising to take down and gain power over the corrupt government. Now run by their sons seven men, most of them educated in Ivy League schools. 5 of them even hold dual degrees, their leader Kim Namjoon or RM even holds a fucking Ph.D. A born genius, his IQ only amplifying his true potential. His members' capabilities, work ethic complimenting the jobs they pull off together as a team. This team was perfect and solid in all ways made to rule. As if fate had brought them together.

The party was boring as usual. All of the crime lords and mafia bosses with their families were here. It reminded Namjoon of the party, similar to this where he first laid his eyes on you. His gaze traveling from the bar section of the huge ballroom towards you at the opposite end where you were forced to make small talk. You stared back at him with the same intensity. Your eyes catching his gaze, latching onto his dragon eyes drowning in those dark orbs that stared at you. You weren’t afraid, not even intimated. No sign of a blush. You weren’t swooning like those other girls. You simply stared back at him equally fierce taking his presence in. Your own doe-like eyes even if not as sharp as his, held enough power to not only draw the attention of the most powerful, eligible bachelor, most feared CEO of an empire himself but also spark something in him. And ever since then your life and these parties have been different. You solely come here to see him. And the same for him. To see you.

What Namjoon and you shared was special. With your family owning amalgamation of big companies, reputable among the mafia bosses and crews it came with lots of curfews for you the heiress to your father. You were an asset. One that would be traded someday. To a man that would be chosen for you, based on his family, money and what value he can derive for your father and his business. And you shall be his dutiful wife, produce an heir and then wait for death inside some mansion. This was your fear. You were disgusted whenever any thoughts of how your future would be like crossed your mind. Amidst all the chaos, uncertainty and lack of control in your own life, you met Namjoon, your Joon. The man changed your entire perspective on love, intimacy and boy he had you pining for him even yearning. But what you didn’t realize is he was yours since he saw you for the first time two months ago.

Namjoon’s at his usual spot. By the bar. Waiting for you. With a drink in his hand. There was no way he could take you on dates given your family. The curfews. And that bullshit about what girls and women can and cannot do. He hated the way women were treated. He was lucky that his father was not as stupid as the others. He made sure that his sister was sent away to Switzerland to study, and live her life the way she wants to like any normal girl. And she was happy and so was his mother who lived in Japan with her own small business, even enjoying life. He hoped one day he can go away somewhere with you. Away from all this. Take you on dates. Hold your hand while he walks next to you. Kiss your cheeks whenever he wanted to. Make you giggle with all the cheesy compliments and then make out till his heart's content. Right now he had to settle for stealing glances in between. Carefully brushing his hand whenever he walked near you. This is all the affection or physical contact he’d get. On a good day, when people at the party would be preoccupied with taking some political party member down or something like that Namjoon would sneak you out to the roof, or to the parking lot inside his car to steal kisses. Heated kisses. Passionate kisses. One where he’d drag your soft lips between his teeth just to hear that moan. Running his hands all over your body while you clutched his torso, held on to his pecs and squeezed his biceps for dear life gasping for air. His plump lips swollen, his shirt buttons open, neck and collarbones littered with hickeys and marks you’d leave every time you had one of your little adventures. Namjoon would give anything to mark you just one small hickey but he couldn’t and he won’t risk your family finding you out. You have stylists and beauty consultants that will scan every inch of your body and he couldn’t afford to get you in trouble. So he holds back and tells himself that he’ll wait for the day, that one day you’ll be his.

All these thoughts suddenly clouding his mind made him feel so empty his forehead sweaty. He decided to step out to the balcony a little disappointed that he’s not seen you yet. He made sure your family was invited. He knows you’ll be there with them as your parents like to show you off like some diamond jewelry piece or an ornament they possess. The thought of you being married to someone else makes Namjoon’s blood boil. And even at these parties the way the other men scan your body, while you’re in your tight-fitting dresses draping your body perfectly makes him want to take his gun out and shoot them all. He looks over to the night sky sighing and drinking his third glass of scotch. Namjoon suddenly feels a pair of hands right above his navel and he’s ready to smack that person but he hears your voice and jolts instead trying to turn.

“Boo!”

“Were you supposed to meet me here?” Namjoon asks with a grin, lifting a brow as if he didn’t just get scared and pulls your wrist around his waist towards his back so he can hug you.

“No I’m a surprise,” you say sounding all sassy and smiling where your cheeks fluff up and you look like a pufferfish and it always gets Namjoon. His eyes are crescents, dimples peeking from his cheeks.

“What would they say if they saw the big bad Kim Namjoon like this?” you ask raising your brow not as good as Namjoon but it gets the job done.

“If I didn’t hear your voice, but only felt hands and if it weren’t you, they’d be dead princess” he responds voice deep and low holding that timber, his the last four words whispered into your ear. His breath making you feel ticklish so you giggle. He looks around to check if any eyes were on him and then, quickly pulls you into a hug. You smell divine as usual. Namjoon dips lower and places his chin near your neck. He loves it. The smell of your perfume, your shampoo combined with your own sweet natural scent. Makes him feel like some kind of animal, primal instincts kicking in and he knows if he keeps his head there he’s a goner. But what he feels now is different than usual. Your body is warmer to his touch. He’s used to how you normally feel. And right now you feel warm, your skin hot when he slots his fingers on your forehead brushing your hair to the side.

“Looks like you’re running a fever are you okay princess?” he asks his voice suddenly all serious, brows furrowed his gaze boring to where his hands meet your skin. You want to say that you’re okay, but you’re not. You feel sore everywhere. Your legs hurt from wearing heels. Your dress is too tight and you’re hating the way it feels all over your body. It’s making you feel uncomfortable. The material just feeling torturous against your feverish skin. You haven’t had proper meals because your family starved you so don’t look bloated for today’s event. They wouldn’t even feed you when you were sick. You threw up twice but they still made you come here. You need an IV probably. You thought you’d text Namjoon but since they were going to make you attend this party anyways might as well be here and get some serotonin from seeing him. You were always trained to say you’re okay. Making yourself seem strong. Your needs were never to be put first. But right now the way Namjoon looks at you, with so much care and concern makes your heart ache so you give in, tell him and you just want to sit down because you don’t know when your dizziness will be back. You want to cry because you’re so annoyed and irritated your brain a mess.

“No” you squeak out. You eyes now glossy and Namjoon’s heart just breaks at that. Only after a few seconds does he realize how your face gives away the exhaustion after he looked at it a little longer. The bags under your eyes can be seen. Even if the concealer did a good job of hiding the dark circles Namjoon can see how truly tired and exhausted you must be feeling. Your cheeks more hollow. Your posture barely making you stand straight or still. Fidgety. Weak. You lean into his arms. Your forehead meets his shoulder. His black blazer feels so soft. You sigh. you want to just stay there. Namjoon carefully pulls you off him while he cups your cheek and tells you that you both should move somewhere more private. You nod and sneak out of the room. Thankfully the party today was at a hotel, one of Seoul’s biggest and Namjoon makes some calls while you’re walking his hands securing you by his side while you make your way out. Namjoon notices how it’s hard for you to match his stride today. Even though the man is 70% legs you usually keep up with him by walking faster or leaping. But today you’re barely able to keep up with his slowest smallest strides. You walk for what feels like an hour but it’s just been two minutes. You’re back at the reception lobby and you see someone guide you and Namjoon to the elevator. The next thing you know you’re in a hotel room.

Namjoon leads you towards the bed once you’re in the room and the door is locked. A few seconds later you hear rustling and you know they’re the guards placed outside the door for security. You sit on the bed your legs finally catching a break from carrying you and the stupid dress around with those stupid heels. You loved wearing heels but not today sis. In your hazy state you try to pull them off only that you forgot to remove the strap first through the small metal buckle. The dress making it a struggle to bend over and reach for the straps. Namjoon sees your struggle and can’t help but let out a small giggle. You look up at him with those doe eyes, confused and there it goes his heart sinks again. He makes way his towards you, leans down on both his knees. He gently takes your right foot into his palm and with the other hand makes quick work to get you out of your heels. Within seconds he was able to accomplish what you were trying so hard to do. And with one of your problems gone, you just fall back onto the plush bed all grace forgotten. Once the head hits the soft cloud-like mattress you let out a sigh of happiness and then a groan. Your feet are still hanging downwards to the floor, your back was on the bed arched so you can rest your head down. But more comfortable than standing or walking right now but you’ll take it. Too tired to move you give up fatigue finally settling in.

“Move up sweetheart you’ll hurt your back” you hear Namjoon say but you have no energy. You don’t even respond sleep already taking over you. Especially now that you were safe, away from those eyes, your parents probably thought you’ll be talking to some guy impressing someone but little did they know you’d be here a few floors above the party with Joon. You don’t know what to call your little arrangement or these little sneaking out sessions are. You don’t know what Namjoon is to you. The two of you haven’t talked about it. It’s weird because you’ve talked about fate, why Namjoon hates seafood and how much you love the rain, the fraud patterns in his business but never about what Namjoon is to you. Not that you need a label, and not that maybe calling him your boyfriend would be a label like that, you’d actually like it. All you know is Namjoon likes you, for sure I mean he wouldn’t be kissing you like a starved man, you shoving your tongue down his throat or else. You know you love him but you don’t know if he loves you yet. It’s too much to ask for. Given the circumstances. You’re just glad you found him. And whatever moments you’ll get to share you’ll cherish them now and forever. You start thinking about all these moments while sleep pulled you in completely and you don’t hear Namjoon call your name again. You don’t hear him trying to wake you up. You don’t feel his hands cupping your cheek. You sure as hell don’t even feel his lips peck yours which is the first time in a while now. You don’t feel him undo some buttons and zips to get you off that dress. You don’t even feel the way he tucks you in.

All you now know is you wake up in a blanket nest. Soft blankets against your cheek, your hands, your legs. You sigh at this feeling smiling to yourself. You’re moving and stretching. Feeling like a new person. You’re fully awake now even though you haven’t opened your eyes and that’s when you hear him

“Can you hear me now sleepy head?” you know he’s only teasing you but you pout before opening your eyes to see him at the other side of the room with an amused smile.

“New person who dis” you reply only making him laugh. Namjoon’s shirtless. He’s wearing his dress pants, his blazer hung at the corner neatly next to your dress. And that’s when you realize you’re wearing his shirt while you napped.

“What time is it” you ask yawning. and when Namjoon says you register you’ve napped for three full hours. He makes his way towards you. He slowly climbs on the bed stretching his arm out for you and you waste no time in jumping to his embrace with your new-found energy. Namjoons smiling at that. He can never get used to how perfectly you fit against him. He’s the one sighing in comfort now. Sometimes Namjoon can’t tell if you know that he loves you or not. The way you make him feel. The way you make him crave your heart.

You peek up from his shoulder to look at him, his eyes never leaving you.

“Hi” you whisper smiling at him

“Hii” he replies back matching your hushed tone dimples on display and you can’t help but poke them. From here you can see how versatile Namjoon is. His expressions outside the usual are deadly. His sharp dragon eyes, jutted jaw, furrowed brows he looks dangerous and lethal. But now all you see is a soft dimpled giant with the cutest button nose and crescent eyes. His eyes hold so much warmth.

He gently cards fingers through your hair asking if your feeling better to which you nod. You reach up to peck his lips. And once you slot your lips onto his plush and soft ones you want more. You move your hand to the back of his head lightly carding your fingers through his hair spurring him on. Namjoon takes this incentive and slots his lips back to yours. You look so damn good in his shirt and now his mind is going crazy. Thoughts racing. He tilts your head so he can angle himself better. Little sucks and swipes of his tongue against your lips and mouth have your knees weak. He knows how to claim his jackpot already knows what makes you react and what you like. One hand reached down to knead your ass. You moan against his mouth breathless as you take him in. Lips swollen, luscious and glossy. Your eyes are unrelenting. And he decided it is at this moment, he has to tell you. He fears the worst will happen. That you’ll say no. And he might never get to see you again. Ever. But the way your body molds in his arms, the way you only always react to him, the way you make his heart always beat faster.

“Y/N I really re-really like you” there it was. That slight stutter. To Namjoon each second felt like a minute now but your eyes become wide and yoU smile a million-watt smile a second later. His hopes are back up. A warm feeling in his chest. Like a lightbulb inside him was lit. You can see him glowing. Now that the weight of his worries is halved. You cup his cheeks. And he thaws in your affection.

“I like you too Joon” you say voice barely above a whisper. You feel like a teenager confessing to her crush. You cheeks are painted red and Namjoon hasn’t seen a beautiful sight before. And now it’s actually your turn to get something off your chest.

“Heck I might even love you Kim Namjoon what are you doing to me” you say before you can think more and it has Namjoon visibly gasping and he pulls you in for another kiss. This time softer. Truly holding you against him. The way you belong to him. And the way he belongs to you. No more unsaid words. No more doubts.

“fuck baby girl be mine I love you too” he whispers inbetween kisses. You want to say something back but his lips are back on yours, molding them, tongue exploring. Leaving kisses at the corner of your mouth. On your chin. Your jaw. Slowly making its way down to your neck. You’re already so far gone you’re a whiny mess. Your body jolting backwards each time his lips touch the skin on your neck. fuck, you were so sensitive and that had his mind filled with filth. Moans dripping when he sucks and licks so gently. Your hand on his pecs, gripping his biceps or at the nape of his neck. Gentle touches, gets him so riled up and you know it. Moments with you like this lets him break his facade. Dive into his desires.

“So sensitive for me” Namjoon mutters to himself continuing his ministrations. One hand at the back supporting you, holding you strong. Another rubbing circles at your stomach for a few seconds, then holding you by the shoulder the next few seconds or groping your breasts softly making you whimper and suck in breaths.

Only when he slips his hand under his shirt on you does he realize the added warmth to your skin is from your fever reminding him of exhausted state and whatever you have going on will only make it worse if you don’t get to rest. Namjoon feels how flaccid and sunken your tummy feels. Not the way it usually does. He can easily notice all the inches you’ve lost. And suddenly there’s a change of energy.

“Those assholes, fuck princess let me take care of you” he says letting you go. His eyes have already changed. The hurt and anger you could see in them made a shiver run up your spine. You can never get used to his eyes. The anger he is actually capable of. He’s always so kind, gentle and sweet to you but that’s just one side. Within minutes there’s food at your room. Everything that you like is here. Gimbap but with extra cheese. Kimchi-jigae with egg-fried rice rather than normal rice because you like it that way and even some dessert. This man really put in everything he knew about you. You looked at him with so much adoration it only made his face turn red while he looked down and scratched the back of his head. Kim Namjoon was shy right now all dimples and smiling. You giggled and pulled him towards you so the two of you can enjoy this meal. You don’t know when your phone will start blowing up. You don’t know when you’ll have to leave, go away from Joon, his warmth, his comfort and his solace. So you take in this moment with everything it has to offer. Grateful that even the few minutes you spent awake with this man made you feel loved to the extent where you're always at a loss of words.

divider: @graph1cs

276 notes · View notes

wolfish-trickster · 3 years

Text

Lost traveler

3/?

Loki x female!reader

Word count: 1 588

Tag list: @gaitwae @lucywrites02 @hard-to-be-the-bard @birdgirl90 @laramoonworld

Summary: A mysterious traveler visits Asgard and thanks to an accident has to stay for longer than she expected. Bonds are created but also shattered along the way.

A/N: reader has elemental powers, something like avatar the last airbender.

The palace was HUGE. Everyone always spoke of palaces as giant places but you've never been in one this big! Golden walls reflected light onto beautyful carved columns connecting the impossibly high ceiling with marble floor. On every turn there was either a tapestry or stairway to a big balcony with gorgeous view of the golden city below.

Evrytime you let out a gasp or your eyes wondered around the room you were walking through the queen softly chuckled at your side. She showed you a big part of the palace, since you will be living here for few weeks and no one would like you to get lost in one of the neverending hallways.

Finally she lead you out of the palace to top of some coloseum-like building. All around you sat men and women dressed in silky or leather clothes. They were watching what was happening bellow them. Down on the bottom there were few pairs combating. Either hand to hand, sword to sword or other weapon you've never seen before.

With a hand on your back she lead you down towards the fighters. People bowed to her as you both passed them. You heard few of them whisper about the 'dirty girl with unfitting clothes by the Allmother's side'. You turned towards the whisperers and smiled cheekily at them, letting them know you heard them and you couldn't care less about what they had to tell you. Even though you felt a little selfconscious thanks to them.

Queen walked you towards a particular group of fighters, two of them you already knew. Thor, if you remember correctly, and his brother were sitting on a nearby bench with two more men. One of them was twice as big as you with messy ginger hair and bushy beard, the other had black hair tied in a tight ponytail. They were laughing and cheering for two of their friends. Another blond man with slight facial hair combating with a brown haired girl. The girl pinned him down with her knee on his back and twisted his arm backwards.

"Come on Fandral! Are you really going to let a girl beat you?!" you heard Thor shouting.

Frigga coughed to announce her presence before Fandral could respond. Both of the warriors stood up and brushed the dust from their clothes. The rest of the group stood up and bowed. "Allmother."

Thor and his brother, however, didn't bow. They just walked over to you two. "Greetings mother," hold on, MOTHER?! THOSE TWO ARE PRINCES?!

"This is Astrid. She will be staying with us for a little while. Be kind to her," queen introduced you. You waved at them with a timid smile.

One of the princes stepped closer to you. "So, looks like you are feeling better, little traveler," the younger brother gestured to your bandaged hand.

You nodded. "It's getting better."

He smiled at you, almost relieved.

Then nudged his brother with his elbow. "What-? Oh! Yeah, right," the Thunderer caughed. "I apologize for striking you with a lightning bolt. I won't do it again," he gave a 'are you happy now?' look to his brother. He just rolled his eyes.

"Okay, apology accepted."

"Wait, YOU were the one who hurt her?" Fandral stared at Thor.

"Fandral, not now."

"Oh for Norn's sake," the girl pushed her way through boys towards you. "Hello, my name is Sif. Ignore those dunderheads."

"Who do you call a dunderhead?!" the ginger giant asked, even though it sounded more like a roar with his booming voice.

Sif turned towards him. "Do you want to taste the dirt just like Fandral?"

".....no."

You chuckled at their little banter.

Frigga hugged you around shoulders. "Seems like you don't need me anymore. They will keep you company and show you the rest of Asgard. And who knows, maybe you will find a trusted friend among them," she winked and waved goodbye to her two sons and their friends.

You turned towards them, fidgeting with your fingers. What are you going to say? Are you supposed to say something? Will you just let them ask whatever they want to know and you will answer?

The younger prince decided to end your internal suffering. "I think we owe you our names at least. You already know Sif," he gestured at her and she winked. "This blind oaf is my brother Thor."

"Blind?" you asked.

Raven haired boy grinned. "He-"

"It's an inside joke! Right?" Thor adressed his brother treatingly.

"Right. Then we have Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg," one by one they either waved at you or grinned. Fandral even winked.

"And I am Loki," he offered his hand for you to shake.

"A-astrid," you took it hesitantly. He gave you a look. You couldn't read it was a good or a bad one.

You shrugged it quickly when Thor launched forward at you and took your hand in his big rough one. "Such a pretty girl, traveling the world. You must be desperatly lonely. No worries my sweet, I will not take a step away from you," he winked at you, a seductive smile grew on his lips. He brought your hand towards them. You quickly pulled your hand back and behind yourself.

"I'm just fine on my own, thanks," you blurted before you could stop yourself. Will they behead you for saying no to a prince?

Loki chuckled. "She's a feisty one. I like that."

Apparently no.

"Hey, Astrid," Sif tried to pull you away from them. "Can I ask you something?"

'Bet she will ask where I am from' "Sure."

"Do you know how to fight?"

You didn't expect that. "No, not really."

You felt Loki's eyes on you again. And the same look he gave you before.

"Hmm, what a pitty," she detached herself from your side. "Alright, who wants to go next?" she cracked her nuckles and grabbed a long sword from a nearby bench.

Thor grabbed his own and rolled his shoulders. "You are going down."

~~~

She didn't go down. Not even an hour later. Loki didn't bother to show off his muscles like Thor's friends in front of you. Throughout the whole training he was wondering only one thing: why did you lie? If you were a fighter, why not showing it? And your true name? What was with the cracked bracelet of yours? And how did you get here without using bifrost?

So many questions.... Loki WILL find an answer. He always does.

"Our little companion seems bored," Hogun noted.

And sure enough, you were drawing circles into the dirt with the tip of your boot. When you realized they were talking about you, your head shot up. "What?"

"I said you seem bored."

"No, I'm just... Sometimes I get lost in my thoughts. That's all."

You really aren't a good liar.

"You are bored. And honestly, I would be too if I was thrown into your situation. What do you suggest we do?" Loki asked.

"I have an idea," Thor interrupted. "Let's show you Asgard!" he started pushing you out of the training area. And as always, everyone had to do what Thor wanted.

They walked you around the biggest beauties, the most outstanding views in the city. Thor was proudly pointing at building after building as if he was the one who build them. Loki was the only one to notice your unease. How you shy away from people, avoid going into crowded places, how you always try to hide behind them.

'You didn't like being in the city' Loki concluded.

"-and that is where the best beer and mead is made. How do you like your temporary home so far?" Thor asked hopefully.

"It's nice?" that was more of a question than answer.

"Didn't I tell you? He is blind," Loki scoffed. "Blind towards the fact you do not like crowds and attention. And since you still have your traveling clothes on," he tugged at your shirt, "you are attracting way more attention than you would like. Correct?"

"Yes, actually."

"Here is my proposition to you: for the rest of the day, we will go anywhere you want. How does it sound?" he smiled charmingly, hoping to see you blush. He wanted to know what makes you tick.

"That would be very kind of you," no blush, but a sweet, grateful smile. He could work with that.

Rest of the group sighed. "Alright Astrid, where do you want to go?"

"Can we go to the forrest? Please?"

"Forrest? Seriously?" Sif whined.

"What? Scared you might get lost again?" Volstagg nudged her.

"For your information, we were nine and it was Loki who told me to go right if I want to see a roe!" she pointed her sharp finger towards the trickster.

Loki shrugged. "Not my fault you scared her away and got lost," he turned to you, "I like the way you think. I can show you the most beautiful lily ponds and the most colourful flowers as well," he dropped the volume of his voice a little, "and some poisonious plants if those fools start to get on your nerves."

To his surprise, a mischevious smirk grazed your features. "I like the way you think."

#loki #loki odinson #loki x reader #thor odinson #young loki #young thor

29 notes · View notes

imaginepirates · 4 years

Text

Capture

Just in time for the end of Pride Month, @bluelionsbf asked for a transmasc reader x Norrington, and I had to oblige. The reader gets captured by Norrington, and things take some interesting twists from there ;) Happy Pride everyone!

@emdrabbles @tesserphantom @paljonkaikenlaista @viper-official @wordsinwinters @groovyfluxie

~3300 words

~~~~~~~

The cobbles flashed past your feet as you sprinted down the alley. Heavy footsteps echoed close behind, and you scrambled over the streets trying to escape them. Loud voices shouted after you, but you weren’t paying attention to the words. You were just trying to get away.

The bright Caribbean sun beat down on you, hot and unforgiving, and the winding streets confused your sense of direction. You couldn’t quite find your way out of Port Royal, and you were sure that you’d run in circles. All the buildings blocked your view; you didn’t know where you were. Not to mention, you weren’t familiar with Port Royal in the first place.

You could hear people from all sides, now. I can’t let them capture me. It was your only thought. If they caught you, you’d be hung within the week. The Navy wasn’t known for their mercy, especially not with that damn Norrington in charge, and that was saying nothing of Cutler Beckett. Bastard. No doubt you’d be lucky not to be burned at the stake.

The alley you’d run down opened up into a large square, buildings rising up around you and people milling about. It was too crowded. The Navy couldn’t be far away. You didn’t exactly blend in with the dresses and waistcoats of proper society, so you’d stick out like a sore thumb.

You looked around wildly for a way out. You couldn’t go back the way you’d come; the Navy had been just behind you. There was no telling what streets were filled with officers and which ones were clear. You could try to scramble up the side of a building, but that would cause a spectacle, and the Navy would just shoot you on sight. All you could do was keep your head down and walk into a building somewhere. At least that way, there might be a back entrance, and you could get away.

It took all your willpower to stay calm. You walked into a jewelry store nearby, refusing to look anyone in the eye. You knew you were a sight with your large hat, billowing shirt, sash, and boots. Not to mention your cutlass and pistol. Those were bound to draw attention.

Someone- a shopkeeper, probably- approached you. He looked more like a butcher than a jeweler; a large, heavyset man with a thick gut. He was bound to be stronger than you, but you were faster. You tried ducking around him, but the people around you proved to be tough obstacles. The man caught you by the arm, dragging you back. You reached for your pistol, but another gentleman grabbed your other arm, pinning it behind you back, much to the shock and worry of whatever woman he was with.

You hissed and flailed, but to no avail. They dragged you out the door, and to your mounting horror, the Navy was already flooding the square. You rolled your eyes at the petrified faces of the citizens. Hadn’t they seen a pirate before?

The Navy was on you in seconds. One man stepped forward, looking almost bored. He hadn’t broken a sweat, and you were pretty sure he hadn’t been in the chase at all. He stared down at you with disdain, and there was no mistaking who he was.

“Commodore Norrington,” you spat. “I’m flattered you made the effort to show up.”

He looked annoyed, but gave you no response. Instead, he turned to the men holding you. “You two men have apprehended a dangerous criminal. Thank you for contributing to this man’s capture.”

“Of course,” the jeweler grunted. “Just doing my civil duty.”

Norrington gave him a tight smile, then turned to you. “Your sword?”

You glared at him, but knew there was no escaping. “If you’d allow me to move my arms, I’d be more than happy to hand it over. As it happens, I’m pinned.” You gave him your best shrug, considering your position.

Norrington gave a small nod, and the two men released you. You rubbed the arm that had been pinned behind your back. Then, you unclasped the belt around your waist, moving the money purse to your pocket. You held it out, and a sailor promptly grabbed it.

Norrington gave you a look, arching an eyebrow, eyes sliding to your pocket full of money.

“No bribe money, then?” You asked innocently.

“No. Nor the pistol.”

You sighed, handing over the money and the belt across your chest that held the pistol. He’ll probably search me later, too, and find all the other stuff I have on hand.

Irons were clapped on your wrists, and you were half walked, half dragged up to Fort Charles. You looked at the high walls with growing dread. They’re going to lock me in a cell that never sees the light of day, beat me, starve me, and drag me out to hang me in front of a crowd. I’m going to die here.

You took one last look out over the sparkling ocean as they dragged you down to the cells. By the time you were shoved into one, your cheeks were damp with tears. You hadn’t even realized you’d been crying. You struggled wiping your eyes with shackled hands, and ended up hitting yourself in the face with the irons.

You were an unimpressive sight. Norrington stared at you with his brows drawn together, lips pursed. Can’t deal with a few tears, you bloody git?

“Sorry mate,” you said, sniffing back tears. “No matter how well you know the dangers of the job, you just...don’t think it’ll happen to you.”

He looked away and nodded stiffly. “True enough.” His voice was softer than you’d expected it to be. He cleared his throat. “It’s likely that you have more on you than we confiscated earlier. We’ll have to search you.”

“You say ‘we’ like you’re going to be doing something. Although, I bet you wouldn’t mind; I’m sure I’m not the first person you’d have felt up.”

Norrington took a step towards you, though there were still bars between you. You watched his jaw working in anger.

You gave a low whistle. “Seems like the bars are more to protect me than you. I don’t think you have to worry about what I’m carrying.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you cannot behave yourself in a proper fashion, I’m perfectly willing to have someone teach you silence.”

“And why should I care? You’re going to hang me any which way.”

Norrington seemed to hear the tiredness in your voice. “Will you allow yourself to be searched without a fight?”

“Only if you do it.” You winked.

A blush spread over his face, visible even in the dim torchlight, a look of bafflement on his features.

You smirked. “I don’t bite. Well, unpleasantly, at least.”

Norrington didn’t seem to know quite what to do with the remark, and fumbled with the keys to your cell. He quickly closed it behind him after getting it open, shooting you a mistrusting glance.

He took an awkward step towards you, obviously unsure of where to start. You were almost tempted to guide his hands to your waist, just to see his reaction, but you decided against it. He could still crack you across the face, and there was no need for that.

He placed a hand on your arm, clearly trying to school himself back into neutrality. His hands ran lightly over your arms, shoulders, and back. When he came back around to your front, he’d regained his composure. He grabbed the laces of your shirt and began to untie them. You couldn’t suppress a small smile. He’s in for a nasty surprise.

He gasped, stepping back. The front of your shirt hung open, exposing a binding around your chest.

“You’re a woman?” He gaped.

“No.”

He gave you a confused stare.

“I’m a man. It’s...easier, this way. I can do anything I want. Women can’t exactly live their lives. They’re always confined and controlled.”

“Oh.” He continued staring at you, looking like he might say something. In the end, he just tied the lacings back up and left.

Which meant he didn’t find the knives in your boots.

You spent all your time in the dark. Your guard had leeringly told you that leaving a torch in the sconce on the wall was a fire hazard. In an all stone room. You had lost track of day and night; all your meals blurred together. The irons chaffed your wrists, and had torn the skin in some places. You laid on the floor, so thirsty you thought you might die, and dirty enough to pass for a clump of mud. Your clothes were ragged, and your hair was filled with dirt, and the hot air outside was only hotter in your cell.

A dim light woke you from your sleep. It was all you could do: sleep, and hope for death before you gave anyone the satisfaction of hanging you. You squinted, rubbing your eyes with grimy fingers. You expected your goaler’s sneering face to look down on you, but it was Norrington who appeared outside the bars.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Your voice was rough from disuse. “I’m afraid I’m in no state for such a visit.” You cracked a tired smile, but your blood was like ice. It’s time. He’s taking me out to hang me. Couldn’t they have given me some warning first? Tears bubbled up to your eyes unbidden, and your chest grew unbearably tight.

“Lord Beckett wishes to see you.” The lock on your cell clicked open. Your fear must have been written across your face, as Norrington quickly continued. “He would like to make a deal with you.”

“What sort of deal?” You were skeptical about making any sort of deal with Beckett. The man was more slippery than an eel, and twice as deadly.

“The sort that will keep you alive.” He kneeled, unlocking the shackles on your wrists. “I trust you won’t harm me?” His eyes bored into yours, imploring.

You thought of the knives in your boots. How many times had you thought of killing yourself with them? But it would be so much easier to kill someone else. He was right there. You could kill him and run. But there was nowhere for you to go, and you might yet survive Beckett, and you didn’t actually dislike Norrington.

You nodded, and Norrington pulled you to your feet, looking at the raw, red skin on your wrists. “We’ll have to do something about that,” he whispered. Then, louder, “Beckett wants you clean and well-dressed.” He looked you over. “We’ll have to get you a bath.”

“You don’t exactly offer the cleanest cells.”

Norrington plucked a piece of straw out of your hair. “Obviously.”

The bath felt wonderful on your sooty skin. You vigorously scrubbed the dirt from your arms and legs, and dunked your head to try cleaning your hair. By the time you were done, the water was considerably darker, and your skin was scrubbed pink. You tried pulling a comb through your hair, but it proved useless. You ended up tying it back in a queue, hoping nobody would notice the knots and tangles.

The clothes provided were of surprisingly good quality; not things Beckett was likely to waste on you if he intended to kill you. Your bindings fit nicely under the loose shirt and waistcoat provided. You were shocked to find the difference in your appearance. You still looked tired, and a little gaunt, but the clothes fit beautifully and the bath had done a wonder.

You left the room, stepping out to see Norrington waiting for you. He looked as surprised as you felt. You smiled. “I look the part of a proper gentleman, now.”

“Indeed you do.” There was a little wonder on his face. “Though you could still use bandages for your wrists.” He pulled two rolls of bandages out of a pocket and took one of your wrists gently in his hand. He wrapped both wrists in bandages, careful not to hurt you.

You stared at each other a little awkwardly afterward. This wasn’t the Commodore you’d heard so much about. He was no bloodthirsty pirate hunter. He wasn’t the cold, efficient killer you’d expected. He was just...a man.

“Thank you.”

He turned away. “Don’t.”

“You didn’t have to do it.”

Norrington didn’t respond, and a marine interrupted to tell you that Beckett was ready for you. You didn’t dare make Beckett wait. You cast Norrington a quick glance, then pressed a kiss to his cheek. “It was kind of you.” Then you were off, trailing after the marine and into Beckett’s office.

He wasn’t alone. A nasty looking man with a pockmarked face stood just next to his desk, staring at you with cold eyes. You had no doubt the man was more dangerous than you wanted to get acquainted with.

Beckett cleared his throat, and your attention turned back to him. “I would like to make a proposition.” His fingers were steepled in front of him on the desk he sat at. “I feel that you’re not the sort of man who wants to die.”

“The thought doesn’t excite me, no.”

“Good.” He stood, walking over to you. He was shorter than you’d expected, but no less menacing for it. His reputation proceeded him, after all. “I could use someone to give me information.”

“What kind of information?”

“The kind concerning your pirate friends.”

“You think I’d betray them so readily?”

“I’ve met enough pirates to know just how deep loyalties lie.” He was frowning now, and you didn’t take that as a good sign.

“Alright. Say I agree. What guarantees that I don’t just run off the moment you let me go?”

Beckett leaned in, a smile on his face. It wasn’t pleasant one. “The knowledge that my friend here,” he gestured towards the ugly man, “will torture you most unpleasantly when we capture you again.”

You swallowed. “Right.”

“Are we agreed?”

“Yes.” You felt ashamed, but spying was better than death, you supposed. Beckett handed you a piece of paper, and you read over it carefully before signing. You weren’t about to be tricked into something.

Beckett seemed pleased. “You’ll be answering to Commodore Norrington regularly for assignments. I believe the two of you are already acquainted?”

At that, Norrington entered through the door behind you. “You wished to see me, Sir?”

“Oh, yes. I believe the two of you will make a good team. He’ll be answering to you from here on out, Commodore.” Beckett smirked. “I’ll have everything you need to do prepared. All you have to do is talk to each other. You seem to be good at that.”

“Hear that?” You turned to Norrington. “He already thinks we make a good couple.”

He blushed, clearly still affected by the kiss you’d given him earlier. Beckett simply looked amused. Good. Always better to keep him amused than angry.

“You’re free to go,” Beckett said.

“That won’t do. It would be very suspicious if anyone found out that you’d just let me go,” you pointed out.

“Did you have something else in mind?” Beckett arched an eyebrow.

You managed to convince them that you could be taken outside—heavily supervised, of course—to get some sun as a reward for good behavior. At some point, you’d make a daring escape, and you’d be careful to have as many people see the spectacle as possible. As long as nobody else knew about your arrangement, things would be convincing enough.

The time you got to spend outside was a welcome change to the monotony of being stuck in your cell. Even your goaler treated you with more respect, though that wasn’t saying much. You couldn’t help looking longingly out to the ocean. Soon enough, I’ll be there again. It won’t be like it was, but it’ll be close enough.

Mostly, your guards were marines, but Norrington accompanied you from time to time. You made sure to embarrass him in front of his men, flirting horribly. There was nothing he could do about it, and it would play perfectly into your escape plan. Oh, do I have a surprise for him.

You waited a while to carry out your plan. You knew Norrington expected you to ‘escape’ any day, and you hated to keep him waiting. He seemed a little tense, like he was preparing himself for the situation.

It was just over a week into the arrangement that you had Norrington escort you back to your cell. You stood just inside, waiting for him to close the door on you. Not that you intended to let him.

“So, Commodore, do you think we’re as good a duo as Beckett seemed to think?” You asked playfully.

“Behave.” There was annoyance on his face, but something a little like shame, too. Ashamed to like me so much, perhaps?

“Make me.”

You watched Norrington’s jaw work in annoyance. “Must I shackle you again?”

“My, my, Commodore. I didn’t know you were into that sort of thing.”

He shot you a look.

“You should have told me,” you continued. “I don’t mind, really. It could be fun.” You took a step towards him, keeping just a hair's breadth between you. He looked down at you, but didn’t move away. You held his stare, and before you knew it, you were leaning into each other, bodies and lips pressed together.

It was dizzying, but he kept you up with an arm tight around your waist. His other hand was in your hair, fingers gently tangling in your loose locks. When you broke away, you were both profusely red. He sputtered in embarrassment, and you kissed him again, gentle and slow, and he followed your lead.

“Embarrassed to be kissing another man?” you mumbled against his lips.

“Embarrassed to be kissing a pirate,” he answered. But he was willing, pressed tightly against you, mouth sliding against yours in an inexplicably pleasant way.

You moved, guiding him to turn a little before pushing him backwards so he was standing just inside your cell. You grudgingly pulled away, not wanting to leave his embrace, and promptly shut the cell door, closing him in. You locked it quickly, dangling the ring of Norrington’s keys that had been in his pocket.

“You get distracted too easily, Commodore,” you teased.

His bafflement dissolved into annoyance, and something a little like insecurity. “You didn’t have to take things that far. You could have asked me to step inside the cell.”

“That’s no fun. Besides, I can’t wait for this story to get out.” You cackled. “Wait ‘till you have to explain this one.”

Norrington looked hurt. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again.

You turned and set the ring of keys down on the bench behind you, walking to the other side of the room. You turned just before opening the door. “Oh, and Commodore?” You smiled, a real, genuine smile. “There are more kisses where that came from.”

You left him with his mouth open in surprise, taking the steps up from the cells two at a time. You burst into the light of day, and the eyes of dozens of sailors turned towards you. Good. The more people that saw you escape, the better. Some lunged for you, but it didn’t matter; you were off, sprinting across the battlements, diving right over the side of one into the aqua water below.

Maybe this assignment won’t be so bad, you thought to yourself. Bells were ringing above you, and you could hear shouting. They’ll never catch me, though. They don’t have orders, not with their superior officer locked away. You smiled to yourself. No, not bad at all.

#James Norrington #norrington #commodore norrington #norrington x reader #x reader #potc #pirates of the caribbean #potc fic #potc imagine #drabble #drabbles #writing #requests

130 notes · View notes

deathnotesecretexchange · 3 years

Text

moonshine

From: @cat-soda

To: @anakien

Prompt: For Mello/Near, a story where they’re undercover at a bar and start tailing someone outside. To prevent themselves from being spotted, cue make out in an alley.

Word Count: 1623

Additional Tags: mentioned rape, mention/implied human trafficking, (nothing happens to anyone dw), alcohol & drug mention, rated T for Tons of sexual Tension, Meronia

The bar is a hole-in-the-wall kind of nightclub, with sticky countertops and stickier glasses, and strobe lights that flicker and flash across the room in random intervals. People move together in a sweaty mass in the center of the dance floor; Mello leans over and mutters “Wanna dance?” into Near’s ear just to snicker at the vague look of disgust he gets in response.

But, no. Even if either of them wanted to, tonight they had a mission.

Residing in the seediest part of Seattle’s Chinatown, The Lost City was a central hub for various underground dealings. Among those were aphrodisiacs and date rape drugs that moved hands from manufacturerers to linchpins, and from there into the drinks of future mail-order brides. There were several men involved in the operation. Mello, Near, and the rest of their team had managed to pinpoint three of them: David Smith, Jason Liu, and Emanuel Rivera. Undoubtedly aliases, but identifiers nonetheless. Catch any of them taking part in an exchange, and Mello and Near could blow the entire operation apart — all they needed was a testimony.

As it turns out, though, eyewitness accounts are hard to come by when everyone is hellbent on keeping mum. So, one evening, Near came up with an idea.

---

“We’ll call it a date night,” he said with his palms cupping Mello’s chin.

Near was sitting on top of a desk, face shadowed by the many monitors behind him. Mello, settled neatly between his legs, ran his hands up Near’s thighs. “You call a night out doing surveillance ‘a date?’”

He tilted his head, eyes wide. “Do you not know how to multitask?”

Lover be damned, Mello was getting tempted to bite through the bone of Near’s thumb as it swept over his lips. He settled for taking it into his mouth and sucking instead.

---

So. Blue eyes sweep across the room, long since having gotten bored. Mello takes a sip from his rum and coke. Clearly uncomfortable beside him, Near almost seems to curl around his own drink. Some date this is shaping up to be.

If nothing else —he amends, looping an arm around Near’s shoulders and pulling him closer— at least they look good together. Courtesy of himself, of course. Near probably would’ve come in his usual attire if the decision had been left up to him. Pajamas, messy hair, curious expressions and all.

No, scratch that. At least they both looked legal, now.

Regardless, they were still having trouble blending in, standing off to the side as they were.

He takes another disgruntled sip of his drink as a man wearing a half-bun enters the main room. Mello’s attention immediately latches onto him.

Jason Liu, age 37.

He touches a hand to the choker on Near’s neck, pulls on it slightly. “Found him,” he says in quiet Portugese.

Near’s lips curl upwards in excitement. “Good,” Near replies in kind. He slips a hand into the back of Mello’s jeans and squeezes just hard enough to earn a glare. “I want to get closer.” He sets aside his beer and turns, a mischievous half-smile playing at the edges of his mouth. In English, “I suppose I’ll take you up on that offer from earlier.”

Mello’s eyes narrow. Near, what are you thinking…? “My pleasure,” he manages before the other detective sets off for the dancefloor.

There’s nothing subtle about the way Near pushes his way through the crowd, and just the shine of the lights on his hair is enough to draw Mello’s gaze away from Liu as he struggles to follow. Focusing so heavily on the other must have been a mistake, however — a clubber upends half their drink onto him when they happen to collide. To make matters worse, Near reappears at his side as easily as he’d disappeared, lightly teasing, “Alcohol is supposed to go in your mouth, Mello.”

“I realize that. Thanks, Near.” Mello lifts his wrist to his mouth and tentatively licks, internally grinning at the way Near’s ever attentive eyes darken and go half-mast. “‘s not bad.”

He sees Near’s attention dart away from him, then—

Going up on the balls of his feet, Near hangs his arms around his partner’s neck in a too-loose-limbed imitation of drunkenness. His breath is scentless —his drink had gone untouched all night— and it leaves nothing to focus on besides the resulting dampness and heat that meets Mello’s ear as Near murmurs, “The target is leaving the area through the back entrance.”

Mello looks around, quickly relocating the stout Asian man. Sure enough, he was just stepping out the door. He places a hand over Near’s shoulder blades in a kind of caress, hissing, “What, you thought I wouldn’t notice?”

“You looked distracted. Was I wrong?” A sharp nip to his earlobe, then Near pulls away with an affected —dizzying— quirk to his smile and a touch of brightness to his eyes. “Shall we?”

Mello scowls as the other man slips away from him.

Seattle’s winter is sharp as they step outside, the cold air hitting his nose and cheeks with a special kind of vengeance after the warmth of the bar. The pair of them take a moment to glance around, Mello hardly daring to breathe in case his good ear happens to miss a sound.

Quietly, they hear the scratch of shoes against pavement.

Mello jerks his head in that direction and, at Near’s nod, takes off with Near close at his heels. They stick to the shadows to avoid arousing suspicion, never more than a few meters behind Liu. When he stops in front of a nondescript van, they step in sync into the dark of a narrow alleyway, creeping to the edge of the brick wall to watch. The back doors of the van open and out come—

—he’s turning this way—

—Near pulls him deeper into the alley.

The only other warning Mello gets is the glint of Near’s teeth as he grins, sly and stark under moonlight, before Near drags him downwards by the collar for a kiss. Their lips meet, teeth clashing harshly — Mello’s back hits the other wall with enough force that it shoots molten arousal down his veins. Ah, shit. He fumbles for the gadget in his pocket and sticks it to the wall-space next to him, then crawls his hands underneath Near’s shirt just to feel him shiver.

Near’s fingers reach up to tangle in and pull hard at Mello’s hair, half-lidded eyes watching the bob of his throat before Near sucks at his neck, insistent— Mello lets out a quiet moan that’s quickly cut off by another kiss. Biting at the blond’s lower lip, Near pulls away just far enough to whisper, “Careful. We don’t want to get caught, now do we?”

“Shut up, Near. Shut up, shut up—!” Grabbing his forearms tight enough to bruise, Mello spins until the other man’s back is hitting the wall —Near’s breath stuttering in surprise— and pins his wrists up against it. He tastes the heat of the other’s mouth, swallowing down the soft noise he makes, and moving his tongue molasses-slow against Near’s until the fog begins to clear from his head.

He pulls back, panting slightly but wearing a smirk at the way Near chases him out of the kiss. Still, he gently rubs the other’s wrists in silent apology as he lowers them. The air around them lowers by several degrees as Near relaxes against the wall, breathing hard through his nose. “That hurt, Mello.”

His smirk disappears. “Sorry. Are you—”

“No, I—” Near’s eyes open, revealing charcoal pupils blown-wide. “I meant that I liked it.”

Sparks shoot down Mello’s spine.

He works to clear his throat, and manages, after a few seconds, “Still. We should… try to be more careful. In the future.”

“...sounds good.”

Near twists a strand of hair between his fingertips. Mello tries to will his heartbeat back to normal. Offhandedly, he notices how silent the night’s become.

Near straightens up, suddenly alert. “The target!” He looks around the corner at where they’d last seen Liu, biting down on a reddened lip. “I shouldn’t have gotten so…”

“Distracted?”

Turning pink at the reminder of his earlier teasing, Near throws a cold stare Mello’s way, whose only response is to grin back, cat-like.

“‘Distracted,’ yes.” He sighs. “He’s gone. We’ve lost the target.”

Near goes into a crouch, hugging his knees to his chest in a forlorn manner, and Mello immediately decides that that’s enough wallowing in self-pity for one night. He brushes his hand through his hair, starting, “Well…” and wincing when he hits a tangle Near’s fingers had caused. “No, not exactly.” He frees his hand, then gestures to the tiny camera he’d stuck to the wall. Matt had handed it to him before they left headquarters earlier that night, citing this is a date, after all! with a shit-eating grin. “Check this out.”

Near’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. He leans in, inspecting the gadget before turning to look over his shoulder with a slight smile, genuine and warm. “That was very clever of you, Mello.”

The soft-spoken compliment has Mello’s face flushing a brighter shade of red than it has all night. “Fuck off,” he mumbles. He takes the camera off of the wall and shoves it back in his pocket, huffing.

He can still hear the smile in Near’s voice as he responds, “Alright.” Thin, pale fingers interlace between his own. “We should go home.”

Mello finally looks at him, heart skipping a beat at the way Near almost seems to glow in the evening’s darkness, and concedes. “Yeah,” he says. He clasps their hands just a bit tighter together. “Home it is.”

---

moonshine (n)

moon·shine | \ ˈmün-ˌshīn \

Definition of moonshine

1 : moonlight

2 : empty talk : nonsense

3 : intoxicating liquor, especially : illegally distilled corn whiskey

(via Merriam-Webster!)

---

a/n: and then they probably fucked :p

my apologies to anyone named david smith, jason liu, or emanuel rivera -- i swear i don't have anything against those names >.< umm, it was my first time writing smth so... spicy?? so i hope i did well. anakien, if there's anything you want me to change, i absolutely will!!

let's see... special thanks to my friend, jean, for reading this over for me, haha!! oh, and the playlist for this fic can be found here!! thanks for reading!!

#submission

19 notes · View notes

stanbillyhargrove · 3 years

Text

Demons - The Rewrite

Chapter 1: The New Girl

T/W: Brief ED reference.

Tag list is open

I moved to the small town of Hawkins just after my school year ended. When the sun never set and the days were hot and humid. My parents divorce had just finalized and I had left with my mom to live closer to her family.

A new start, she said. But, you see, a mother who was torn between being a workaholic and drinking with her friends in one state is still that same mother in any other state. And my father leaving only made her worse. She couldn't stop, couldn't quit moving for more than a second or else she'd flounder. Mom worked in the hospital so she usually wasn't home much but now, she picked up every extra shift she could get her hands on. Working herself to death and going out with the girls all the time was better in her mind than dealing with anything. Better than being around for me. Not that I needed her anyway. It's better like this, easier for me to hide things. Things like parties or skipped meals, things like the red scabs on my skin.

It took two minutes to meet Nancy Wheeler and her boyfriend Steve Harrington. Nancy lived just down the road from my new house and as soon as she'd seen moving trucks she was on her way to introduce herself. She was nice enough, friendly and smiling when she came over, nosey though. Steve was the real reason I continued to talk to Nancy. He seemed more genuine and was easier to be around. He also didn't ask questions that I didn't have answers to.

It took two weeks before I met Billy Hargrove, though by then I'd heard plenty of stories. That he had rolled up from California and let chaos rain down on this sleepy town. That his car was loud and he was louder, immediately drawing everyone's attention. That he looked like a god amongst men, all tanned skin and hard muscle, and that his looks had girls leaving their boyfriends to fawn at his feet.

I had been invited to a party by Nancy and Steve. The first party of the summer. Small towns and bored teens meant a lot of parties, but the first and last of the summer were apparently the biggest.

When the three of us pulled up to the party I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my black jeans and tried to keep up with Nancy’s socializing. A blur of names and faces as she paraded me around. After a while I managed to duck away from her and Steve in search of drinks and found Billy leaning against the open door frame leading from the kitchen to the deck and yard.

As soon as he saw me he smirked around the cigarette hanging from his lips, “well I don't think I’ve ever seen you around here before.” He hummed, eyes scanning from my conversed feet all the way up my legs to my chest-wrapped in an over sized canvas jacket- and finally settling on my face, “I think I’d remember a smoke show such as yourself.”

Blushing, I looked quickly down at the toes of my shoes before meeting his gaze, “I just moved here a couple weeks ago, the name's Cat. You are..?”

Billy licked his lips as he stomped out his cigarette and I couldn’t help but do the same scan over his body. Black combat boots led to skin tight blue jeans which led up to an unbuttoned shirt, sleeves rolled up to show off the muscles he was so proud of, and long curly hair framing piercing blue eyes.

“Billy Hargrove.” He had stepped forwards, looking down at me.

“The infamous Billy Hargrove,” I smiled, "I've heard about you."

His tongue shot out, licking his lips as he smirked, "good things I hope."

"Oh no, terrible things. I heard you came to town and stole everyone's girlfriends. Heard you fought a few guys for their girlfriends too."

He laughed, "don't believe everything you hear."

"Oh yeah? You got a different story for me?"

He smiled and took me under his arm, "come on, let’s find you a drink."

I sipped on the too strong drink in my hand, "so it's all bullshit?"

He took a swig of his beer and nodded, a playful smirk on his face, "I did give a couple guys black eyes, but they started it. I can't help it if their girls left them."

I swayed, giggling into my cup, "and the girls? Is your bed post whittled down to a toothpick?"

Billy shook his head, golden curls bouncing, "not quite."

"You did sleep around though," I pointed, gulping my drink.

A shrug of his shoulders, "can you blame me? Not much else to do here."

"Yeah," I puffed, "I hear that.."

A brief silence followed, muffled music from the house filling the night around us. Billy pulled a cigarette from his pocket, flicked his lighter and inhaled deeply.

"What brings you to this hick town anyway?"

I sighed, grabbing for his cigarette and bringing it to my lips. Held the smoke in my lungs until it burned and then blew it up into the sky, watching the cloud disappear.

"Parents split. My mom's parents live here so she packed up and took me with her. New beginnings and all that shit."

Billy blew a puff of air out of his nose and raised his beer can, "to being stuck in this shit hole."

I raised my cup and we gulped down the rest of our drinks.

We sat in the darkened corner of the yard for hours, until the music from the house shut off and the moon hung heavy in the now silent sky.

"I guess that means it's time to go home," I mused, "hope I didn't keep you past curfew."

Billy shrugged and stood up, "dad's always an asshole, me climbing through the window doesn't make a difference."

He held out a hand to help me up and led me around the house to the driveway where his Camaro sat waiting.

"I'll take you home," he offered.

I cocked an eyebrow at him, knowing how much I'd watched him drink as we talked.

"Don't worry, I'm fine to take you home...unless your mom's gunna be pissed, then I could sneak you in through my window," he looked at me, a playful smirk on his face.

"Mom won't care," I murmured, swaying lightly on my feet, "if she's even there."

"Sounds like we've both got winners for parents," he huffed, helping me into the passenger seat of his car.

"What about your mom?" I asked when Billy opened his door to slide into the driver's seat.

He froze for a second, fingers tightening on the wheel and clipped, "she's gone."

"Oh, I-I’m sorry, did she..."

He shook his head and turned the key in the engine, "nah, she just left one day. Said she was going to the store...never came back."

"Oh, Billy, I'm sorry."

Billy's shoulders raised with a quick shrug as he shifted the car into drive, "it's fine...Dad found Susan and Max and we moved out here."

"New beginnings," I mumbled.

"Something like that."

We pulled up to my empty house a while later, the only sign someone lived here being my old, crappy green car sitting in the driveway.

"She's not here," I sighed.

"That your car on the cinder block?"

"That's my steaming pile of garbage on the cinder block," I quipped.

He blew a puff of air out of his nose, a smirk pulling at his lips, "what's wrong with it?"

I shrugged, "dunno, it only runs sometimes. Dad was supposed to fix it up for when I got my license...he never got to it."

"I can look at it for you."

"Oh, you don't have to."

Billy smiled, his face soft when he looked at me, "want to. I get to see you again that way."

My cheeks burned, a grin creeping as I opened the car door. I took a deep breath of the cool air and turned back to him.

"Good night, Billy."

I was nursing a headache on the couch when I heard the loud rumble of Billy's car pull into the driveway. Groaning, I rolled off the couch and kneeled on the floor for a moment to let the room stop swimming. A knock on the door had me lurching to my feet and going to the door. I leaned a hand against the door, bracing myself for the afternoon light and winced when Billy started pounding on the door.

"Ssh!" I scolded, opening the door a crack.

My glare was returned by a playful smile, "morning, Sleeping Beauty."

I opened the door a bit more, squinting against the bright sun, "why are you here? And so....alive?"

He chuckled, "I'm not a lightweight and I'm here to look at your car, remember?"

I groaned, tipping my head against the doorframe, "right now?"

Billy threw his head back to laugh and pushed the door open to let himself in, "I'll fix you first."

A couple of aspirin later, I followed Billy outside with a large glass of cold water in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. I hid in the shade of the house, Billy's sunglasses on my face and sipped at my water.

"I didn't realize you were such a lightweight," Billy joked, "we didn't drink that much..did you eat before the party?"

"Yeah."

No.

"Must have just had more than I realized," I shrugged, picking at my toast and tossing crumbs to the ground.

Billy peered at me, "you're supposed to eat it."

I laughed nervously and took a small bite, "I can't eat much when I'm hungover, makes me sick."

A half truth.

"Your dad, he a car guy?" Billy asked, turning to look at me from under the hood of my car.

I scoffed, "not at all. He had this thing parked in the garage for years before I got my license. Found it really cheap...he always wanted a son to fix it up with...got stuck with me instead."

His mouth pulled into a tight line, eyes glancing away from me.

I kept rambling, heart pouring from my lips to the pavement below, "mom caught him cheating when I was little...started secretly taking birth control and staying out more and more. He started staying later at work.. eventually they just stopped trying, stopped talking and started yelling if they had to be together. Separated last year and finalized the divorce as soon as they could. Mom's still never around...I think I remind her too much of him."

He stopped tinkering with my car and slammed the hood down, making me jump, "come on, let's get out of here for a bit."

We slid into worn, baby pink leather booths at the diner in town. A sticky, plastic coated menu was slid between us by a baby faced girl as she batted her lashes at Billy. He didn't even look at her, just pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it and took a long drag.

"You want anything?"

I shook my head.

"I'll have the grand slam. Two forks. Coffee and water for both of us," he ordered, lazily flicking his cigarette in the ash tray on the table.

"Uh, oh-okay," the waitress stammered, blushing as she hurried away.

"You always treat waitresses like that? And here I thought you weren't as rude as people said," I asked, an eyebrow cocked.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lip and he leaned in to meet my eyes, "she's been trying to get with me since I got here, can't take no for an answer."

He pulled back and blew out a puff of smoke when the waitress returned with our drinks. She set down the cups and scurried away, keeping her eyes down. I reached for the sweetener, ripped open a couple packets and poured them in my mug. Stirred and took a sip only to scrunch my face at the taste.

Billy laughed across the table, and started dumping cream and sugar into his cup, "yeah, coffee's terrible here. Food is greasy and delicious though."

"You could've warned me," I chided, grabbing for more sweetener.

"And miss your face? No way," he finished emptying an ungodly amount of cream and sugar into his coffee, stirred and took a sip.

We quietly sipped at the bitter coffee until a heaping plate was placed down between us along with a couple forks and a bottle of ketchup. Billy dug in right away, mixing an egg into a pile of oil drenched hashbrowns and pouring ketchup on top before taking a large bite. I looked at the plate, mentally calculating the calories in front of him when my stomach growled loudly.

"I knew you were hungry."

I gulped at my water and shook my head, "I'm okay, really."

He pushed the plate towards me when my stomach rumbled again, "try some, you'll feel better."

I huffed, picked up a fork and stabbed one of the sausages on the plate, dipped it into an egg yolk and stared at it for a second before taking a purposeful bite. I savored the bite, letting the grease fill my senses and before I realized it, I'd devoured a small portion of the plate.

"Feel better now, right?" Billy smiled, "told you I'd fix you."

Three days. It took three days for Billy Hargrove to weasel his way into my life. Three days of showing up at my house and working under the hood of my car while I sat off to the side in the shade. Three days of mindless drives and loud music, of easy conversations and small touches.

Three days until Billy showed up later, well into the afternoon and forced a tight smile onto his face when I opened the door. He jerked his head towards his car and spun away, leaving me scrambling to put my shoes on and follow him. I slid into the passenger seat and barely got my seatbelt on before Billy took off down the road. He swerved through Hawkins and turned to follow the highway out of town.

“Are you kidnapping me Billy?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood in the car.

Billy flicked his cigarette out his window and turned to me, a light smile on his face, “you’re not scared are you, Baby?”

I smirked, “being taken by an almost stranger into the forest? Not scary at all."

He chuckled and turned up the music, continuing his drive into the forest. When he pulled into a clearing and parked the car I felt my chest tighten with anxiety.

Why did he bring me out here? What does he want?

@charmed-asylum @alias-b

#billy hargrove #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #billy hargrove fanfiction #stranger things fic #billy hargrove fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington

14 notes · View notes

lannister-slings-and-arrows · 4 years

Note

Hey you! Ok how about Pedro’s characters and the first time they wink at you. ILY and thank you 🙈

Hey babes! I simultaneously love and hate you for this ask because jfc winking irl is so fucking skeezy but, as with a lot of things I previously thought I despised, when Pedro does it I get a little weak in the knees lol. So now I have an excuse to comb through every gif of him winking. You know. For research. For SCIENCE. (Under the cut, cause fucking HELL. This got loooooong.)

(Gif made by @djjarindin )

Whiskey- On your very first day as a Statesman you make the dubious acquaintance of Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels. You’re standing at the window of your new office, flipping one of your knives in the air idly, when a handsome man in tight blue jeans and a black Stetson saunters in without so much as a by your leave. His grin is lazy, charming, and you acknowledge, in the deepest recesses of your hind brain, incredibly enticing.

“Well howdy there, darling,” he greets, thumbs hooked in the front of his belt, drawing your gaze to- is that a flask on his belt buckle? His mustache twitches up on one side as he notices that your eyes landed exactly where he had intended.

“Now what’s a pretty little thing like you doing playing with those pig stickers? You could hurt yourself with knives like that.” He steps closer to you, one hand leaving his belt to brace against the window next to your head so he can lean further into your space.

“Probably the same thing you’re doing playing with those pistols you’ve got under your jacket or that lasso at your hip,” you reply coolly, not backing away from his intrusion into your space. His raises his and he huffs a laugh through his nose.

“Well touché, kitten.” He bends a little at his knees to catch your eyes better and suggests softly in a voice that 90% of you demands you to listen to, “How’s about you and I get outta here and I can give you a tour of the place? Maybe, show you the ropes?” And he then winks at you.

That last 10% of your willpower has something to say to his blatant attempt at getting into your pants.

You slap him.

Javier Peña- You had been warned by more than one person that feminism hadn’t really made its way to Columbia yet when you accepted the portion to field agent and transferred down to the DEA office in Bogota. It was 1990 however, and you kind of expected the Americans you worked with to at least be a little more on board with the times.

That was on you, men were men it seemed, American or Columbian.

The tall blond who introduced himself as Murphy seemed nice enough, he was friendly and a little distracted, and he sounded almost apologetic as he led you further into the office to meet the other member of your team.

“Well hello there, sugar,” a man a couple of inches shorter than Steve greeted you from where he had been leaning on a desk by the door. He stood up straight and sauntered- there was really no other word for how pants that tight made a man walk- closer to the two of you, a wide smile stretched his mustache over his handsome face and showed off the dimples in his cheeks.

Oh lord. One of those men.

“Javi this is-“ Murphy started, clearly trying to diffuse a potential situation but the man interrupted him, and his hand reached for yours, holding it a little longer than necessary.

“A girl too pretty for your married ass to be talking to, Steve.” He still had your hand in between his two large warm ones and you filed that information away for use at a later, much more solitary time. He had the audacity to wink at you and you sighed and rolled your eyes. Ah well.

“I’m your new partner.” Guess feminism still has some strides to make no matter what the nationality of idiot male.

Ezra- You had been stuck on this interminably brown moon for a week and you were going stir crazy. You and your still new partner had landed in a manner that was less than gentle or correct on this nameless rock, and not only was your landing gear bent at an angle a university mathematician would have trouble describing, Ezra couldn’t get the damn thing to start again.

You weren’t any sort of mechanic by nature, that was one of the things he brought to the table, so until Ezra managed to repair whatever was wrong with this hunk of junk the two of you were still paying off, you were stuck sitting on your hands doing nothing. You had no particular desire to go traipsing around this rock by yourself, protection was one of the other things the man added to your partnership, as you had learned early in your mining career that that generally did not end well for people like you.

So there you sat, bored, listening to the click and clank of Ezra’s tools as he did whatever it was that you needed to do to get an impulse engine working enough to take off and dock to an FTL vessel. And listening to Ezra’s constant talking.

He was currently telling you a rather long winded, even for him and that was saying something, story about how an old partner of his woke up every morning and sanitized the floor of their pod with antibac spray before he would let any of the other four men set foot on it.

“The gentleman in question was a rather odd duck, badger,” he called out to you from half way inside the pod. “Why, in all my years and in all my travels in the black, I must avow never having seen someone so resolved on keeping the extremities of his associates so unsullied. I never cognized if his time running the stars had finally fractured his wits and this was the inevitable concomitant of a life lived as we do, or if it was a tic peculiar to him for all of his life. Still and all, one advantage I did discover at the conclusion of that particular venture: the bottoms of my socks never have been cleaner.”

An unexpectedly loud guffaw punched its way out of your mouth and you dropped the flat rock you had been attempting to balance on a piece of the aforementioned broken landing equipment. Unfortunately, Ezra decided at that exact time to shimmy his way out from under your craft and instead of falling harmlessly back to the ground where you had found it, it bounced off of his rather distracting ass on its way down.

He stopped moving and you were about to apologize, you really hadn’t meant to basically throw a rock at him, no matter how much he annoyed you at times, when you heard his voice float up to you again, a little amused, and a little something else that you had had occasion to notice a few times before but had never thought to classify.

“Badger, did you just take your hand to my ass?” You felt your face flush and wondered if this planet’s atmosphere wasn’t as hospitable to humans as you had thought.

“What?!” You squeaked, voice cracking when it hit a pitch normally very much out of your range.”No! I just dropped a rock!” You heard him chuckle from your feet and refused to look at him as he shuffled all the way out from under to pod and stood to his full height in front of you. He chucked you under the chin and finally you looked up into his eyes.

“Because darling, I strongly advocate any physical contact that you might desire to have with any part of my body you so wish, at any time of your choosing,” he told you with a wink.

Catfish- You had moved to Texas to take up residence on the ranch your grandfather had left you, not out of any real desire to take up the cowboy life. You hated how hot it was, you hated how slowly everyone talked, you hated how big the entire goddamned state was, and if one more goddamned truck managed to take up three goddamned parking spaces at the grocery store one more time you were going to throw a temper tantrum that would make all their southern asses wish they had managed to secede.

That was how you had met Catfish (”No that isn’t my real name; no one but my mama calls me Francisco”). He had been the next asshole in a truck to take up more than what your space conscious Yankee ass had deemed his due.

“Listen ma’am-”

“Don’t you “ma’am” me, how old are you implying I look?!”

“Sorry, miss, if you’re gonna holler at me, could we step a little further away from the truck? I just got that baby to sleep, and if she wakes up starts cryin’ again, I think I’m gonna start too.”

After a meet cute like that, it was inevitable that the two of you would hit it off as well as you did, and so a year later saw you still in a state that you were convinced was trying to kill you (hurricanes, tornadoes, floods, Republicans, and rattlesnakes???), stretched out on Catfish’s beat up couch, more than a little drunk, and a lot happier than when you had left New York to come here.

Catfish set both new bottles of beer down on the coffee table in front of you and smiled down at you with that big grin that summoned both the dimples in his cheeks and made you feel like your heart was growing four sizes larger inside your chest. He took off his ever present beat up baseball cap and tossed it on your lap. His hair was simultaneously flattened and a mess and you were sure he couldn’t look more handsome in this moment if he had an army of Hollywood stylists attack him.

He reached down to he hem of his grey Henley and started to pull it up.

“Whoa there cowboy!” You exclaimed with a grin, sitting up and plopping his hat onto your head for safe keeping. “I didn’t realize I was getting a show when I came over here!” He stopped with his shirt half way off his torso and looked down at you with an eyebrow cocked.

“It’s hot as goddamned balls in here, baby, and I’m wearin’ two of these things. One of ‘em at least is comin’ off.” He pulled it off the rest of the way and straightened his first layer that had attempted to escape with its compatriot before reaching down and grabbing his hat off of your head and flopping onto the couch next to you.

“Hey Fish, how long do you think we have before the baby wakes up?” He shrugged, his head rolling on the back of the couch o face you.

“I dunno, darlin’, why do you ask?” You bit your lip and smiled up at him, playing with the fingers of the hand he had settled on your thigh.

“Oh, well, you know how watching you nearly get stuck in your shirts really does it for me.” He groaned and slapped your leg lightly as you laughed.

“I think we’ve got time for whatever you want baby. Helicopter pilots can go straight up pretty fast you know.” He told you with a wink that you were sure was supposed to be alluring.

Oberyn Martell- The first thing you consciously noticed about Dorne was that it was hot. This was a kind of inescapable heat that permeated your entire body and made you feel like you were cooking from the inside out. You had never before given much thought to what it would feel like to be put into an oven and roasted alive, but without a doubt this is was that feeling. When you went back home to White Harbor you weren’t ever going to complain about the cold ever again.

The second thing you noticed when you put into port in Sunspear- a city quite a bit smaller than most of the cities of the upper six kingdoms the Manderlys sent your father to trade with- was that no one seemed to be wearing a lot of clothes. Which you supposed made sense because you were positively dying in yours.

You quickly changed into a pair of your brother’s breeches and a loose shirt before practically running off the ship and into the dusty warrens of the Shadow City below the walls of the Martell’s castle, eager to stretch your legs after weeks at sea and eat something other than hard tac and salted meat and fish. You figured you had at least a few hours before you would be expected to accompany your father to the castle to haggle about prices for wood and iron and silks and citrus.

The air only got hotter the further from the sea breeze you walked, and as you meandered the twisting and winding bazaars all you could smell were foreign spices and perfumes. Your head was on a swivel trying to take in the sights and sounds of a market radically different from any you had seen before when you walked into a silk covered shoulder. The shoulder belonged to a man nearly a foot taller than you and you wouldn’t have stood a chance at remaining on your feet if two strong arms hadn’t shot out and wrapped around your waist, dragging you back from your rather embarrassing descent to the dusty street and into a warm solid chest.

“I normally have to put in at least some effort in order to sweep someone off their feet, it must be my lucky day that you seem to have decided to do all the hard work for me,” an amused, accented voice said from above you. You felt every word from where your ear was plastered to the bare skin of his chest, his yellow and orange robes belted loosely enough to leave most of his golden skin exposed. You felt your face flush as you shuffled your feet, trying to get them back under you in a way that would allow you to stand and not fall on your face. The man set you back from him gently and you finally looked up

Your savior was beautiful. There wasn’t any other word to describe a face with deep set, smiling eyes that were so deep a brown you really had to look to distinguish his pupils. His nose was curved and prominent, his jaw covered with the same black hair that was cropped closer to his head than you were used to seeing in the North. And his lips were too pretty for a man. They spread into a smile as his eyes met yours, dimples appearing in his cheeks and you were smiling back before you realized it.

“Now,” he said, eyes still laughing. “You are either the worst pick pocket I’ve ever encountered or clearly too taken with the sights around you to be trusted to walk unescorted.” You hoped he never stopped speaking. His voice was deep and rich and at the same time soft and musical and no one in the woods and wilds where you had grown up spoke like he did.

“Uh, yes,” you stuttered and felt your ears burn as he smiled wider, eyebrows in danger of disappearing into his hair. “I mean, no, I’m not a pick pocket! I just, sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, my apologies.” You stuttered stepping further back from him, hoping maybe some more distance would restore your ability to not make an ass out of yourself in front of this handsome stranger. “Thanks for you know,” you featured vaguely at the ground.

“Oh, you’re very welcome for ‘you know’,” the man replied, somehow injecting a completely different meaning to your innocuous words than you had intended. Your face could have been used to light a campfire by now. You needed to get back and get changed before you did something truly stupid.

“Okay, well, um, sorry, again, for walking into you,” you said, backing away. “But uh, I’ve got to, uh, go...” You sort of waved and took off back the way you came, taking care not to run into any more handsome strangers.

You made it back to the ship in time for your father to lecture you about how dangerous it was to just run off in a “city full of wild Dornishmen! Don’t think that because you’re dressed like a man you’d be safe! That ‘sort of thing’ is common here, daughter!” while you dressed in clothes more suitable to both your station and a meeting with the ruling house of the kingdom.

It was somehow cooler within the sandstone walls of the castle, and you amused yourself on the walk up to the raised dais by listening to the different sounds your company’s boots made on the marble floor.

There was a woman sitting on a carved wooden seat and a tall dark haired man standing behind her, leaning indolently against her chair at the top of the steps you and your father stopped at. You listened to your father make the appropriate greetings, hoping that they could come to favorable terms of trade for items and goods they all wanted. And you felt someone staring at you. You looked up at the young woman in the chair as your father introduced you and you smiled and curtsied less gracefully than your mother would have liked. Your father turned his face to the man behind the chair and began to repeat the introduction when a familiar laughing voice interurrupted,

“Oh, I believe we’ve met already, haven’t we, little pick pocket?” Your eyes snapped up from the marble floor to lock onto those dancing brown eyes from earlier this morning. You felt your jaw drop and your face turn what you were sure was a very unattractive shade of crimson as Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne grinned and winked at you.

Din- You had been flying with the Mandalorian and his tiny green baby for about a month when you decided that hyperspace was boring and if you wanted any amusement you would have to take a page out of the little man’s book and make your own fun. You knew that stealing pieces of the ship and hiding them would not be as cute as when the baby did it, so that was out. You weren’t a tall person, but you were still bigger than the green terror so playing hide and seek was pretty close to useless. You were grasping at straws until suddenly it hit you like one of the utensils that the tiny monster liked to levitate around the cabin.

You were going to get Mando to laugh.

You had absolutely no idea how you were going to accomplish this, or even any idea at all what a near silent warrior monk that you were still not a hundred percent convinced wasn’t a droid would find funny, so you decided to just do what you did best; you opened your mouth and let the word vomit out.

You didn’t shut up. If you were awake and not actively hunting someone, you were talking. The baby seemed to enjoy the new amount of noise and animation, but thus far you had only gotten a few sighs and what you thought were exasperated glares from your adult companion. At least, you figured they were glares. His helmet turned to face you and frankly, you were beginning to even get on your own nerves, so he was almost definitely glaring at you under that beskar.

This went on for four days straight until one day the three of you were sitting in the cockpit, watching the stars zip by, and you decided to narrate yourself drinking a glass of water. You had just gotten to the swallowing part and were attempting to put into words what that felt like when he turned around to face you.

“If one more word comes out of your mouth I will cut into into small enough pieces that the baby won’t notice it’s a human that he is eating for dinner tonight.”

You choked. And you definitely spat water all over the visor of his helmet.

You coughed and stared at him, terrified, not sure if these were going to be your last few seconds as a breathing creature, but sure that if they were you at least had the image of the Mandalorian with water and spit sliding down the front of his helmet to console you.

All three of you sat in silence for at least a minute before he leaned forward very slowly. You leaned as far back as your seat would allow.

“That was a joke,” he told you, voice warm despite the crackle of his modulator. “You can’t see it, but I just winked.”

Screw making him mad. You were going to kill the Mandalorian.

Tovar- This was officially one of the worst ways that you could think of to die. You sure that if you were given a few more minutes, and a few less spears pointed in your face to distract you, you could surely come up with at least five different ways that were, in fact, worse, but right now, this seemed pretty awful and didn’t seem likely to get any better.

“I need you to trust me,” your companion murmured in your ear, his hand on your wrist, stopping you from drawing one of your long knives. You cut your eyes quickly to his normally laughing brown eyes and then back to the soldiers in front of you.

“That never works out well for me, Tovar,” you remind him in a quiet hiss. He moves his arm from his side to around your shoulders and draws you close and tight against his much taller body.

“Good day, gentlemen!” He calls jovially to the five armored men blocking their way on the road. You can hear the wide grin that must be plastered on his stupidly handsome face and you send up a fast prayer to God that he doesn’t manage to get you into worse trouble than you were in already. Or that at least William can manage to get you out of it again.

“Halt,” the spear man in the middle orders, and Tovar stops walking, forcing you to as well, still tucked into his side. His left hand strokes your arm casually (you note its not his preferred sword hand which gives you some hope that he might actually have a plan), and he leans a bit more of his weight on you than you think is really called for. Is he pretending-

“Why whatever are you fine men doing in the middle of the road? Don’t you know there’s a war on! Shouldn’t you be off fighting that fierce some mercenary army?” You want to stab him. His entire left side is open and unguarded mere inches away from your favorite knife, you could slide the blade in right there between his ribs, you could have the pleasure of puncturing his lung and watching him slowly suffocate. Maybe he would finally stop talking.

“No one is allowed past this point,” the spear man informed you, still glaring. “Who are you and what is your business here?” The other four soldiers inched closer and you stiffen.

“Don’t,” Tovar ordered you through his clenched teeth, smile still in place. “I can get us out of this, I just need you to play along.”

“If we get out of this I am going to personally castrate you,” you inform him, a clenched tooth smile of your own on your face.

“Anything to get your hands on my cock, eh?” You elbowed him in that unprotected side you had been eyeing before he tried to bargain with the guardians of the road.

“Oh but surely sir, you wouldn’t hinder a poor man trying to get home to his farm?”The soldier looked extremely skeptical.

“If you’re a farmer, I’m the King of England.” Tovar shrugged.

“Alright, so I’m not a farmer. This rather attractive filly is, however, only paid for for another hour, and I had meant to have my way with her at least twice before my time was up. Surely you can understand my need to make all haste now?”

Nope, not castration. Castration and then you were going to make him watch as you fed his balls to goats.

“Don’t bite me please,” was all the warning you received before Tovar looked down at you, winked, and kissed you, lips surprisingly soft, and incredibly distracting. Maybe the castration could wait for a few hours.

Max Phillips- When the higher ups bring in a handsome new manager to boost sales and productivity you aren’t entirely surprised that every employee gets called one by one into his office for a “chat”. He’s new, it tracks that he’d want to get to know everybody.

You are both anticipating and dreading your own 2:30 appointment with the new boss man, you’re positive that out of all your coworkers your performance has been the most consistently decent since you were hired two years ago, but who knows. This was a new unknown element. His goal might be to shake things up to keep people on their toes.

You hear a ‘come in’ after you knock firmly on his closed door three minutes earlier than your scheduled time, and you find him working at his computer, jacket off, a pout on his lips that were frankly too pretty to be on such a distinctively masculine face, and his shirt sleeves artfully rolled up.

He doesn’t glance at you as he waves at a chair in front of his desk. You sit as instructed, and try as you might, are unable to help staring at him as he finishes whatever it is that requires such attention. You take in the tiny tattoo on his left hand with a little surprise. And you try very hard to ignore the shift and play of the muscles of his forearms under his lightly tanned skin. This is your new boss get a grip, you scold yourself, tearing your gaze away to rest on the shelves behind his head.

He sits back with a sigh and his palms hit his desk.

“I am sorry about that. I honestly hate computers, they’re just so impersonal, don’t you think?” He asks with a winning smile, eyes and attention totally on you now. You return his grin with a small, polite twitch of your own lips and raise your eyebrows questioningly at him.

“Anyways, I just wanted to get to know everybody here, you know? Know the real person behind your employee file! Find out what makes you tick, what gets you excited!” You’re only half paying attention to his spiel, but he garners your full and complete concentration when as he utters the word “excited” and he grins salaciously and winks at you.

You’re a little taken aback. You know you should call HR. At the very least that was thoughtless and at the worst, utterly inappropriate.

You are unfortunately intrigued. You know you won’t be calling anyone about this.

Maxwell Lord- You’d been working for Lord Enterprises for about a year before you were moved up to the top floor. You liked to think you were good at your job, you were a quick typist and resourceful, and you were excited about the bump in pay that accompanied your new position.

After a week of following one of the other girls around and learning the ins and out of the executive offices, you were turned loose and given your own duties and assignments. The very first of those were to take a pile of files from the desk of the most senior of the secretaries and make sure it ended up in the possession of Maxwell Lord himself. You hadn’t heard much about the the big boss one way or another, so you squared your shoulders and after knocking firmly, opened the door and entered his office.

Lord was seated behind a dark wood desk that you thought was probably a bit bigger than strictly necessary. He was in his shirt sleeves, waistcoat stretched over a bit of middle aged spread that he nonetheless wore well. His hair was thick, blond, and immaculately styled, and he was talking animatedly on the phone, gesturing with his free hand and you could see his body vibrating slightly as he bounced his leg up and down quickly.

He was a handsome man, and a lot younger than you had expected him to be. And when he looked up at you as you walked further into his office and smiled brightly at you his attractiveness only increased. His eyes were a deep, dark brown and they shone when two dimples appeared in his cheeks with his grin.

You held up the stack of folders in your hand and raised your eyebrows in a question. He gestured to the desk in front of him and you moved closer to set them gently down in front of the man. You observed him check you out from your hair down to you shoes as you walked closer and were a little surprised when no chauvinistic comment popped out of his mouth. This might have been the 80’s, but you were a secretary and knew that women’s rights only meant that you could earn your own paycheck now.

You nodded at him as you set them down and he mouthed ‘thank you’ as he continued to listen to the droning voice you could now hear over the telephone.

And then he winked at you.

Maybe this job would turn up some opportunities for you after all.

172 notes · View notes