#<- its very mild I’d say. i kinda just fucked up one of their arms... in my defense it was annoying to draw so I just didnt draw part of it

[shepards-folly]

Like an angel crushed underneath god’s boot [+ wip images under the cut]

[yee-fxcking-haw]

•Love Me Tender•

Summary: After waiting, watching, and wanting, Tamaki finally has a way to get to you. He's willing to do use some questionable methods, make deals with shifty friends, whatever it takes. He'll have you.

Pairing: Pro Hero Tamaki Amajiki x FemReader (both 18+)

Warnings: Yandere behavior, stalking, coercion, sabotage, manipulation, hard dom Tamaki, slight brat reader, mostly sub reader, unprotected sex, virginity loss, oral sex (female receiving), tentacle play (oral, vaginal, anal, gagging), bondage (with tentacles), mild dumbification, degradation, spit play, cum play, wittle bit of bloodplay, creampie, marking, possession kink, collaring. Kinda-sorta dub-con (not really imo but warning just in case)

Word Count: 11,576

A/N: Jesus fucking christ I did it.

Part One: Porcelain Obsession

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

   Tamaki awoke painfully this morning, body aching and covered in dried sweat. It wasn't a feeling to be proud of, but it was a feeling he cherished. 

   Your stolen underwear is clutched in his hand still, like a lifeline. It still smells just a little bit like you… but not enough. He couldn't feel you or taste you or hold you. He had to figure something out, quickly. He had to find a way to make you his. 

   Luckily, Tamaki knows exactly how to make that happen…

***                                         

  You hang up your apron with a deep sigh, wiping sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Thank god it's only a half day, you finally have an afternoon off, a day to spend by yourself. 

   You bid your coworkers farewell and head out of the shop. You wander home, earbuds in as you try to drown out the noise of the city. Once you're home, you notice a small box on your doorstep. 

   It's a pretty little gold box with purple ribbon, a tiny note is attached to the top. The scribbled writing reads,

   "I thought this would look pretty on you, I'm sorry about the weird exit last night. I'd like to take you to get some coffee to make up for it, if you'll let me." - Tamaki

   Your heart flutters a bit at the note, you had deduced you were nothing more than a charity case. Him walking you home was just what he felt was fair in exchange for the use of your phone, he didn't really… like you? Did he? 

   His exit was just a little bit strange, he seemed almost panicked. You wanted to ask if everything was ok, but figure it best to stay out of a hero's business. Who knows what door you'd be opening if you started to ask too many questions.

   Beneath his note is a phone number, obviously his. You can't call him right away, it might seem desperate, but you can open the box. 

   When the lid comes off, you gasp quietly at what's hidden inside. On a delicate silver chain sits one lovely little pearl. You stand there, amazed and confused. Wondering why on earth somebody like Suneater would leave such a precious little gift for you. 

***

   You called the number left on the note about an hour after receiving it. As soon as Tamaki picks up the phone your heart leaps into your throat. 

   "I didn't think y-you'd call." He laughs afterwards, but you can hear traces of genuine anxiety underneath. 

   "Well, what kind of an asshole would I be if I didn't call back the hero that saved me from a lonely walk home?" Your face crinkles up at your horrid attempt at flirting. 

   He doesn't seem to mind, though. He gives you a sweet laugh, putting some of your nerves at ease. 

   "So, uh- coffee?" He wonders. 

   "I'd love to, I just got off work, but I imagine you're busy doing hero stuff. We can-"

   "No I'm not busy." He says quickly, his urgency makes you smile. He's almost boyish in his approach, and it's very charming. 

   Somehow, between the two of you suffering your way through the conversation, you set a time for coffee.

***

    Tamaki makes a quick stop before meeting you, visiting a horrid friend of his in an alleyway a hero should never be unless he's kicking someone's ass. 

   His "friend" turns out to be a little more than your average criminal. He's a wicked looking man, with a mess of black hair and an abundance of scarring littering his body. 

   They call him Dabi. 

   "So what's the plan here? Am I just scarin' the poor girl or do I get to have some real fun?" His smile is devilish, and his eyes are telling. 

   It makes Tamaki's skin crawl, he stares daggers at the man leaning against the brick of the alleyway. 

   "If you touch her, I will gut you like a fucking fish." Tamaki says, he's full of rage, but he says it so calmly, so matter of fact. 

   "You can try." Dabi laughs, "You forget how easy it is to cook seafood." 

   Tamaki stands there for a brief second, watching the villain, weighing his options. 

   "I'm not here for banter, can you do the job or not?" His words are clipped, strangely articulate compared to his usual stutter. 

   "Yeah whatever, I got nothin' planned for tonight, and I do love making little girls scream." He tilts his head back against the wall as Tamaki turns to stalk away. 

   "Hey, Suneater." Dabi calls out with a lazy voice. 

   Tamaki freezes and keeps his back to Dabi. He turns his head to the side and waits for him to speak. 

   "Send her my way when you're done with her." If Tamaki had less of the public eye on him, he would have slit Dabi's throat then and there. 

   Instead, he swallows his rage as he tosses a hefty wad of cash over his shoulder. 

   "Don't be late." 

***

   "You always just drink it black? Not even a little bit of sugar?' You ask, astounded by Tamaki's ability to drink the bitter liquid without any sweetener.

   "Sugar is kind of useless for me, I try to eat things that'll help me with m-my quirk." He explains, his deep eyes wander while he talks, like he's watching for something. 

   That must come with being a hero. 

   "Does coffee help your quirk?" You ask, a smile playing at your lips when you see him frown at his drink. 

   "No, but it helps me focus."

   You nod playfully before taking a sip, the cafe he's brought you to is incredibly charming. It's not an overly hip establishment, it's just a sweet little hidden gem. Tucked away into a forgotten street, it gives the impression that it's a well kept secret between two best friends. 

   "Do you feel like people ask too much of you?" You question. It slips out so quickly, running away from you after launching out of your lips. 

   Your hatred for small talk gets the best of you and you jump the gun, as always. You want to hide, but not before you apologise a thousand times for being too straightforward. 

   Tamaki looks at you thoughtfully, his eyes show that he's shocked, but not offended.

   "Sometimes. It can feel like people expect me t-to be the…" He pauses for a moment, mentally grasping for the right word. 

   "It feels like people expect Heroes to be this ultimate, universal band-aid. In a lot of ways, we are, but we're still h-human… I-I'm still human…" His voice slows down by the end of his sentence, like he's realized he might be over sharing. 

   But, you asked him, you wanted to know. You actually care about him? Every bone in his body is screaming at him to grab you, throw you over his shoulder and run away. He feels some carnal desire to just keep you. Hide you from every selfish asshole that would take advantage of the starstruck look in your beautiful eyes. 

   He can't, though… not yet. 

   "S-sorry…" He whispers. 

   And then, you reach across the table to take his hand in yours. He feels the contact all the up his arm, into his chest, into his heart. 

   So you do want him too. 

   "Please don't be sorry, I liked listening to you talk." You say quietly. 

   You did love it, you loved it because you've felt so unheard, so unseen. Being able to provide somebody else with a pair of listening ears serves as a kind of relief for those feelings. 

   "Can you tell me more?" You test, hand squeezing his own a little more. 

   He looks almost elated, thrilled to be seen, excited to be heard. Most of all, he's itching to finally have you. 

***

   The date was nothing short of wonderful, filled with cute little fumblings of words, hands brushing but never holding, and sharing bits and pieces of yourselves with each other. 

   You flop onto your bed, reminiscent of a teenager who's just had their first kiss. You didn't kiss him goodnight, you chickened out of that. But you did press your lips against his cheek for a brief moment, which seemed to have quite the effect on him. 

      His breath hitched, his fists balled at his sides, acting like he'd never been touched so tenderly. It made you wonder, is the Hero as lonely as you are? 

   You glance over at your night stand, seeing the pretty little necklace sitting in its box. You're washed with guilt as you realize you forgot to wear it to coffee, knowing he must have wanted you to. You take it out of the box carefully before pulling it around your neck and hooking it into place. It fits like a choker, snug against your skin, but it feels good to have it so close.

   You're ripped from your musing when you hear the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. 

   Inside your house. 

   Your blood chills, hair stands up on the back of your neck and you rise from your bed slowly. You try to talk yourself down, kill the first nerves that consume your chest. It was probably a poorly balanced vase… except, you don't own any vases. It could have been a picture? Nope, not a picture, it was just glass… like a window breaking. 

   There's a gun in your office, but you're in the bedroom. You scan the room for something, anything that could be used for defense. Of course, nothing but a damn notebook. 

   The police, you should call the police. Your heart clenches when you hear the threatening sound of heavy footsteps falling down your hallway. 

   They're heading straight for your bedroom. 

   You lunge at the door, hand landing on the doorknob just as it begins to turn. Desperately, uselessly, you try to lock it. It's too late, though, it's already opening by the time your thumb lands on the lock. 

   You can hear your blood rushing when the door swings towards you, a large black boot planted on the other side to force it open. 

   "Sorry 'bout the window, sweetheart. I tried the front door, but it was locked." The intruder chuckles as he invades your bedroom. 

   You stumble back as you take in his sewn together form, a mess of black leather and scars. Wild, electric blue eyes devour your trembling form as you press yourself back into the wall. 

   "Oh, hon, you're shakin' like you're in danger. I ain't gonna hurt you, I'm gonna do the opposite." He stalks towards you, somehow moving in slow motion but with incredible speed all at the same time. 

   Your phone sits on your night stand, only feet away but all too unreachable. You're caged in by his arms as he towers over you, filling your nose with some horrid, smokey smell. 

   "P-please, you can have anything, j-just don't-" 

   Your words halt when a long, pale finger traces over your collar bone. 

   "Don't what? 'J-just don't' what?" He mocks you, eyes lit with a sadistic amusement. 

   Your heart rattles in your chest as tears prick your eyes, you can't fight him, he's huge. You don't have your gun. You don't have your phone. You're fucked. 

   "Cryin' already? What's the matter, doll?-" The hand traces your collar bone moves up to wrap around your throat, "Not a fan of villains?" 

   Your hands paw at his wrist, you will yourself to sputter something out, any kind of objection to whatever he has planned. You try to whimper out a 'stop', but when your mouth finally forms the word, the voice isn't yours, but it's familiar.

   It's low, clipped and dangerous as it barks out the warning. 

   Suneater. 

   Suddenly, as if he's being yanked to the heavens by the Gods, your assailant is torn away from you. A large, red tentacle captures him by the waist and throws him across the room. You collapse to the ground instantly, curling around your legs as you hear the muffled sounds of a violent fight. 

   You hide in your own little world, trembling and clenching yourself. You take one peak from between your arms, just to see Tamaki place the intruder in a chokehold before barking some profane threat at him. 

   The villain is smiling the whole time, he even winks at you. 

   "If I ever see you near her again, you won't walk away with your life." Tamaki snarls as the stranger breaks away from his hold.  

   "She's not worth the trouble." He laughs, raising one hand before sending brilliant blue flames blasting towards Tamaki. 

   You scream involuntarily, reaching out for the Hero as he jumps away from the flames. Once they're gone, the villain is gone as well. Like some cheap magician disappearing off stage. The room is almost entirely untouched by the burst of fire, at most, the tip of your comforter is singed. 

   The second the fire is gone, Tamaki is walking towards you urgently, pulling you to your feet so he can cradle your face. 

   "Are you ok? Did he touch you? What happened?" His inky eyes search your face frantically. 

   You don't answer, you just stutter, clinging to his hands until you can finally squeak out, "I'm ok." 

   His shoulders drop as he sighs, hands loosening their grip. His eyes flicker down to the necklace, his gaze softens when he sees how pretty it looks on you. 

   "Y-you… Do you like it?" He asks timidly, glancing up at you. 

    You breathe for a moment, slightly taken aback by the sudden shift in attention. 

   "I love it." You say quietly, still trembling. 

   He just saved you, really saved you from a real villain who was planning God knows what, and he's worried about your necklace? 

   "It's so pr-pretty on you…" He reaches down to touch it, leaving one hand on your cheek. 

   You take the moment to breathe, remind yourself that you're safe, that you're with a hero now. You observe Tamaki's almost casual appearance, a dry fit shirt and simple tactical pants. It almost helps you relax, seeing him like so… at ease? 

   His fingers play with the pearl, deep eyes transfixed. Something nearly uncontrollable swells within his chest. It burns and aches and eats at him. You're so close, you're so warm, so soft. He could have you, he could just take you. 

   "Tamaki?" You prod gently, your own chest stirs, and something pulls you towards him.

   His eyes snap up to yours, and something shifts in the air. It feels sticky, heavy, too hard to breathe. His gorgeous form towers over you, pressing you back up against the wall as his eyes devour your trembling body. 

   "Thank you f-for saving me." You whisper.

   He nods earnestly, his breathing is shaking, his hands feel like they're holding back. 

   "Anything. Anything for you." 

   That line, that makes you ache.

   How long have you felt so lukewarm, so overlooked and forgotten? Too long, far too long. Now, with Tamaki looking down at you like you're priceless, you feel fiery, you feel seen and remembered. 

   Your hands grasp at his wrists, your eyes flick down to his parted lips. You're not sure what you want to happen next, but you want him as close as you can get him.

   "If you let me start, I will not stop." His voice drops and it makes your breath catch. 

   He feels it too, then. 

   Is it the high of what you've just gone through? Is it just your body trauma bonding with the man that just saved you? Or do you really, really want him so bad it hurts? 

   His tone is warning and his eyes are frantic. 

   "Please." Is the only thing that falls from your quivering lips. 

   Consequences be damned, motives especially be damned. You need him, and he needs you. That's enough explanation for tonight. 

   He consumes you much like the villains flames, his lips are on yours almost too fast, his hands are greedy as they hold your face to his. 

   While you feel similar to a lovesick girl getting kissed for the first time, Tamaki feels like a prisoner finally set free. He feels like a lion that was held in a cage and taunted with a piece of meat. He feels like the door has finally been opened, and he can finally sink his teeth in. 

   "I wanna feel you." He brings his mouth away from yours with much reluctance, leaving his forehead pressed against yours. 

   You flounder for a moment, with your mouth feeling dry and your limbs feeling heavy. 

   "Where?" You choke out, searching his face for any tell. 

   "God, everywhere." It's a broken request, said like a secret. 

   "Take it. Whatever you want." Your boldness surprises you both. 

   You're hooked on the exhilaration, you're craving more, you want to feel something. Even after just a walk home and a coffee date, you want to feel it with Tamaki. 

   "Don't give me that…" He shivers as he presses his body against yours, making it very evident how much of an affect you're having on him. 

   "I'll ruin you." He whimpers when you grind back against him, your hands tug at his shirt and you look up at him with wide eyes. 

   "Who said I don't want that?" 

   You both stand there frozen, waiting for the other to move, to prove that this isn't a dream. 

   "Fuck." 

   His hands descend from cradling your face so they can wrap around your neck with the most gentle grip. 

   He watches you intently, feels your breath quicken, cherishing the way you bite your lip when his fingers tighten slightly. 

   Internally, Tamaki is fighting the most challenging battle he's ever had to face. He's had to take on a wide variety of formidable enemies, but right now, nothing seems more formidable than having to hold himself back when he finally has you in his arms. 

   He wants to take and take and take, for as long as you'll let him… maybe even longer. 

   She's mine now.

   Something shifts in his gaze just then, making him look almost primal. It makes your chest feel frozen, makes it difficult to breathe or focus. 

   His hands shift around your neck, they feel almost… slippery? Their texture is different, their movement is more fluid. Then, you feel it, the distinct sensation of a suction cup latching against your skin. 

   Tentacles. He's made each of his fingers a tentacle.

   Your eyes stay locked on his, both of you in a heated trance as you watch how the other responds. 

   One slick tendril crawls up to latch onto your chin, he turns your head upwards and to the side with a thoughtful look. It's almost like he's sizing you up, appraising you. 

   After a thick moment of silence, he finally speaks. 

   "I'm going to make you cry." It's a depraved promise, beautifully whispered with no shame. 

   You stand there, held by him, captured by him. You're helplessly entranced, all rational thought is long gone as you reel over the implications of his statement. All you can know for sure, is you want more. 

    Despite every red flag, regardless of any common sense, you want more. 

   "I dare you." You say back to him, the desperation to feel anything other than mundane spurs you onward.

   He receives the words like it's a smack to the face, some shock evident in his eyes. He didn't take you for a brat, but he can certainly roll with it. 

   "You're gonna make this fun for me, aren't you?" He questions, his tentacles grip you tighter now, reminding you who has the high ground. 

   Mine. 

   The air shifts, something heavier takes over the mood, it settles in your ribs and wraps around your heart. 

   He guides you away from the wall, shepherding you around until your back is towards your bed. He starts walking you backwards until your knees buckle once they hit the mattress. 

   You sit there, gazing up at him, held still by his quirk, transfixed by the power he exudes as he towers over you. 

   "Has anyone ever had you before?" He asks, finally returning his hand to normal so he can cradle your cheek. 

   The question has your stomach burning with nerves. 

   No, nobody ever has. 

   You shake your head, looking down, cheeks burning as you try to hide your embarrassment. 

   His reaction shocks you immensely, his whole body shutters and he drops to his knees. His hands settle on your waist as he moves between your legs. 

   "Th-this is… all mine then?" He asks, he rubs his thumbs over the bottoms of your ribs affectionately. 

   His eyes are wide and reverent as he waits for your answer, looking like you're some anointed goddess. His eyes skate over every feature he can, and he cherishes each one. 

   Your confession nearly knocks the wind out of him, especially with how sweet you look, all blushing and embarrassed. It makes his need to rip you apart even stronger. 

   "Please...let me give you everything…" His hands tighten on you and you feel them shaking.

   You study him for a second, at a complete loss for words, he seems so… devoted. It pulls on your heart, clouds your mind and lights your body up. How could you possibly say no to him? How on earth could you turn someone away when they’re looking at you like you’re placed on an altar ready to be worshiped. 

   Carefully, like you’re trying not to frighten a beast, you reach out and touch his face. He moves into your touch like a lonely cat, desperate for affection and recognition. 

   “Please…” You breathe. 

   And that’s all it takes. 

   His breath leaves his lungs in a harsh rush as he moves forward like a leopard, lean and precise as he forces you onto your back. 

   Your blood rushes so quickly you swear you can hear it, your mouth goes dry as he stares you down. He’s suddenly less reverent, now he’s ravenous. A dangerous, carnivorous look dances in his dark eyes. His judgement is clouded just like yours, only it fuels him, while your state is much more terrified. Any spunk you had in you is thrown out the window as he leers over you.

   You shrink into the mattress as he hovers above you on all fours, heavy eyelids and parted lips giving him a nearly drugged look. 

   “When you say everything-” He whispers, moving so he can settle on his knees between your open legs, “Do you mean this too?” He drops his hips as he questions you, pressing something very hard into your thigh, something very intimidating. 

   He watches your eyes go wide, a wicked grin spreading across his face when you gasp after he rolls his hips. His arms cage you, a strong hand placed on either side of your head, the position makes you feel so pathetic, so helpless, but it gives you an incredible rush. 

   “Don’t look so scared, it won’t hurt.” He dips down to press his hot, open mouth against your neck, tongue lapping at your pulse. A dark chuckle leaves his chest, “Not much, at least.” 

   Then he’s definitely less reverent, he’s no longer worshipful, he’s a wicked, unleashed best. His hands are selfish as they remove your clothes, his mouth is voracious against your skin. He has you panting and twitching in seconds, musing at you when your reactions are particularly strong. 

   It’s when he snakes down your body, wetting your skin with his tongue, settling between your breasts so he can suck harshly at the heated skin, that you finally feel something break within you. You arch into his touch, fisting your hands in his raven hair, whimpering so beautifully for him as he works you up. 

   He knows what he’s doing, he’s skilled, well equipped for pulling you apart. He’s already descended into some debauched state of being, and he’s pulling you down with him. 

   “Nobody’s ever tasted this sweet little cunt before, have they?” He asks against your skin, latching his mouth back to the spot he’s focused on marking, but looking up at you with inquiring eyes. 

   You try to swallow, shake your head, do something, but all you can do is lay there naked and gasping.

   He laughs again, a wicked thing that leaves his chest like a wisp of wind. He slides a hand up your body, he flicks over your nipple with his thumb on the way up, pulling another whimper out of you. 

   His hand latches onto your jaw, then he shakes your head for you, doing what he knows you can’t. 

   “Oh baby…” He sighs, “You saved it for me?” He teases, hips grinding against you, the cloth of his pants creates a strange kind of friction against your clit, not unpleasant, but not pleasurable. Where the hell did the sweet, stuttering hero go? If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks deviant… almost villainous.

   “Tama- please.” You shiver, not sure what you’re asking for, but certain that you need more. 

   “Good girl, talk to me.” His hand slinks down your throat before he rises to his knees. 

   Your eyes lock on the tightness of his pants, trying not to panic at the sheer size of the imprint he’s making on them. 

   His shirt is pulled over his head, messing his hair in the most handsome way, and the breath is ripped from your lungs. 

   He’s stunning, broad and strong looking. He’s all porcelain skin over well trained muscle. Built perfectly for the work he does. Built perfectly for ripping apart poor little girls like you. 

   “I liked the look you got when I had my tentacles on you.” He sighs, letting a hand fall to your bare stomach so he can trace lazy circles against you. 

   “Did you like that? Do you want me to use my tentacles to play with you?” He questions. 

   His voice is low, it’s rich and warm and dripping with seduction. Nothing like the tentative, wobbly tone he usually has. It rips the ground out from underneath you, leaves you panting and blinking like a brain dead fool as you gawk up at his prowling form. 

   “Just a yes or no, if you can manage it.” He smiles sweetly up at you, splaying his hand across your quaking abdomen. 

   You breathe deeply, trying to steady yourself, trying to catch up with what he’s said. 

   “Y-yes.” You whisper, barely audible, hardly heard over your labored breathing. 

   His other hand mirrors the one he has on you, sliding around to hold you by the waist, a gentle cage meant to establish dominance. 

   “Yes… what?” He prompts, pressing his thumbs down. 

   You falter then, your tongue feels heavy, your mind slows and you’re suddenly void of all vocabulary. Were you really really about to let one of the most well known pros wreck your body with his quirk? Were you actually laid out for him like this? You know so little of him, your only information gathered from small talk, but something about that had you buzzing. 

   You could be whoever you want to be, you don’t have to be the floundering virgin. You don’t have to be so damn shell shocked. 

   “Yes, D-daddy.” You test, hoping to God or whoever is listening that you got the right name. 

   By the way his eyes flutter closed, the way his grip tightens, the way his body tenses, you sure as hell did. 

   “That’s it.” He sighs, “-and what about you?” He wonders, his hold going gentle again. 

   You? What about you? 

   Tamaki watches you carefully, barely containing the raging storm inside him, barely holding back the carnal urge to turn every limb to a pretty purple tentacle and stuff you until you’re crying for mercy. 

   Not yet, don’t fuck this up. 

   “Princess? Darling?” He asks, lowering himself back down to kiss down your stomach, looking up at you through his thick lashes. 

   “Whatever you want.” You answer. Your sweet, sacred submission makes him close his eyes and breathe in. 

   Hold it. Not. Yet.

   “You’re like an angel.” He breathes, making you shiver under the weight of the high praise. 

   He notices your reaction immediately, smiling to himself. 

   “So that’s it.” He presses a long kiss just under your belly button, bringing attention to how naked you are, and how naked he is not. 

   Your thighs squeeze together and your arms come up to cover your chest, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to keep it all out of view. 

   His hands are on your wrist and his body is crouched over yours again before you can blink. He pins your hands beside your head, looking down at you with some wild, unbridled kind of look in his eyes. 

   “You do not get to hide from me.” His shoulders flex as he pushes your wrists down into the mattress, earning a whine from you as the pressure starts to ache. 

   “You’re mine. That means I get all of you.” He bites the words off, but keeps his voice quiet. 

   You should be scared, crying even, but the only thing you feel is exhilaration, the ache between your legs and the fluttering of your heart as he overpowers you with just the look in his eyes and a few harsh words. 

   “Do you understand me?” He eases up on your wrists slightly, looking more stern, less unhinged. 

   “I-I do, I’m sorry.” You whimper out. 

   He considers you for a brief second, eyes growing softer as he watches the way your pretty lip trembles. 

   “It’s ok.” He releases your wrists and speaks gently, “You’re ok.” 

   The reassurances makes you dizzy, especially in contrast with how rough he just was. 

   "Hold still for me, angel." Then he’s back to mouthing at your skin.

   His teeth meet your collarbone and your hands reach for his messy hair. 

   “There?” He asks against you, a smile in his voice as he lets his teeth gather your skin again. The spot he finds makes you dizzy, you feel the heat spread across your cheeks and the tips of your ears. 

   Tamaki is still stuck in his own chains, fighting against them as he focuses on the way you twitch for him, the way your body rolls when he bites harder. 

   So she likes it.

   Your body heats up, it's all so overwhelming. It's so different from anything you've ever felt, and you can't believe it's with him. 

    Then his kisses get more sloppy, his teeth are sharper against you. He leaves you shining with his spit, painted in blooming purple and red bruises as he begins his journey down your body. 

   "Da-addy." You sniffle when he bites into the underside of your breast. 

   It doesn't feel loving, it doesn't feel passionate, it just feels rough. 

   "Hush." He mumbles against you, "If you can't take this I might as well stop now." He looks up at you, challenging you. 

   "I can t-take it, I can." You breathe, nodding, looking at him with begging eyes, "Please, don't stop." 

   He honest to god growls against you. You couldn't possibly know what you do to him, how sweet your willingness sounds, how beautiful you look laid out for him. He knows he should take his time, and he resents that fact. He almost resents you for being so sweet and needy. With all the things he wants to do to you, he almost, almost, wishes you had at least some experience. This makes you his completely, though, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything. 

   His hot mouth moves lower and lower until he's tonguing at your hip bone, pulling the skin into his mouth so he can work his teeth against it. He will mark you wherever he can, as long as you'll let him. 

   Your hips roll up against him, making him smirk at how needy you're acting. 

   "Ask for it." He whispers, hungry hands slide up the outsides of your thighs, "Ask for what you want." 

   His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, sending the breath from your lungs as he glares up at you. He lets his wet tongue loll out to give a teasing flick against the crux of your thigh. 

   You take a deep breath in and cling to the sheets for dear life, "Please, use your mouth on me." 

   He smiles so sweetly then, looking mildly amused. 

   "Here?" He goes back to that same spot, sucking and teasing, looking all too pleased with himself. 

   "Be specific, angel, tell me where you need me." 

   Tamaki knows for a fact that he didn't have to spend his time making you ask for things, he knows what you want, he knows how to give them to you. He could take whatever he needs, probably without much a fight from you, but what fun would that be? He would miss the pretty blush creeping across your skin, and the sweet little tears in your big eyes. No, he wouldn't be missing this, not for the world. 

    "I wanna feel your tongue, please, use your mouth on m-my cunt." You shiver, timid and uncertain about your phrasing. 

   It seems to do the trick though, because Tamaki's eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. 

   He answers with a low moan before grabbing you by the insides of your thighs so he can spread you open. Once the air of the room hits you, you're made painfully aware of just how soaked you are. 

   It makes Tamaki look like a wild man, all blown out pupils blushing cheeks. 

   Almost in slow motion, he presses his tongue into the spot right above your clit, making you whine and buck against his mouth. 

   "Needy little thing." He says, giving your thighs a gentle squeeze, "But I suppose I have teased enough." 

   Then he's on you, and the second his tongue meets your weak spot you know you're ruined. You know that not one person will ever hold a candle to Tamaki Amajiki. 

   He pulls away for only a second, just to whisper praises up to you, "Your cunt tastes like everything I've ever needed." 

   You huff at him in disbelief, not knowing what to say or do, heart soaring because of his confession.

   Then he dives back in, and he gets sloppy with it, setting a pace that feels so good it aches. The heat spreads through every limb, and settles somewhere deep in your chest. Everything tingles and burns, and breathing seems nearly impossible. 

   Internally, Tamaki is raging. He’s so close to losing it, he feels himself slipping, your taste spreads across his tongue is the culmination of months of watching and waiting and wanting. He wants to drown in you, he wants to rip you to shreds. No more watching you through windows, no more fucking his fist while he wishes with everything he has that it was your precious little pussy. He has you now, spread open and vulnerable. He knows he could shove your face into the pillows and let loose on you, stuff every hole with an invasive tentacle, the thought makes him even more feral, it makes him work even harder as he eats you. 

   Every roll of his tongue against your clit makes you throb and buck, which makes him growl and push you down against the mattress. He's loud and messy, slurping and moaning, letting it drip down his chin and his throat, never once letting up. 

   Your head is thrown back against the pillows, eyes drilled shut. You know damn well if you saw him, you wouldn't last another second. He builds you up until your thighs are trembling and you're a whiny little mess. 

   Perfect. 

   Suddenly, the texture of his tongue changes drastically. It's much more slippery, and much thicker. Your head shoots up, and you nearly sob at what you see. Tamaki, with his eyes wild and his jaw dropped, is letting a wicked looking tentacle hang from his mouth. 

   His quirk. 

   He smirks up at you as the tip of it writhes against your clit, flicking and circling as he watches the tears start to fall from your face. You can't possibly keep up, you didn't know anything could ever feel this good. 

   You watch the suction cups ripple as he moves the muscle against you, then he does the unthinkable. He latches one of them onto your clit. Your eyes cross and you bring a fist to your mouth so you can bite on it and muffle your screams. 

   He hates that. 

   With another rumbling growl, he lets his hands turn to tentacles as well. You watch helplessly as he snakes them up your arms, ripping your hand away from your mouth so he can pin both limbs to the bed. The tentacles are strong, surprisingly warm, and so damn slippery. 

   It's hard to tell if you're close to the edge, it's felt that way the whole time, everything feels so hot and tight and good. 

   He smiles as you cry out and thrash against the bed, full of admiration for the usefulness of his own quirk.

   “Too much! D-daddy, it’s too much.” You sniffle out as you feel a stinging feeling in your cunt, it’s not necessarily an unpleasant sting, but it’s too much.

   He ignores your objection, choosing to simply suck harder at your overstimulated sweet spot. He revels in your pitifully low threshold, planning to do so much worse to your poor, inexperienced body. 

   The ache in your cunt continues to push the tears from your eyes, and eventually, drool from your mouth. The suction cup works dutifully against your clit, making you feel so overwhelmed you don't know if you can cum. 

   Then you feel the prodding at your entrance. 

   Then you really scream. 

   Holding that one little suction cup to your clit, he snakes the tip of his tentacle into your dribbling hole. He furrows his dark brows and moans against you when he feels how tight you are, desperate to feel the velvety walls around his cock.

   "Holy fucking shit." You gasp. 

   He watches the dramatic rise and fall of your quaking chest, your baffled eyes trying to keep track of everything happening to your body, and he swears he falls even more in love. 

   You're so willing, so compliant, so at his mercy. 

   He crooks the tip of the tentacle towards himself just a bit, and it's like you've been struck by lightning. You cum hard, harder than you ever have. You're a mess of twitching limbs, shivering as your cunt clenches so hard your feel it in your fucking chest. You sob into the air, broken and tearful as he works you through it. 

   You feel the hold on your arms tighten as your body arches away from the mattress. As you feel every inch of you ignite, you know that you're ruined for everyone else. 

   As soon as you lower yourself so you're flat to the mattress, the tentacles around your arms slip away and turn back into his hands. 

   The one between your legs still plays with you a little bit, prodding at your clit, lapping up your mess. Tamaki laughs as you jump and twitch, whimpering and gasping as he milks your body for every after shock you can give him. 

   You watch him pull the tentacle back into his mouth, flicking it over his lips to gather your release before disappearing into his mouth. You watch his eyes flutter shut, you watch him shiver and you hear the sweetest little moan in the back of his throat. 

   “You’re pretty when you cry.” He mumbles, looking up at you with the most tender look in his eyes. It’s a harsh contrast with all the cum dripping down his chin. 

   “You move a lot, too. It’s fun.” He states, almost like some kind of twisted review, “I don’t mind holding you down like that.” 

   The drop in the tone of his voice makes a chill creep up your spine. 

   “In fact…” He lifts himself up so he can start to crawl up your body, “I really, really enjoyed it.”

   You gasp for words, wind stolen from your lungs as he presses his messy mouth against your sternum. 

   “Something tells me you did too.” He whispers. 

   Your voice is finally found, somewhere deep in your chest, hidden and nearly forgotten, “What makes you say that?” You ask timidly. 

   He pulls his head up to look down at you with a confident smirk, “The mess you made.” 

   To prove his point, he swipes two fingers through your folds, gathering your creamy release before holding it up to the light. He looks so damn proud, like he’s showing off. 

   “Messy girl.” He smiles, as you watch him bring his coated fingers to his lips, sucking the sin off with a greedy pop from his lips. 

   “Oh, how selfish of me.” He sighs before grabbing you by the chin, “I should share.” 

   He pulls your mouth open then slowly leans over you so he can push the mess back through his lips. You oblige like a robot, stunned by the debauchery, letting him guide you through this act. He lets it fall from his lips slowly, creating a long string from his mouth to yours. The second it hits your tongue, something clicks for you. Something dark and smokey settles in your gut, something all consuming and blinding. It rids you of boundaries and reservations, it fills you with nothing but the man in front of you. 

   He watches you with a pointed gaze, shutting your jaw for you so you can swallow what he gave you. 

   “What do you say?” He asks. 

   You feel the burn in your chest, the embers in your skin, “More, please.” 

   “Fucking hell," The words tumble out as a breath mostly, "You want more?" He questions, grabbing you by the wrist so he can place your palm just above the waist of his pants. 

   You nod up at him, vision blurred by the heat of his skin against your palm. 

   "Then take it." He leans down to say it, biting off the words. 

   A challenge. 

   You can't possibly disappoint him, you can't possibly leave him wanting. Take it? How are you supposed to take it? 

   In a wild moment of confidence, mostly your body moving without the permission of your mind, you wrap your legs around his lean hips so you can flip him onto his back. 

   Your eyes lock the second you feel him pressing against you, hard and thick, and terribly intimidating in length. 

   He watches you for a moment, then hastily grabs you by the back of the neck so he can pull you down for another kiss. It's hot and needy, full of wicked want and unabashed selfishness. It tickles your ribs, creeps up your neck, and secures itself greedily around all of your common sense. 

   Tamaki had no intentions of letting you take anything, it's a game to him. He'll let you have your moment, let you feel like you have the reigns, but he'll take it right back. His has you under control, he vows that he always will.

   Your chest flutters with a clawing, aching feeling. 

   More more more. 

   "Fuck me." It's a prayer, whimpered against his delicate lips, "Please, fuck me." You dig your hands into his hair, cherishing the sweet noises they leave him as you beg. 

   Under control.

   "Tell me you need it." He sighs, answering your prayer by sending his hands down to work urgently at his belt. 

   "Tell me you need me." 

   You bring your face back from his just enough to look into his dark eyes, and you see tears welling in them. 

   He needs to feel needed.

   "Please, I need it, I need you, Suneater." 

   Everything freezes for a brief second, the air thickens and his eyes darken as you wait with a held breath for his next move. 

   Then, everything is flying around you. You feel the bite of fingertips against your waist, your stomach hits the mattress, possibly the sound of his pants being taken off. Your senses are dulled by the raging swirl of emotions beating inside you as your hips are lifted up, and a hand shoves your face into the pillow. 

   "Who's your hero?" His voice is rough, his hand gathers your hair and cranks your head to the side, "Who is your fucking hero?" He's barking the words out now, harsh and demanding. 

   And holy hell does it get you going. 

   "You are! You're my hero, Suneater." You cry out, craning your neck to look at him. 

   You expected furrowed brows, a straight mouth and furious eyes. What you're met with is nothing of the sort. A soft pink blush across his cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears, tears wetting his cheek, and a quivering lip. 

   With your eyes on him, he makes a show of sliding his hand down his front so he can grab at his length. He lets it fall against your ass, heavy and painfully hard. 

   "Don't forget that." He says simply, sliding his thick head down through your slicked lips. 

   The contact makes you both shudder deep in your souls. 

   "Daddy, please." Your voice is pitiful as you fist the sheets and press back against him. 

   "So slutty." He muses, releasing your hair so he can run his nails down your back, "Poor thing, never been fucked, needs it so bad, doesn't she?" 

   You nod fervently and fuss as he presses his head against your tight hole. You tense and shiver, not at all prepared for what's to come. 

   "I need it, I need you, please please please." You have one thought now, no reservations, you need him. 

   "I'm gonna ruin this little cunt." He says, a warning tone in his voice. 

   The hand that was tracing your spine suddenly feels very cold and wet. 

   His damn quirk. 

   He takes his time, letting the thick tentacle slither around your waist. It wraps around you twice, teasing you with the pops of the suction cups, leaving pretty purple circles all over your abdomen. 

   He lifts you easily, pulling you up so your back is pressed against his chest. 

   "Ruin it, please, it's yours, I'm yours." You sniffle, looking down at your trapped position. 

   With a low, menacing growl, he sinks his teeth into your neck, and his cock into your heat. 

   Tamaki holds his breath, willing himself not to fill you up right this second. You're too damn tight, so warm and velvety. You're so perfect, and so completely his. 

   You sob into the air, hands reaching out to hold the headboard as you feel like you're being ripped apart. 

   "Oh don't scream, Angel, people might think something's wrong." His voice is shaking now, and the hold on your waist tightens. 

   You focus on relaxing, letting your walls lose their tension, but it's all fruitless. He's too big, he fills you too well, and all you can do is take it. 

   "Here, let me give that mouth something to do." 

   His other hand comes around to hold your throat, turning each finger into a tentacle again. It leaves you reeling and gasping as he presses further into you, wrapping what would be his middle finger around your throat. He wraps it around twice, like he did with your waist. The appendage comes up to rest its tip on your bottom lip. 

   The sensation makes you dizzy, especially when it finally snakes into your panting mouth. It doesn't really taste like anything, it just feels wet and slick, the texture of the suction cups is the strangest thing about it. He rocks his hips so gently, squeezing you tighter everywhere he's holding you. 

   You don't feel like a moth drawn to a flame, you feel like a moth caught in a spider's web. All tangled up, not willing to fight to escape, not even wanting to. 

   "You're so damn tight." He stutters out, pressing his hips flush against your own. 

   You cry out and gag against the tentacle stuffing your mouth, digging your nails into the headboard as he chuckles behind you. 

   "You're such a pretty little mess for me. Your cunt's already dripping." 

   You don't doubt it, it has to be with how badly your core aches around him as he stretches you. 

   Your thighs start to tremble as you wait for him to move, sniffling as the tears fall from your eyes and the drool spills from your lips. 

   A pretty little mess indeed. 

   Slowly, he drags his hips back with a hiss before pushing back in. He takes his time with it, building an agonizing pace that offers you no release. There's only the pressure, only your clit screaming for attention, only the maddening tease of his head against your sweet spot with every torturous push in. 

   "Fuck angel, I gotta break this pussy in, don't I?" His words pull another pitiful moan from you, nodding and whining is all you're capable of. 

   His picks up speed just enough to make you tense even more, still painful, still mind numbing. 

   "You look so fucking pretty on the end of my cock." 

   His words pour over you like hot wax, heating you up, making you drip. The heat seeps deep into your skin, making you squirm and clench. 

   He speeds his thrusting up slightly, then more, and more, and more, until you’re shrieking and choking against the tentacle stuffing your mouth. Your hands fly up to claw at it, wanting to tell him how it feels, wanting to thank him for the way he’s fucking you. 

   It’s still painful, each thrust splits you open with a sting, but it’s so damn good. The sharp stretching is absolutely spectacular, and it sends your brain into somewhere dark and smokey, it leaves you with a wide open feeling in your chest. It leaves you wanting more. 

   “What’s the matter, sweet thing?” He taunts, “Tell me about it, then, how’s Daddy make you feel?” He turns each tentacle back into a finger slowly, pulling out of your mouth, leaving you a gasping mess. 

   Through spit and tears, you praise him, words spewing out between moans as your body jolts from each punishing snap of his hips. 

   “So fucking good! You make me feel so good!” You cry, clinging to his forearm as he brings you closer to his chest. 

   The tentacle around your waist starts to slither down your stomach, “This isn’t even half of what I’m capable of doing to you,” The tip of it gives the hood of your clit a teasing flick, “-and you’re already such a slut for me.” His chuckle is dark and full as the tip of his skilled tentacle zeros in on your sweet spot, rubbing and wriggling against it until you’re screaming. 

   “Say it. Say you’re my little slut.” His words are a harsh demand against your ear, leaving no room for disobedience. 

   “I- f-fuck- I can’t! I ca-an’t!” You sob, not able to catch your breath between thrusts. 

   Tamaki eats that right up, swelling with pride as he fucks you speechless, delirious with the fact that he finally has your cunt gripping his cock. 

   Before he can bark another order at you, you finally pull the words out of your closing throat, "I'm your slut," You gasp as drool rolls down your chin, "I'm your little slut." 

   He throws his head back and throws everything he has into every thrust, his moans are obscene, high pitched and broken as he feels how hard you squeeze him when he speeds up the tip of his tentacle against your clit. 

   "Give it to me, I feel that greedy cunt tryin' to milk me, give me that fuckin cum." He huffs against your ear. Your entire body seizes up, shaking violently as ribbons of pleasure shoot through you. You pulse around Tamaki almost violently, earning some very rough sounding moans from him as he works you through it. 

   Your orgasm lasts for what feels like an eternity, you shiver with every throb of your walls. It possesses that same almost painful pleasure, and it's everything you've ever wanted. At some point, the tentacle around your waist turns to a hand, still absentmindedly rubbing you as you come down. 

   He lets your torso fall forward, leaving you bent over and exposed for him. His hands smooth over your ass, and you realize he's still so fucking hard. 

   "Can you take more, angel?"

   You nod against the tear soaked pillow you've pressed your face into, not sure that you even can, but willing to try. 

   "Good," He bends down to press kisses into your spine as he pulls out, "'Cause you're going to." 

   He pulls out, almost full of regret, wanting to live the rest of his life buried inside you.

   Now he can have some fun, mind cleared slightly by finally feeling you come undone around him. He's still hazy, still slightly frenzied, but less ravenous, less of a starved man waiting for his meal, more of a well fed man waiting for desert. 

   His hands hold your waist gently so he can guide you onto your back. You oblige, more than willing to let him have his way. 

   You finally get a good look at him, and you're astounded by just how pretty his dick looks. All pale and pink, swollen and shiny, it makes you dizzy with admiration. 

   "You're terribly beautiful." He whispers, cradling your waist so he can worship your stomach with soft kisses, "I don't believe you're even real." 

   Sweetness oozes through your tingling limbs, pouring over you like warm honey. His tender mouth brings you back down, soothes you into a state of catharsis. Your body settles, but your heart picks back up when his lips are on your hips. 

   Your eyes meet his, and you share the sentiment that he just might not be real. He pears up at you through a mess of indigo hair, eyes full of what you can only describe as devotion. 

   He explores your body with his hands, dipping his thumbs into every crook he can, palming handfuls of your plush thighs. He seems to have a soft spot for your hips though, pulling at your love handles, letting his breath speed up each time until he's panting against you. 

   With every pull of his hands, you bend for him, push into him, work with him. You both find a rhythm, falling into an easy dance of grabbing and needing. 

   "I want to keep you." He breathes, placing a hand on either side of your waist so he can lift himself over you, "I want to have you." 

   He gathers your legs while he speaks, hooking his hands under your knees so he can fold you up. 

   "You have me." You whisper, reaching out to lay your fingers on the sides of his ribs. 

   You watch his skin twitch under your touch, you watch his eyebrows sag into an almost heartbroken look. 

   He looks down between your bodies, quivering when he sees his heavy cock resting against your stomach. He feels so incredibly proud of you in that moment, for taking him so well, and asking for more. 

   She's mine. She said I have her. 

   The concept brings another wave of primal desire crashing down on his self control. 

   His fingers dig into your skin, biting at the flesh, spreading you open for him as he puts his weight on your legs. 

   You clench in anticipation, teased by the pressure of his hot length resting against you. 

   "I can take it." You say quietly, sliding your hands up his lean body so you can lace them into his inky hair. 

   He melts into your touch, stunned by your gorgeous submission. 

   "Fuck, angel." His words are shattered as they fall from his lips. 

   You reach down between your bodies and wrap your hand around his weeping tip. He trembles and hiccups as you push him down so he's lined up with where you need him. 

   "Please, I want all of it." m. 

   “Careful.” He pants, looking down at you with a warning in his eyes. 

   It doesn’t create hesitation in you though, only curiosity. 

   “We’re being careful now?” You tease, sliding him up and down your slit. 

   “You little devil.” He hisses, grabbing your wrist harshly, “You think you’re cute, don’t you?” 

   You freeze and blink up at him, once again shocked by his quick change in temperament. 

   “You wanna act like a tease now?” He questions, bringing your hand up so he can press it into the mattress with his. 

   “Did you find yourself a cute little attitude?” His voice drips with venom, it bites at your insides and melts your skin. 

   “That’s ok, angel.” He lets your hand go so he can press on the backs of your thighs again, successfully folding you completely in half, “I’ll fuck it out of you.” 

   Before you can breathe, blink, or respond, he’s splitting you open with a brutal pace. He laughs deep in his chest when you cry out, he mocks you when your hands fly to his abs in an attempt to slow his assault. A wicked smile spreads across his pretty face when tears stain your flushed cheeks once again. 

   “Cryin’ again so soon? Is it too much, baby? You need Daddy to slow down?” He’s testing you, only thrusting harder as he taunts you for your sobbing and moaning. 

   “No!” You gasp between tears, “Don’t stop, please, fuck me like that.” 

   “That’s my girl.” 

   His thrusts are ruthless, sharp, unforgiving. He rocks your body and the bed with each plunge in, headboard crashing against the wall. Each drive into you is enchanting, it teaches you something new, opens new doors, shows you a new, brilliant world of depravity. The way the pleasure shoots all the way up your spine with every drag of his cock, it’s something you want to feel until you die, you’d even be happy if this is the way you die. 

   You watch him disappear inside of you over and over, pulling out just as quick, covered in slick and sin. Tamaki is in his own feral world, watching your lovely face crumble and pout as he fills you. His hands are angry against the back of your thighs, nails digging in hard enough to bring little pearls of scarlet to the surface. 

   When you start to whine from the sting, he flashes you a lazy smile before stuffing his fingers into your mouth. He presses the blood covered fingertips into your tongue just enough to make drool spill from the sides of your mouth. 

   “Hush, you’ll learn to love it.”

   His smile turns wolfish when he watches your eyes roll back. It’s all so black-hearted, it’s everything you’ve kept yourself from, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. 

   You both throb and cry then, your bodies smack as they meet, obscene and wet as you chase your undoing. Tamaki knows he’s not going to last much longer, and he curses himself for it. He doesn’t want to stop, especially when you wince so sweetly when his thrusts are a little too deep. He wants to watch you suck his fingers forever, crying against his palm as he turns you into his perfect little slut. 

   “You’re gonna give me one more, aren’t you, angel? You owe me that, I saved your life after all.” He slides his fingers from your mouth, dragging your spit down your chin before grabbing you by the throat, “Answer if you can, I know it must be hard to speak when you’re getting fucked this good.” 

   His words drown you in lust, your hands claw at his back, painting angry red lines down the pretty porcelain canvas, “Take it! Fuck- Take it, Suneater, take it all.” 

   It’s not a demand, it’s a plea, it’s a craving formed deep within your freshly corrupted heart. 

   Your begging pulls desperate, whiny sounds from him. With his eyes screwed shut he lets the hand on your thigh manifest the tentacles in place of his fingers. He throws all of his energy into that, trying to stall the twitching of his dick as your hot insides massage him with their relentless pulsing.   

   “Are you sure about that?” He tests, letting the tentacles snake around your thigh before slithering down to where your bodies meet. 

   Immediately, one starts flicking at your clit, making your back go rigid as he grins down at his good work. 

   You wail his name, nails biting at his skin even more but he pays no mind. He has a mission, he’s going to take all of it. 

   He focuses on making his tentacles grow, two long enough to reach up your body and tug at your nipples, and one other snaking down through the mess you’re making to prod at your asshole. Your eyes widen with shock as your body ignites, it’s too much, it’s all too much. Every sensation is heightened, every poke and flick and thrust sends shards of pleasure flying through you, piercing you from every direction. 

   You let yourself cry completely then, throwing your head against Tamaki’s collar bone before sobbing into his chest. You know you’re cumming, you can feel it somewhere amongst all the other stimulation, but it’s nearly drowned out, and Tamaki is still fucking you just as hard as he was when this all started. 

   “More, you have more for me, I fucking know it.” He huffs as he finally pushes into your ass with the tentacle. 

   The ones on your nipples latch on with their suction cups as he fills you more and more. 

   “Give it to me, angel, give it all to your hero.” 

   That’s the final push, the last thing you need to send you into the most frenzied orgasm you’ve ever experienced. Your vision goes white as your body convulses, ripped apart by the flames of euphoria that turn everything you’ve ever known to ash. Somewhere in the distance you hear Tamaki praising you, telling you how tight you feel, how beautiful you look, how good you are for him. 

   It’s lost in the fray, though, all blurring together as you shake violently around him. The only thing that brings you back slightly, is the break in his voice when he sobs, “I’m gonna stuff that little cunt with my cum, I’m gonna make you mine.”

   Your hand is at the back of his neck instantly, pulling him down for a messy, aimless kiss. His moans spill into your mouth as his hips falter, turning to slow, stuttering thrusts as he starts to pump his release deep into you. 

   “I’m yours - I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours.” You chant it against his lips as his tears fall to your cheeks, mixing with your own as you both shatter for each other.

   Coming back down isn't easy at all. It's slow and needy, your hands still pulling at whatever skin they can grab, hips rolling against each other, trying with everything you both have to prolong that rapturous feeling. 

   Frantically, painfully, he pulls himself out of you. He slides his hot mouth down your body, nipping and sucking as he descends to your messy cunt. He spreads your legs wide so he can bury his face between them. He teases your clit briefly, but moves quickly to press his open mouth against your hole.

   Your skin boils as you watch the nasty show. His eyes cross sinfully and flutter shut as he tongue at your well used pussy. When he pulls back, his chin is covered in some wretched mixture of your combined releases. He moves back up your body like an animal stalking its prey.

   He grabs your jaw and you open so willingly. His mouth is on yours instantly, pushing the warm liquid onto your tongue with his own. It’s a spunky, intense flavor, almost overwhelming as he spreads it around your mouth. It creates a dark, blurry feeling in your chest, though. It makes you feel alive, it makes you want more.

   He pulls back slowly, a thick string of saliva and sin connecting your lips as he pants down at you. 

   “You’re such a good little girl.” 

   His lips are everywhere, pressing against your cheekbones, your nose, your forehead. His hands return to normal so he can cradle your face. You both lay there, still joined, catching your breath. 

   "Angel?" 

   The tenderness in his voice pulls you back down to earth, and when you open your eyes, you find yourself lost in his. It’s a harsh but marvelous contrast with the sharp edges of his previous behavior.

   "Does anything h-hurt?" He asks timidly. 

   The stutter is back, the anxious look in his eyes, the restlessness in his hands. 

   You reach out to hold his face like he's holding yours, "Tamaki, no, nothing hurts. You made me feel so good." 

   You don't ever want to be a source of hesitation for him again. You want to make it better. He's brilliant, he's brave, he saved your damn life. He doesn't need to be so scared around you. 

   "You're my hero, Suneater." You pull him down for a soft, intimate kiss. 

   He breathes out against you, more of his tears wet your cheeks but you don't mind. 

   He's allowed to feel this, he earned this. 

   When the kiss breaks he searches your face, waiting for you to laugh at him, to push him off, to change your mind. 

   You don't, though. 

   You stay there with him, loving him and full of him. 

   "And you're mine." 

   You both settle there, kissing skin that hasn't been kissed before, finding ways to make each other fall even more. 

   Tamaki tells himself he did the right thing. You don't ever have to know why Dabi chose your house to break into. You don't ever need to be told that he spent endless nights watching you from the window, because he has you know. 

   It would be wrong of him to tell you, you wouldn't understand it. It would break your heart and ruin everything. Then, it would get messy. You might try to run away, and that would mean he'd have to keep you in different ways. 

   He shakes the thoughts from his head. He can keep you like this, laid out and blushing for him, so soft and beautiful. 

   You belong to him now, and that's all that there is. 

   "Can I take care of you?” He asks softly, playing with the necklace he gave you as he gives you a shy glance. 

   “You just did.” You let yourself laugh a little as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

   “No, not like that.” He smiles softly, dipping down to kiss your neck so softly you almost can’t feel it, “Like this.” 

   He presses his lips against a mark you didn’t know he made, lingering for a moment as his eyes flutter shut. 

   “These say that you’re mine.” His thumb traces over one of the circular bruises on your ribs, “They say you have someone protecting you.”

   The prospect makes your heart soar. He’s right, belonging to him means you’ll always be safe, you’ll always have somebody willing to fight for you, maybe even somebody willing to stay with you. 

   “This says that you belong to me.” He loops a finger around the delicate pearl on your necklace, pulling gently, not enough to make you go anywhere, but enough to make you feel the metal tug against the back of your neck. 

   ‘You do belong to me, don’t you.” He asks, a wild, fearful look in his eyes. 

   You do, you just told him so, you just cried to him and vowed that you were his just moments ago. 

   “I do, I belong to you, I swear.” You reassure him, pulling a deep sigh from his chest. 

   You don’t understand the way he aches for you, the way he’s addicted to you. He was already hooked, from just glances and flighty touches. Now, having felt your soft skin, the tuck of your waist, having seen you cry and heard you call his name, he’s willing to admit his obsession. 

   He does take care of you, he does it beautifully. He carries you to the bathroom where he sets you on the edge of the tub. He fills it with warm, soapy water before picking you up bridal style so he can settle into the water with you in his lap. 

   Neither of you bother to turn a light on, content with the glow of the moon shining through the skylight. Tamaki paints your shoulders with soft kisses as he rubs soothing circles into your back. He takes his sweet time, wiping away the sweat and the tears, mindful of the tender spots on the back of your thighs. 

   “Beautiful, you’re so beautiful.” He sighs, “An angel, nothing less.” 

   You melt into him, lost in his praise, blinded by his devotion as well as your own. 

   Tamaki is just as lost, if not more, only becoming more possessive with every gentle touch, with every whispered adoration. 

   This is how it’s meant to be, and you don’t ever need to know how it all fell into place. He did the right thing, after all. This isn’t a problem, he’s in love. He’s in love and now he has you. 

   He intends on keeping it that way.

[youn9racha]

I Know (Part II)

Pairing: Changbinxfem!reader

Genre: smut

Warning: mild stalking, stripping, phone sex???, mutual masturbation, semi-exhibitionism, a tiny bit of corruption kink, and an even tinier praise kink, switch!changbin, switch!reader

Words: 2.8k

Extra Notes: like I’ve mentioned in the last part, everyone is above the age of 21 (think senior year of college age), so thats that. I’ve also noticed that the lyric is not that related to the story, but oh well :’) anyways, hope you enjoy this

And baby, I know, I know whatever city you’re in, you’re still the boy that I’d pick…

PLEASE READ PART 1 FIRST BEFORE THIS !!

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This is no way representative of the way Stray Kids act. They’re nothing but references of character, and in no shape or form is this how they act. And I am in no way romanticizing or glamorizing any toxic behavior exhibited, they’re just stories that is meant to be read. Readers discretion is advised.

—————————————————————————————————

Changbin’s calling me…

What in the world does he want to talk to me about in this ungodly hour? It wasn’t late, but it certainly wasn’t early enough for a call like this. I looked back at the window and I still see the curtains still closed, assuming he was out or maybe in another room. I answered and put the phone in my ear.

”Hello?”

“Hey, (y/n)! I just wanted to call to check up on you,” he said, “how are you?”

Damn, he only called for innocent intentions... Why is he so damn cute?! (y/n), you got two choices to respond back; you either respond give him a nice sweet response, or you give a sly yet friendly comeback. It can work—

“(y/n)?” The voice out of the phone took me out of my inner self’s debate.

“Yes! Yes! I am fine,” I said, embarrassed and mentally facepalming myself. This is not doing well, he already thinks I am a creep and a loser. Or maybe not, since its seems like I heard a faint chuckle and the word “cute,” followed by, but that could just be a figment of my imagination. “How are you?”

”Oh, I am good, just came back from hanging out with Chan and Han,“ changbin responded, there were shuffling in the background so he could be doing something while on the phone, but what is it? I wouldn’t know. I heard him and Chris mentioning a ‘Han’ in our conversation we had while preparing for my apartment, so that name is familiar, however the owner’s not. “You should meet him one day, I think you both will be good friends.”

”Woah there, you better take me to dinner first before I meet your friend,” I teased. Keep it going, (y/n), you’re on the right track, you’ve definitely caught him off guard, like you always do.

“Give me a place, time, and date, you’ll get that dinner, or maybe I’ll let Chris take you.” Changbin nonchalantly said, oozing confidence just by his voice. That bitch… Always makes it harder for me than it already is. As if he saw my blushing reaction, he began laughing.

“What’s wrong, princess? Cat’s got your tongue?” He said it in a low voice. Usually, I would gag if anyone—let alone a man—calls me princess, but with him, it felt different. It felt… arousing? No! No! (y/n), get a grip!

I rolled my eyes and laid on my back to be more comfortable, “What is it, Changbin?” I said, changing the subject, “What is that you wanted to call me at 10 p.m?” Yes, pretend like he didn’t just call you princess in the sexiest tone of voice you’ve ever heard. Totally would work.

”I told you, I just want to check up on you,“ he confessed but he also paused to say something further, “and also I am bored and I kinda felt like talking to you. I’m not wasting your time, aren’t I?” Although I couldn’t see him, he does however sound really sincere with his words. I don’t want to sound naive, but he sounded truthful.

“No,” I shook my head, “you really didn’t, besides I just got out the shower and was just scrolling through instagram.” I said, looking down in my nails.

”Oh, really?” He said, “were you going to sleep?”

”No, I stay on social media for a long period of time, I don’t sleep that easily“

”I see,” he said, but then he stopped talking. As the awkward silence has erupted between us, I started to think more about the first time I saw him and how I felt. While I thought it would be better for me to tell him later on and on person, but this balloon inside of me was getting bigger and bigger as guilt is inflating it. I sighed and started to speak, “Hey Changbin.”

”Yeah?”

“Can I confess you to something?”

”Tell me anything, doll, I’m all ears.”

Dammit! You’re not making it easier.

I bit my lips, “uhh,” I am glad he wasn’t looking at me, grimacing and slapping my head.

”You know hitting yourself isn’t gonna help,” as soon as Changbin uttered these words, my heart sank. My eyes widened as I got up and looked out window. His curtains were open, and it showcase a very, very pleasant show.

I see Changbin, sitting at the edge of his bed, facing me as his black shirt was fitting his form really well, especially with the semi-flexed arm that has his phone near his ears meanwhile the other arm was holding the elbow of the occupied arm. He was look at me straight at my eyes when we made eye contact, and fuck, was that an image to look at. As I looked like a deer going through a headlight, Changbin tilted his head in confusion, but he still had a smirk, “what is it you wanted to me?” he said through the phone.

”I-I“ I stuttered. At this point, I’ve lost all sense of dignity and my self thought, I am about to get called a creep by a good looking man I met not too long. Here goes nothing.

”I may have invaded your privacy,” I said, which caused Changbin to furrow his eyebrows in even more confusion, still having a slight smile to it. “What are you talking about?”

”Ugh, Changbin, I saw you half naked when apartment touring numerous times!” I yelled in frustration, as he kept pushing my button. I looked away, not bearing to look at him, as I closed my eyes out of guilt. “I understand if you don’t want to be friend, even though we met for only a week, but I just couldn’t bear the guilt that I—“

As I confessed, I heard a laugh coming put of the phone, I opened my eyes and looked at Changbin looking down, with shoulders shaking up and down. Now, I have the confused look that he had, “What’s funny?”

“Oh, princess, you have no idea,” He said, still looking down. Me still being bemused, he noticed my silence and looked up at my frowned face.

”I know…” He smirked, while my eyes were widened. Son of a bitch.

”W-wh-“

“I thought you knew that I’m doing all this on purpose, I’ve been trying to catch your attention every single way.” He leaned forward, placing both elbows in his knees, “I thought you were smart, only to be a gullible baby.” He whispered the last part, as I gulped at the last part. God damn, he’s so intense with his gaze. His eyes wandering all over me meanwhile maintaining a very dark yet exciting aura, which typically puts me off but now, I’ve never wanted to pounce a man so badly.

I smirked at him, the guilt I had had fizzled away, only to replace with arousal.

“So you’re not mad?” I looked at him, with innocent eyes, now laying on my side, facing him, as my robe slipped and exposed a part of my shoulder and the upper of my chest. He breathed in, as he was examining me, “no, why would I be mad at you?” He leaned back, as his head was thrown back, neck exposed, placing his free hand on the back of his neck.

God, is he so fine…

”I could never be mad at my precious baby.” He smiled a seductive smile at me, which made me riled up by rolling my eyes and looking up. “You like getting called that, don’t you?” He may have said it in a question form, but it didn’t feel like one, it was rather a statement than a question. “Hm,” I said, looking back at him, eyes half opened out of hunger for him.

We had an intense eye contact, where if it weren’t for the distant and the glass that is placed in front of us, we’d probably be all over each other.

”Has your hang out with Han and Chris worn you out?” I asked, decievingly innocent. Man, the power this man has over me is no joke. He scoffed, “so you’re just going to mention other men like that?”

Ignoring him, I got up, letting the towel that was loosely in my head fall onto my bed, and went closer to the window, “let me relieve you of your stress, if you don’t mind.” I shyly fidgeted on my robe belt. He looked at me up and down, licking his lips, “I wouldn’t mind, if you don’t as well.”

There’s nothing more sexier than mutual consent. (y/n), shut up, don’t ruin the moment.

I smiled and backed away from the window. I put my phone on speaker and put it on the side. I looked back at him, as I held onto my robe belt, he looked at me with a smile. I turned around with a slight sway on my hips, as I slowly undid my belt, slowly exposing my back at him, smiling as I heard a shuddering breath coming out of the phone.

As the robe completely fell off my body, being just in my underwear, exposing whatever secret flaws that has been hidden from the public. I silently gasp at the cool breeze as I held onto my chest, sensing my nipples getting hard. “Turn around for me, baby,” Changbin’s breathy voice echoed all over the room.

We may not be in the same room, and we maybe exposing ourselves to whoever is above and under us as well, but neither of us care. In our eyes, we only got each other, and we’re the only ones in existence.

I turned to him, letting go of my breasts and letting myself be bare, only to see him palming himself through his tight pants, groaning at his lack of full on skin-to-skin touch. It’s like he was waiting for me to tell him touch himself, which proved correct when he said, “please, let me touch myself.”

I smiled sympathetically, and also slightly astonishingly. I have never met a man with such switch like that. His dominating demeanor has faded and been replaced to a submissive cutie, which I obviously seem to admire very much. Pretending to thinking, I sat down, and looked at him, putting my hands behind me, “only if you give me a show too.”

I smirked at his state. He was disheveled, and adorned a beet tint all across his cheeks and nose. He looked beaten, but I loved it, and he does too. He put his phone on speaker too, quickly got up, and rapidly got his shirt.

“Ah ah!” I said, which caused him to freeze, looking at me, desparation was seeping through his eyes. Menacingly smiling, “slowly.”

Which he obeyed, surprisingly patient and sensual, I jokingly remarked that “he got dancer hips,” with the way he took off clothes while his hips moved in a way not many who can control their bodies can. He chuckle, “you should see how it works wonder,” his cocky attitude has made a comeback, which should piss me off but it made the whole thing hotter than it already is.

We’re both in our underwear, looking up at our eyes and looking down at each other’s half-nude bodies. Changbin wasn’t the tallest man I have ever met—not that it matters—, but he got many aspects that makes up for it, and its not just looks or personality. Just by the outline, I can tell that his little guy wasn’t little.

I propped myself with my elbows as I spread my legs, for him to see the wet spot that is stained in my underwear. He grunted at the sight, while I chuckle, “you like what you see?” I faux-innocently asked as I trailed my hand from my neck, making my head fall back, down to the valley of my chest, onto the waistband of my underwear.

“Fuck…” Changbin cursed, admiring the sight in front of him. He didn’t realize how lucky he was to see me in a state like this, not many have the privilege, especially not with men I met in a short amount of time.

I tugged my panties, took it off and exposed a part that he was dying to see, which caused him to gulp. He sighed with a smile, “god damn, (y/n),“ he shook his head in disbelie, “I’ve always thought you were gorgeous, but now I’m convinced you’re a goddess“

I giggle at his words, “and you, sir, are a demon disguised as a greek god” I teased back, tracing my two fingers around my lips, I noticed that he still was in his underwea. He still waited for my permission. How adorable.

”You can take off your underwear, Binnie” I didn’t even mean to give him the nickname, but I was too excited to even think straight. I looked at him, and saw him reveal his friend, and I gasped loudly, which made Changbin alert. “What? Whats wrong?”

”Nothing, its just,” I chuckle, “you have a nice dick.”

”Thank you,” He smirked as he sat down and looked at me, with full attention. I put my two fingers into my mouth, while maintaining eye contact. I then trailed my finger down to clit, which resulted in me letting out a blissful gasp. Meanwhile, Changbin was repositioning to a comfortable position as he began to touch himself, which caused him to let out a choked out groan.

”Binnie, as you touching yourself?” I half-whispered, but it was still loud enough for him hear along with my fingers movements that moved from my clit onto my slit, which made me moan.

”Ah-y-yes” Changbin groaned and nodded, as he was stroking his dick following the pace that I was going at.

After hearing Changbin’s groans, I began inserting my fingers at my slit, making me whimper in the process, “oh, fuck” I cursed, as I started to thrust my fingers in and out, noises coming out of my mouth along with the wetness of my pussy were getting louder, which excited Changbin, as his stroking was audible through the phone along with his beautiful groans.

“god, (y/n), if only I could touch you,” Changbin spoke through groans when he saw me fondling my breast and going faster. I was getting louder with my noises, in contrast of Changbin’s quite yet beautiful and audible noises. So much so, it sounds like Changbin was watching porn, rather than getting fucked at a distance.

“Ah-are-fuck-are you close?” Changbin asked through whines, his speech was getting difficult as he was getting closer to climax with his strokes going as fast as I was.

I nodded, out of struggle of speech, whining out, “Ah! Binnie!”

“Fuck, (y/n), I’m—“ Changbin grunted, as his strokes was started to get sloppy, he began to thrust onto his hands. I began to feel like something burning up in my stomach, moaning at the sensation, “Chang—I’m cummin— I’m cumming”

“Me too…” He choked on his words, as his groans and moans were also getting louder. Our phone voices combined was dirty but erotic, topped with the scene of two people masturbating to each other, now thats even a hotter view.

“Binnie!”

“Go ahead, baby... cum”

And just like that, I let out a squeal as I reached my peak, still playing with myself until I sensed an overstimulation. Not too long after, I was hearing a lot of grunt from the call and then I looked at Changbin, who ended up cumming onto his stomach, his chest raising up and down, letting himself catch his breath. Still out of breath, we both looked at each other, we both laughed at our fucked out state.

“Holy fuck, was that hot?” Changbin commented, taking the phone, putting it out of his speaker and back to his ear. I laughed at his sudden remark, nodding, “oh yeah, can’t wait to feel what you feel like,” I bit my lip.

”At least buy me dinner first,” He teased, referring to the remark I had at the time, which made me roll my eyes and him to chuckle. “You’re a dick,” I said.

”A big one, and a pretty one according to you,” He teased again. I started to jokingly groan at his words, causing him to laugh, “alright, alright, I’ll stop.”

I got up and picked the phone, looking at him, “I had fun, we should do this again,” him and I started exchanging a smile, this time it was more pure than the smiles we had earlier. He nodded, “for sure, but the next time is going to be in one of our beds, I really need to touch you.”

”The feeling is mutual.”

We began to talk a little more, until we both have felt that slumber was starting to sneak up onto our eyes. We both ultimately had to hang up, since we don’t want to raise our phone bills with our already long call. While facing away from the window, I couldn’t help but started admire Changbin in my head.

I typically hate men, but Changbin wasn’t just like any man.

He was Changbin, and I highly doubt that you’ll ever find a man like him.

[tonesplash]

Bikini Lunchtime Part 2 (18+)

pairing: edward cullen x reader

warnings: smut ;), vaginal fingering, slight choking but not really he just puts his hand on ur throat, uuuuh getting caught kinda, reader has a mom

a/n: maybe a part 3 bc ed boy did get cucked

read part one here

"You're speeding." Edward lifts his mouth from the space behind your ear to remind you, and then goes right back to drawing your attention away from the speedometer.

"This is aAh-" You lose your concentration when his tongue swaths hotly up your throat before flicking back into his mouth when it reaches your earlobe. You can feel his smile against your skin. "A lot coming from the guy who hates driving below the triple digits."

One of his heater-warmed hands comes down to knead your thigh as he continues in his effort to wrap the both of you around a tree. "There's just one more turn, (Y/n), I'm sure you can manage." 

Yeah, that and like thirty-something trashcans you want to say, but then he's leaning in again, and without thinking, you clasp your non-dominant hand over his forehead to stop him long enough for you to concentrate. You weren't strong enough to hold him still, but Edward relents nonetheless and allows you to keep him in place as you do your best to park with one hand while he helpfully manages the parking brake. 

"You better make this worth my time, Cullen." You smile in anticipation as your seatbelt whips back into its holder. "It's cold as hell today, and I don't feel like fronting for the electricity bill."

”If you feel cheated at the end of the day, I'll pay it for you.” Edward grins as he kisses your temple and sits back in his seat to disembark.

He's lucky your neighbors aren't nosy because he appears at your car door in a flash, already reaching to help you out with your school bag slung over his shoulder and food trash neatly tied off in the bag it came in. You turn off the engine and hop out to meet him on the sidewalk as you trail towards the front door. You take quick notice of the extra weight in the bag.

"Why won't you just let me trash my car the way I want to? I saw the fries from under my seat were also gone this morning." You squint suspiciously at him over your shoulder as you blindly attempt to unlock the door while simultaneously intimidating him. 

”It was starting to smell like a compost bin.” Edward can only stand you fumbling with your keys for a few seconds before he just takes them from you and opens it himself. Once inside, he hangs your bag on the hook by the door while you slip off your shoes and shrug off your jacket in a vain attempt to make it upstairs before him.

”Well, I think your car smells like a Bath and Bodyworks, what do you think is worse?” You take the stairs two at a time while he effortlessly matches your pace, one hand on the small of your back to keep you from slipping.

”I’d say the health hazard. Without me, you'd definitely have roaches by now.” His dry laugh echoes from behind you and makes you giddy with anticipation. You playfully roll your eyes and shuck your shirt over your head as he opens your bedroom door. The way you eagerly shove and tug off your clothes down to your underwear is hardly a striptease, but it doesn't bother either of you as you scamper over to your underwear drawer to grab your new attire.

"Okay now you-" You hold the bundle of cloth under one arm as you grab his shoulders and guide him to sit on the end of your bed. "-stay right here, I'll be right back!" 

His chuckle follows you out into the hall as you scamper over to your bathroom and shut the door behind you. Your foot misses the leg hole of the bottoms three whole times before you have to stop yourself and take a steadying breath to calmly step into them like a normal person.  

Despite your clear excitement that he can no doubt smell in the air and read in your mind, you decide to tease him a bit as you approach the bedroom. You balance on one leg against the door, gripping the knob as you creep it open and stick your leg through the opening up to your knee. 

"Is this doing anything for you?" You giggle and wiggle your toes in the general direction of the bed.

"Be careful, (Y/n), when you fall through that door you're gonna be very embarrassed." You can still hear the smile in his voice as you almost immediately prove his point by taking an awkward hop forward to balance and accidentally exposing your entire leg at once in your effort to stay upright.

"I'm trying to think of what my entrance song would be but I'm coming up blank. You're gonna have to fill it in yourself." When you peek through the door, you can see his eyes have a laser focus on your thigh. 

"Cellophane." Edward replies without blinking. 

Confused and a little offended, you shove the door open all at once.

"That is so rude! What exactly are you tryi-"

Without warning, Edward crowds you against your door, one hand already lifting your leg to curl around his hip while he covers your mouth with his own. His tongue sweeps from your bottom lip to the roof of your mouth, sucking your tongue and making you shiver between the cold wood of the door and the hard plane of his chest.

His opposite hand strokes down your side, trailing lightly around your breast and ribs until it comes down to cup you through your bottoms. You gasp and break the kiss to bow your head into his shoulder and watch but he won't let you, the hand at your hip leaving to cradle the side of your neck, thumb resting over your windpipe, holding you steady against his mouth while teases you through the nylon.

You arch your hips into his hand and lose yourself in his taste, careful of his teeth lest you prick yourself and have him swear off frenching until the end of time.

Edward releases the kiss with a wet smack, the trail of spit still connecting your lips sticking to your skin as he dives lower to worship your throat.

Pausing his ministrations, he adjusts his hold to be firmly under your ass, his tongue gliding up your sternum as he lifts you above him in one smooth motion. You squeal and cling to his shoulders as he smoothly carries you across the room and gently lays you out amongst your pillows.

Edward climbs to kneel over you, ravishing your mouth with his own, one knee between your legs to grind on as his fingers creep up your sides to tease your breasts, kneading at first, then extending each thumb to play with the bud of your nipples when they strain against your top. The kiss becomes sloppier, spittle trailing down your cheek as you both lose yourself in the sensations.

Your growing desperation overcomes you when he lightly pinches the tips of your breasts, pulling away to shove the thin fabric under your chest, exposing yourself to the open air and his wanton gaze.

“So impatient.” Edward huffs a small laugh, spreading his cool breath over your chest, further pebbling your nipples. He maintains eye contact as he trails slow, reverent kisses down and over your breasts until you can feel the presence of his lips just beyond the skin. 

“For someone with super speed, you sure like to take your time.” You quip and arch yourself into him just as his tongue creeps out to flick against your nipple, eliciting a whimper before it grinds into the sensitive skin, pressing it flat before he snakes an arm under you to further prostrate your chest and sucking your teat into his mouth.

Your reaction is immediate and involuntary, a sharp gasp, spine arching to the nth degree, toes curling against his slacks until he releases you with a pop and pushes his leg harder into your slit, going back to sucking, licking, laving your bud against the cold slick of his tongue until it glistened between you.

You could hardly keep quiet now, moaning and squirming, tugging his hair as he switches sides,  hoping, praying that no one would come home early to find you like this. Edward sweeps his tongue over your neglected breast, bathing it in his spittle and sucking until the buildup of sensitivity becomes too much and you have to shove him away before you cum on his thigh and embarrass yourself.

“I would've liked it, at least.” He smirks before leaning in for another kiss, and laying down next to you, your core disconnecting with a wet smack from the stain that had soaked through to his pants. Your face burns red and your pussy almost feels numb with neglect until his lips are on your throat again and his unused hand pushes past your bottoms, gathering your abundant slick.

He scoots closer to your side, his arm a stark white contrast against your skin with his hand shoved into your bottoms, knuckles straining against the fabric while he rubs your clit into a frenzy.

"Oh, fuck," you moan and toss your head against his shoulder, sensations overwhelming. 

You feel dazed, unfocused, and you can't decide if you want to watch the near frantic movement of his arm or lose yourself in the dirty sounds and sensations and let your eyes glaze over. You think you can hear the front door open, but you're far too wrapped up in him to care.

Edward moans against your temple, empathetic to your pleasure as he switches tactics, two fingers slipping in, while his thumb continues stimulating your clit. It's a tight fit at first but the mild sting adds to your pleasure, and you raise a knee to give him a better angle. The fingers inside of you begin to curl, teasing that spot deep inside, and one of your hands immediately shoots down, death gripping the wrist working at you as you begin to throb.

"You're so wet, and warm." His words are breathless against your temple, straining to not groan full volume into your ear. You involuntarily clench around him.

"I can taste you in the air, and you're so sweet and soft, do you think I'll have time to taste you before anyone gets home, sweetness?" At the last word, he openly moans with you as his thumb rubs upwards, bypassing the hood of your clit while curling his fingers against the softest spot inside of you.

The effect is immediate, your cresting shout is hastily muffled by the palm of his unoccupied hand bracing over your open mouth, and you whimper when he doesn't stop grinding his fingers against that spongy spot on your inner wall, wringing as much cream as you can give onto his hand, even as whoever just came home pauses at the top of the stairs at the sound your blankets rustling when your leg jerks out with overstimulation. You reach out and hitch your knee upwards again to hold it still.

"Can you cum on my hand, darling? And not make a sound?" You sob against his palm. "I want to feel you cum on my hand again, but I can't do that if you're too loud, alright?" 

The nod you give is shaky and stifled by the restriction of his hand, but he has mercy as his fingers start to curl again, and you both watch them writhe under your bikini bottoms in the low light of your covered window, as they disappear in your heat and come up again with the slickest of sounds.

When your thighs stop twitching and the overwhelming stings of overstimulation build into a pleasant hum, Edward pulls his hand out and pulls away to undress, before disappearing in a blink when your bedroom door dents the wall, revealing your very pissed off mother.

Later that night you'd argue whether the loud schlick of your cum on his hand or the ensuing slap of your thighs slamming shut with your ruined orgasm is what got you caught playing hooky on a autumn weekday alone in your bedroom in nothing but an askew bikini.

[palbabor-writes]

I know you said you only might accept pregnancy requests depending on what it is so I wanted to try 😅 how about shigaraki and reader break up while she’s unknowingly pregnant with his child and he bumps into said child years later and connects the dots that it’s his? If you don’t like it feel free to ignore this request 😊

I liked this nonnie.

I am terrified that by saying that I’m going to be inundated with pregnancy HC’s, lol. But, this request I really leaned into. Plus, it’s more about a kid than a pregnancy. 

So, thank you for asking and letting me slip out of my comfort zone. It’s always good to do that every once in awhile and this ask was a great reminder of that.

It’s a bit melancholic, but I think it fits with Tomura, at least, in my mind.

Now, this is not in canon. This is not like, pre-war arc, or post-war arc. If anything, it’s more of an AU. I’d put Tomura in his late 20s to early 30s.  

warnings: none really, just some sweet, sweet interactions and mild angst 

Hestia Hestia, in Greek religion, is the goddess of the hearth, a daughter of Cronus and Rhea, and one of the 12 Olympian deities. When the gods Apollo and Poseidon became suitors for her hand, she swore to remain a maiden forever, and Zeus, the king of the gods, bestowed upon her the honor of presiding over all sacrifices. 

The shouting noise of children set his teeth on edge.

Toga had insisted that the bus stop by the school was the best place for the information exchange.

They won’t look for you there, she’d assured him. It’s like hiding in plain sight. Yeah, it’s patrolled, but it’s only an old security guard who does the rounds. Besides, he’s retired from the police force, she qualified, and was more like a lazy cat than an attentive scent hound.  

It’s the best place, really.

So, Shigaraki had made the long trek across Tokyo.

He kept to the shadows as he weaved his way through back alleys and streets. Although the dominance of the League had waned some over the years, he was still a wanted criminal, responsible for countless death and threats on hero society.

He was still the King of his slice of the underworld.

Besides, he reassured himself as he loitered by the bench under the bus stop, he could trust Toga.

She had improved in leaps and bounds as she came of age; deadlier, sleeker, more attuned to the ebbs and flows of the world around her. She wasn’t that girl who chattered about blood anymore.

Oh, she still held a strange fascination with the fluid. But she had more control over those impulses that drove her. If she said it was the best place, well, who was he to argue? Toga had been with him from the beginning, a vital ally. Hell, at this point she was close to being a friend.

Shigaraki is still musing when the ball taps its way to his feet.

It clatters against the pavement; the rubber shuttling it along the loose rocks and leaves. Unthinkingly, Shigaraki lifts his shoe to balance against its unbound movement, stilling its lulling bounces.

Must be from that schoolyard, he thinks, his red eyes flashing up at the low chain-link fence that separates the school grounds from the busy street.

There’s no child dashing their way to retrieve it, so he lets his gaze slip from the teeming masses of giggling youngsters. It’s a pretty blue. The ball looks new. Hardly a scuffed and battered thing.

He keeps it under his sole, toying with it, rolling it meditatively as he slips back into his thoughts.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

It’s a small voice that calls to him and he turns his head back to the fence, looking for the source.

It’s a girl.

She’s leaning against the metal, her hands clutching into the links, cocking her head inquisitively at him.

Her nose wrinkles at his silence, and she shouts another demand.

“Mister, that’s my ball. Toss it back.”

“Aren’t you supposed to say please?” Shigaraki taunts, his lips lifting in a quick grin. He’s not sure why he’s bothering to engage with this kid, but something about her plucky attitude resonates with him.

She leans away from the fence, that scowl deepening on her soft features.

“Aren’t grown ups not supposed to steal things?”

He laughs at her snark. He can’t help it. Oh, this kid’s fun.

Carefully slipping the ball into his hands, he moves closer to the fence. He can see her a little better now.

She’s still got that deep frown on her face and her dark hair is gleaming in the afternoon sun, some strands catching the light, reflecting a deep, auburn, hue. He’s just about to chuck the ball to her when he catches sight of her eyes.

They’re red.

Not that red eyes are unusual. There are plenty of people milling around Tokyo with them. But hers are different.

No, these eyes are like looking into a mirror for Shigaraki. They flint and glare with the same sheen as his own. It’s a prefect reflection.

His feet suddenly feel heavy, leaden, and he can’t lift his arms. Who is this child? Why does she-

“Ok, ok, mister. Can I please have my ball back? You’re still stealing it if you don’t, so I’m not apologizing for that. I might... if you give it back to me, cuz’ it’s my ball, not yours. And, stealing makes you a thief.”

She’s rolling those uncanny irises at his stiff form, and a huffing sigh escapes her small mouth.

“What’s your name?” Shigaraki asks, hands trembling over the rubber of the ball.

“Not supposed to tell that to strangers, mister.”

He smiles again, bemused. Well, he thinks begrudgingly, she’s a clever little thing. Whoever she is.

A sharp bell echoes across the yard and she turns her head at the sound, her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders.

“Here,” Shigaraki relents, gently flipping the ball over the fence, bouncing it to her feet.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, quickly snatching up her prize. Those red eyes of hers meet his own, and he can feel a low shiver echo up his spine. What’s up with this reaction? It almost feels visceral, like some sort of otherworldly pull on him.

“Sorry I called you a thief,” she apologizes, quickly bowing her head, ducking those eerie eyes from view.

He’s not sure what to say, so he continues to watch her. She doesn’t seem perturbed by this, opting to giggle at him as her little head lifts.

“You’re weird,” she assess, a smile finally spreading over her lips, her cheeks rounding and softening. 

Tch, she’s rude, but she’s also cute, Shigaraki thinks, snorting at her frankness.

She turns, dashing away from him, her dark hair flowing around her back as she goes.

Shigaraki shakes his head, trying to dislodge those lingering questions that keep floating to the back of his mind.

He’ll never see her again, he reasons, wandering back to the bus stop. Trying to tamp down the urge to look for her again, to pinpoint her from the other giggling and shouting children on the playground.

But he did see her again.

He comes back to the stop a few weeks later.

There’s no information pickup this time. There’s no real reason for him to even be on this side of town.

He just can’t get her out of his mind.

This little kid had shaken something within his psyche. He kept dreaming about her. Well, not her, really. No, there was someone else haunting his dreams.

He hasn’t thought about you in years.

But now? Now, he can’t get you out of his head. He even feels like he can feel you some nights, warm against his side. He sulks in the memories of the familiar touches that the two of you shared, the love that you’d pressed into him, so, so long ago.

He saw the girl in those moments. Resting in your arms as you looked up, your eyes bright against her dark head. The girl would laugh and run to him, those reflective red eyes shining with mirth. 

It was fucking strange.

He both hated, and loved, the repetitive nature of these illusions. They made him feel safe and warm, but they also chilled him to his very bones. It was unsettling.

Unsure what else to do, he’d back come to the bus stop.

It’s early afternoon. Close to the time he’d visited it before. He waits on the lonely bench, his hands pressed together and that strange tremble races through his veins.

This is stupid, he thinks, his eyes lowering from the sea of kids, all twisting and turning in a heap as they play. It’s an impossibility, really. The chances of that girl losing her ball again is minuscule. There’s no way he can call to her either. It’s a waste. He shouldn’t even be here.

He’s standing to leave, when that small voice reaches him.

“Oh! You’re back.”

His head whips around, his long white hair glowing against the sunlight.

There she is.

She’s gripping the fence again, and she’s staring right at him.

Shigaraki smiles. It’s a gentle lift and he can feel his heart tapping a rough tattoo against his ribs. He steps toward her, kneeling when he gets close, careful to not overstep his bounds.

He’s not wanting to startle her.

No, he’s wanting to talk with her. Maybe she’ll drop some kinda clue why he’s so drawn to her. Or maybe she’ll morph into any other child again. Plain, uninteresting. Slipping from that odd ghost that she’s become to his subconscious. 

He hopes it’s the latter. But part of him also longs for it to be the former.

She’ll hop to the fence around 3:15.

She looks for him now, used to the routine of his presence.

He told her to call him Tomura, and the name falling from her lips made his heart ache.

Tomura stopped by on Fridays. Careful to not stay too long, to not draw too much attention to himself.

At first, he’d sneak her little trinkets. 

A little plastic toy of his, one that he had since he was a kid. She’d squealed with delight and clutched it to her. He’d grinned at that, remembering how he’d once held onto the thick plastic himself. 

Once, he’d just plucked a nearby flower as he walked to the school, presenting it to her outreached grasp. He’d watched proudly as she tucked it behind her ear, the color glossy beside her hair.

She’s still a sassy little thing. But she’s softened a little, too. Her voice losing that early, untrusting, edge.

He didn’t ask her much. Sometimes they both just sat in silence as she sketched designs into the dirt. Sometimes he would listen to her chatter about her day. Her classmates, her teacher. Once, she’d even pressed something over the fence to him.

It was a drawing.

He’s not sure if it really was all that well done, or if it’s just his heavy bias toward her. But he loves the mix of color and lines. He’d asked who the people were.

One was her friend, Kenji. One was her teacher. One was him.

He’d pinned it to the wall in his room. Displaying it, flaunting the gift. He looked at it every morning, admiring her work.

He’s late one day, and she scolds him, her small arms draping over the fence.

“I didn’t think you were going to come,” she chatters, her red eyes lingering against his, the two colors casting back the same hue.

“Was running behind,” Tomura replies, leaning against the low concrete barrier, resting his back against the fence.

Her little hands reach for his hair, playing with the pearlescent tendrils, weaving some into knots and braids. 

He doesn’t mind.

“Hey, Tomura,” she says, working a tiny hairband into her creation, her voice curious.

“Hmm,” he hums, careful to not shift his head, not wanting to disrupt her hard work.

“You didn’t ask my name again. At least… not after that one day.”

“Do you want me to ask?” He queries, his pulse lifting.

He’d wanted to ask her again, but he didn’t want to startle her, to shatter these innocences that they shared.

“It’s Beryl,” she answers. She says it confidently, and he turns to face her.

She grins at him, wiggling one loose tooth playfully at his serious expression, trying to tug a laugh from him.

“Beryl?” he repeats, unable to keep that awed hush from his raspy tones. It’s a pretty name. It suits her, really. But it’s strange. It’s not Japanese. 

You hadn’t been Japanese. 

“That’s a good name,” he assures her. “But, it’s not… you don’t hear that name very often.”

“Yeah,” Beryl concedes, her vermillion eyes roving over his face. “My mom’s not from here.”

His nostrils flare at that.

He hasn’t asked her about her mother. He’s unsure if it’s a general disinterest on his part, or trepidation. He fears it’s the latter.

Gulping, he tilts his head at her, feeling that soft braid she’s plaited into his hair shifting.

“Who’s your mother?”

“Who is she? She’s my mom, silly.”

“No,” he pauses, ignoring that creeping tremor that’s working its way to the top of his skull, his skin prickling and cooling. “I mean…what’s her name?”

“Oh! Her name is-”

“Beryl! Beryl, it’s time to come inside.” A teacher is calling for her. 

Tomura startles away, drifting to his feet and pacing quickly back to the bus stop. He can’t help the snarl that etches its way across his lips. He’d been so close. So fucking close…

He chances a glance back at the fence and catches sight of Beryl. She’s dashing across the playground, her dark hair waving in the sun.

Japan is about to slip into summer. School will come to a close, moving into a long break. He won’t see her again for almost a month.

His heart sinks at that realization and he grits his teeth. Slipping his hands into his dark trench coat, he steps across the street, away from the bus stop, away from the little girl that’s feeling more and more like his own.

Edit: oh hey. so, i couldn’t stfu about this and created a sequel: Materfamilias 

hahaha & part iii

[binniesthighs]

can u do an enemy to lovers au with han jisung where they are in a hidden fwb relationship? thank u~ 🥺

I really look some creative liberties with this one HA but the product...hehe, I hope that you enjoy it love! I also kinda accidentally made it a period piece??? Like 50′s-60′s? Idk how this happened but the vibe and the music I was listening to while writing really put me in that mood haha

blue velvet | reader x jisung |

Paring: self insert, gender neutral reader x han jisung

Genre: smut n’ angst

Tags: stripper!jisung, stripper!reader, bi!jisung, enemies (competitors) to lovers, secret relationship, friends with benefits, explicit language, mentions of alcohol, degrading names, choking, spanking, v mild spit play, unprotected sex (wrap it before you slippity slap it friends), creampie, cum eating, scratching, oral (reader receiving) semi-public sex, hello yes this one is kinda filthy ooooops

Word count: 3.2k

Recommended listening: Blue Velvet by Bobby Vinton

Fuck. It’s hot in here. Too fucking hot.

Reconnaissance. That’s what you were doing. It was fucking disgusting. Everyone in the room was just as fake as the pleather belts that held their guts in. You had never seen anything more embarrassing in your whole life. Desperation was sweating off the walls and sunk into your skin. It made you feel sick.

You scoffed and took a long sip from your drink.

“One more?” An attentive maître d' asked you--if he could even been called that in a place like this.

You covered your hand over your glass. You refused to pay for any more of that cheap tasting shit.

Next to you a rapt group of men in suits wagged their tails at the view. She wasn’t even very pretty.

Rolling your eyes, you scoped out the rest of the room, adorned in red velvet and gold nearly everywhere. What was this? A high school musical? Even those had more class than this place.

You checked your sliver wristwatch lined by dainty diamonds. You always did like gifts. Too bad rarely anyone would get anything in return.

The girls on the stage twirled around, giving the audience the best view that they could, tiger-prowling to those waving bills in their grabby hands. They were tanned and fashioned into strappy and lacy pieces that looked like they all must have shared them. Pathetic.

“You come here often?”

He swirled some clear looking liquid in his crystal glass, the little string of olives clinking the side.

“Are you speaking to me?”

“No, I’m talking to them.” He head nodded to the same group of greasy businessmen. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“It’s my first time...and likely my last.”

“Huh. Tough critic.”

He didn’t look like the rest of them. Younger, reeking less of starved attention. He had golden blonde hair, and a silk white shirt unbuttoned far into a deep V. He was toned: the muscles on his arms were visible under the thin fabric and his abs made a show thanks to the abandonment of buttons. He wore dress pants perfectly fitted for his thighs. He was...attractive...but not your type.

“What’s not to like? Beautiful people, drinks to make you forget your mistakes? Not your scene?”

You rested your chin in your palm. “It’s my scene, but not this scene.”

“Suit yourself.” He took another swing, pivoting his body towards you, legs spread wide. “I think I know someone who can change you mind though.”

“In this place? Unlikely.”

“Come on...just stay a little bit longer and they’ll come out. They’re the last act of the night for a reason.” He signaled to the maître d' and whispered something into his ear. “Drinks on me. If you’ll stay?”

“Free drinks?” You put down your empty glass. “I suppose I can’t say no to that.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

It was thirty minutes till closing, and you had stayed much longer than you had liked. After all the drinks you had to pass the time, you were starting to feel a little buzz, but nothing much really phased you these days. You started to wonder if he had been pulling some kind of prank. Nothing you had seen was what he had hyped it up to be.

The lights dimmed behind you, making the room dark enough for the tiny white candles at the tables to provide the only light. Spotlights flashed on from behind you too, illuminating the U shaped stage. With the lights, the music faded into something much more sultry.

The first two girls stepped out, both of them wearing white sets that were nearly identical with sheer robes. Two others stepped out after them, this time wearing red and black. It was the same thing you had been seeing all night.

The spotlight tightened.

It was him.

He was wearing a button down and those same pants, everything seemed so tight on him, accentuating every curve of his body. Strangely, when he walked out, he was greeted with wolf-whistles and hoots. He winked back at his spectators, nearly falling out of their chairs to see him better. It was even stranger considering the audience was filled with men.

He walked around the girls on stage as if he was inspecting them, his eyes eating up every bit of their skin. He confidence was unparalleled. He would run his hands down their sides, digging his fingers into their hips. They circled around him until his body was covered with their hands, teasing the audience, just barely touching around his dick, which with his pants...there was little room for imagination.

Silent moans left his lips once they started undressing him giving him their full attention. The cheers grew even louder. Before long, he was nearly fully undressed swaying to the music. He wore nothing special, just some briefs, like any normal person would. It was...confusing.

He took turns “giving attention” to every girl, looking at them like he worshiped the ground the walked on. They would grind their bodies together, or he would pick them up in his arms, and they would wrap their long legs around him. He would pantomime fucking them from behind, screwing up his face as if he really was. Everyone went crazy for that.

It didn’t last for very long and the lights soon went all the way down, leaving the stage scattered with sweating bodies, panting as if they had just cum, entangling themselves all in eachother.

You were a bit unenthused, but it was different. There was something about him that was different.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Were the drinks enough for you?” His voice called to you just as you were about to leave. This time, he returned wearing the same silk shirt.

“I hope that I didn’t make you pay for too many.” You pouted with faux empathy.

“And the show?” He grinned a little.

“Interesting. Considering a place like this.”

He laughed a little. “I help with...the imagination.”  

“So they pretend that you’re them. I’ll admit, it’s smart.”

“You’d be surprised, somedays I get more male customers compared to most of the girls here.” He bit his lip as if recalling a memory. “They pay well too, pay for whatever they aren’t getting at home. Who am I do deny them that when it’s my job?

“You sleep with them?”

“The ones I like.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Can be. In a good way.” He let out a sharp laugh. “So. Did I prove you wrong?”

“Hmmm. I could do better.”

He popped his brows up. “You could?”

He was intriguing. You decided to give him a bite. “I dance at La Rose Rouge.”

“You dance at that overpriced, snotty ass place?” His words turned poisonous.  What’s it like dancing for a guy who’s got a stick so far up his ass--”

“--The price is right, and you get what you pay for there...especially if its me.”

“How am I not surprised?”

“I need to go, I’ve seen all I could here.” You bowed at him a little.

“Wait.” He grabbed at your arm. “I’ve still got one more thing to show you. Follow me.”

 ╚ ——————————————— ╝

Your insides were on fire as he fucked into you. Every time that he thrust into you, he was relentless and unforgiving. He was going so fast you could barely catch your breath. You were bent over some dusty old sofa in an equally dusty dressing room. You would kill him if he left bruises on your hips from how hard he was holding you.

“fuck. shit.” He panted, then reached one of his hands around to rub at your sensitive sex, slick with your excitement.

He was so fucking cocky, but he knew what the hell he was doing. He bent over your back, sucking into your skin, wrapping his arms around you to tweak your nipples. He was wrecking you from the inside out, devouring you like he had never tasted anything like you.

He kicked your legs open even farther. “Fucking moan for me, slut.”

You had barely let him hear more than a few gasps, he didn’t deserve it. You wanted him to moan for you.

“Who are you calling slut?” You said with venom.

You shoved off of him, and he looked devastated. He was cute. He even frowned regretfully like he had done something wrong.

The metal of your rings dug into his neck when you grabbed it, squeezing as hard as you could. Your hot breath snuck into his ear, “No, you fucking moan for me...slut.”

You attacked his lips, tracing the insides of his mouth with your tongue. He moaned right into you and grabbed handfuls of your ass with his two hands. Your teeth bit his lip and pulled. His dick trembled between the two of you and he rutted against your stomach to get some kind of relief.

He took one of his hands to your hair before resting his glossy brown eyes on you. “I’d do anything for you.” His voice quivered. “You ruin me.”

“Get on the floor.” You commanded him, and he did as he was told without a question, laying his bare body on the cold concrete.

The chill of the stone stung your knees, but that didn’t matter, you just wanted to see him unravel. You straddled down onto him, taking him in as you sunk down.

“oh shit,” slipped off your tongue without you having much control over it.

You rolled your core over him, back and forth, circling yourself and bouncing up and down as he rolled his eyes back, licking his lips while you did everything that you wanted. As you bounced he held on to your ass, digging his fingertips in. You had your eyes closed, so you didn’t see it when he rose is hand to slap you hard. It burned beautifully.

“—Jisung? Are you done yet? The rest of us are going out.” A female voice called, and rattled the locked door.

“FUCK OFF.” He groaned, and held onto your ass even tighter.

You let out a unamused tsk. “Jisung? That’s your real name?”

He didn’t say anything, but instead swiftly took you in his arms to lay you down. The chill of the floor startled you into wince, but it felt amazing compared to how hot you were. He entered you immediately again, then slung your legs over his shoulders. His blonde hair appeared to bounce a little with each thrust.

You knew exactly what you were doing when you dragged your nails down his arms, waterfalling pink, perfect, lines. His whole body seized at the sensation, sending him into a fury. He licked his hand from palm to fingers, not breaking your gaze as he used it to rub relentlessly at you.

You were on the edge.  

“Want my cum, you whore?”

You were close as well, and it clouded your senses--you felt yourself slipping into him after holding back for so long.

“ye-yes, I want it.”

He came in seconds, doubling over you when he did, panting like a dog, with you gasping just as hard from your own orgasm. He seemed to shake a little as he came down, nearly suffocating you with his body weight. You jiggled your hips just a little to get a rise out of him. You had guessed correctly, someone like him couldn’t take overstimulation.

“Fuck, wait, wait. I-I can’t take anymore.”

You laughed a little and stopped. “You’re no fun.”

“I thought I literally just proved to you that I’m loads of fun.”

“Mmm, I suppose.”

“You liked it?” He ran his hand through his sweaty roots.

“You made me cum, so...usually I have to fake it.”

“Really?”

You nodded.

“I’m honored.” He grinned a little pridefully.

You reached down to your hole to catch a few drops of his cum on your fingers, stretching it out a little and playing with it. He watched you as you did so, eyes wide. You stood to grab his jaw, sticking your fingers in his mouth which he eagerly sucked.

“Where have you been my whole life?” He looked up at you in wonder.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that...Jisung.”

He watched you then as you dressed, careful not to forget your gorgeous silver wristwatch.

“I won’t be coming back, so don’t expect that this will happen again.”

“Wait--” He stopped you before you grabbed the door handle. “You didn’t tell me your name--”

“--That’s something you don’t need to know.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Darling, is there anything that I can get you?”

Your manager swept a caring hand to hold you by the small of your back.

“No, thank you though, love.” You shone brightly back to him.

“Just let me know? So far we’ve got a queue for you. Four gentlemen and three ladies. I expect that the tips tonight will be generous...it’s payday.”

You politely nodded. “Of course.”

“Have you been having a hard time with any of the new faces?”

You took a sip of your brandy. “Some of them have some mouth, but I’ll make them dignified. You can trust me.”

“I always do.” He gently kissed your cheek. “Ah, I forgot to mention, one of your customers brought you a gift. It’s in your dressing room; he wants you to wear it for your dance tonight.”

“I do love gifts.”

“Go get ready darling, you haven’t got much more time.”

Once you were in your dressing room, a medium sized white box waited for you on your vanity. There was no labels; no indication that it was from a luxurious brand. You opened it, and the shirt was wrapped in light pink tissue paper. It was too short to be a robe, but it was silk and white with buttons that looked more decorative rather than useful. You figured it must have been your customer’s: many of them got off to you wearing their clothes. It wasn’t your usual style, but you knew how to make anything work.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“And for our last act of the night: the wonderful, the illustrious...”

You walked out to the silent stage: meant only for you, the stage lights yellow, shrouding you in their brilliance. Your chest was bare, save for the silky shirt falling off your shoulders. They were cheering for you, throwing paper bills at you and calling your name, but you couldn’t hear them at all. You had never felt so whole in your life since being on the stage. It seemed like the rest of your days were just spent chasing some kind of feeling that merely resembled that.

Barefoot, you pranced along the stage, twirling like a ballerina even, letting the shirt billow up just so they could see your perky bottom. With all of their eyes on you, you felt like an absolute vision--like an ethereal being, desired, but impossibly attainable.

The jazz song played on by the live players, a muted trumpet and violins accompanied you. Your eyes swept across the blue velvet curtains of the booths, to every man and woman looking at you in awe. You let the shirt slip just a bit farther, revealing your back, winking. You never had to show them much. It was your charisma that they thirsted for--and that they could only get a small taste of.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Darlin’ you’re a catch, an absolute catch.” Your manager snuck up behind you taking your makeup off to hand you the ridiculously fat stack of bills. “You keep us afloat baby, you know that I can’t thank you enough.” He bowed.

“Stop flattering me.” You remarked with a smirk. “I know.”

Your manager left, then the curtain to your room screeched again. He slowly stepped into the light, applauding slightly.

“He’s right you know? Even I can’t get enough of you.”

It was him, cocky smile, swept blonde hair and all.

“You again? I’m surprised that you even made it in here at all. Considering who you are.”

“What? The competition? You didn’t tell them about me, did you?”

You patted some serums into your face. “Better leave soon before they rid you of that handsome face of yours.”

“You saying that I’m handsome?” He snarked.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“Seeing you, I thought I made that clear? Isn’t that what you were doing when you came to my club?”

“Like what you saw?”

“I stand corrected.” He let up, advancing towards you at your vanity. “And you look just as stunning in my shirt as I thought you would.”

“Your...this is yours? How the hell did you mange that?”

“I have my ways.”

“I suppose you want it back then.”

“No...you can keep it...if you promise me one thing.”

“And what would that be?”

He reached out for your hands, which you tentatively took. He swept you up, pulling you into his chest with eyes dipped in lust.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” He spoke onto your lips with heated breath.

You would’ve been lying if you had said his lips didn’t look appetizing.

“One more time.”

“Bold of you to assume that I’d want to fuck you again.”

“You haven’t been thinking of it too? My hands on your body...”He caressed your body down, “My lips on yours?” He pulled you in by the chin to carefully part your lips with his. “My dick filling you up?” He pulled you in closer to feel his pulsating dick. “You don’t think about it?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“That you want me. All you have to do is say it and I’m yours.”

“You’re looking to get killed if they know you’ve touched me.”

“I’d happily die for you.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that...Jisung.”

His lips fell to your neck where he pressed slow kisses onto it. “Just say it...”

The cool of his saliva on your skin met the air, tingling. You couldn’t believe you found yourself considering...

“I know you want to...”

“This won’t be a common occurrence.” You got out, suppressing your moans.

“Is that a yes?”

“...yes.”

“And we’ll see about that.” He slyly grinned, meeting your lips once again.

He swept you up, and your legs naturally wrapped around him. He carried you out of the dressing room to the main hall, pulling you both into the nearest booth, drawing the blue velvet curtains behind him. His eyes devoured you, casting aside his silk shirt that loosely clung to you. You threw your weight onto the table, opening your legs for him, inviting him. He chuckled a little at the action.

“I can imagine you must’ve been thinking of this as well then.” He kissed down your stomach, removing what underwear you were barely wearing. He kissed and sucked at the skin in your inner thighs, kindling your excitement. Spit gathered on his tongue, which he let drip down to your sex which glistened for him.

Your core begged for that feeling once again, that feeling only he could give you: the one that made you feel alive, like you weren’t just chasing some impossibility.

He lapped at you slowly with his tongue, awakening your whole body.

“I fucking want you.”

[hermannsthumb]

Can i request post-pitfall one of them looking at the clock and being like "oh shit we're late for work get up we need to go" before they realize that they won. Especially if the other person talks them down from the anxiety

didn’t quuuuitttte get “anxiety” bonus but

light M for suggestive 👀 themes, references to alcohol (at the world not ending party), and for pantsless scientists. thanks to @k-sci-janitor for talking over ideas for this w me heehee

-------------

It’s always nice to wake up warm and cozy, in Newt’s opinion, even if he can’t strictly recall why it is he…well, is. It’s less nice to wake up to his alarm clock, but he’s used to that by now. The warm thing he’s not, and it’s really screwing with him; his Shatterdome bunk has been freezing for as long as he can remember, and no amount of fiddling with the A/C controls has managed to make any difference. Did he sleep with some extra blankets last night? He doesn’t remember it, but he doesn’t remember much of last night, period—there’s a bitter, dry taste in his mouth and a slight throbbing in the back of his head which is giving him a hunch as to why. Binge drinking. But why? Was he upset about something?

Someone groans and rolls over in bed behind him. Newt’s suddenly away he isn’t wearing any pants. Oh, god, that explains the coziness. He got drunk and hooked up with a stranger?

“Turn that bloody thing off,” Hermann groans, voice thick with sleep.

Oh, God. Newt got drunk and hooked up with Hermann.

No, that’s probably not right. There are plenty of reasons as to why Newt’s pants could be MIA, coincidentally at the same time Hermann (???) is in bed with him. Newt lost his pants and Hermann was helping him find them, and they both got really tired and called it a night halfway through. They were having a sleepover and Newt spilled booze on them and took them off? Newt swallows down a small yelp of surprise as Hermann’s arm suddenly sneaks over his waist, drawing Newt back flush against him; Hermann isn’t wearing any pants, either. Hermann also isn’t wearing a shirt. Or underwear. Newt remains deathly still as Hermann plants a kiss to the back of his neck. “Good morning, Newton,” Hermann murmurs.

Hermann goes still, too.

“Newton?” Hermann says, sharply.

His arm drops away. Newt rolls over to face him, already planning for some serious damage control, though he’s not even really sure what damage he’s supposed to be controlling. Binge drinking together turned messing around? Newt blinks owlishly at Hermann’s blurry shape, wishing for his glasses. “Hey, dude,” he says.

A whole host of different emotions play out across Hermann’s face, mostly confusion, though he finally settles on mild embarrassment. “Oh,” he says. Just like that, it’s gone—back to business. He sniffs. “Right. I’d nearly forgotten. Well, I’m afraid I can’t offer much productive feedback about your performance, but I’m sure you were grand.” He tests out his limbs with a few tentative stretches, groaning lightly. “For goodness’ sake, I’m sore. Mattress pads do these wretched old cots wonders, you know. You ought to consider investing—”

“Uh-huh,” Newt says.

He finds his jeans on the floor and pulls them on, one leg at a time. They’re filthy, and torn in about five different spots, and for the life of him—in is sleep and hangover-muddled mind—he can’t remember why. Hermann yawns. “What are you doing?” he says through a second yawn. He tugs the comforter (which Newt had knocked askew) back down. “You’re letting all the cold air in. Did you know your bunk is freezing?”

“Gotta get to the lab,” Newt mumbles. He crams his glasses onto his face, and squints and frowns. Shattered. Must’ve stepped on them or dropped them or something last night. Luckily he has a spare pair in his dresser. “Got shit to do.” Did he tell anyone about his clone theory yet? He can’t remember. Or the drifting theory—

“You most certainly do not,” Hermann says.

“Uh, I absolutely do,” Newt says. Where are his shoes? He finds one on his bedside table, laying on its side like it’d been tossed there, but its pair is nowhere to be seen. “And so do you. C’mon, hurry up, find your clothing, we gotta—”

“Will you listen to me for three bloody seconds?” Hermann says.

Newt folds his arms.

“Please recall,” Hermann says, “exactly what happened yesterday.”

Newt presses on through the boozy fog of last night: he remembers drifting with a kaiju brain, he remembers being sent out into the city, he remembers the kaiju bunker, he remembers Otachi’s baby— “Oh, shit,” he says. “Hermann, we totally kissed!”

“That’s not—” Hermann shuts his eyes, and sighs. “We closed the Breach.”

“Oh,” Newt says. He sags onto his bed as an immense feeling of relief courses through him. They did close the Breach! That’s right. The Breach is closed, and the world is saved. “Oh. Yeah, right.” He laughs sheepishly. That would explain the drinking. And the Hermann. Well, it sorta explains the Hermann, but he still hasn’t really managed to figure out why Hermann hasn’t fled yet. “Oops. Habit?”

The Breach is closed, and the world is saved, and Newt is allowed to sleep in now. He doesn’t have to go into their lab today. He probably doesn’t ever have to go into their lab ever again, at least not for anything important. He eases back into the bedsheets (Hermann’s arms spread wide to welcome him, and to re-engage their spooning). “There we are,” Hermann says. He nuzzles against Newt’s neck and kisses his collarbone. Newt’s never seen Hermann this…cuddly, or heard his voice laced with so much sleepy affection. It’s kind of bewildering. And endearing. And hot. “Isn’t this lovely, now?” One of Hermann’s hands begins to creep down Newt’s chest; he kisses Newt’s chin.

“Yeah,” Newt admits, his mouth twitching into a goofy smile.

“I fully intend to keep you here all day for a proper celebration,” Hermann murmurs. His lips are pretty close to Newt’s own now—wow. Maybe Newt will even remember this kiss. A proper celebration, he likes the sound of that. “The Breach is closed, we haven’t got a single damn kaiju left to worry about, and—"

A thought suddenly strikes Newt. “Oh, shit,” he says. “I need to arrange samples.”

“Hmm?” Hermann says. His hand had almost reached Newt’s waistline.

“Samples,” Newt says. The last known kaiju in the fucking universe are laying dead across Hong Kong, and Newt’s in bed. “The kaiju they took down—I need samples.” He wiggles out of Hermann’s grasp (much to Hermann’s groaned displeasure) and scrambles for his shoes again, and this time manages to shove one on. “This shit is about to get rare, dude, I can’t let anyone else beat me to them!”

“I can assure you that absolutely no one wants your kaiju samples,” Hermann says. “Now, come back here.”

“No can do,” Newt says. He pulls on his other boot.

“Newton,” Hermann says. His voice has gone lower—more sultry. Newt can’t help the way his ears his perk up, and he turns back to Hermann sharply, suddenly hyper-aware of Hermann’s naked and very hot bod. Aside from the obvious fact it’s the first time he’s ever seen it naked, it’s the first time he’s ever seen it so…languid, too. Hermann has always been so stiff and proper, but now (hip propped up just so, sheet draped over his pelvis to conceal just enough), he could be on the cover of some porno mag. “Please come back to bed.”

Is Newt really gonna turn down that invitation?

Yes, unfortunately.

“I’ll be half an hour, tops,” Newt sighs. “I just have to call a few people about a stomach. And a skin louse. And maybe some eyeballs.” And, if he’s really lucky, Otachi’s baby, because that’s the most intact kaiju corpse Newt’s ever seen. And also just for sentimental reasons. He can’t help but think of it as his and Hermann’s baby, really, not so much Otachi’s. “Maybe an hour.”

“An hour,” Hermann groans, even as Newt mentally—and guiltily—amends that to two hours. “How am I meant to entertain myself for a whole hour?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Newt says. “I have some DVDs. Culture yourself.”

Hermann blinks twice, his long, dark eyelashes fanning delicately across his cheeks, in a pseudo (and much more effective) pout. Newt’s heart feels kinda funny, like maybe it’s just twisted over a few times. Hermann has a point, really—the odds of anyone snatching up kaiju remains before Newt is pretty slim, especially in the current chaos of basically the whole world. And they do have plenty of celebrating to do.

“But maybe it can wait another ten minutes?” Newt says.

“At least,” Hermann agrees.

[pallasperilous]

Funny Bone

The other day Supernatural9917 threw out this meme as a cracky Halloween Dean/Cas prompt and I was SO MAD, because I then had to write it:

And so here it is. Goddammit.

Funny Bone

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761150 Words: 4930 Castiel/Dean Winchester Fluff and Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Skeletons, Bad Pick-Up Lines, No Angels AU, Men of Letters Bunker, Mild Gore Mature (mentions of lewd acts, canon-typical violence, and some truly horrible pickup lines)

It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland. It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

Discovering the bunker in the first place was a helluva surprise. The whole facility is legitimately batshit; Dead Guys of Letters knew how to live (and, apparently, die. All at once.).

But after plowing through a dozen rooms worth of priceless treasures and crusty boobytraps, even Sam was looking kinda full up on shock and awe.

“We can hit the basement tomorrow,” he said. There was a big smudge of dust across his nose and some cobwebs in his hair.

“Nuh uh,” Dean answered, kicking the door shut with the toe of his boot. “If there’s shit still kicking down there, we gotta clean it out before it cleans us out. It’s that or we’re sleepin’ in the car.”

“Ugh,” Sam said, as if twenty minutes ago he hadn’t been losing his mind over a rare book about werewolf hemorrhoids.

So discovering that the basement included a no-shit actual dungeon felt more like an unanticipated bonus, and stumbling across a skeleton while exploring it barely even registered. Skeletons and dungeons! They go together like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong.

It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor, inside a big circle of greasy black ash.  It looked a little mildewy in in places. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland.

It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

“Welp,” Dean had said, holstering his gun and wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’re all clear. Let’s head back upstairs, salt the shit out of everything, and then we can pick up some groceries.”

“Do I get to buy a vegetable that doesn’t fit in a bun, or are we still in the refractory period?” Sam snarked from the corridor.

“I don’t see you cookin’, “ Dean started, shuffling back towards the hall, and that’s when the skeleton butted in.

“Are those astronaut pants?” it asked. “Because your ass is outta this world!”

Dean absolutely did not scream, but it’s possible there was a yelp. 

He almost unloaded a clip into it – unclear what that would’ve possibly done, but it’s good to start with the simple, available solutions. Next he nabbed the lighter fluid off of Sam and dumped out half a pound of kosher salt as a chaser and set the fucker alight.

This does not have the intended effect.

“Baby, I’d like to put my meat on your grill,” the skeleton says, greenish flames dancing between its ribs, “because you’re hot, and I’m smokin’.” Then it sits up a little, just enough to shoot Dean some finger guns.

“What the fuck,” Dean says.

Sam makes a little evaluatory noise. “Sexually harassed by a skeleton,” he chuckles. “I think that’s a new one. Even for you. Is that a new one? I know a lot of strange shit went down in Purgatory.”

The skeleton perks up even more at that, grungy eye sockets sweeping up and down Dean’s body. “Are you a time traveler?” it asks. (Maybe he asks, because the voice is pretty deep and dude-ish, although possibly just on account of its vocal cords being leather shoelaces.)

“Wh…no, I’m not a time traveler,” Dean fibs. He’s more of a time trafficking victim, anyway. “Oh, wait, god,” he says. “Please don’t tell me you’re asking that because –“

“– I can see you in my future,” the skeleton finishes, eagerly, and Dean really wishes this thing had eyebrows so he could tell if they’re waggling.

“Yeah, okay. That’s enough for today,” Dean groans. “I need a drink.” He starts to back out of the room as a pre-emptive strike against Bones commenting on how he hates to see Dean leave, but loves to watch him go. Dean’s working on stumbling back again Sam’s left shoe when the skeleton pipes up one last time, this time with a husky, anxious edge.

“I realize that Purgatory isn’t accessible through a simple chronological shift,” it says, teeth chattering. “But it does require travel between modalities, and if you’re capable of that, I would very much like to speak with you again.”

Dean and Sam’s heads slowly swivel back towards the skeleton, like two little pizzas on the same Lazy Susan.

 An hour later, they’re still in the dungeon, working on dousing the skeleton with every possible anti-bad-stuff solution they’ve got, just in case he’s a vampire skeleton or a ghoul skeleton or a witch skeleton or maybe just a wendigo that’s incredibly bad at its job. In between progress reports, he’s still hitting on Dean.

“Dude, don’t you have an off switch somewhere?” Dean asks him.

“Well, Dean, you certainly make me feel like a light switch,–“

“– because you turn me on,” all three of them say in unison.

The skeleton looks a little embarrassed, which is kind of impressive when you think about it. “You’ve…heard that one before?” he asks.

“I spend a lot of time in bars,” Dean deadpans. “Okay, sage is a no-go.”

Sam strikes a line off on the clipboard he found upstairs. “Is this part of a curse or something?” he asks, glancing up at Bones. “Like on top of being a sentient skeleton, you can only speak in horrible pickup lines?”

The skeleton shakes his head, which produces a sound Dean recognizes from his kneecaps on cold mornings. “No, the spellwork allows me to speak freely on most subjects; except who I am, or how to free me. But it’s helpful to use language modern humans can easily understand.”

“Huh. Well, in a way, it is Dean’s native tongue,” Sam says, smirking.

“You shut your face,” Dean hisses.

“When I first saw you, I lost my tongue. Can I try yours on for size?” Bones asks Dean.

“Buddy, I don’t know where you get your information from, but nobody actually talks that way,” Dean tells him. “Nobody sober, anyway. Who isn’t a virgin.”

The skeleton slumps. “I learned from my last visitor. He tried to release me on several occasions, but he either died or abandoned the project.”

Dean arches a brow. “The project being…you?”

“I would be very valuable under the right circumstances.” The skeleton shrugs and casually holds out an arm for Dean to scrape at with the demon blade. “He gave me lessons in modern vernacular as a way to pass our time together.”

“Sounds like a peach,” Dean says, before he can catch himself. “If you have a peach-related pickup line in there, man, you’d better just sit on it.”

“That’s what-“

“I will smash you with a hammer,” Dean barks.

The skeleton relents, but with obvious reluctance.

 They call it quits before Kansas rolls up the sidewalk for the night and leaves them stranded with nothing but two Clif bars and a gross of septuagenarian cans of franks ’n beans. Bones shifts nervously when Dean leaves – “Which is better, pancakes or waffles?” he asks.

“Pancakes,” Dean says, with a sense of grim duty.

“Because I’d like to know what you’re making me for breakfast,” says Bones, his voice trailing off as Dean books it down the stony corridor.

  By lunch the next day (bologna sandwiches, so sue him, he’ll make something good later) they’re pretty sure that Bones doesn’t pose any known, immediate threat – other than to Dean’s sanity – so they switch gears to springing him. Maybe he will be worth something, or maybe he’ll crumble into dust and Be Free, or maybe he’ll just stop being chained to the basement wall, in which case he can become their skeleton butler or something.

There are weird runes on the ankle cuff, so Sam snaps some quick photos and heads upstairs to feel up the library. This leaves Dean in the basement with Bones, some good old-fashioned power tools, and Bones’s ex-suitor’s gross sense of humor.

“You know I can understand you just fine when you’re talking normally,” Dean says. “You’re just reciting some prehistoric shit that idiots say to girls to get a pity-laugh, hoping it leads to a pity-fuck.”

“What’s a pity-fuck?” Bones asks, all mildewy innocence. Dean’s pretty sure the grunge in his eyeball sockets is dried eyeball.

“Pretty much what it says on the tin, my guy,” Dean answers, and reaches for the acetylene torch.

 “Enochian,” Sam says, when Dean surfaces for another sandwich and possibly a beer. He’s really disappointed about the torch.

“Gesundheit?” Dean replies, around a mouthful of bologna. Like everything else here, the kitchen is pretty schwa, although the inside of the fridge required three exorcisms and half a jug of bleach.

Sam paws around the smelly old book in a way that makes Dean feel sorry for the girls Sam dated in high school. “The symbols on the cuff. I think they’re Enochian. It’s a fake celestial language made up by some sixteenth century con artists.”

Dean coughs up a bit of Wonder Bread. “I respect the hustle, but what’s it doing on an ankle cuff in a dungeon younger than Mickey Mouse?”

Sam frowns. “Well, it could be for show. But just because some nutbars made it up doesn’t mean it’s totally powerless. Maybe it does have some kind of…heavenly mojo.”

“Liwl probbem,” Dean observes, finishing off his sandwich. “Def nuh heggen.”

“Huh?”

Dean takes a swallow of beer. “I said: there’s no heaven.”

Sam shrugs. “We didn’t think there was a Purgatory, either.”

“Okay, but if we find out angels are real,” Dean snorts, “then Bones can fuck me in the ass.”

 Sam reports his findings to Bones, who sits placidly on the back of his pelvis, carpals splayed out on his kneecaps. What’s even holding him together? Dean can see what’s left of his ligaments, but they look like petrified gas station jerky.

“Do you know what they mean?” Sam asks him, pointing at the sigils.

Bones’s jaw creaks open a little, then closes again, and then he shakes his skull (something rattles inside.) Finally he makes a little frustrated noise and replies – “Baby, are you a book? Because I’d like to check you out.”

“Hey!” says Dean. “Keep it in your pants, man, I’m right here.”

Sam squints. “I think…Dean, I think he’s trying to tell us something, but the spell on him means he can’t say it directly.”

Bones clenches his fists, releases them, clenches them again.

“Yeah. Keep him talking. Let’s see how close he can get.”

Clack clack clack.

“Uh,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. Do I need to, like. Give you some kinda opening?” he asks Bones.

“Sweetheart, I’d like nothing better,” Bones answers, then clacks his knuckles on his brow with exasperation.

“Sorry, Christ. Hit me with your best shot, buddy. Dealer’s choice.”

Bones clears his…ghost throat? and tries: “Tell me, Dean…did it hurt?”

Dean blinks. “When I…fell from heaven?”

Sam claps his hands. “Fucking knew it. It is Enochian, and it does have something to do with this. I think he wants me to check the library for another book. Maybe there’s one misshelved or something that I can actually use to translate. Or I can Google around, maybe there’s a subreddit.”

Dean’s pretty sure Bones has never heard of a Google or a subreddit (for that matter, does Dean actually know what a subreddit is?), but it seems like there’s a glimmer of hope deep in those scum-holes.

 Sam gets translations for a few of the words – “obedience” and something he’s fifty percent sure means “millstone” – but the rest is still gobbledygook, and he hasn’t come down with another update in hours. The dungeon is pretty roomy, but it’s not like there’s a foosball table or a cable TV pickup down there, so Dean and Bones wind up lying on the cold-ass ground, staring up into the dark reaches of the ceiling together and, like. Chatting.

Occasionally Bones goes quiet and Dean glances over at him. He really could just be a totally normal, completely dead dungeon skeleton. A good power washing and the right mounting hardware and he’d be ready for a high school biology classroom.

“So if these runes are a celestial thing, does that mean you’re some kinda demonic...thing?” Dean asks. “Cause I gotta say, you’re a much less of a douche than the demons I’ve met.” He snorts. “I know you probably can’t say.”

Bones sighs (how? With what lungs?). “The last person who tried to free me was a demon.” He shifts a little, maybe surprised that he can say this out loud. “It had been so long since somebody had spoken to me…I’m afraid I came close to actually enjoying his company. But he was no better than his kind usually are.”

“Don’t suppose you caught his name? Maybe Sam or me killed him for you already.”

“He called himself—no, I can’t say it.” He makes a sound resembling a harumph.

Then his skull creaks over to look at Dean. “Does your name start with ‘C’?” he says, very deliberately.

Dean is momentarily puzzled, but he works it out by the time Bones wincingly adds “…because I’ve got a D that wants to come behind you.”

There aren’t too many demons under the “C” tab in Dean’s blood-stained mental rolodex, and when he says the name out loud, Bones makes a sound like an entire set of dominos being thrown down a spiral staircase.

  Crowley is pretty pissed, which is fun.

It’s nice that the dungeon floor already has a perfect trap on the floor; they don’t even have to hit up Ace Hardware for paint. A damp shop cloth and a little nail polish (Wet ’n Wild in “Red Red,” don’t leave home without it) brings it right up to working order.

“Why does it smell like a nail salon fucked a bloody wine cellar?” Crowley says, after he’s settled down a bit. He manifested right in the creepy torture chair (in the shackles, even! What service!) and he made some escape attempts followed by angry noises about rust stains. Now he’s recovered his dignity and has kicked back a bit, legs crossed, fingers steepled, oozing maximum levels of 2 cool 4 school.

“How do you know what a nail salon smells like?” Dean retorts.

“I get a monthly mani-pedi. There’s no shame in a little self-care, boys.” Crowley’s eyes trickle down to their feet. “Imagine what fungal horrors those work boots must conceal.” Then he squints, and looks up, finally taking in the whole room. “Could swear I’ve been here before. Little upscale for you, isn’t it? Did we splurge for a vacation rental?”

“Crowley, why don’t we roleplay Titanic?” Bones growls from the wall behind him, and Crowley’s face goes slack. “I’ll be the iceberg, and you can go down.”

Crowley swallows and slowly twists back, as far as the shackles let him. “Feathers, is that you? Well, as I live and breathe.”

“You do neither,” says Bones, with so much gravelly contempt that Dean suppresses a little shiver.

“Oh, I still breathe now and then, when the mood takes me. I’m a sentimentalist.” Crowley cranes his neck a little harder and squints into the dim. “Goodness, you’ve dropped some weight since we last spoke, haven’t you. Finally let go of all that pesky soft tissue?”

Bones tilts forward and kind of clatters onto hands and knees, then tipsily begins to rise up to standing. Dean’s a little concerned he’s gonna topple right over and they’re gonna spend the next two hours collecting him in a basket, but when he moves to help out, Bones waves him off. After a couple false starts he makes it up onto his feet bones and then shuffles out to the end of his chain, right under one of the overhead lights. He’s still a good couple feet off from Crowley, but Crowley looks like he wouldn’t mind a few extra acres.

Bones sways a little bit, just enough for Crowley to wince. “You didn’t come back.”

“I got busy.”

Sam shifts impatiently. “What is he?” he snaps, gesturing at Bones.

“Exceedingly dull,” Crowley says. “I should’ve guessed you were friends.”

Dean uncorks a fresh bottle of holy water.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Crowley amends, quickly. “And even if you did, you wouldn’t know what to do with him. It’d be like giving a laptop to a pair of howler monkeys.”

Dean puts his thumb over the mouth of the water bottle and holds it over Crowley’s head. “Try me.”

Crowley scoffs, rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what he is, since he’s useless as long as he’s chained up. And I wouldn’t have left him down here if I had a single clue how to smuggle him out.  I haven’t even been in here since the Bay of Pigs; I’d worked a loophole in one of the defense spells here that let me in. When it broke down, I lost my exploit. Wasn’t worth the bother after that.”

Dean slides his thumb a millimeter north of a perfect seal, and a fat drop of water busts its ass open on Crowley’s forehead and sends up a thin line of steam. “Good thing I’ve got a limitless supply of bother,” Dean notes. “Sam, we still got those syringes in the trunk?”

Crowley snarls. “Go ahead and melt me like the cartoon shoe in Roger Rabbit, it’s not going magically make me come up with a solution.”

Bones grunts and rattles his leg chain. “Do you speak Spanish, Crowley? Because you look like the Juan for me.”

“Did I teach you that one? You absolute xylophone.” Crowley glances back at Dean. “Do your worst, Squirrel, I deserve it.”

Sam frowns. “He uses the lines to get around the spell’s speech restrictions. This is something about speaking languages…were you able translate the Enochian symbols on his cuff?”

Crowley blinks. “What symbols?”

 After a whole lot of faffing around with mirrors and terrible cellphone photography, they confirm that Crowley can’t see the symbols at all.

“More demon-proofing. Clever little buggers, those Men of Letters,” Crowley sighs. “A real shame they were peeled and eaten like bananas.”

Finally Sam just hunkers down with a pencil and pad to transcribe the entire ankle cuff, and Dean awkwardly holds up Bones’s ankle, like he’s being sized for a glass slipper. When they shove the results in Crowley’s face, Dean watches his eyes dart along the words.

“Well, it’s your lucky day, boys. Along with the usual wankery, there are instructions on how to release the cuff. I can translate it,” he finally says, with an unusually low inflection of bullshit, “but I’ll thank you to release me, first.”

Dean is flummoxed. “What, you’re not gonna haggle for a cut of the profits or anything?”

“Activating the release mechanism will free him completely, and restore his…restore him. I’d rather be at a safe distance.” He glances back at Bones, looming in the shadows. “A continent or three should do the trick.”

“If it doesn’t work–“

“I’d be more worried about what happens if it does,” Crowley sighs.  “But feel free to summon me back for tea and sympathy. Here, I’ll even give you my number. But please, no personal photography. I pity you enough as it is.”

  Crowley finally smokes out, and Dean has a beer to celebrate while Sam looks over the list of what they need and Bones clatters his fingertips like castanets. The ingredients are (as always) larded with shit that’s exotic and expensive; Sam is looking crestfallen at some of the items. “I’ve heard of all of this, but I’ve only seen maybe half of it for sale anywhere.”

“Baby, are you a yard sale? Because you’ve got some serious junk in that trunk,” Bones monotones. He’s back to lying on the floor.

At least it’s getting easier to translate this shit. “They’ve got all the ingredients here somewhere,” Dean says. Sam looks skeptical. “C’mon, Sam, no way these dudes would use a lock when they didn’t have the key.”

The ensuing scavenger hunt takes a few pints of elbow grease, but at least by the end they’re both familiar with the Bunker’s floor plan, document filing system, and inventory records. They find virtually everything in-house, though they do end up driving to the nearest farm stand for some hen’s eggs and rosemary (and heirloom tomatoes, because they look bomb).

Dean christens – or maybe exorcises – the kitchen range with some red meat, and they fuel up with burgers before taking the plunge. Dean’s still licking the ketchup off his fingers when Bones pipes up one last time. “Can I ask you something?” he says.

Dean and Sam brace for impact.

Bones sighs. “That’s not the start of a pickup line. I genuinely have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you so intent on freeing me? You could have just left me down here. I’m not a threat this way. You only have Crowley’s word that you might profit - or suffer - from my release.”

Sam gives Dean a look; it’s the look that says I sure hope you have an answer, because I think this entire thing has been dumb as shit and half as necessary. It’s a look Sam uses pretty regularly.

“Uh. It’s the right thing to do? As far as I can tell, you haven’t hurt anybody or done anything else to deserve being down here. We went through all those records upstairs, and there’s no note that says ‘by the way, that skeleton downstairs eats babies for breakfast.’ This place is cool, but the dudes who built it were obviously shady as fuck.”

“I see.” Bones sounds a little disappointed.

Sam fake-coughs into his hand, and Dean sets down his paper napkin. “Also, you seem cool. Like, you’re easy to hang out with. Other than the stinky one-liners, and we’re gonna wean you off of those.”

Bones straightens himself out a little. “Thank you, Dean. You know, on a scale of one to ten, I’d rate you a nine.”

“Okay, okay. Why not a ten?”

Bones sets his chin on his knuckle bones with a tidy little clack. “Because I’m the one you’re missing.”

Dean groans, but he thinks the guy might be smiling, somewhere behind that skeletal grin.

 By hour two, Sam’s pretty tuckered out from pulverizing a billion and three mummified dove livers while reciting nonsense syllables, and Dean’s right arm is about to fall off from holding up this giant silver swizzle stick that’s either a really weird short sword or a decorative javelin, but Bones has never looked perkier. He’s lying on a nice white bedsheet and looking fresh as a recently exhumed daisy.

“Okay,” Sam rasps. “Light the candle and we should be good to go. Any last words, Bones?”

“Are either of you religious?” He crosses his arm bones over each other.

“Fuck no,” Dean answers, before Sam gets a chance to launch into it.

Bones shakes his skull fondly. “You should reconsider. Because you’re the answer to my prayers.”

Dean makes a gagging noise and lights the candle.

 What happens next (well, after the cuff pops open) is some of the freakiest shit that Dean has ever seen, and his Freaky CV is pretty fucking impressive, thanks. Bones tells them to avert their eyes, “just in case”, but he takes a peek between his fingers anyway, because he’s an idiot.

For a second Bones is just lying there, and Dean has a second of real disappointment that maybe he’s Moved On Past The Veil or something, but then he starts…foaming. It starts out kind of uniform and colorless, but then it really picks up speed and volume and starts to separate into swaths of distinct and horrible colors and textures. He closes his eyes again for a second to give his stomach a chance to reboot, and when he looks again the foam is gone, and instead there’s a whole lot of angry jelly trying to form into organs.

Just as the jelly is really getting its shit together and looking more like lungs and intestines and stuff, the heart-jelly pulses once and sends out a fistful of big squishy vines…veins? and a fat white worm of nerve scrambles down the spinal column and starts putting out franchises. This is followed by some disturbingly tasty-looking red sheets of muscle that swiftly sheathe over all the whole scene, and then the muscles start sweating out fat and cartilage and this is the point where Dean decides that looking away is actually definitely one hundred percent for the best. Even then, the sounds are tough to handle.

Kinda wild: he’s seen people taken apart, but watching one get put back together is somehow gnarlier. Well, if this guy is even a person. It’s a human skeleton, sure, but god knows even Mickey Rourke has one under there.

Finally everything seems to have quieted down.

“How you doin’ over there, Bones?” Dean asks, and dares to take a peek.

Bones is crouched down in front of them, fists balled up in the bedsheets (it’s a relief that the bedsheets didn’t get accidentally sucked into the muscle layer or something, like one of those surgeons who leaves a sponge behind). Dean sees white guy skin and some dark messy hair and gets the gist of a decent build.

The face slowly cranes upwards, and Dean is really truly ready for anything here; tusks, fangs, Klingon forehead ridges, gingivitis. Instead he gets a faceful of hot math teacher. Bones’s eyes are still closed, but he’s frowning like he’s mentally reviewing his strategy to explain the quadratic equation to a roomful of horny teens.

He slowly rises to standing (yikes! Naked! Dean is a Moderately Bad Man, so he glances, but just long enough to register “nice), uncurling slowly and carefully.

Then he’s all the way up. Bones squares his shoulders and straightens the last kink in his spine, and the frown resolves. Dean’s about to say something, when his eyes snap open, and this cold white light absolutely blasts out of them, and fuck, Crowley wasn’t kidding: this guy is definitely A Thing. The whole room flattens and distorts in the light. Shadows race up the walls like they’re looking for a way out, then snap together into the shape of enormous ragged wings, stretching thirty feet higher than the actual ceiling clearance.

Then the light dies down; the wings fade into regular-grade shadows. Instead of a terrifying unearthly avatar of Oh Shit, Dean’s looking at a buck naked thirty-something math teacher. Who happens to be an unearthly avatar of Oh Shit. And has nice eyes.

“My name is Castiel, angel of the Lord, Seraph of the First Shield,” the avatar says, in a piss-shakingly resonant version of Bones’s voice.

Then: “Do you speak English, Dean?”

“Yes?” Dean fumbles.

“So do I,” says Castiel, and smiles.

Then he makes finger-guns.

  Castiel sticks around for a grand total of five minutes before he’s suddenly gone again, because angels are (a) real and they can (b) teleport? at (c) any moment because (d) fuck you, then he reappears six hours later (clothed) standing over Dean’s bed, having apparently forgotten that humans like to sleep; this time Dean does shoot him, but luckily he doesn’t seem to take it personally.   

“I located Crowley,” Bo- Castiel says. The silver sword-javelin thing is sitting on the kitchen counter in front of him; apparently it’s an Angel Blade and it lives in Castiel’s coat sleeve and can vaporize demons. It doesn’t look like it has any Crowley on it, but maybe it’s self-cleaning.

“Did you kill him?” Dean asks, now that he’s semi-coherent and wrapped around a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

“Not this time,” Cas answers. “He did help, after all.”

“Sure,” says Dean.

“You don’t need to let me fuck you in the ass, either,” Castiel says, and Dean honks some coffee up the back of his nose.

“Oh,” he gasps. “Okay. Cool. Thanks. Didn’t realize you could hear that convo all the way down there.”

“Angels have excellent hearing. Mine wasn’t impacted by the spell.”

Dean can think of at least three very private moments Castiel almost definitely could hear every instant of, and longs for death. Or maybe not, since apparently this guy lives in Heaven and could hear him there, too. “Great. Good to know. Noted.”

“But…” Castiel looks wistful.

“What?” Dean nudges him. Dean Winchester: angel nudger.

Castiel frowns. “If I said…” he stops himself. “This is…what I want to say is very irregular, at least between angels and humans.”

“Jesus christ on a goddamn pogo stick, man. It’s three in the morning, some of us have a circadian rhythm and a limited lifespan. Say whatever it is you gotta say.”

Castiel looks up and drowns Dean in his swimming pool eyes, which Dean has learned belong to a radio ad salesman in Illinois, who Castiel possessed a few years back before jumping several decades into the past to run some errands and getting rope-a-doped by the Men of Letters and then warehoused in their basement; after they all spontaneously bought the farm, he just slowly ran out of the power reserves needed to keep his vessel from turning to mush and hey presto, talking skeleton.

Classic story, really.

“If I said you had a beautiful body, Dean,” Castiel says, solemnly, “Would you hold it against m-“

Dean doesn’t let him finish. {AO3 version}

[thiswasinevitableid]

Okay well then!!!! I am very glad and excited to share my most recent idea I had while rereading Yeti Hunting again!! And the new Incubus one too!! They're almost exactly the same idea, just different flavors I suppose. Also Joe is trans in both the ideas but that's less to do with the ideas themself and more to do with just me projecting on him sgfjgsjfhsjdh

Okay so it's like a reverse au so Stern is some kind of cryptid, but as far as Barclay knows they're just two good human friends (but maybe they wanna be a little more than friends...). And then one day Joseph goes into heat and tells Barclay he's sick to try to keep him away, but Barclay being the sweetest man alive goes to his house with fresh soup to take care of him and Joe seems really panicked about Bar being there and tries to make him leave but he is CLEARLY unwell and Barclay is very stubborn when it comes to helping people he cares about and so he plants himself down on the couch and says he's not leaving until Joe tells him what's wrong and Stern tries to hold onto his human form but it's taking too much focus and energy and whoops Barclay finds out his friend not human and currently in distress and so horny it hurts and if he can help his friend and fuck him at the same time, well then that's just a win all around (bonus points if at the end Barclay is kinda sad because he thinks Joe just needed somone to fuck him, not nessacarry Barclay, but Joe frantically assures him that he is SUPER into him and if it were anyone else he would have kicked them the hell out and probably skipped town bc he couldn't trust anyone else with a secret like this).

Or!! (This is where the incubus part comes in) Joe is an incubus and currently hiding out in his human disguise at the Amnesty lodge and it's going fine for a while, but then he starts talking to and getting to know the really hot chef. And they slowly start growing closer and closer. And maybe in this world, the power an Incubus gets from sex depends just as much on their desires as it does the human's. And this has never been an issue for Stern before, but now he's falling for Barclay and wants him and no one else so he's getting less and less energy from his encounters and Barclay is worried about him because he doesn't seem like himself anymore. Almost as if he's... dulled? When Barclay looks at him the blue of his eyes seem muted and his general aura seems... gray. And it all comes to ahead when Joe finally stops insisting he's fine and after dinner one night he asks if he can speak to Barclay privately, and he comes clean about everything and Barclay, while a little shocked, rolls with it very well and cups Joe's face in his hands and kisses him softly and it like,,, you should have come to me sooner, I'd do anything for you,,, and yeah it's really tender,,,,

Okay that's it I'm sorry it's so long and probably incoherent. I tried to use at least little formatting to make it better but it's a tumblr mobile ask, I'm not sure even the new paragraphs will translate over. The general idea is that they're close friends and Stern is Not Human and Barclay finds out under less than ideal circumstances :3 I know these are far from original or unique but I just wanted to share my ideas with you bc you're the inspiration for a good 70% of my private writings, but if you like them enough and ever feel like doing something with them that'd be cool ;3

Here you go! I went with scenario one. Content Note: some “mating” talk and mild subdrop at the end (which is, of course, taken care of)

The two canvas bags are ready to burst. Barclay peers into them, contemplating the addition of another box of tea, in case Joseph doesn’t like the other two. Mama was cagey when he asked, he doesn’t know what’s ailing the other man, only that he’s sick. 

Joseph manages Amnesty Lodge, where Barclays’ been a cook for the last six months. Barclay was initially wary of him; his cosmopolitan bearing and clean-cut appearance is so out of place in the rustic mountain town of Kepler that the logical explanation is he’s one of those city types who fell on hard times and got stuck here. 

It took less than forty-eight hours for him to prove Barclay wrong. Polite and polished, efficient and stunningly good in a crisis, Joseph handles the day to day chaos of the lodge while Mama, the owner, took care of the big picture stuff. His friendly greetings and consistent compliments about Barclays cooking gradually turned to afternoons spent at a table with his work so they could talk during lulls in business. 

When Joseph leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, laughing as he helped Barclay tidy the kitchen, the cook rushed headlong into his crush and never looked back. He regularly dreams of blue eyes and a movie-star face, finds his day doesn’t really start until Joseph pokes his head in to say good morning. 

He’s been without that greeting for two days now. Joseph never misses work, and his sudden absence worried Barclay enough that he checked with Mama to be sure the manager was okay.

“Joe’s fine big fella, just under the weather is all.”

The one time Barclay got sick, Joseph brought him tea and soup himself, checked in on him every hour, and--if Barclay’s fever addled brain is to be trusted--fluffed his pillows. It’s the least Barclay can do to drop off snacks and be sure his friend is okay. 

It’s a short drive to cabin Joseph calls home; he used to live at the Lodge, but as it got more crowded, he moved to his own space so those who needed a cheap, safe place to stay could have one. 

His knock on the door is answered by a brisk, “Who is it?”

“Barclay. I, uh, I brought you a get-well gift.”

Joseph opens the door to the cabin and to an entire new universe of fantasies. His normally slicked-back hair falls, relaxed, across his forehead, his loosely tied blue robe shows a tantalizing V of skin, and the dreamy-sleepy expression makes his face even more kissable. 

“Hi.” Joseph takes a step forward, taking the bags and bringing his face achingly close to Barclays’. Then he freezes, reversing into the house, “I, um, it was very sweet of you to bring all this. But you need to go.” He takes another step back, then doubles over with a groan. 

Barclay hurries across the threshold, setting the bags on the floor and steadying him over to the couch.

“Fuck, do you need me to get you like a heat pack, or a puke bucket?”

“No, no I just need to lay down, and for you to g-” he shudders, curling in on himself and tipping sideways. 

“Joseph, you’re really sick, I’m not gonna just leave you here. I mean, fuck, what if it’s your appendix or something?” He sits down next to the shaking man, rubbing his back comfortingly. 

“It’s not, I promise. Oh lord” he whines, looks at Barclay with frantic eyes, “I hope you can keep a secret.”

“Of course I can. Whatever I can do to help, I want to.” 

“Careful with those promises, big guy.” The nickname comes out in a growl as Joseph stands, undoing his wristwatch. 

“Oh FUCK!” Barclay scrambles back, almost falling over the arm of the couch.

There’s a monster where Joseph just was. Years ago Barclay saw a Maned Wolf in a zoo, and he’d swear that’s what he’s looking at now were it not for several glaring issues. First, it’s standing comfortably on two legs. It’s paws are more like hands, able to hold the watch and adjust the collar of its shirt. And he’s never seen a wolf, maned or otherwise, with spines down its back and a whip-like tail.

The creature runs a clawed hand through the fur at the top of it’s head, the way Joseph does when he’s nervous,  “So. I can’t tell you everything, at least not right now. What I can tell you is that this is the form I was born into, somewhere far away from earth.”

“Okay.” Barclays brain grinds like a broken ice machine as a familiar voice speaks to him from a fanged mouth. 

“I, um, I’m what humans call a Chupacabra. To answer the usual questions: no, I’ve never been to Puerto Rico. No, I don’t eat goats. And no, I’m not going to eat you.”

“Okay.” His heart is still racing, but not from fear, which is the most confusing was this could have gone.

Pointed ears flick, worried, “Are you in shock?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He nods as Joseph sits next to him with a heavy sigh. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out this way. I took the next few days off to avoid this exact scenario. I figured I wouldn’t see you, but forgot how thoughtful and caring you are.” Claws gently stroke Barclays hair, “my wonderful Barclay.”

He’s about to bring his hand up, cup those strange fingers to his cheek and whisper “always”, when Joseph pulls away. 

“I, I’m sorry. Again. I always get too handsy when I’m in heat. That’s the second worst side-effect, after the fact that being in my disguise is untenable when I’m in the thick of it. It’s like wearing a wet, wool sweater made of nausea.”

“....Hold on, you had to take time off work because you’re horny?” 

“Almost. Heat doesn’t come that often for me, which means whenever it happens, it’s intense. I have a hard time eating or sleeping, I can’t focus, and I spend most of the week masturbating. Which is not as fun as it sounds; I’m not even at the height of the damn thing and last night I humped a pillow on the kitchen floor while dinner reheated.”

Barclay groans, tries to hide it when the ears swivel his way, “Uh, guess I’m glad I brought you lots of food so you remember to eat. Shoulda, uh, put some lube or something in there as well, huh?” 

Joseph chuckles, “My nose tells me you put molasses cookies in there, so I’ll let it slide.”

“There anything else I can do to help?”

“Well…” he shakes his head, “never mind, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Do what?”

“My heat is more manageable when I have a partner. Fucking someone relieves things more effectively than masturbation does. But I can’t-”

“I can help with that.” The offer is out before his brain catches up with his mouth. 

“Barclay, my kind have a very, um, involved mode of, um, well, I guess you foreplay. As, as much as I’d love for you to be my mate” he winces, “see, that’s what I mean. I say things like that, most of them not even possible given the fact you and I can’t reproduce.” 

“Uh, does it help if I say hearing you call me that is really hot?”

Blue eyes widen, and a tail traces up Barclays leg, “Only if you mean it.”

“I do.”

A narrow, long tongue flicks into the air, “In that case, big guy, how about we have a little planning session over dinner?”

-------------------------------------------------

Barclay parks in the driveway, next to Josephs’ sedan. He heads past the house and down a short slope to a creek, the twilight sky casting the forest in eerie grey-blue. There’s a tire swing leftover from a previous resident, and he idly pushes it back and forth as he waits for the game to start. 

“It’s like hide and seek” Joseph wipes his mouth, cleans cookie crumbs from the table, “We start outside, move inside, and you go as long as you can without me catching you. After all, I want a mate who can hold his own.”

He stuffs his hands in his jacket pocket to warm them. A yip bounces out from the trees behind him. When he turns, he quickly spots glinting eyes and bared fangs hidden in the undergrowth. 

Sprinting towards the cabin, he realizes Joseph laid a trap for him from the start; by asking him to begin at the creek, he’s forcing him to run uphill to safety, slowing him down. He lets his lizard-brain, concerned only with the fact that something dangerous is chasing him, take over and drive his legs as fast as they’ll go. The back door is locked, he double-checked that on the way down, so he doesn’t waste his time trying it, races to the front of the cabin and slams the door shut just as something huge rounds the corner after him. 

The nob jiggles, his pursuer testing the lock and discovering the thrown deadbolt. Barclay uses those few seconds to secure the windows on the first floor, throws his jacket down into the cellar as a failsafe, and bolts up to the bedroom. His hammering heart insists that locking that door is not enough, so he crawls into the closet and shuts himself up among the meticulously organized shirts and slacks. It’s not enough space for him to stand, so he tucks his knees to his chest and waits. 

“What happens if I, like, completely outsmart you.”

A toothy smile, “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.”

Each of the downstairs windows rattle in turn. Then the scratching starts, claws on wood coming closer with each breath. Joseph is climbing the wall up to the bedroom window that Barclay knows for a motherfucking fact he did not secure. 

A shuff as the window slides open, the cryptid landing with remarkable stealth on the bedroom floor. Barclay tracks him by the light coming under the closet door, his mouth covered so his breathing won’t give him away. The shadow pauses, sniffs, and then the bedroom door opens and shuts. Barclay’s not moving until he hears the front door do the same. 

Just as his legs start to protest being smushed up against his chest, the door reopens. Snuffling signals Joseph closing in, and an instant later the only light coming in is from the far ends of the door. Slowly, his last line of defense rolls to the right, revealing the creature crouching on the other side.

“Not a bad effort, big guy. You actually confused me for a minute with the scent trail of your coat downstairs.” Joseph reaches for him and Barclay, remembering that he’s not supposed to give up until he’s pinned, leans away. 

“That’s how my mate wants to play?”

“J-just following your instructions, babe.”

An intrigued purr, “I guess you are. All the more reason you’re the perfect partner for me.”

The words Barclays dreamed of hearing for months distract from the claws closing around his ankles. He lets out an undignified yelp when Joseph pulls his legs straight out and drags him out of the closet. Once he’s free of the forest of clothing, the cryptid picks him up and drops him on the bed. He moans and Joseph snickers, joining him on the bedspread. 

“Fuck, Joseph, no one’s ever been able to do that before and it’s so, so fucking hot.” He arches his back and shifts his limbs to help Joseph undress him.

“It’s because you’re the perfect size; big and strong, large enough to give me a decent cuddle when I’m human, but still small enough to be an easily subdued mate.” He gets the humans’ jeans and boxers off, hesitates, and then tosses them on the floor with a pained expression, “I’ll fold those later.”

“Gonna hold you to that. Also, wanna point out that it wasn’t that easy to subdue me.”

Joseph nuzzles his cheek, claws caressing his thighs, “Barclay, I was jogging while you were sprinting.”

“You coulda caught me right awaAAy ohwhatthefuck.” Tingling heat glides down his throat as Joseph licks a stripe along the skin, “fuck, it, it feels like the time I tried hot wax.”

The cryptid sits up slightly to look at him, “Is that a...good thing?”

“Fuck yeah. I really fucking liked it but it was fucking murder with the chest hair.”

Joseph runs his claws through the hair in question, “I like it.”

“I know, I saw you eyeing me that one time I used the springs at the lodge.”

“You can’t prove anything.” Joseph leans back down, curling his tongue around Barclays left nipple. The sensation makes him buck his hips, which Joseph correctly takes as a signal for more. He moves to the other side, takes his time teasing it and licking down the sensitive center of Barclays chest. Noses his stomach, nips his sides, and slides the alien heat of his tongue into the crease of his thighs. 

“Y’know I, ohfuck, I assumed from all that talk yesterday you’d get right to fucking me.”

Joseph kisses the inside of one thigh, “I, um, I thought about it, almost ripped your jeans to shreds and took you on the floor. But I wanted to be sure you were turned on. You’re not just a warm body, Barclay. You’re my mate. That means your pleasure matters as much as mine.” He licks up Barclays’ cock, hardened from rubbing against the soft fur of his belly, and sighs, “and what a mate.”

“Fuck” he squeezes his eyes closed because if we watches that mouth saying everything he wants to hear in between sucking his dick, he’ll cum in ten seconds flat. 

A final lick to the tip and then Joseph hops off the bed, “Did you prep the way I told you?”

“Uhhuh.” 

“Good.” Joseph returns, sets several items he can’t see by his feet, “that’ll make things easier. First things first” he produces a cock cage, sliding it into place, “these are a few things I smuggled over from my original home. This is enchanted, so it can go on an erect cock but still prevent the wearer from cumming until it’s removed.”

“That’s just cruel, babe.” He sits up on his elbows to kiss Josephs snout, earning him a pleased yip. 

“If you cum too fast, I won’t be able to properly breed you.” He winces again, “sorry, I sound like one of Indrids romance novels.”

“Again, gorgeous, I find it really fucking hot.”

The spines on Joseph’s back ripple, “You think I’m gorgeous? Like this?”

“I do. Also kinda scary, but in a hot way.” Now it’s his turn to cringe, “see? I sound like cheap porn written by an eighth grader when I’m horny. The way you sound is fine.”

Joseph lovebites his ear, then retrieves the other two items from the end of the bed. 

“And how does this look, big guy?”

“Like it’s either going to kill me or make me cum like a dozen times.” He furrows his brow at the strap-on. It’s narrower than the average human dick, with a pointed, slightly up-curved tip. What’s worrying him are the spikes. 

The entire shaft is coated in short protrusions. They don’t end in points, thank god, but if they’re at all stiff this is going to be miserable. 

“Here” Joseph waves him over, “touch it.” He guides his fingers along one side and the spines bend fluidly under his touch, and now all he wants to know is how they feel inside him. Joseph also moans, bucking his hips so the toy slides along Barclays palm.

“It’s, ohlord, also enchanted so that the wearer feels it as an extension of their body and can cum with it. Also, please decide in the next thirty seconds whether you want to be on your back or your stomach.” Amber pre-cum drips down Barclay’s fingers. 

“Stomach is better for meWHOAH, ohfuck, okay we’re doing this.” Now flipped on his belly, he raises his ass. The cryptid kneads it appreciatively before holding it open and sliding his cock in with once, graceful thrust. 

He bottoms out with a groan, which is more articulate than Barclay is managing to be as the spines rub and glide inside him, finding every patch of nerves, every angle to drag against in just the right way. Joseph hauls him onto his knees and then he’s off, growls and yips filling the as he fucks him. Barclay only just registers the bed banging into the wall so forcefully the headboard is cracking when claws sink into his hips and Joseph pulls him all the way onto his cock and pulses into him. 

“Holy fuck that was fast.”

“I, I didn’t jack off once today. Didn’t want to waste it, wanted to save it all for my perfect mate.” He’s thrusting again, not as hard but twice as fast, “shit, you feel so good, big guy, please tell me Mama okayed your time off for tomorrow.”

“Wh-why are we talkingAHnnn, about this now?”

Hot breath tickles his ear, “Because now that I know what’s like to cum in you, I don’t plan on cumming anywhere else for the next day and a half.”

“Ohfuckme” Barclay groans happily into the pillows as Joseph empties into him, cries out when his tail whips across his calf.

“Shit, did that hurt?”

“No, no it felt good, fucking-A babe every fucking part of you is amazing.”

The cryptid whines, pleased, and wiggles his hips, giving Barclay an idea. 

“That’s, uh, that’s why I want you for my mate, because you’re so fucking goo-mmph” his face presses harder into the pillows as Joseph pins his shoulders down and fucks into him, snarling “yes” over and over again. When he finishes this time he hunches over, nipping Barclay’ shoulders and neck. 

“You catch on quick, big guy.”

“Thanks, babe. Uh, are we gonna switch it up at any point or am I staying like this until tomorrow night?”

“No, we can fuck however we want. After” a fuzzy hand rubs circles on Barclay’s abdomen, “I’ve cum in you enough times that I can feel it from out here.”

Barclay moans, tightening around him as his hips snap once more, already imagining being full and fucked out. Maybe it’ll take all night. He’ll be limp if it does, but right now nothing sounds better than melting into the bed while Joseph fucks his ass like it belongs to him. 

After forty-five minutes, his cock is aching, his mind holds only thoughts of how good it feels to do as Joseph tells him, and he’s been cum in so many times that wet, obscene sounds accompany the cryptids thrusts. Said sounds pale in comparison to Josephs’ voice, which is spinning increasingly impossible scenarios the longer they’re in bed. 

“I hope they take after you.” Joseph murmurs. 

Barclay just manages to turn his head, “Who?”

A muzzle playfully nudges his cheek, “Our kids.”

His heart seizes and shakes at the words; they both know that’s not what will happen. Joseph warned him he might say things like this, said he could tell him to knock it off if need be. 

“Maybe they’ll, ahnn, they’ll have big, beautiful brown eyes and bigger hearts, just like you.”

He doesn’t want him to stop. Every thrust hits deeper, every point where their skin meets buzzes brighter when he talks like this.

“H-hope at least one looks like you, blue eyes.”

A guttural whine, tingling heat as Joseph laps tenderly at the back of his neck, “We’ll just have to see, usually we’re born in threes so, soOH, oh I’m close, shitshit” 

“That’s it babe, fill me up, c’mon, c’mon I want it so bad, Joseph, baby, please.” 

There’s a howltrill as cum spurts into him, Joseph panting as he smooths his hand around Barclays side.

“There, that’s done it.”

Barclay whimpers as he pulls out, his mind and body pulled tight, certain that if he doesn’t cum soon he’ll propose marriage instead and that’ll be a fucking disaster. 

Joseph carefully rolls him over and unlocks the cage, “Do you want to cum?”

“More than anything. Oh!” he’s unprepared for Joseph to sink down on his cock, “oh fuck, yeah, wanna cum so bad babe please, I’ll be so good, be such a good mate if you just let me cum in y-fuuuck” A trio of sensations levels him as he climaxes; his vision whites out, his hips jerk more violently than they ever have before, and a line of cum drips down his leg. 

Somewhere far away, Joseph says, “I think we’ve earned a break.”

He nods, body limp as the cryptid climbs off him. Then he’s falling, spinning helplessly down in a pit of realizations. 

Joseph didn’t mean any of those things he said. His friend needed a mate and Barclay, lovesick fool he is, was eager for a chance to play pretend that he didn’t think about what would happen when the game ended. Even if Joseph keeps him here through tomorrow, the next time they meet at the Lodge he’ll act like nothing happened. 

Fuck, Barclay didn’t even get to kiss him during all this, and now he’ll never get the chance, never, nevernever-

“Shit, I should have put a towel or a spare blanket down. Now I’ll have to strip the bed before I can--Barclay? Oh, oh baby, what’s wrong?” A hand pets his face and he turns away from it, refusing to open his eyes. Joseph takes his hand instead, “it’s okay, I’m here, whatever you need I’ll-”

“Don’t. Don’t say that. You can’t give me what I need, it isn’t your fault I, I know I’m not really your partner and I, I…” he sniffles, wipes his palm under his eye. 

“Barclay, look at me please.”

Reluctantly, he opens his eyes just in time to see Joseph dip down and kiss him. It’s awkward, their mouths not made to fit together, but he savors it all the same because it’s Joseph, his Joseph, kissing him like he hoped he would. 

“My heat can make me say some ridiculous things. What it can’t do is make me feel affection where none exists. In fact, the reason I wasn’t able to keep my disguise on yesterday is because being near you meant being near the mate I wanted most in the world. I, um, suspected you might share my feelings, but I didn’t want our first interaction as boyfriend to be me asking if you wanted to spend a day or so with me while I was in a sex haze. But then you offered to help, and I wanted it so badly that I barreled ahead without making sure you understood that this was me declaring my feelings. I’m sorry.”

Barclay climbs into his lap, not caring about the mess he makes in the process. The cryptid laughs, hugs him close.

“I, I shoulda said something sooner too. Not that I regret how we spent our first date.” He kisses Josephs chin.

“Me neither, though I don’t think it quite counts.” He rubs their foreheads together, “can your boyfriend take you out to dinner on Friday?”

Barclay grins, looks into loving, blue eyes, “Yeah, he can.”

[xxxrubytuesdayxxx]

If you go and ask Jeongguk how he feels about you...

Word Count: 3,919

Credits:  Credit to my ex-flatmate, who helped me write some of the angsty stuff and some of the Tae fluff

Disclaimers: This is part (36) of a Choose Your Own Ending!

Check at the end for glossary of Korean terms*

Start here:

“Jeongguk,” you say to him later in his room, “I need to speak to you.” You’re sitting on his bed with him opposite you, your legs folded to the side. The room is dark and illuminated only by the light on his bedside table.

“Do we have to?” he purrs, pouting. He gives you a light kiss, lingering slightly, biting your lip. It takes everything in your power to place a hand on his chest and push him an inch away. “Yes,” you tell him.

He plants the messiest kiss on your lips, clearly wanting to initiate the usual. You respond, moving your lips against his, before pulling back and saying, “We still have to.” He sighs, shoulders slumping. But he leans back against the headboard and clasps his fingers together, placing them on his stomach. He smiles at you sweetly, expectantly, waiting for what you have to share.

“How do you feel about me, Jeongguk?” you ask fearfully.

“I like you,” he answers plainly, “You’re a good person.” You wait for a follow-up to that, but all he does is take the silence as a go-ahead to continue what he initially intended. In one smooth movement, your faces are centimetres apart and he starts kissing you again, with more urgency than before. But you don’t let it continue as long as you did earlier, and you lean back slightly to break it off. 

His shoulders slump again at the second failed attempt, and his eyes search yours. It’s obvious he has no idea what you’re getting at.

“Look, I- I think I might be in love with you,” you rush in a slight panic.

“Oh,” he says, sitting back. He looks away, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you like me like that?” you ask faintly, hoping for the best. Your heart beats loud and unevenly in your chest, praying with all its might that he feels the same way. You want him so badly to love you back that your heart threatens to seize up.

“No,” he says softly, “I’m sorry, Noona.” 

You almost reel backwards with the pain, though you had the good sense to prepare yourself for this outcome. He’s young, he’s a popstar, and you knew that this was a possibility. And yet there you were last night, worrying you were taking advantage of him. Somehow none of that makes it hurt any less. Your heart falls into your stomach and your head spins. Adrenaline runs through your veins, yet somehow you feel drained simultaneously. It hurts in places you never thought could hurt, so you get up and take a deep breath, your eyes latched onto his. 

He’s looking at you in surprise. You clear your throat, “Okay um...” You look around, trying to find a way to remove yourself from the situation, “I guess I should go.”

“I don’t get it,” he says, giving you a look of incredulity, “Didn’t you say last night we had to stay all professional cos we have to work together?”

He’s right, of course. You don’t want to admit it, but you have to - at least to yourself. The problem is that you’ve invested too much already, and now that you’ve actually consummated your flirting, you’ve gone and fallen for him, like an idiot. You’ve built this whole thing up in your head to mean more than it evidently ever did for him, despite his cutesy act, the chasing, even the begging. 

You swallow the small lump in your throat. “I thought…”

“Noona, did you think I was like...falling for you?” he asks, cocking his head to one side. It doesn’t help that he’s rarely looked so innocent. 

When you don’t answer, his eyes widen in surprise. He scoffs and let out a little laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Noona...” he states slowly, “I was just having fun. I thought that was kinda obvious.”

He seemed so smitten, so loving before this - all the flirting, pleading, the extra attention - that you want to swear to him that it has to mean something to him. But it obviously doesn’t. You remain unmoving, trying to put the pieces together. Your eyes start to tear up and something clicks within him as he notices.

He combs his fingers through his hair casually and says, with mild irritation “So you’re going to act like this is my fault?”

That grabs your attention. “What?”

“It’s not my fault if you assumed I was looking for anything serious,” he shrugs, looking you straight in the eyes, “I never said anything like that. I never said anything period.”

“Except several variations of ‘fuck me’, right?” you mock him, now growing angry. Your tears have a heat to them, stinging you as you angrily stare him down. 

“I was just having fun!” he raises his voice and his palms in defense. “How was I supposed to know that you expected some fucking fairytale?”

“So that’s all I am to you,” you state, “a brief amount of ‘fun’.”

“I didn’t say that,” he rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re my noona and you work with us.”

“Didn’t think dick sucking was part of my job,” you point out, in a biting tone.

He groans in frustration and yells “You seriously can’t blame me for this!” He pouts, rolling his eyes again. Then, with a more bored tone, “Are we done then? Cos this has seriously killed my hard-on.”

Obviously you have to call Mai immediately. You leave Jeongguk to stew about his lack of a convenient lay, and head out to the living room.

“Unnie?” she answers, sounding sleepy.

“Did I wake you?” you check.

“Not really,” she yawns. “You know me - always up for a nap. But I’m awake. What’s up?” You tell her briefly what happened with Jeongguk, trying to keep the emotion out of your voice. She picks up on it anyway.

“Do you want me to come over?” she asks.

“Aren’t you in Yoongi’s room?” you check, surprised. She yawns again.

“Went home. He was getting intense at me again,” she verbally shrugs.

“No, it’s okay,” you decide. “Maybe tomorrow though? If that’s okay? If things are okay with you and Yoongi I mean.”

“Yeah that’s fine. We’re fine. He’s recording tomorrow anyway, I think,” she ponders. “Either way. He won’t mind if we just hang out for a bit.”

“Thanks,” you sigh, hanging up. A door opens somewhere in the house and you stiffen, not wanting to deal with anything else tonight. You hear footsteps and Tae wanders out, headed for the kitchen in a pair of satin pyjama pants that almost exactly match his hair-colour. And nothing else. He freezes when he notices you, then glances down at his own bare chest, obviously self-conscious.

“Tae?” you greet him, your voice trembling.

“Noona? Are you okay?” he asks, stepping closer and, in his concern, seemingly forgetting he’s half-naked. You shake your head and he closes the distance between you swiftly, sitting by you on the couch.

“I...asked him…” You can’t continue, turning your head away to hide the tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“Take it you didn’t like the answer?” he whispers gently, taking you in his arms and stroking your back soothingly. It’s impossible to ignore the feel of his warm skin against yours, as you’re still only wearing a bra, following your aborted encounter with Jeongguk. When you eventually pull away a little, his dark eyes are watching you intensely. You swallow, suddenly realising with full force how beautiful he is. You can’t quite place the look he’s giving you though. His lips are less than a breath from yours and you’re finding it hard to breathe.

“Tae?” you whisper.

“Uh-huh?” he returns, blushing and avoiding your eyes. You grab his face in your hands and kiss him hard. He yelps in surprise, but then kisses you back, his hands coming up to cup your chin, his lips softer and not as perfectly sculpted as Jeongguk’s, which makes you choke back a sob. He stops kissing you, looking guilty.

“Jwesonghapnida,” he murmurs, bowing his head slightly.

“Don’t be,” you sniff. “I mean I jumped you, didn’t I? Why are you sorry?”

“No, I mean I’m sorry because...No. It’s not the right time,” he corrects himself, almost under his breath.

“No seriously. What is it, Tae-Tae?” you prompt him gently. “Are you okay?”

“I just...I don’t like the way he talks about you,” he mutters. “You know how I said earlier that sometimes he tells me stuff? Well…” he pauses, trying to formulate the right words. “It makes me feel dirty when he talks about you like that,” he finishes, sounding wretched. Your blood goes cold.

“Like what?” you ask, between clenched teeth. You’re not mad at poor Tae, but you’re dreading his reply. He blushes, avoiding your eyes.

“I kinda don’t want to say,” he evades.

“Please Tae. I’d rather know,” you tell him. He sighs deeply.

“Fine. He told me he ‘nailed’ you last night and then he said you were a good lay and had a mouth like a hoover.” He cringes visibly at your widened eyes, like he’s hurt you himself. “I’m so sorry, Noona.”

“He’s...very young Tae,” you manage, your voice faint. “He was just having fun.”

“He’s not that much younger than me. But...you really care for him, don’t you? I mean you still do - even now.” Tae looks utterly miserable, and you’re not so sure it’s all just because Jeongguk needs to wash his mouth out with soap.

“That’s not all is it?” you ask him. He shrugs.

“I just don’t like that kind of locker-room talk thing,” he murmurs vaguely. Even though the situation is far from funny, you half-smile at his statement. It’s such an understatement that classy Taehyung might take exception to trashy sex talk. You kiss him lightly on the forehead, thank him and head to your room to cry it all out.

You try to keep to yourself the next day as much as possible, whilst still getting on with your usual tasks and being civil to the boys. Nonetheless, you’re still more than a little shocked when Jeongguk sidles up to you when you’re sending a few emails on your phone, leans into your neck and asks if you want him to fuck you later. ‘Just for fun’ [he lays a lot of emphasis on the last word]. Like seriously?! After yesterday’s little performance? You look at him like he’s mental, but he decides to ignore the hint, looks pointedly down your top and purrs “C’mon, Noona. You’re not still mad are you?”

“Are you serious Jeongguk?” You choke on your drink. “No!”

“No you’re not mad?” he checks, cocky.

“No I will not go to bed with you,” you hiss, hating yourself a little because despite everything you still desperately want him in your arms again.

“Doesn’t have to be a bed…” he cajoles, obviously suffering from a lack of female attention over the past 24 hours.

“Aigo, leave her alone Jeongguk!” You hadn’t even seen Tae sitting on the couch, and you’re assuming Jeongguk wouldn’t have tried what he just tried if he had seen Tae there either. You and Jeongguk both look over at the sound of his voice, and you can see that Tae’s reached the end of his patience. 

Jeongguk takes a step back away from you and sneers at Tae on his way out of the room. Tae gets up off the couch in a huff and you try to speak to him, but he walks out in the other direction.

For a day or two, you worry about Tae’s reaction to Jeongguk’s advances, and the way he exited the room doesn’t help. But about a week later, Tae comes over to you while you’re putting your shoes on by the door and asks you to go to dinner with him. 

“If you want,” he hurriedly says. “You can say no.”

“Relax, I’d love to.” You smile at him. 

“Great,” he says, his boxy smile growing on his features, “Is tomorrow night okay?”

“Tomorrow is perfect.”

‘Tomorrow’ rolls around and you’re in your bedroom with Mai, trying to decide what to wear.

“It’s Tae,” she reasons absentmindedly, scanning my bookshelves. “You know it’s going to be fancy.”

“We’ve established that,” you remind her, digging around in your wardrobe, “and so that fact is currently of no help to me. Like at all.”

“Halter-neck red dress, with your matching stilettoes,” she answers. “A necklace, or two. I don’t know.”

“Better, thank you,” you say, pulling the garments out. You put them on excitedly, genuinely curious for the night ahead. “Do you think it’s too soon?”

“Do I think what’s too soon?” she replies.

“The date, after… the Jeongguk thing.”

She shrugs, “No. Tae seems to be okay with it. And if you’re both okay with it, shouldn’t be a problem.” She smiles at you encouragingly. “Tae is good - to you and for you.”

Unsurprisingly, Tae is the perfect gentleman. He opens the car door for you, pulls out your chair, and dinner is, all-in-all, wonderful. The food is great, the ambience buzzing, and Tae’s laugh by candlelight warms your heart. He listens to you talk with his hand on his chin, giving you his full attention. 

Tae tells you detailed stories of him growing up in Geochang with his younger siblings, taking saxophone lessons and his childhood dreams of becoming a professional singer. A life making and appreciating art is truly what he’s always dreamed about, and he considers himself lucky to be able to live it. He’s young and multitalented; and sage, yet not precocious. You notice his deep gratefulness for the opportunity in how hard he works, and how humble he is. 

Your conversation continues all the way home and into the flat, yet he doesn’t ever address how he feels, or why his mood has changed over the past week or two, which kills you a little bit, but Tae’s always played his cards close to the chest. He walks you to your bedroom door, which is a cute touch, then pauses, looking down and scuffing the floor with the toe of his shiny black dress shoe with his hands entwined behind his back.

“Annyonghi jumusipssio,” he murmurs, shy again now you’re at this point of the evening. The other boys don’t seem to be around, but you’re never sure when they’re going to materialise, so you ask him if he wants to come in your room and chat for a bit longer. He swallows, risks a glance at your eyes, then nods slowly allowing a tiny smile to cross his lips. You usher him inside and offer him a seat on the chair by your make-up table, as he seems too nervous to sit on the bed.

“Tae, sweetheart. Take off your jacket,” you laugh. “Get comfortable. You know me right? I’m not going to bite.” He stands and does as he’s asked, but then looks around automatically for a coat-hanger.

“Oh sorry doll,” you realise, grabbing him one from your closet and hanging his beautifully-tailored jacket on the door of your closet for him.

“Did you just call me a doll?” he asks, giving you a curious look.

“Uh-huh,” you admit, waiting to see if he catches on.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” he ventures. You nod.

“Very,” you tell him, closing the distance between you.

“What about Jeongguk?” he asks, hesitant. You shrug.

“What about him? I fell for him hard,” you allow, “but he hurt me. A lot. You’re kind. And you’re kind to me.” He smiles and looks at the floor.

“Can I ask you something?” you whisper. He nods. 

“What were you going to tell me the other day when you said it wasn’t the time then? I mean maybe it’s the time now?”

He looks at you curiously, then turns his back on you and places his hands on your make-up table seemingly to steady himself. After a moment he speaks, his voice deep and carefully modulated:

“I’ve been in love with you since you started working for us. But I wanted to wait and see if you might be interested in me that way. Only, instead I watched you fall for Jeongguk. You didn’t even seem to realise at first, and he had no idea. But I did. I saw how you watched him, how you always did little extra things for him, let him get away with stuff nobody else could. He never heard ‘no’ from your lips.”

You don’t say anything as you can’t really deny the truth of anything he’s said. You feel rotten as you’d always thought you did your best to treat the boys equally, but Tae’s exposed you to yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. He waves the apology away and continues:

“So anyway, when he decided he needed a new plaything [he cringes at the word] he straight up told me and Jimin that he was going to see if he could ‘tap that’ as he put it. I was heartbroken when I watched you sneak off to his room. That’s why I overplayed the whole frat boy thing, pretending it was funny when I so badly wanted to tell you he was just using you. And then last week you finally said ‘no’ to him and he just stood there trying to manipulate that ‘no’ into another ‘yes.’ So I had to say something.” He spreads his hands in a ‘that’s it’ gesture and turns back around looking awkward.

You take him in your arms and he doesn’t object. Instead you feel his arms come up around you and he leans down to kiss you softly, but there’s a hint of something else under the softness that makes you tingle with anticipation.

“Let’s go in your room,” you suggest, aware that he probably doesn’t want to end up in the bed where Jeongguk has been playing his games. You’re not expecting him to take you up on the offer, assuming he’ll want to keep the evening classy. But he gives you a very suggestive wink and says ‘algesseo.’ 

Once you’re safely in his bedroom, all his hesitation disappears. He gives you a cheeky look and starts to unbutton his shirt. You reach out to stroke his chest and he closes his eyes and sighs, placing his hand over yours to bring it up to his heart. It’s pounding in his chest and you draw closer to kiss him again. He laughs softly, turns you about and undoes your dress, kissing the back of your neck as he slides it down to your waist. He leaves your strapless bra on and turns you back to face him, kissing you more deeply. You wriggle out of the bottom part of your dress so you’re only in your heels and lingerie, then move to unclasp your bra and step out of your shoes, but he stops you with a hand on your wrist: “Don’t,” he grins. “I like you in this. It’s sexy.” He takes his own shoes and socks off so he’s barefoot, and then leads you across to his bed where he sits on the edge and stands you in front of him.

You take the hint and sit on his lap, with your legs straddling him. He slides his fingers under the suspender straps running up your thighs and kisses you until you’re breathless. You drop your hands down to his lap and unbutton the flies on his fancy black dress pants, trying not to blush as you feel his hardness under the material. Wow. Not to be vulgar, but that’s quite a weapon he’s got down there. You let him tweak your knickers to the side, under cover of his kisses. He grabs you around the waist, forcefully but not roughly, and lifts you just high enough, angling his chin upwards so he can kiss you as he holds you above him. You take a deep breath and lower yourself onto his erection and he groans with pleasure as he slides all the way up inside you.

“Oh my God Tae,” you gasp. You move yourself up and down on him, trying to keep in rhythm with his hip movements. It hurts a little, but in the good way. After a while, he flips you both over so that you’re lying on his bed and he’s thrusting into you from above. You wrap your legs all the way up around his waist, locking your ankles and lacing your fingers together behind his neck. He transfers his kisses to your throat and you feel his hands running the length of your sides as he continues to fuck you to distraction. Right now, there’s nothing sexier to you than that baritone of his reduced to the fractured moans and sighs of sexual abandon.

He sits up, forcing you to readjust to accommodate him, then lifts his hands to unclasp your bra, slips it off and cups your breasts in his hands, biting his lip coquettishly. You loose your hair so it falls down over your shoulders and lean down to kiss him again. He pulls you back down against him, so your breasts are pressed to his chest and speeds up his thrusts until you feel the telltale tingling and realise you’re about to finish. He doesn’t show any signs of slowing down though.

“Tae, slow down. I think I’m about to cum,” you manage.

“It’s okay...So am I…” he pants, not amending his pace. You try to hold it in but the orgasm floods you, making your toes curl with the giddy sensation. Tae keeps it up for a few more minutes, then gives a grunt of effort and pulls out just in time, discreetly cupping the end of his dick with one hand to catch the majority of his escaping jizz. You both clean yourselves up and you slip your dress back on and your shoes off, preparing to sneak back to your room. Tae kisses you passionately, thanks you, and asks if it’s okay with you to wait a bit and then try another date. He wants to keep things special. You agree to his plan, smile warmly at him, thank him for dinner, and slip out into the main part of the apartment.

Needless to say you’re not too thrilled to find Jeongguk sneaking a lollipop on his way back from the kitchen. You freeze and Tae, who is still closing the door behind you looks stricken. Jeongguk removes the lollipop from his mouth and smirks at Tae, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Thought you were above all this sex and sneaking girls out of your room shit, Tae-hyung,” he provokes him. Tae isn’t about to let the maknae get the better of him:

“How’re those blue balls Jeongguk?” he snaps back almost immediately. You sigh.

“Come on guys - you’re not going to be one of those bands that let girl stuff get in the way of their bond are you?” you plead. “Can’t we just let it go and skip to the part where we’re all laughing about this?” Tae grins and Jeongguk picks it up.

“Yeah I guess it’s a bit overdramatic,” the younger boy allows. They shake hands and you all return to your own rooms in a better state of mind than you’ve been over the past month or so.

THE END

Glossary: (feel free to submit corrections for these ^.^)

Annyonghi jumusipssio (안녕히 주무십시오) = Good night

[backtobackbakubabe]

Stuck in the Middle with You (Part 2)

Bakugo x Reader 

Reader is a closet couponer and when word started spreading that there was going to be a mandatory quarantine to fend off a virus you weren't worried. You had enough supplies to last for months. However it wasn't until now that you realized you had no idea how to cook and you relied on take out and fast food for most of your meals. The only person who knew about your crazy couponing habit was Bakugo, so when he called and asked if he could raid your stash you got an idea.

Words: 2054

*****************************************************************************************************

You tried not to moan as you took your first bite of Bakugo’s pancakes. They were so delicious, but you didn’t want to add to his already huge ego. For the most part you both are in silence, locking eyes every so often before immediately looking anywhere else but at each other. There was still some awkward tension between the two of you. He had kissed you, like actually kissed you but neither of you wanted to be the one to bring it up. 

You knew he only did it to try and help you through your panic attack. There was no way he would have done it for any other reason. He was Bakugo after all and you weren't even convinced that he even liked you as a friend. Sure he always attended movie nights, and yeah he brought you coupons. But that was it. The two of you never hung out one on one and you rarely spoke to each other over the phone. You had known the man for years and you didn’t know a damm thing about him. 

It wasnt until he cleared his thought that you realized you had been staring at him, “Do I need to teach you manners as well as cooking? Lesson number one, don’t stare at people.”

You snorted, “Oh that’s rich. A lesson on manners from the same person who manages to find a way to insult anyone who dares try and speak to him.”

He slammed his fork down, “Well at least I wasn't the one staring at another person practically drooling while they ate!”

You stood up and tossed your plate into the sink, “I was not drooling! I was just thinking...”

Bakugo came up behind you and rinsed your dish as well as his before putting them in the dish washer, “You really shouldn't leave dishes in the sink. Its a bad habbit...”

When you didnt answer he took a deep breath, “If we’re going to be stuck here then we should probably at least try and get along.”

Again you were struck by how little you knew about him. How had you been friends with him for this long and not know anything about him.

He groaned, “Are you even fucking listening to me?”

You nodded and pinched the bridge of you nose, “Yeah sorry, just was thinking again... I can be kind of spacey.” 

He softened a bit before leaning on the counter next to you, “So I’ve noticed... What are you thinking about?”

You blushed slightly before regaining your composure, “Honestly you... Not anything weird... It’s just. Well I feel like I actually don’t know much about you. Like are you a morning person? Whats your favorite color? What kind of movies do you like? I know none of that seems important but for some reason it just weirds me out that I dont know.”

Bakugo scratched the back of his neck, “Well I mean you never asked...” 

You hopped up on the kitchen counter and swung your legs that were now dangling, “Okay well to be fair that can go both ways. I’m sure you don’t know anything about me either.”

He seemed to think for a minute before nodding, “Well I guess it’s a good thing we have some time to catch up. Just promise me that what you learn stays between us. I dont need any fucking extras thinking they know me.” 

You rolled your eyes at his abrasiveness. “How about you pick something to watch and I’ll go raid my closet for things you could wear. I doubt you want to wear the same clothes every day for the foreseeable future.” 

“Tsk as if I’d wear girls clothes. The director from my hero agency said he’d send someone over with some clothes. It’ll probably just be a bunch of training gear with the agencies logo on it but I guess beggars cant be choosers.” 

Bakugo was right because halfway through “Gladiator” a man showed up with a duffle bag full of grey and black shirts, shorts, and sweats with his agencies logo on it. They were all still wrapped in plastic just to be safe. 

He threw the bag full of clothes behind the couch and reclaimed his spot next to you. You were bundled up in a blanket, trying not to fall asleep but you were drained after your episode earlier. It was only a little after 8 and you could feel your eye lids growing heavier. 

At some point you woke up and to your horror you were leaning on Bakugo. You would have panicked except you could feel his arm draped around your shoulders holding you to him. This was odd. You slowly sat up and stretched. “Sorry. You could have pushed me off. I wouldn't have blamed you. Especially with social distancing or whatever.”

He chuckled, “Oh believe me I thought about it. But you were cold and if we stuck together I cant have you getting sick.”

You saw a slight blush creep up his neck. You knew there was no way you would have gotten sick from being chilly in your own living room. But you also knew he was probably more comfortable doing something nice if he had an excuse. So you game him a genuine smile. “Thanks. I’ll be honest that's the best nap I’ve ever had. Well best I’ve slept in months actually. I’m always tossing and turning.” You turned off the tv that was now playing the credits. You had seriously slept through the entire second half of the movie. 

You walked over and started pulling out pillows and blankets from the hall closet. “You can sleep on the couch. It pulls out into a bed but honestly its more comfortable if you just sleep on it normally. We can take turns sleeping in the bed if you’re here long enough.”

He accepted the blankets but held tight to your hand. “Hey you know I meant it earlier when I said you could talk to me. I’m the last person to voluntarily open up about my feelings, but you know... I worry about you sometimes.” 

You plopped down on the couch with a huge sigh. “I appreciate your concern. But I wouldn't even know where to begin... I’m just... I don’t know. I’m fine.”

Bakugo took a seat next to you, “You’re what? Smart? Strong? Badass? Because those are the first words that come to mind when I think of you...”

You could feel your eyes prick with unshed tears. “Well those are definitely not high on the list of adjectives I would consider for myself. More like small, scared, and incompetent.” You leaned your head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. 

Bakugo crossed his arms over his chest in mild frustration. “Why? That couldn’t be further from the truth! Well except the small thing. You are kinda little. But last I checked that wasn’t a bad thing. If anything... its kinda.... cute.” 

You looked up expecting to see him blushing. But instead you saw him giving you a nervous smile. You wiped a tear from the corner of your eyes and returned his smile, “Well you know how my quirk can be really vague? I only get fragments of the truth and even then it’s up to me to decide what they mean... That’s a lot of pressure. I cant be wrong. Ever. And there was this one time when I was a child... I was living with my mom.. I interpreted something wrong and someone died because of it. That kind of thing sticks with you.”

Bakugo reached out and took your hand, “Is that why you decided not to be a hero?”

You nodded as you wiped away another tear, “Yeah. Now I work behind a desk, looking at files, and no body gets hurt.” 

Bakugo surprised you by pulling you to him and giving you a tight hug. “I’m going to say something and you better not ever repeat it.... But I was always nervous to spar against you. You always seemed to be able to read me like a book. You worked harder than the rest of us including me. You were always in the gym or the library. I’m not saying I don’t understand your decision. I just want you to know that I think you would have been great.” 

You leaned into his hug, “Thank you... for everything today. For helping through my panic attack, for making me dinner, for hanging out with me. I know you say you didnt have a choice. But you really are a great friend.” 

You both laid there on the couch. Bakugo holding onto you taking deep breaths, “You want to talk about earlier? You dont have to but it might help me out to know what might trigger you if we’re going to be stuck here.”

You buried your face into his chest. “I dont really want to talk about it. But I will say I dont do very well when I feel trapped, especially if I have to be alone.”

He gave you a quick squeeze, “You going to be okay alone tonight?”

You sat up and swatted as his chest, “Bakugo Katsuki! Did you just ask if you could spend the night with me?”

He rolled his eyed before he pushed you off the couch. “Sorry for being concerned. I promise it’ll never happen again. Next time I’ll just let you suffer.”

You giggled, “There’s the Bakugo I know.” You started your trek up the stairs to your room calling a goodnight over your shoulder to the man who was getting cozy on your couch. When you had woken up this morning there was no way you could have predicted your day would end up like this. You didn’t know what was harder to believe, the lockdown, or the fact that Bakugo was a secret softy.

You were already so exhausted that it was hard for you to fall asleep. The hard part was staying asleep. You woke up several times, tossing and turning. Your anxiety was truly kicking your ass tonight. At one point you felt compelled to go and check that Bakugo was still there. Not that it would make any difference. There’s no way your insomnia would magically be cured by knowing that Bakugo was still there. 

But logic wasnt on your side tonight.

You wrapped yourself in a towel and tip toes across the cold hardwood floor. You tried really hard to be silent, slowly making your way down the stairs. It was so dark, but you could just make out the silhouette of his rising and falling chest. At least he could sleep. 

After you had satisfied your irrational need to make sure he was still there you stood and turned to go back up the stairs. You were almost to the top when the board groaned under your foot. You froze. 

“Y/n?” Bakugo slowly sat up. “Y/n what are you doing up?” He picked up his phone and groaned. “Y/n it’s four in the morning!” You remained frozen to your spot on the stairs. “Y/n I can see you... Are you okay?”

You sighed, “I’m fine, I was just having a hard time sleeping again. Its nothing new. Go back to sleep.”

He stood up and wrapped the blanket around his half asleep form. He slowly made his way up the stairs. When he got to you he didnt stop but kept walking towards your room. He only paused when he got to the door. “Are you coming or not?” 

You silently nodded and joined him in your room. He laid down on  the floor next to your bed, which looked extremely uncomfortable. “You sure you’re going to be okay down there?”

He scoffed, “Of course I’ll be okay. I’m no cry baby.”

You rolled your eyed and threw a pillow at him, “At lest take a pillow!”

He muttered something under his breath but excepted the pillow none the less. 

You rolled over and pulled the covers up to your chin, “Thank you Bakugo.”

“You’re welcome smalls.” 

Smalls.... It was a nickname he had used during your time at UA. You used to hate it but after tonights confession, you found it endearing. 

[emily-strange]

Sparks Fly

Okay so I posted Chapter 2 the other day but was ultimately really unhappy with where the story was heading....so I revamped! 

Thank you again to @billybutchersbabe​ for being my sounding board and talking through my jumbled ideas with me :) Such a massive help.

Hope you enjoy the chapter and feedback is welcomed x

Chapter 2

Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC

Warnings: Swearing, Mention of Violence, *very* mild mention of child abuse (very very small)

…………………………………………………..

Butcher leans against the dirty wall of the safehouse ‘livingroom’ and looks at the young woman sprawled out on the threadbare sofa. He sighs tiredly and pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting the headache that’s constantly threatening his brain. MM and Frenchie are arguing over something ridiculous in the other room and Hughie made a quick exit after trying to scold him for his interrogation techniques.

For the first time in a fucking long time, Butcher feels the pinch of guilt in the back of his mind. The three of them were following a lead when they’d come across the cart fire and Butcher being Butcher, he just had to watch something burn. That’s when he noticed her. Well, he didn’t know she was a she at the time. 

Not that it matters of course, a supe’s a supe.

She approached the fire like she was looking to get burned. He watched her raise her hands and caught a glimpse of a small smile. The flames around her flickered like an electrical current and seemed to gravitate towards her. He saw red. His mind instantly went to Lamplighter and Mallory’s grand-kids. So, he acted.

He’d been careless and rash.

Butcher lets out a long, deep breath that he didn’t know he was holding and calls to MM. When he finally breaks away from his argument, MM enters the room just at Butcher is sorting through a first aid kit.

“You ‘nd Frenchie need ta follow up on that lead. See if ya can get Hughie back.” He says without looking up. MM bites back the need to argue and looks over to the woman on the sofa. He eye’s Butcher warily.

“What you gonna do?” he asks. Butcher stops sorting through the kit and follows MM’s eye-line to the woman.

“Just ask what you wanna ask MM” Butcher responds, straitening himself to full height, causing the other man to do the same. The tension since the alley was thick. Even Frenchie sensed it when they returned ‘home’ with Butcher carrying an unconscious woman over his shoulder.

“Fine. What you gonna do, to her?” MM rewords while pointing to the woman. Butcher picks up some antiseptic wipes and gauze.

“Me?” he asks in his usual jovial tone, “I’m gonna patch the bird up ‘nd ask her some questions. Maybe if she’s lucky, I’ll get her somethin’ ta drink.”

MM scoffs, “So the kickin’s are done?”

Butcher places one of his hands, still holding the gauze, over his heart, “Scouts honour.”

MM shakes his head but gathers his things. Him and Frenchie head out to follow up on the previous lead, with the latter muttering in French as they exit the building.

Butcher takes a couple of seconds to gather himself before sitting on the small coffee table opposite the sofa, setting up a bottle of water next to him ready. The woman’s bag lies on the floor next to them, having been checked over by Butcher when they got back, however he’d put the matchbook in the pocket of his short-sleeved shirt the moment he’d knocked her out in the alley.

He moves her hair gently off of her face and sighs, exhausted himself. He gives her a little shake. And then another one. And then a bigger one while saying (almost shouting) “Hey!”. The woman stirs and for a second Butcher sees her relaxed before everything crashes back down to earth. She hurries to sit upright, her stomach clearly no longer hurting her and Butcher grabs her arm before she can bolt off the sofa.

“Alrigh’ alrigh’ calm down now luv.” He chastises and retracts his hands quickly when the woman snatches her arm back, holding it to herself like he’d burned her. Her eyes are wide and her face is bruised from earlier, with blood smeared across her forehead and jaw. Old, almost closed cuts are scattered around her face with yellow bruises framing her eyes on both sides.

“Why am I here?” Emmy asks, pushing part the dry scratch of her throat.

“Well. That’s the question ain’t it. Why are you here? Some say God. If you believe that kinda thing. Me? I’d say freak’a nature.” Butcher answers, confusing Emmy for a moment before she realises what he’s getting at.

“No,” she replies quickly “why am I in your….house?”

Butcher looks around, finding it funny that she’d think this rundown hole could be someone’s house.

“We brought you back here afta your little display in the alley. Figured it was the least I could do afta….well ya know.” Butcher says while gesturing to her generally, “And I’ve neva met a supe what ask ta die. So tickle me curious.”

Emmy thinks back to their altercation and recalls her desperate plea to end it all.

“Let’s just say I’ve had a bad couple of days.” She whispers. This seems to appease Butcher for the moment as he hands over the bottle of water. She takes it quickly, chugging down almost half of its contents before stopping to heave in air like she hasn’t breathed for weeks. She waits for Butcher to say something but when he doesn’t she rolls her eyes.

“Look, I didn’t do anything to the cart okay?” Emmy mumbles. The silence of the man opposite her putting her even more on edge, “You bring me here to kill me or something?”

“Nah. If I wanted ya dead, you’d be dead.” Butcher answers with a shit-eating grin.

Emmy nods slowly, “That’s, um, very comforting.”

“Look, I’m not in the habit of picking up strays. But my mate was giving me fucking grief about leavin’ ya.” Not totally untrue, Butcher thinks. Hughie had argued like a little bitch but Butcher was also not lying when he said he was curious about the bedraggled supe.

Emmy thought for a moment back to the alley and how concerned his friends had seemed. “….Hughie?” She says absentmindedly. “Or MN….MM?”

Butcher sighs and hangs his head in mock upset, “See. You shouldn’ta told me ya know our names.”

“You were hardly being careful!” Emmy says with rushed defense.

“Well I wasn’t plannin’ on you makin’ it out of that alley.” Butcher snaps back, raising his voice in annoyance. Emmy knows she should be terrified, definitely more scared than she is. This guy jumped on her the second he caught a whiff of her power. But really, he just looks exhausted now. Totally fed up. And like he said, if he wanted her dead, she’d probably already be dead.

Butcher narrows his eyes at Emmy and almost smirks when she does the same to him. They stare at each other for a few seconds, until the insane situation she’s found herself in causes Emmy to do the last thing Butcher expects her to do.

She laughs.

“I’m….I’m sorry” she gasps between laughs, “I, uh...I haven’t slept in like…2 days”. She breaks off to laugh silently into the hand she smacked to her mouth. Butcher furrows his brow and this seems to set her off even more.

“And…it kinda felt like…” she tries to continue without laughing but fails, “it felt like….we were having the world’s most…awkward…staring contest.” By the time Emmy finishes, she’s wiping tears out of her tired eyes. She manages to calm herself down enough that Butcher thinks it’s safe to speak.

But the moment he opens his mouth, Emmy erupts into laughter again.

“Alrigh’!” Butcher shouts and Emmy’s laughter retreats.

“Sorry…I’m…scared I am…you’re very scary.” She says sincerely despite the humour in her tone. She coughs the last of the laughter away and takes another sip of water before handing it back to Butcher who puts it on the table.

“Look. I wanna know who’s afta ya.” He says sternly and Emmy nods, watching her own hands as she fiddles with a thread on the sofa. What has she got left to lose?

“Umm okay, well….I dunno to be honest. Maybe no one? Maybe police? I just assume someone is.” She replies, only making eye contact once she’s finished.

“And why, prey tell, would the cops be afta ya?” Butcher whispers menacingly, the way he does. He sees the hesitation on Emmy’s face and runs his large hand down his own, groaning. He has a feeling that his usual intimidation technique isn’t going to cut it here.

He looks again at the old cuts and bruises on her face and sighs. She probably wants reassurance. Reassurance that he won’t turf her over to the cops or worse, whoever she worries is after her.

The problem is, Butcher doesn’t know how to be reassuring anymore. And why should he be? He doesn’t know this girl. She’s a supe. Whether she acts like one or not isn’t his business. His business is straightening them out. Ending them if need be.

But something tugs at him. Something akin to guilt, again. Maybe empathy? Who the fuck knows.

“Look. I’m sorry ‘bout the alley alrigh’? Wasn’t my finest moment.” Butcher says sighing, hoping it’ll soften her to him and he can get his information. That’s why he’s doing it. That’s the only reason he apologised…

“Why did you…?” Emmy asks quietly but can’t quite find the right word. Attack her? Accuse her? Threaten her? All of the above?

Butcher shakes his head, “Answer mine ‘nd I’ll answer yours.”

“Okay. Um. So I didn’t know I was a….’supe’….until around 2 days ago.” Emmy begins but stops when Butcher scoffs.

“Whatta you, 25/26?” he asks disbelievingly. He’s never heard of someone being so old before a power materialised.

“29. And it’s weird. Believe me, I know.” Emmy says sternly, annoyed that he’s interrupted her already, “But it’s true.”

Butcher smirks and gestures for her to continue.

“I’ve always been a fast healer.”

“Plus side of being a supe eh?” Butcher says mockingly and he takes note of the way Emmy’s nostrils flare.

“You keep saying that. Supe, supe,  supe! Until the other day, I didn’t know I could do what I did.” Emmy bites back angrily.

“And what did you do?” Butcher asks, ignoring her anger and raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“Why did you attack me!?” Emmy asks firmly, no longer allowing her fear to cloud her brain. The whole situation is starting to really piss her off. So much had happened in the last couple of days and she honestly felt like she was losing her mind. “You don’t even know my fucking name. But you kicked me in the fucking face.”

Butcher can’t help but smile. She’s feisty, he thinks. A far cry from the grovelling girl in the alley. If he’d been faced with this side of her, he’s not sure she’d be sitting here right now.

“Alrigh’. I’ll play.” Butcher says calmly, “Me ‘nd my…mates…we ain’t a fan of supes doin’ whatever tha fuck they please. And that’s what we fought you were doin’. Now, what. Did. You. Do.”

Emmy sighs and rubs exasperatingly at her face with the sleeves of her hoodie. When she pulls her hands back, she’s surprised at how much bloods come from her face, “Wow. You really did a number on me.”

“That I did.” Butcher responds quickly, grinning. Was he proud of that? Who the fuck is this guy? Why couldn’t that sweet looking one be here instead.

Emmy looks at the blood on her sleeves again and weighs her options. She could stay quiet and probably die. Or try to escape and probably die. Or maybe cooperate and get a chance to live. Not exactly a Sophie’s Choice. She lowers her hands and lets out a large sigh.

If he hates supes so much, maybe he’ll understand?

“When I was ten I was put with a foster family. Had a shit-tone of foster siblings. Like, they never stopped coming and going.” Emmy rubs again at her tired eyes and clears her throat. The man opposite her stares with an unreadable expression. “We were slave labour really….the family….they’re not good people. And you don’t just leave. They make sure of that.”

Emmy stops to gather her thoughts. Fuck she’s tired. And hungry. At that thought, her stomach growls but she jumps when Butcher clears his throat and says, “Haven’t got all day luv.”

Emmy scoffs and nods. Basically, hurry the fuck up.

“What you need to understand is….we were untouchable. We never went to school, but no one questioned it. People showed up dead but the police just, acted like nothing happened. It was like some…hickville mafia.”

“Mafia?” Butcher repeats and Emmy just laughs.

“We weren’t like the Godfather or anything. But yeah. We ran drugs, weapons…..and as I recently found out. People.” Emmy gestures for the bottle of water and Butcher begrudgingly hands it over. She downs the rest of the bottle and feels a blinding pain behind one of her eyes. Great. “Look, I burnt the fucking place down okay.”

Emmy pushes on the increasing pain that throbs behind her eye. This isn’t the time to be getting a migraine. Butcher takes a moment to think on Emmy’s story. It’s not the craziest one he’s ever heard but that’s not hard with the type of shit he sees.

“So your….fire thing. Didn’t happen till the otha day?” he asks plainly.

“Nope. Never had any idea about it.” Emmy answers quickly, squinting against the lights of the room. Butcher’s a pretty good judge of character and he’s basically trained in telling if someone’s lying. She’s not lying.

“Where were you before then? Before the foster family?” Butcher asks while picking up the antiseptic wipes and motioning for Emmy to sit forward. She hesitates but, in the end, finds herself leaning in for him to wipe at the dried blood around her face. He’s not exactly gentle but she does note how he spends time to check each open wound. Making sure nothing nasty has found its way into the cuts.

“That’s the thing. I have no idea.” She pauses briefly to hiss in pain has Butcher presses on a fresh bruise, “Before...the fire…I was going through all the paperwork that I wasn’t supposed to. After I found out about the…people. And I found years’ worth of account stuff I’d never seen. The head of the family is a stickler for paperwork.” Emmy laughs humourlessly. Remembering how many clips round the head she got as a child when something was misfiled, “All these payments to an account I didn’t know about. And it came from one company. Vought.”

At the mention of Vought, Butcher stops his inspection of Emmy’s wounds and sits back to look at her. Emmy finds herself instantly missing the feel of his hands on her face but shakes the thought from her mind as quick as it came.

“Pass me my bag.” She says and after a second Butcher does. She doesn’t go into the bag, instead turns it around to pick at some stiches on it’s back. After the stiches come away, she slips a piece of paper out of a small opening of the fabric. She opens the paper, which is singed, to show a large payment from Vought to who Butcher imagines to be the foster family.

“There were years’ worth of these. Why was Vought sending random payments to a small crime family!?” Emmy asks, knowing Butcher wouldn’t have the answer to her question, “I saw the name and…just…I have this feeling. That Vought had something to do with…me. The bits I can’t remember.”

Butcher’s mind was racing. That was a lot of information to get in a couple of seconds. Should he ask her more about her foster family? No they don’t matter....or do they? He has no bloody clue. From the burnt edges of the paper he can only assume the rest of the papers went up in flames. 

Emmy’s just watching him for a reaction but he has no idea what to say yet. He can’t exactly fill her in on his business, but he’s also not planning on letting her walk out the door so quickly when she may know more than she thinks. So he does what he usually does. Acts.

Butcher quickly snatches the piece of paper from Emmy and pockets it.

“Hey!” Emmy says lunging forward, only to be pushed easily back onto the sofa by Butcher. He gets up and goes into the other room and comes back a second later with his coat.

“There’s some food around ‘ere somewhere. Water in the tap.” He says gesturing around and not directly looking at Emmy.

“Where the fuck are you going!?” Emmy shouts, jumping up. She’s quite a bit shorter than Butcher but he has to admire her temper.

“Look, if I were you, I’d grab summit ta eat. Pop some painkillers ‘nd takea nap. But that’s just me.” he says bending down condescendingly to Emmy’s height.

Before Emmy can say anything else, Butcher sweeps past her to the door. He gets his phone out and puts it to his ear.

“Don’t worry Sparky, I’ll be back latea.” Butcher winks before calling whoever is on the other line a “cunt” and slamming the door behind him. Emmy also hears the obvious clunk of a lock sliding into place.

Emmy looks around the dark, dingy room as the pain in her head starts to really make itself known. She stands in the same spot Butcher left her in for at least 5 minutes, going over the last day or so in her mind.

“I need a fucking drink.”

[kaleidescope-writes]

Winter Mistakes-- Chapter 4; Dilemma

Biker!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, Soft Bucky, mild freak out, cliffhanger

Masterlist

“What the hell happened last night?” Bucky demanded as soon as the bar door opened. You looked around the room, taking in its unkempt appearance. Bottles, cans, and glasses littered the floors and tables. Random napkins, straws, and pieces of clothing sprawled out across the room as well. The bar itself was lined entirely with glasses from the night before. It looked different from what it looked like last night. Maybe that’s just because it wasn’t full of people and you weren’t presently drunk. Focusing your attention back on the three men at the bar, you recognized them as Steve, Sam, and Clint. Nat probably had to go to work early. 

“There you are,” Sam greeted, “The love birds are here!” Bucky glared at him, still holding on to your left hand. “Piss off, Wilson,” he hissed, “Tell me what happened!” Steve stood from his stool, “Relax, Buck. I’ll tell you, just don’t start a fight. Tony’s already pissed.” He motioned for the two of you to sit on the two vacant stools. You sat down cautiously, Bucky mimicking your actions as he gave you a small apologetic look before turning his attention back to Steve. “Steve,” he breathed, “What happened last night?” 

Steve sighed, looking away briefly as he tried to find the right words to say. “Last night,” he began, “You both got a bit drunk. You were all over each other, to the point where you were practically giving each other bedroom eyes the entire time.” You remembered flashes of what he was saying, the headache slowly creeping up to the back of your head. “You two were all over each other! And most of the time, you weren’t even dancing! When you got tired from dancing, you went back to the booth to make out,” Sam laughed, “We had to stop you from tearing each others’ clothes off in public.” A sudden heat made its way to your cheeks, causing you to look away. Bucky groaned softly, motioning for Steve to continue. “That’s true,” Steve said flatly, “But it’s not the only thing that happened.” You turned to him again, pleading eyes encouraging him to continue. “Y/N pulled you back to dance after the make-out session. After a few songs and a few more drinks, she asked you to marry her,” Steve explained cautiously. “For fuck’s sake,” you sighed. You knew you would do stupid things while drunk. It’s why you avoided drinking past your limit. Stupid things would happen whenever you did and you’d have to deal with the consequences the next morning. “Fortunately,” Steve continued, “Bucky said it was too soon to get married.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Bucky seemed relieved too, slouching a bit after the words fell from Steve’s lips. “I wouldn’t celebrate just yet,” Steve cautioned, “Instead of driving to the nearest chapel, Bucky suggested you performed the Union.” Bucky sat up in his seat once more, eyes going wide. You felt him tense up next to you, signaling that whatever the Union was meant a bad thing had happened. Or at least in this case. “What’s the Union?” you asked, trying to understand the severity of the situation. Steve went to explain what it was but was stopped by Bucky putting his hand up. He turned to you, taking your hand in both of his.

“The club has this tradition,” he began, a soft tone lacing every word, “Every time one of the club members gets into a serious relationship they want to take into the next level, they perform something we call the Union.” You eyed him cautiously, the words ‘serious relationship’ catching your attention the most. “That means that both parties sign papers so that the member’s motorcycle falls under dual ownership, belonging to both parties involved. It’s a way of sharing the member’s life,” Bucky explained, “From there, they publicly announce their Union to the rest of the club, usually at the bar. After that, it’s up to the couple to decide how much further they want to take it.” You froze. You didn’t know what to think, say, or do. It was a lot to take in. Without thinking, you opened your lips to speak, “How far did we take this?” Bucky huffed, turning to look at Steve again, waiting for a response. Sam was quick to interfere, “Well, both of you signed the papers and made a very clear announcement that you were together. I think Bucky even said something along the lines of ‘I wanna marry this girl’” Bucky mumbled something under his breath, holding your hands a little tighter. 

“What happened after that?” you asked, still in shock. Steve looked at you, voice a bit softer as he spoke, “I can't say exactly what happened last night, but I can tell you that you never left each other’s side. It was kinda cute.” You nodded. Under different circumstances, you’d smile at the thought of someone caring enough to never leave your side. Not now, though. You were more concerned with the idea of drunk you performing some tradition of serious relationships after having just met the guy. “You can’t say exactly what happened, but I can,” Clint made his presence known, “See what Bucky and Steve failed to mention is that the next step to this would be directly saying your vows of undying love to the entire club right after you make your relationship known to the rest of the club. It’s a kind of oath. You did the oath, it’s basically like your vows. You both agreed to do it. By the standards of the oldest of the club’s rules for performing the Union, it’s valid.” 

You took in a sharp breath. The words sounded eerily similar to the way people would describe a Vegas wedding. “S-so, you mean w-we’re…” you stuttered, unable to complete your doubt. “You’re Technically married,” Clint finished for you. You saw Steve punch his arm before looking away from the group. Your mind began to flood with thoughts of what this meant. You’d just gotten through a break up with your cheating ex after three years of being tied down to him. Now, you committed to a relationship with a complete stranger you met at a bar the night before. Lovely.

Letting go of Bucky’s hands, you stood up suddenly. All four men focused on you as your eyes avoided them, fixated on the floor. “I uh, I think..” you took in a deep breath, attempting to calm down for a moment, “I need some air.” You didn’t wait for a response, you just turned around and left, leaving the men to look in your direction as you opened the doors and stepped out. 

Once outside, you took in a long, desperate breath as your nerves began to betray you. Your hands began to shake and your breathing was uneven. How the hell did this happen? Yes, you did really stupid things while you were drunk but it didn’t go past flirting with a security guard at a club. You surpassed that last night, apparently. But why? You had to subconsciously remember how hurt you felt after Brock. Did you even care last night?  

“Hey,” you heard from behind you. Turning around, you were met with Bucky slowly making his way to you. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly, wrapping his arms around you. Taking in yet another shaky breath, you began in an uneven tone, “I’m sorry about last night. I’m not normally that wreckless while drunk. I don’t know what came over me last night, I’m so sorry.” Putting his left hand under your chin, he lifted your head to look at him. “Hey, it’s alright,” he soothed, “I’m not upset about last night. Hell, I had the time of my life.” You smiled, wrapping your arms around him. “The best part about this whole ordeal was that I met you,” he reassured, pressing his forehead to yours, “And now, I want to get to know you. The real you.” Your smile faltered slightly as you took a small step back. “What about the Union?” 

“It doesn’t have to affect our interaction,” he suggested, “It could just be an excuse to maintain contact with each other.” You thought for a moment, unable to shake off Clint’s words. In the eyes of the club, you were married. Even if you decide to take whatever the two of you had slowly, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d be constantly reminded of your premeditated union. Sensing your uneasiness, Bucky took your hands in his, tracing your knuckles with his thumbs. Your eyes met his for a moment, searching for a hint of forming words. Finding nothing, you sighed and looked down. Shaking your head, you parted your lips to speak. Before you could, however, the bar’s door opened again, causing both of you to turn to the door. 

“Y/N, I just got a call from Nat. She wanted to know if you were with us. She called you a few times, but you didn’t answer,” Steve interrupted. You pulled away from Bucky, taking your phone out of your pocket. Five missed calls from Nat. Great. You turned up the volume on your phone, realizing it was on silent and that was why you didn’t notice. Almost as soon as you did, your phone rang. Figuring it was probably Nat, you answered it. “Hey,” you greeted, preparing to apologize to Nat. “Good morning, Ms. Y/N,” an unfamiliar voice replied. Confused, you stuttered out a question, “W-who is this?”

“It’s Elanor, from last night,” she replied, “I just wanted to let you know that the papers went through and you now officially have a license.” You grew more confused, face contorting as you processed every word. Bucky approached you, silently asking you what was going on. You put the phone on speaker, allowing both Steve and Bucky to listen in. “I’m sorry, I’m having trouble remembering,” you responded calmly despite the uncertainties of the situations. “The papers went through earlier this morning. I’d like to meet with both of you later today if that’s possible, so I can give you the certificate and the pictures of your special day,” she explained.

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes.”  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: It’s finally here!! In all honesty, it took me a while to figure out where I wanted this chapter to go, but I was able to work through it. Let me know what you think about this chapter as feedback is both appreciated and encouraged. I’d love to know what you think! Also, stay tuned for more overdue chapters. I hope everything is good in your corner of this bat-shit crazy world. Stay safe, Stay Proud, Be careful out there, and I love you! Please remember that! See you tomorrow for more well-overdue chapters. 😘💜💜

And to all my new followers, Welcome to the family😘💜💜💜💜💜

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[fckinev]

Daddy Issues (draco malfoy x fem!reader)

*an itsy draco smut to please my dirty soul n get me used to writing on tumblr lol

summary - draco and y/n are at a gala with their parents. they’ve known each other for their entire lives and hate each other with a passion. tonight, they’re going to put that passion to good use...

warnings - implied alcohol, swear words, sex n degradation-y stuff (he calls u a bitch like one time isn’t that fun!)

word count - absolutely no idea but it’s kinda long lol

personal thoughts - trash, throw the whole thing away. also it’s mostly unedited but it’s the middle of the night and i just have to write this because hngngnhngnhnngh draco sexc*

Before she has even set foot in the venue, Y/N wants to leave. Double doors spreading across the front of the building allow people to step inside the too-large hall, laughter horsey and chatter hollow. The urge to hitch up her dress and run helter-skelter back down the winding gravel pathway is so strong it’s palpable to her mother, who keeps a hand clamped on her daughter’s shoulder. Her mother’s hands are clammy and Y/N is glad, because if she is being literally held here against her will, the person forcing her to stay can at least feel worried to go any closer to the mob than this.

“Best behaviour,” her mother reminds her, beginning to march toward the doors with false purpose, “And don’t complain about talking to other people. If someone asks you to dance, dance with them, and if they ask for your phone number, give it to them. You can’t continue to ruin our reputation.”

Y/N doesn’t need to verbalise her irritation; the eye roll so exaggerated she sees stars is a dead giveaway. Her mother tuts and the fingers on her skin practically pierce it.

“Don’t ruin tonight.” She releases Y/N to adjust her suit. She thinks it makes her look progressive, but she’s wrong - it gives her the same energy as Katie Hopkins. The very day her mother put on a suit, she knew she would never do the same thing. She would not Katie-Hopkins herself.

“I won’t,” she replies, but the lie is ignored in favour of greeting Lucius Malfoy, who stands just inside the gargantuan doors. Before Y/N was even born, the two families were close and they still are. She grew up knowing Lucius so - cold and unsettling though his demeanour is - his presence is a welcome familiarity in a sea of unease. Just because she isn’t sweating too, doesn’t mean Y/N isn’t just as nervous as her idiot mother. But she can’t feel completely grateful for his being there - where he is, Draco tends to be. And where Draco is, she wants to burn to the ground.

The glass Y/N presses to her lips is cool, deliciously freezing on her lips and fingers. She appreciates the chill while she drains its contents only the slam it on the bar without a second thought when finished. Per her mother’s words and glares, she has been peer-pressured into dance after dance with strangers at least twice her age and given her numbers to men old enough to be her grandfather all night and now, she thinks she might scream. She’s tired, she’s hot, her feet are blistering and she wants to go home. The bartender refills her glass with a pitying smile which she does not return, just knocks back the amber liquid and groans. 

Someone sits on the seat beside her own and she glances at it, for no real reason other than curiosity. The man is slender but toned, which she can tell even through the all-black suit he wears. It’s well-cut and exudes wealth. His hands, veins prominent and enough to make any girl ruin their underwear even without all those rings, throw down a phone and an almost full glass of something red. Y/N is practically drooling, then she sees the face.

Draco.

Ew.

He doesn’t look back at her, pointedly ignoring the glare she is so carelessly aiming at him, just growls the name of a drink and downs it in one gulp. His ashen hair is a mess and his brow is furrowed, eyes staring deep into the empty glass in front of him. His muscles tense and untense in quick succession a few times before they settle with staying tensed; he’s the epitome of “I’m pissed off”. Y/N leans on her forearms, smirking just a little.

“What happened, loverboy?” She asks, faking concern so poorly it’s laughable.

Draco doesn’t laugh.

“Did you realise your dad is hotter than you? Is that it?” She suggests. When Draco’s scowl deepens and he ignores her, her smirk grows. This night has been hellish; if she can at least get a bit of a rise out of this twat she’ll be content.

“‘Nother one,” he demands, glaring daggers at the poor bartender. She refills his glass and he drinks it bitterly. Y/N leans further forward, knowing how little Draco likes having people invading his personal space, most of all her. Now, with barely a metre between them, she can smell the heavy musk of whatever cologne he’s wearing. It smells like sex and deception. It’s nice.

“Aww, someone really is feeling grumpy, huh? But seriously, has it hit you yet how hot your dad is? I mean, I’d fuck him.” Y/N teases delightedly. The only times she can ever remember smiling around Draco were when she was ridiculing him and right now, she is having the time of her life. Draco’s hands are twitching and his lip is curling in disgust.

“My father will hear about this.” He spits, glaring at Y/N for a hard second until she slides her hand over his arm and leans closer. There’s now less than half a metre separating the pair and when Draco shifts in his seat, Y/N can tell the lack of distance clearly doesn’t just affect her. A glance down confirms this.

“I want nothing less. In fact, make sure you bring it up as often as you can.” She suggests, Draco’s hands almost crushing his glass even more encouragement.

“If you keep talking like this, I’ll make sure you never speak again. Got it?” He finally snaps. Y/N’s face falls, then she matches his scowl. She drinks the remains of her last refill and the pair of them sit in buzzing silence, saying nothing and still so much. It’s not like it’s a secret that he hates her, but that reaction was more than unnecessary. It’s not her fault his dad is more fuckable.

A familiar and unwelcome hand falls onto Y/N’s shoulder, startling her for a moment before she realises who it is, and her mother starts speaking. “Finally, we’ve been looking everywhere for you both. You’re having fun? Yes?”

Her mother is asking out of courtesy and to impress Lucius, who looks utterly unimpressed and unsettlingly effervescent. Although Y/N’s mother spent over a week deciding which hideously updated suit she would wear to attend this gala, Lucius is effortlessly and deliciously upstaging her. The muted grungy tones and styling of Y/N’s mother’s outfit look tacky beside Lucius’. The families may be well acquainted, but only one of the two knows how to really use their money. Her mother seems to be aware of the fact because she is now wearing far less of the gaudy accessories she showed up in. Hate them all she wants, Y/N has to admit that the Malfoys truly have made her night turn from a complete shit show to only a mild inconvenience. 

“How are you finding the gala, Y/N? Here only on Celene’s demands I don’t doubt.” Lucius states. He shakes his head at the very thought. 

“Not at all, it’s all for a good cause and any excuse to meet new people is a valid one.” She replies, lying out of her ass. The smallest of approving smiles twitches Lucius’ lips and he nods.

“Well, good for you. I had to drag Draco here by his ears.”

Draco looks even more furious at this statement, colour blooming on his pale skin, and he stands up abruptly, practically sending his stool into his father.

“I’m going.”

He starts to storm off and Y/N shields a smile. Pussy. 

“Oh no, you aren’t. Have you even asked Y/N if she wants to dance?” Lucius asks. His natural voice is chilly, but Y/N all but freezes over when he addresses Draco. She almost feels bad for him. But then again, he can be even colder to her; let the boy suffer.

“Here, Y/N, Draco,” Y/N’s mother says, yanking Y/N up by her arm, “Go dance together and stop sitting around like lemons.” 

Y/N screws up her nose. “Lemons?” She repeats incredulously, ready to argue simply about that word (her night might have been improved a little, but not enough for her to be unwilling to start unnecessary arguments) until she sees her mother’s face, sharp and ready to yell at her even with all the people around. She keeps her mouth closed. 

Mood now ruined, when Lucius glares Draco into offering out his hand, Y/N takes it with somehow even less enthusiasm, dragging her feet while they trudge to the dance floor. For all the grandeur and elegance of the clothes on the people around them, every single couple is shameless in their behaviour and it’s sickening to see so many middle-aged men and woman grinding and throwing it back. Bile rises in Y/N’s throat. She swallows it.

She assumes a half-hearted slow-dance position with Draco, her hands hanging off his shoulders and his limp on her waist. Neither one of them could be more clear in their dislike for one another, but Y/N’s weak swaying goes to some more rhythmic moving and mumbling when Crazy Girls by TOOPOOR (an unusual choice for a charity gala hosted for funding rehabilitation centres with mostly 40 years and over attendees) comes on. Draco watches her, still with that scowl on his face. 

“Lighten up, Draco,” Y/N sighs, spinning herself around to press herself to him, trying to encourage him to do more, “So what if your dad is a DILF, it’s not that deep.”

That is somehow what makes him interact with her. He grabs her by her hips and holds her against him, gripping her so tightly she wonders if she’ll wake up with bruises. “What the fuck did I say?” He snarls into her ear, breath sending goosebumps all over her body. Her breath hitches, catching for a moment in her throat before she composes herself. So what if he’s hot, and his hands are somewhere they probably shouldn’t be, and she’s pressed against him, and can feel every inch of him...

She’s sure there was a point to that train of thought.

“No idea,” she lies, breathing out heavily. The song has changed to something slower and heavier and his hips guide hers. His movements are skilled, deliberate and she’s melting against him without meaning to, “But I’m sure if your dad had said it it would have sounded better.”

The press of his fingers deepen in the flesh of her hips, “Stop talking about my fucking dad or I’ll make you.”

“Oh yeah?” She replies weakly. Normally she would have something to say back, a quip or a cruel comment, but with the feeling of him behind her, the scent of him invading her senses and the low words he whispers to her, she’s putty in his hands.

“Yeah. Wanna keep talking about him, bitch?” His voice softens on the final word. They might dislike each other, but never have they used unkind names. When he says it now, it doesn’t feel unkind.

“He would probably like it if I did.” Y/N murmurs, still trying to get a rise out of Draco. Her attempt is a success; Draco growls and instantly starts dragging her to the back of the room, storming through the throng of densely-packed people like they aren’t even there. Y/N stumbles on the bottom of her dress but Draco just keeps pulling until they get to a bathroom, slamming her against the wall and closing his hand around her throat. He presses enough to make her feel it, but not enough to suffocate her. Her heart is racing and he can tell; he smirks.

“Come on, keep talking.” He prompts, pressing harder on Y/N’s neck.

She shakes her head and his lips meet hers, aggressive and demanding and so damn hot. His lips are soft and drowning her, tongue exploring her mouth without warning and making her moan a little when one of his hands go from her waist to her breast, massaging it and making her arch her back. His hands are magic on her, he knows what he’s doing and he’s doing it well.

Until he steps back.

Lips swollen and skin flushed, Y/N pants. Those few minutes of passion felt like seconds, but she’s so out of breath she may as well have run a marathon. Draco watches her catch her breath, eyes stormy with the promise of more, while he slowly takes off his blazer, then his shirt. Y/N can do nothing but watch, watch dark fabric be stripped back to expose soft, defined skin. His body is even better than she has thought it would be; her breathing grows shallow again and Draco smirks, stepping back toward her. 

“You like what you see, huh? You think my dad looks this good?”

“Fuck, stop bringing up your dad.” Y/N breathes before capturing his lips in another violent kiss, running her hands over his skin. It’s as soft as her dress - probably softer - which reminds her that she’s still wearing it. Without detaching her lips from his, she inches the straps down her arms. Like he read her mind, Draco reaches behind her and unzips the back, looking down while he pulls the dress away. It’s cold in the bathroom without it and Y/N shivers. Draco looks back up, at her eyes for the first time she can ever remember. And he kisses her. Sweetly, kindly. It says that he’ll take care of her.

But the kiss was a lie, because he instantly grabs her hair and pulls, biting her exposed throat. His mouth strays lower, then he hooks his fingers around her panties and pulls them down, Y/N shakily undoing his belt and unzipping his trousers. Her whole body is shaking, breathing erratic and make-up probably a wreck, but she feels so good. She wishes she had pissed Draco off this much before.

“Up.” Draco growls and, when Y/N hesitates, picks her up by her thighs, fingers harsh and hard on her. She grips his shoulders and he shakes his hair out of his face before sliding inside her.

Fuck.

He’s so big she has to wonder if it’s even real, but when she looks down and watches him slowly disappear inside of her, she can do nothing but moan and drag her nails down his back. He grunts when he completely fills her, then slowly starts pulling out and pumping back in. Y/N’s whole body hums with the gold that now runs in her veins, honeyed curses falling into Draco’s skin while he digs his fingertips into her, pace getting really quick really fast. He puts his lips to her neck, to where his bites now mark her, and presses open-mouthed kisses to the sore skin in between sentences.

“Fuck, Y/N-”

“You feel so- good-”

“Oh, shit...”

“Look at you take it, you’re- you’re doing so well...”

Sweet phrases said in a growl that just make Y/N work harder to make him feel as good as she does, raking her hands through his hair and hazardously kissing whatever she can while he brutally thrusts into her, mercilessly fast when he realises she’s close to climaxing.

“Come on, Y/N,” he pants, biting her lip, “Wait for me, do it- together.”

She whines, throwing her head back. Draco raggedly chuckles before his face twists, still a vision of incomparable beauty. Y/N buries her face in his neck and he kisses the crown of her head without thought, encouraging her weakly. His thrusts are getting sloppy, uncoordinated; he’s close. She rolls her hips, making him moan, against him - the sooner he cums, the sooner she can.

“Draco, I-”

He wordlessly nods and she screams into his skin, awash with bliss and pleasure as her arousal soaks his cock. He grunts one last time, crushing Y/N’s thighs, and cums inside of her, filling her with his pleasure.

Y/N expects him to get dressed and go, act like what happened didn’t happen and would never be spoken about. But he doesn’t. He sits her on the closed toilet seat and cleans her, kissing where he was especially rough - with his hands or his lips - and smoothing his thumb over the already forming bruises.

“What do I tell my mum?” She whispers, letting him dress her because she knows she won’t be able to stay stood up long enough to do it herself. Draco turns her around and carefully zips the dress back up, slowly as though to savour touching her skin. He places a butterfly kiss at the nape of her neck.

“Just wear turtlenecks. I’ll call you a cab.” He says, buttoning up his shirt again. Y/N nods and he looks at her quickly, noting her sadness. “I’ll be in it too.”

Y/N smiles, avoiding looking at him directly when she does. Even after that, it feels bizarre to genuinely smile at Draco.

But when she turns her gaze back to him, he’s smiling. Properly, kindly smiling.

She smiles back.

[chocochar]

ᴄʜᴀɪɴᴇᴅ | ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ!ᴅᴀʙɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | Part 1

Part 2 | Part 3: TBA

(AN: Okay so this kinda came to me after seeing some demon Dabi art, this could be a series or just a two shot, so if you like it comment which you’d prefer:

A full blown fic, or a two shot? Hope you enjoy!)

Warnings: Mild blood, swearing

        She knew it was a bad idea going through with this. 

        Proving oneself as brave just to appease those who she doesn't even belong with.

        She knew, but she still went through with it.

        (F/n) stares into the darkness surrounding her and her classmates. 

        All on a 3 day field trip to the mountains the 2 college classes, mixed with freshman, juniors, and seniors, that came as well as the 3 teachers had set up their tents on the large campground. Night had fallen, they'd all had dinner and set up a fire, and most had gone to bed a good hour and a half ago. 

        Including (F/n).

        She was woken up by a few of her classmates who pulled her out of the comfort of her sleeping bag, air mattress and tent into the cold of night and darkness only being lit up by the remaining flames licking from the fire pit. A few students are still up as well as an assistant, all watching the fire and telling stories. 

        The group sneak around to make sure the others don't hear.

        "Why did you guys wake me up?" (F/n) asks annoyed. Her eyes are still tired but she's more alert as they embark into the shadows. The only light being that of phone flashlights the other students turn on once they're out of sight.

        "We're gonna have a bravery test, and your our friend right?" Hizaki grins at her, being the ring leader of this group and also a regular tormentor of (F/n)'s.

        She's uncomfortable. They know they could all get in trouble, but they still keep walking. She doesn't like this group. If she stays they could all die, her included. She wants to leave, but they may not even let her leave.

        "A bravery test?"

        "Yeah, it's almost 1 AM, didn't you hear about that one legend about these woods?" Nanikari asks, looking at the confused freshman.

        "A 1 AM legend…" (F/n) wracks her sleep deprived brain for a clue, but nothing. "No, I can't say I have. But we should get back-"

        "Apparently," Nanikari cuts her off,"If you enter the forest at 1 AM and wait, you'll encounter the ones who roam and control this place: hellhounds. Supposedly there are different types, but the one everyone sees most is possibly the scariest." 

        (F/n)'s brow arches, skeptical but also a little intrigued. Legends aren't real. But it's interesting.

        "I see… But really, guys, we should be getting back," she cuts them off before they can continue. "What if they realize we're gone and we get in trouble?"

        "Stop being such a pussy," Hizaki bites out, (F/n) shutting her mouth. "Are you just gonna whine this whole time?"

        "Anyways, the hell hound I'd like to see is the one with 'blue flames'," Nanikari continues. "His fur is missing in some spots and where it is is covered in gross, burnt looking skin. Blue flames or smoke come out of his mouth, even when it’s closed, his fangs stick out of the lips, but the one thing that always stops people in their tracks…” The man gets a look on his face and says in a ‘spooky’ tone,”His eyessss.”

        “His… Eyes?” Yuki asks, the freshman looking like she was dragged along too, although she’s speaking up a lot less than (F/n) is.

        “Mhm, apparently they’re a bright blue, and the moment your eyes meet he has you, you’ll never escape, he’ll feed off your soul-!”

        “RAWR!” A senior yells, suddenly coming out of the bushes. Yuki and another freshman scream while (F/n) looks shocked, almost joining them but keeping her mouth shut. The boys all laugh before looking at their kouhais, Hizaki grinning and crossing his arms while they stop. They’re far from the camp, (F/n) starting to feel more and more nerve wracked by the second, and the senior who lunged out at them check his phone, saying,”It’s 12:50 AM, almost time freshmeat.~”

        “What exactly do you guys have planned here?” one of the freshman asks. They look as scared as (F/n) feels, even Nanikari appears a little on edge.

        “As said before we’re gonna be doin’ a bravery test. Why are we out doin’ it here? Simple,” Hizaki points out into the darkness and continues,”All you 3 gotta do is walk out until we can’t see you and you can’t see us, and stay out there for…”

        “20 minutes!” his meathead friend pipes in. Hizaki grins, agreeing with this, and holding up 2 fingers he replies,”Yep, 20 minutes. You can use your flashlights until you reach a spot, then you have to turn them off and wait. Not saying they’re real, but if a hellhound just happens to show up make sure to record it, got it? That way you have proof and just aren’t some pussies running away from the challenge.”

        “20 minutes?? Did you forget it’s cold out here, plus there’s more to worry about than some fake monsters?” (F/n) asks incredulously, arms held against her. Even with her coat and boots on it’s freezing. Plus she’d love to go back to bed.

        “So you’re wussing out?” The ring leader asks, (F/n) swallowing when he looks at her. Hizaki still lives in his high school fantasy of being top dog at school, and unfortunately he has the money and looks to make people follow him. The (brunette, blonde, etc) has seen first hand what happens when he’s crossed or someone doesn’t listen. 

            “... Fine, I’ll take your challenge,” she answers after moments of silence. Turning she starts walking the way he told them to go, looking back at the other freshmen as they reluctantly follow.

        The winds pick up as they venture into the black. Their lights luckily lead them through the dark but as they keep walking there’s a visible change; the darkness seems to be getting thicker the further they go, and a mist seems to pick up that was not there before. The other two are starting to shake while (F/n) can feel her heart pounding in fear. Something isn’t right, but she doesn’t want to vocalize this.

        “Can you guys still see them?” She asks, the other two glancing back. It’s like they haven’t even gone that far, the seniors still somewhat visible, despite it feeling like they’ve been walking a lot more than they have. 

        “Yeah, I can,” one speaks up, (F/n) cursing under her breath and continuing to walk. The moment they can’t see them she’ll lead the way back to camp, forget this stupid game. They’re all just risking getting sick or worse out here! 

        The fog is getting worse, although in an odd way it is starting to appear like smoke. The air is also getting thicker with their fear starting to fill to the brim. And (F/n) smells something: a fire. Is someone burning something nearby?! The air is hotter as well with sweat starting to coat their skin, none of them no longer freezing cold but instead it feels like a fire is licking at their skin.

        “I’m feeling really hot, what’s going on?” Yuki asks, starting to panic while wiping beads from her forehead.

        “I don’t see anything, though, this smoke is so thick!” the other freshman complains, coughing. (F/n) has this uneasy feeling like they’re being watched. Are those jerks back there playing some sort of prank?? But looking back she doesn’t see or hear them, in fact it’s still dead quiet… “W-We should go back-”

        “O-oh my god…” Yuki mumbles with a tremble in her voice up ahead, the two looking at her confused. She walked further when she saw something, and following her gaze (F/n) can feel her whole body freeze and grow cold suddenly while her (eye color) orbs widen.

        Ahead of them is what looks like the figure of a very large dog; it’s limbs are thin but it’s paws huge with talon like claws. It’s fur along its back looks messy and black as night with tufts of it on its head sticking up with some laying over its eyes and snout. The rest of the fur that it still has on it's body is short and a light gray. As it approaches the bright blue eyes glowing in the smoke are hypnotizing and as it gets closer to where they can now see it more clearly (F/n) can make out the smoke billowing from it’s bared teeth. The most notable things about it, though, are the burn scars along its body as well as the… Staples?, a pair of horns sit poking straight up atop it's head, and shackles are clamped to each leg, chains dragging from each that have blue flames burning at the ends.

        "I-is that… The hell-hell hound they w-w-were talking about…?" The other freshman asks shaking. (F/n) doesn't respond, too busy trying to not panic even though every fiber in her being is telling her to scream. 

        "O-Oh my god…" Yuki repeats, her voice giving away she's tearing up right now.

        The beast growls and as it's mouth opens azure flames start to spill out, it's eyes locked on them, especially Yuki. They're dead. It's going to kill and eat them, and no one will know what happened… It starts approaching Yuki, (F/n) almost hearing whispers of an unknown language as it gets closer, the sound clearly coming from the dog. And she sees it, the hound ready to pounce as it unleashes a howl that knocks them out of their frozen states.

        Yuki screams when it charges her, (F/n) gasping and thinking quickly and in a panic she grabs a nearby rock and chucks it at the monster's head. It smacks into its snout, being big enough to catch the hound off guard as it stops and shakes its head.

        "Run!!" (F/n) shouts, pulling Yuki's arm and starting to run away. The beast howls again before immediately rushing after them. 

        When (F/n) looks back though it's gone; she's worried immediately, but doesn't stop running for her life, the other two doing the same with their hearts all pounding. But over her own beating organ the (brunette, blonde, etc) can make out another pounding. The sound of something else running with it's own feet hitting the ground in a chase. The air is still thick with smoke and hot, a clear sign the thing is closeby, and looking ahead the young woman almost doesn't see the seniors looking confused ahead of them, nearly slamming into Hizaki.

        "What the fuck?! What's got you all so freaked out?!"

        "Yeah, and what's going on?" Nanikari questions, the trio looking around.

        "No time to explain, we have to go!!" Yuki cries out, trying to escape the third senior's hold on her. 

        "What, you guys didn't-"

        "Forget the fucking bravery test, we need to-" the other freshman is cut off by a piercing bowl and the rush of something coming straight for them. Without any warning Hizaki is knocked down from behind and they all scream and back up as the beast pins him and bites down on the crook between his neck and shoulder. Blood is seen, and the bully is crying out in pain, the others either unable to move as they watch in horror or running off screaming. It lets him go but then bites deep into his leg and starts to yank him into the forest, the boy clawing at the ground weakly and begging them for help.

        The monster stops when it's hit by yet another rock and it's cerulean gaze lifts to land on (F/n); she looks terrified with another stone in hand, not knowing what is pushing her to react, but shouting,"Let him go, you mutt!" she throws the other rock at the hound. Managing to hit it right in the eye it whimpers and backs up letting Hizaki go as he limply lays there. (F/n) takes in the immediate danger she's put herself in. If she gets out of this alive Hizaki better turn over a new leaf or something. The hound looks at her with the one eye uninjured and growls, it's target being the woman now.

        "Nanikari, grab him!" She yells at the other senior before taking off. 

        She'll have to try to lose it in the woods, or get back to camp and tell the teachers to get everyone back to the buses and cars!! But where was camp again?!

        The sound of paws hitting the dirt not far behind her keeps her adrenaline high as her legs seem to keep going even as they ache. She takes turn after turn, loop after loop, even ducking under logs it's too big to go under. Over the sound of it's paws and her heart she can hear the cracking of fire, despite there not being any from what she can see. Whispers hide amongst the sound of flames, still unable to make out what they're speaking, but nearly slamming into a tree she ignores them. They must be there to distract her.

        When she's sure she's lost it at least for now she ducks behind a large tree and hides, her hand covering her mouth and nose tight. Her heart is thundering, when she hears it's footsteps crunching on the forest floor she tries to listen out for how close they are.

        It's sniffing around, growling when it can't seem to locate her. So its nose must not be top notch, good to know. Peeking out she watches it look around further from her before leaving the area in the opposite direction she's going. 

        Once it's out of sight she sneaks off, moving faster and faster until she's still managing to run; her legs scream but she keeps going.

        Fortunately she sees Nanikari and the other senior looking for her along with a few other students, and panting she waves when one shouts,"There, I see her!!" They all start to run over.

        She smiles exhaustedly, starting to say,"Okay, I think he's gone, we need to leave tho-"

        The relief is short lived as she gasps in sudden pain when teeth bite into her calf and she falls down onto her stomach hitting the ground with a sudden thud. Now on her front she looks back in terror and shock, (eye color) eyes meeting that hauntingly fascinating blue as the hound starts to pull her away. She claws at the dirt, reaching for the others. 

        "No, help, please!!" She cries out with tears brimming in her eyes.

        But nothing, no one helps her. They stand and stare too terrified to move a muscle. Even as their classmate is pulled into the darkness they don't even speak up, and (F/n)'s eyes widen. They're leaving her to die…

        She attempts a kick at the hound but her leg won't move, stiff and in too much pain to try to free herself. She peers back at her captor, her eyes once more meeting the beast's; the whispers fill her head again only this time they're more clear and without any control her consciousness fades until her head drops, the last thing she remembers being that of the hound letting her leg go suddenly as it manages to maneuver her onto its back.

[unicyclehippo]

beaujester star wars au..... beau is a cocky rebellion pilot that’s a little Too good at dodging and firing shots, and jester is a princess-turned-junior senator-turned rebellion supporter. they are both force sensitive and kiss

The star base has been overrun by decorations and muted music, louder toward the centre of the hanger and half-volume at the edges, where a few hand-picked individuals - volunteers, probably - are keeping an eye on the alerts still. Colourful lights spin over the ceiling in programmed patterns that put Beau in mind of the star maps she reads on a daily basis, and the longer she looks, the more she starts to think they actually are star maps. Blown out to make ‘em look all pretty, though. That’s what decorating on a tight budget looks like, though. 

She’s leaning against the landing gear of her fighter, largely hidden by the shadows of her wings, and doing her utmost to strike a balance between looking incredibly cool but incredibly unapproachable whenever anyone looks her way. It’s hard, and she’s pretty sure she just looks injured, but no one has come over to talk to her and that’s a win in her book. No one, that is, save for Fjord.

Fjord Tusktooth - tall, green, surprisingly lean for an orc, tusked as the name suggests and a damn good pilot, her Captain actually - sidles over, arms raised over his head as he steps through the dancing crowd. He tries his best not to let the drinks spill but he’s licking what looks like jet oil off his hand when he reaches her. 

‘That better not be mine, Cap.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Can humans drink strick-oil?’

‘No.’

‘Then it’s not yours, is it? What’s wrong with your face?’

‘What? Nothing! Give me that.’ 

It doesn’t smell like a drink; it smells like it’ll strip her innards of anything and everything useful and replace them with alcohol. Luckily, that’s exactly how she likes her drinks. Taking it from him, she flings it back, feels it burn all the way down. It hits her system like a punch to the face from a nydak. 

‘Good?’

‘Fuckin’ awful,’ she rasps. ‘Cheers.’

He laughs. Settles into place beside her, sipping at the thick oil drink. ‘So. Any reason you’re all the way over here instead of letting all of these lov-erly ladies lavish you with attention?’ He waggles his brows as he asks and grins, very much aware that he’s the only one who can get away with asking her these kinds of questions as baldly as he does. Mostly because he manages to ask in a way that doesn’t make her wanna use him for shooting practice. And a little because he’s her superior officer. ‘I’ve turned down two proposals on your behalf - you’re welcome.’

‘Huh? What? Who?’

He points them out subtly - one a dusty pink alien clad in white and gold, with about a half dozen tentacles drifting around her head like a mane, the other a waist-high, bearded lady who winks right at Beau when she sees her watching. 

‘That’s kinda my call, isn’t it?’

‘They offered two nerfs for you -’

‘Like, both of them together? That’s hot.’

‘What? No - Beau,’ he laughs. ‘The point is that you should know your worth.’ His face goes carefully blank as he tries, very obviously, not to smile. ‘Three nerfs.’

Beau snorts. ‘Shut up. I’m going to get another drink. See if you can get them to bid higher for my hand, yeah? Remind them that I lead Team Two today. Integral to the battle. Integral.’ He salutes and she pushes off the wall, walks toward the party just long enough for his eyes to slide away from her. She steps sideways into the corridor and ducks out of sight, breath coming out in a gust.

Tyr-Mannou Star Base is built deep in the asteroid that orbits the planet, hidden from prying eyes and ears by the layered rock. Beau hadn’t been listening a hundred per cent when it was explained but something about the metals in the area, and in this planet, seemed to provide a buffer - mild, temporary - to long-distance scanning and surveillance. And at this point - haggard, hurting - the rebels will take any buffer at all. 

It’s good for the rebellion, to be buried in the asteroid. 

It’s hard to find fresh air, though, and Beau pulls at the collar of her jumpsuit, unzipping it until she doesn’t feel like she’s being strangled. 

Moving farther from the party, down the corridor and just away, Beau lets her feet carry her aimlessly at first - listening to the sound of her boots on the metal, echoing in the tin-can corridors, hiding briefly from the passing technicians who don’t seem to notice her in the various shadowed niches she finds. And then less aimlessly, until she realises she is headed directly for the command station. 

The room isn’t dark, not ever, but it is running on a skeleton crew who look up suspiciously at her entry, relaxing when they recognise her face - or, more likely, the badge affixed to her shoulder. 

‘Lionette.’

‘Commander.’

‘Shouldn’t you be at the party? I heard your squad was receiving a commendation.’

‘We are. Did, Commander.’

Commander Dairon - a hard-ass and a legend in the fighter crews for the Battle of Sotheirrik in which they led the harrying of a military convoy for two fucking weeks - looks her over with a cool eye before nodding. ‘Made an appearance at least, I hope?’

‘Sure did.’

‘Good. Get some rest, Lionette. There will be plenty of work come morning.’ The Commander reaches out a gloved hand. Rests it on Beau’s shoulder for a moment, squeezes. ‘Enjoy these moments when you can,’ they tell her quietly, and it has a tinge of an order to it. But just a tinge. 

‘Yessir.’

‘Good. Now,’ they say, eyes glittering, ‘Fuck off.’

Beau barks a laugh. Salutes her Commander lazily and continues on, onwards toward the view that had been calling her. 

The command station sits closest to the surface of the asteroid and it is here, only here, that one can see the view that they are risking everything to protect. The field of stars and asteroids, glinting as they catch the light of Tyr-Mannou’s sun. The purple-blue of Tyr-Mannou’s surface, the deep deep green almost black of its seas. The layer of clouds that cloak portions of the landmasses and oceans alike, drifting. Beau leans up against the window, hands curling over the rail, and watches a storm brew.

She feels Jester’s presence before she sees her. A flicker of something at the edge of her awareness, far beyond that which her awareness should rightfully cover. She hears the hiss of the gas as the doors slide open and turning, beau watches a green-cloaked figure step down from the corridor. Jester exchanges a few words with Commander Dairon but Beau can feel it - the focus of her attention like a taut string between them, and she already knows Jester is about to look up, feeling her intent like a thrum, a plucked note on that string. 

Jester looks up. Dark, dark eyes in a smiling face. 

‘Ambassador Lavorre, this is one of our finest pilots.’

‘Beauregard,’ Jester interrupts Dairon’s introduction. 

Beau tries not to shiver. No one says her name the way this girl does, like they’re sharing a private joke. 

‘Princess,’ Beau returns, and she’s aiming for calm and cool, something to suit her new title of the best fucking pilot of the rebellion, but damn if it doesn’t come out reverent. 

Commander Dairon’s brows are at their hairline now and out of the corner of her eye Beau sees them mouth, ‘Okay,’ and they take their seat, turning away. 

‘How are you?’ Jester asks. It’s as nice to hear as it is weird. ‘I was told that you and your squad took on the main fleet today?’

Beau snorts. ‘Fuck no. I mean - uh,’

‘I’m not a Princess anymore,’ Jester teases, though her smile flickers at the reminder. ‘You don’t have to not swear around me.’

‘Oh, you’ll regret saying that. I swear every second word now. Habit. Us pilots are a rough and rowdy lot.’ 

Jester just laughs. ‘May I join you?’

‘Join - yeah, sure. Of course.’

Beau presses back until her back hits the rail, her spine and shoulders the cool glass. She grips the rail. Gulps. The weight of Jester’s attention, the force of her presence, feels like a real and tangible thing and Beau is finding it hard to concentrate the closer she comes - until she is right at her side and then the weight of it, the distraction, all falls away and Beau feels like the headache that has been pressing at her for the last few hours has lifted and she is seeing entirely clearly again. 

Jester holds out her hand, straight out as if to shake Beau’s. 

Beau slides her bare hand into Jester’s, tries not to shiver at the chill of her skin. Turns it and lifts it to her lips, brushes a kiss over sharp knuckles. 

//

‘Introducing the First Madrick of Kar-Marodah, Thoreau Lionette, and the First Madrise,’

The Hall is as large as four grav-barret courts, Beau is sure of that. And it’s all made of grand, sweeping lines that she can’t quite follow. She cranes her head to try and follow one to its end but it meets with another three lines and Beau is dizzy with it; a large hand sets heavy on the top of her skull and stops her turning and twisting and Beau, nine years old and well acquainted with her fathers displeasure, falls still. 

‘Be still, Beauregard. We are here to make a good impression on the Laveesh Embassy and that won’t happen,’ he reminds her, ‘if you are swinging all over the place like some common nerf-herder.’ His flat green eyes narrow. ‘Understood?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘I’d prefer Captain,’ she dares tell him, sure that he won’t reprimand her too terribly in front of an audience, and the chance to see his eye twitch is too good to pass up. She doesn’t press too far, feeling the first flutters of her danger sense. ‘Yes sir.’

‘Come along. They’re waiting.’

His fingers are clawed into her shoulder as he moves them strategically around the room. Smiling and making small talk with the various important boring folk in the chamber, and Beau is waist-height to most of them so it’s not her fault that she’s more interested in what they’re wearing on their feet and if they have anything on their belts. 

She finds two strange cards that have no writing on them that she recognises, which she returns, disappointed, and a ring on the floor, which she pockets. It feels cold and warm all at once, and as she drags her finger around the inside whorl of the ring, she feels very strange all of a sudden. As if she had done that exact thing a hundred, a thousand times over with this very ring. 

‘Ah, Madrick Lionette, how wonderful,’ comes a voice, finally, that drags Beau’s eyes from the mosaic floor. The woman - the alien - the alien woman in front of Beau is beautiful in a way she has never seen before, all vibrant red skin and curves and gold gold gold and Beau feels her jaw drop. She didn’t know that women could look like this. 

She’s still staring when she hears her own name, and feels her father shake her shoulder. 

‘Beauregard,’ she blurts out. ‘Hello.’ The sigh from above tells her that she did that all wrong. Face flushing, ears burning, Beau trawls through her memory and tries again. ‘I’m - It’s a pleasure to meet you, Queen Lavorre. I am Beauregard Lionette, scion of the Madrick Lionette.’

‘Oh!’ The Queen laughs, not meanly at all but seemingly delighted. ‘How polite! It is my pleasure to meet you, Young Beauregard.’ She laughs again when Beau stammers through a thank you. ‘Have you had a chance to meet my daughter? You’re about the same age and she’s force sensitive too -’

‘Beauregard is not,’ her father tells the Queen flatly. ‘We had high hopes, but...it was not to be.’ He coats the words with the displeasure Beauregard hates; feels it pressing into her skin like his clawed fingers. It’s her fault she’s not force sensitive. She’s known that for a long time now. For as long as she can remember. 

There is a moment of silence, then, ‘Well. Jester? Where have you gone, my darling?’

Like a flicker of fish in the pool back home, and with the same warmth of the sun-soaked tiles against Beau’s chest and belly as she lays at the side, hand plunged into the waters to try and catch one of those crafty fish, Beau sees her. A girl, around her own age as promised, and dressed all in pretty robes. She is muddy to the knees, the dress heavy around her feet and dripping the purpled soil in a thick trail behind her. 

‘Jester? What have you gotten into?’

‘The mud. Obviously,’ the girl adds, though the Obviously was already clear from her tone. Her curls are riotous about her face, and she wears a great big smile, though it slips momentarily as she twists something between her fingers. 

‘Are you alright?’ Beau blurts. 

‘Beauregard,’

‘Oh yes,’ Jester tells her, and smiles with all the brilliance she can muster in her round, round cheeks and dark eyes. It’s... a lot. 

Beau still feels an undercurrent. Cold water around her fingers. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Beauregard! Don’t be a pest!’

Jester stares for a moment, then laughs. Shoves her hand toward Beau. ‘Hello, pest. I’m Jester.’

Beau takes it. Blanks for a moment over what is proper and finally bows, kissing it clumsily. As she stands upright, she notes the rings - one on each finger. Except for, 

‘Are you missing a ring?’

‘Oh, Jester,’

‘It was an accident,’ Jester tells her mother immediately, complete with trembling lip and abject sorrow. Though, Beau notes, no seeming anxiety for her mother’s reaction. 

She reaches down into her pocket. Rubs her thumb over the heavy ring. Is struck, momentarily, by the urge to keep it. It’s beautiful, she found it. 

It’s Jester’s. 

She didn’t see a name on it, but she knows it as certainly as she knows she’ll have blisters in the morning from these awful shiny boots. 

‘Come along, Beauregard,’ her father says, and begins to draw away from the Queen and her daughter. 

Beau shakes out from his hold and steps forward, holds out both her closed hands toward Jester. If she can guess which one the ring is in, Beau decides in nine-year old logic, then she can have it back. If not, Beau will get to keep it. 

//

They’re seventeen and the Madrick has called the meeting this time. The Queen - The Planetless Queen, Beau has heard her called behind her back, and she owns several bruises and one cracked knuckle for putting upstarts back in their places by force. The Queen has disappeared into the war room and Beau isn’t surprised to find that Jester has found her, even hidden away in the engineering core as she is. 

‘Still on with this plan, then?’ Jester asks her, peering up from beneath the suspended chassis to where Beau is hanging, fixing the wiring. ‘Becoming a pilot?’

‘Why? You think I can’t hack it?’

‘What? No. Of course you can!’

‘Then why wouldn’t I be?’

Jester is quiet for a long time, long enough for Beau to almost forget the question. She winches herself down from her position and before she can fully reclaim her feet, Jester is in front of her and her hands press against Beau’s cheeks and she’s kissing her. Kissing her, with the engineering teams buzzing around outside, and the smell of jet-oil and soldering thick in the air. 

‘I’ll miss you,’ she says. Simple words, but the feelings that slam hard into Beau’s stomach are far from simple. 

‘Jes - ‘

‘I’m sorry,’

‘You can’t -’ Beau scrambles up onto her feet. Hooks a grease-stained hand onto the perfect sleeve of the newly minted Junior Ambassador, pulling her deeper into the corner. ‘My father -’

‘He’s busy, he didn’t see,’

‘He owns these people,’ Beau hisses, glances back over her shoulder. But no one seems to have seen. ‘If I’m going to get into the Academy, he can’t - he can’t know that I’m - with you,’

‘Why not? What’s wrong with me?’

‘Nothing! Everything!’

‘Oh, how very flattering,’

‘That’s not what I meant and you know it, Jes,’

‘Well you do one thing and then say a lot of other nonsense, Beau, so forgive me if I’m a little confused!’ Jester is a sight and a half, eyes flashing with unbridled fury. She’s a good inch or two shorter than Beau but with them both straining to hiss-yell at one another, their noses are almost touching. 

‘You’re hot when you’re angry.’

‘Oh shut up.’

Beau grins. The grin fades into something softer, something adoring. She reaches up. Is careful that, when she brushes a curl back, the grease-stained finger doesn’t touch Jester’s cheek. ‘Did you come here to ask me that? If I still wanna be a pilot, all I’ve ever wanted to do since I was five?’ 

Jester’s eyes drop.

Beau wipes her hand off on her jumpsuit. Crooks a finger under her chin. ‘Or did you come to ask me not to go?’

For a little while, Beau thinks Jester won’t answer. Then her eyes shift, harden, and Beau is reminded of those months after the destruction of her planet. When the pain had threatened to overflow and so Jester had locked it down, hard and tight enough to become coal, something that would let her burn and burn and burn with fury for ages to come. 

‘What you want to do, it’s important. More important than me.’

Beau can’t disagree. The simple fact is that the war is more important than everything. Any one person. She opens her mouth to argue anyway, because - because this is Jester. 

‘I came to tell you to be safe.’ And then Jester is reaching into her pocket and she removes something from it. Small and round and familiar, the golden band with the touch of emerald studded along it. The ring they have passed to one another at every meeting. A keep-safe. A talisman. ‘I want this back,’ she tells Beau, and presses it into her palm. Beau closes her hand around it, and Jester’s hand. Kisses the back of it. 

‘Be safe. Please - I don’t want - I can’t lose you as well.’

‘As you command,’ Beau whispers. ‘Princess.’

//

The fight is coming quickly into its sixth hour. Beau’s jumpsuit is slick with sweat, her hands are basically swimming in her gloves, and she can barely fucking see with the sweat dripping, stinging in her eyes. There’s nothing she can do about that right now, though, and she yanks hard on her controls as another volley of bolts burst into the space where she just was.

‘Blue-XP, what’s your status?’

‘Got a bruiser on my tail, Cap,’ she gasps, and pulls hard, swivelling overhead of the TIE fighter, letting it zoom ahead. ‘Coming in hot on the zero.’

Whatever reply Fjord might have for her is lost in a crackle of energy and a blur as Beau reacts to something she feels before she sees - another TIE, bursting out from fucking nowhere to pinch her between the two of them. 

Beau swears and books it, zipping in and out of the carcass of the long-dead transporter, her small fighter tackling the corners like a champ and her memory of the interior bursting into sharp relief as adrenaline and luck slam hard into her. She doesn’t let herself think, just slams into the controls in a way that might have made her wince if she had time to feel anything at all over the fear and fury. 

One TIE bursts into flame, utterly silent in the vacuum. The other is hot on her tail still - the hunter becomes the hunted, piece of motherfucking shit Empire dogs - and then Beau is lifting a prayer to old, dead planets and touching a finger to the ring of heavy metal that hands around her neck and spinning her fighter around to face the TIE dead on. Spins around the bolts that come her way and - between one breath and the next she fires. Bolts away without even needing to look back. 

It hit. She knew it before she saw the impact. 

//

They stand in front of the star field now, in a quiet command station far from a party celebrating a truly minor battle. The war rages on all around them, in every direction, and will for years to come. But for now, there are drinks and lights and dancing, and everyone will pretend that it is enough. 

With distant stars as their lights, and the beep of alerts and reminders as their music, Beauregard and Jester dance like they have been dancing together for decades. Like it hasn’t been almost five years since they’ve seen one another. 

‘Most daring pilot in the ninth sector,’ Jester murmurs, cheek resting on Beau’s shoulder. Her words rumble up through her chest to the top of her head, where Beau’s cheek rests in turn against soft curls. ‘That’s what I’ve heard. You’re fast becoming a legend.’

‘Me? Maybe. But you faced down a legion of Kryn soldiers and got them to turn tail - yes or no?’ From the flush on Jester’s face, Beau knows her answer. She whistles, low and quiet. ‘Damn, Jes.’

‘That won’t be remembered. No one remembers the ambassadors - you’re not supposed to remember us. The fighters are the cool ones.’

‘I’ll remember you,’ Beau shrugs.

They sway together, a slow side-to-side. 

‘I’ve got a present for you,’ Beau tells her. Jester’s smile is warm against her skin, even through the jumpsuit. 

‘Oh really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘It wouldn’t happen to be a ring, would it?’

‘What - how did you know?’

Jester hums, trying to hide a laugh. The laugh actually does fade when Beau lets her go - just for a moment, just long enough to unclasp the chain - and tugs the ring off from around her neck. She clasps it in her hand and Beau is close enough to feel the ripple of it - the energy that swirls around this shared ring, no doubt full of the fear and thrilling adrenaline of the fight, hopefully filled with the memory of all those nights she spent in her cabin, missing Jester. 

Jester’s breath hitches. She blinks a few times, blinking open dark eyes, and then turns in the cradle of Beau’s arms. Lifts her hair, as she offers the chain to Beau. ‘Do it up for me?’

‘Y-yeah. Yeah, sure.’ Beau takes it with suddenly clumsy fingers. Can’t resist brushing her thumb over the knob of Jester’s spine, the soft hair at her hairline. It takes a moment for her to work the clasp but finally it clicks closed and she lets her hands fall to either side, to Jester’s shoulders, and leans forward until she can kiss where she had touched. Lips pressed to the vulnerable space there. ‘I want that back,’ she whispers. ‘Sooner than five years, if you can manage.’

Jester twists back to face her. ‘Shouldn’t I get to keep it for five years? You did.’

‘That’s not how the game works.’

‘I’ll let you see it,’

‘We trade it, Jes. That’s how the game works.’

‘That’s how it has historically worked. I might suggest a change in rules,’ she says, in her most Ambassadorial tones, and Beau fights a laugh. ‘I had two dozen Kryn warships fleeing before me, Beauregard, I think I can get you to change your mind.’

‘You try your best, Princess. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.’