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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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

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

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

FAN FAVOURITE

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

The vote is at the end of this chapter.

DAY TWENTY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this about Yoongi and you fucking?”

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

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

“I- How did you- Who knows?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jin blinks, caught off-guard. “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

hey yoongichi, sorry about texting you so early. |

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

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

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

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

“Is that all I need?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. “Wait, what? Hesitant?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You aren’t being particularly subtle.”

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

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

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

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

Hoseok smiles sweetly. “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure thing, hyung.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sob. “Master, please-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Close,” he allows.

You rack your mind. “P?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FAN FAVOURITE

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

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

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

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blackmissfrizzle · 4 years

Text

Good Girl

Pairing: Chris Evans x black!reader

Summary: The reader acts up at a party and a Chris decides to do something about.

Warnings: Smut of course 😏

A/N: Apparently I have a thing about writing Chris in secret relationships. This fic was inspired by the photo below 👇🏿

Oh shit, you were fucked! He stood there angry in his all white linen suit with his drink in his hand.

You should’ve known better not to piss him off like that, but when the party started you were in a petty mood. Chris and you had some little argument that you couldn’t even remembered what it was about before your party and being your petty little self, you decided to make him jealous.

There was a bunch of celebrities at your pool party and you spent most of your time twerking on Drake. To everyone else that was normal, but to Chris you were crossing a line. No one knew that you two were a couple, because as a renowned club owner you didn’t want to get involve with any celebrity and it’s also fun to sneak around at events.

“Y/N/N, where’s somewhere quiet I can go? My agent won’t stop calling me?” His fake niceness had you scared. There was no way you were gonna fall for that.

“Anywhere upstairs is fine. But fair warning, if you end up in my room, don’t judge me.” You turned back to continue your conversation with your friends, but Chris wasn’t easily deterred.

“How about you be my guide and that won’t happen?” His smile was inviting, but you had to be strong.

As you were trying to say no, Megan was standing behind him, mimicking the cowgirl position, mouthing to you to “Tap that.”

To get Megan to stop and knowing you’d be in even more trouble if you told Chris no, you escorted him upstairs.

Chris had to restrain himself walking up the stairs behind you. All his attention was on the curve of your ass and how it was eating up your bikini bottoms.

“Walking slow won’t stop your punishment. In fact, the longer you make me wait, the harsher it’ll be.” Chris informed you, catching onto your reason for going up the stairs so slow.

Wanting to get it over with, you ran up the rest of the way up to your room. Once you were inside, Chris didn’t say a word. He just stared at you while rolling up his sleeves.

“You can’t spank me this time. The marks would show and I’m not covering up. This bikini is too cute.” You tried to establish some semblance of dominance.

Still Chris didn’t say a word. He just quirked an eyebrow that said, “Oh really?” Chris gently pushed you to your knees, pulling out his hardened length.

You already knew the punishment and assumed the position, hands on your thighs and mouth open. Chris pushed his stiffened dick in your mouth and begun to throat fuck you.

Thanks to all your training, you were able to fit him all the way in your mouth, but he was still brutal with his thrusts and you loved it. “Since you wanna act like a slut, I’m gonna treat you like one.” Chris grunted above you.

His strokes reminded you of how he treats your pussy, rough and methodical. You had to dig your nails into your thighs to stop them from dipping inside your bikini bottoms; you didn’t need to get into anymore trouble with Chris.

Chris’ eyes dipped down to you and he darkly chuckled at your struggle. He pulled out of your mouth with an audible pop and leaned towards your face, gripping the sides tightly. “Awww, look at the little slut. Me fucking your throat made your tight little pussy wet, huh? You want me to fuck that pussy, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy,” you whimpered.

He spit in your mouth and shoved his thumb inside for you to suck. “Well, who am I to deny my baby girl? Get on the bed.”

Quickly, you jumped to your feet and laid on the bed. Not too long after, Chris stripped down and joined you on the bed. You didn’t get to admire the work of an art he calls a body, because he flipped you over on your stomach. With his teeth he untied your bikini and pulled it off.

Once you were completely naked, he ordered you to arch your back. Chris wasted no time and slammed into you, almost causing you to cum right at that moment.

Gripping the back of your neck, Chris grunted in your ear, “Don’t you dare fucking cum until I say you can.”

A muffled ‘yes sir’ escaped your lips and Chris resumed his pace. By the way he was fucking you, you could tell this was all about his pleasure, but you were still enjoying it. Subconsciously, Chris always assured you were pleased when you were in trouble with him, that’s why you were always being a brat.

“Can I- cann can I- can I please cum?” You begged through Chris’s masterful strokes.

“Hell no! Only good girls who know who they belong to can cum. Did you really think I let you cum after you shaking your ass on another man in front of me? Oh sweetheart, that’s adorable,” Chris taunted.

Aware that he was running low on time before your party guests would be curious about where you and Chris was at, he began chasing his release. The sound of you begging him over and over again pushed him over the edge, making him paint your walls with his nut.

All he wanted to do is bask in his post-nut afterglow and cuddle with you, but y’all had a party to get and your punishment still wasn’t over. So, regretfully he got up and went to get a towel to clean you up.

After he made sure you were good, he got dressed again and came to sloppily kiss you, taking your breath away. “Get dressed and be downstairs in five minutes. If you’re not, you’ll get a repeat of what just happened all night long.” He threatened with a squeeze of your neck before walking back downstairs.

Hurriedly, you put your bikini back on, which was torture because it rubbed against your sensitive clit. You spent your last minute looking for one more piece of clothing before heading back outside. Luckily, you found it in the nick of time, because you knew Chris would be timing you and if you were even a second late, he would make good on his promise.

Chris’ eyes lit up when he saw you. He had to fight the smirk on his face when he noticed you in a swimsuit sarong. Even without him saying anything, he knew he had an influence on you.

Desperately, you wanted to curl up next to him and hang on his arm, but you couldn’t. So, you settled for the next best thing: randomly popping up in conversations he had. Chris was social so, he talked to various groups of people and you being the hostess gave you the perfect opportunity to suddenly appear in those groups.

It was becoming so frequent that Meg began to notice, but she kept her mouth quiet until you started to pretend to be sick. “Bitch, ain’t nothing wrong with you. You just trying to get rid of everyone so you can have Chris all to yourself.”

“How’d you know?” You whispered.

Meg scrunched up her face and laughed at you, pulling you away from the rest of your guests. “Girl, you’ve been near him since he’d broke your back upstairs. Who knew Captain America was so nasty?”

Your jaw dropped at her revelation. “Your secret is safe with me. I’m just mad you ain’t tell me sooner. How long y’all two been together?”

“A couple of months.”

“Well, I guess I understand why y’all keeping it a secret. Don’t want the media all in your business.”

“Exactly! And the sneaking around makes the sex so much better.” Both you and Megan laughed so loud at your joke that y’all made people look at y’all to see what was so funny.

“Since, you figured us out can you do me a huge favor?” You asked with puppy dog eyes and a pout.

Your friend laughed at you because she already knew what the favor was. “Start telling people you don’t feel well and get them the hell up out your house?” Enthusiastically you shook your head yes. “Girl, I got you. Go lay on a lounge chair and I’ll start clearing out.”

Thankful that you had a great friend in Megan, you laid on the chair, appearing sick.

“Alright y’all, now y’all don’t have to go home but you got to get the hell up out of here! My bestie don’t feel good and y’all gots to go!” You had to hold back your smile after listening to Meg’s announcement.

Everyone understood and started to file out. Some would stop by to tell you to feel better and walk off, but one person decided to sit in the chair next to you, blocking the sun. “You’re something else. You know that right?”

Cracking one eye open you peeked at your boyfriend and smiled at him. “How else am I gonna get you alone? And I really do feel sick.”

Chris laid his hand against your forehead. “Huh, you don’t have a fever. What kind of sickness is this?”

“It’s perpetual horiness and can only be cured by penetration from the patient’s boyfriend.”

The way the two of you were seated had other’s view of what you were doing blocked. Grabbing his hand, you slipped it in your bottoms for him to feel how horny he left you. “See daddy, you got me all wet. You just gonna let your baby girl suffer like this?”

He couldn’t resist you or himself anymore. Chris had to see you cum, and it was going to be because of him. “No, I won’t. Lay back and let daddy take care of you.” Chris ordered, just before he started fingering you.

His fingers were hitting the right spot, making you quiver so hard you leaned into Chris, gripped his forearm and cover your mouth with it to quiet your moans.

Both of you were too caught up in chasing your pleasure that you didn’t notice Sebastian and Anthony approach you.

“Oh wow, you don’t look or sound too hot Y/N,” Anthony commented, mistaking your moan of pleasure for one of pain.

Instead of letting you talk, Chris responded. “Yeah that’s why I’m gotta stay back and make her some of my mom’s famous tomato soup.”

Sebastian winced at the mention of Chris taking care of you. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad thing. One time I got sick on set and Chris went total mother hen on me. So, don’t be surprised when your ready to kick him out.”

Just to ensure you didn’t let a moan slip out, you offered them a small smile. The boys talked a little bit more with Chris before finally leaving.

Once they were out of earshot you punched Chris in his shoulder. “Did you really have to keep fingering me while you talked to them?”

“C’mon don’t pretend like you didn’t like it,” Chris smirked at you. “I bet that turned you on even more.”

You hid your face in the crook of his arm because you didn’t want him to know that he was right. Something about him fucking you while talking to his friends turned you on.

When you didn’t respond to him, Chris moved his fingers faster and started circling your clit. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train and this time you actually bit into his arm to stop you from screaming out in ecstasy.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful when you cum. Daddy’s gonna take care if you all night, ok?” Chris pushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Alright, the house is cleared out and I’m about to head out. Have fun, you nasties,” Megan announced.

You and Chris both thanked Megan and told her goodbye. As soon as you heard the door closed Chris picked you up and ran up the stairs.

He threw you on the bed and began to strip. “You’re gonna be a good girl from now on? Cause daddy doesn’t like punishing you.”

Licking your lips, you crawled off the bed and help Chris take off his pants. “Yes, daddy. I’ll be good.”

Chris cupped your cheek and kissed you deeply. “Good. Now get naked and get that pretty ass in the bed, so daddy can take care of you properly.”

This time you eagerly followed Chris’ instructions, knowing being a good girl would get you exactly what you wanted.

Tags: @chaneajoyyy @chrisevansbabymama @titty-teetee @cocooned-butterfly @twistedcharismaaa @soufcakmistress

#chris evans #chris evans x black!reader #chris evans x reader #chris x black!reader #chris x reader #rpf fanfic #chris evans rpf #black!reader #frizzlefic #frizzlesfic #cevans

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amphtaminedreams · 4 years

Text

The Summer of Disappointment: Lookbook no.11

Hi to anyone reading,

Welcome to an exploration of one of my favourite combinations of activities: putting outfits together and moaning. Straight off the bat-this summer has been a shitty one. The pandemic has made 2020 a shitty year all round. My feelings are best summed up in this tweet by @25lambs (I love her account but this girl changes her @ every other week so it will probably have changed again by the time I post this):

The uncertainty of when life will return to some semblance of “normality” is the hardest part. I also feel like I lost a big chunk of my life to, well, being miserable basically, especially during my teen years and my plans to make up for that in my 20s has been potentially snatched away. That being said, in the grand scheme of things, I am very lucky. I still have a job and I haven’t lost anyone close to me, which are both hugely traumatic things that many people have had to go through as a result of the pandemic. I think being sad about how the pandemic has affected your life and also recognising that there are people who are facing a far greater amount of hardship than you are not mutually exclusive which is something people online tend to forget on a daily basis. I also thought we had longer, if that makes sense, like summer came and went in such a short space of time it almost feels like it hasn’t happened yet, and being the extremely anal individual I am, of course I had a load of outfits planned that I never got round to wearing-instead of sulking about what didn’t happen, I instead decided I’d make a bit of a lookbook out of those outfits as well as a kind of diary of what I did get round to wearing.

So that’s enough rambling from me! I’ll get on with it!

Looks 1-3

Depop has been my absolute favourite thing for the last few months. I gave up fast fashion around May and apart from a slip up or two, I’ve pretty much stuck to that since. That being said, I am clearly very into fashion and styling and so it’s been a hard transition to make (yes, first world problems IK, don’t bait me), especially with me being a compulsive shopper. Wanna know how to lose weight? The jig is up guys, switch from emotional eating to emotional shopping. I’m joking, nobody needs to lose any weight, but I am 100% someone who attempts to cure feeling like shit with some good old instant gratification, and Depop has filled my fast fashion void. My favourite purchases from the last few months include this tan faux suede jacket on the left I bought from Tash_Hall’s shop, and aside from that everything here is old. It makes me feel like I’m a background extra in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood and I’m into that. The movie was shit but the visuals were top tier.

-21/07/20-

(top handmade by sophieeee_1123 on Depop)

-30/09/20-

(dress from maisiemainwaring on Depop, jacket from marinamcaleesex)

-18/09/20-

(top handmade by maddypageknitwear on Depop)

-25/07/20-

(cargo trousers from amber_thomson1 on Depop)

Looks 4-6

So I doubt anyone actually reads my fashion week reviews-I know everyone’s here for the pictures-but if you did, you’d know how much I wanted last season’s Erdem hats to happen off the runway. You know, the big boater ones that tie under the chin? Well, I got one off Ebay, as you can see on the left, I can confirm that in anything other than still life they look absolutely fucking ridiculous; I never ended up wearing mine outside the house because if I wore it for more than two seconds it would end up teetering to one side and slipping off my head, hence me trying to pass off holding it up as a fashion moment, lol. Maybe they are completely impractical, maybe I just have a big head (which is true), who knows. The beaded butterfly top however (from Depop but I can’t find the seller’s account anymore!), also on the left, was way more flattering on than I expected it to be and I am gutted I didn’t get to wear it out. If they’re right about a vaccine not being ready until July 2021 then it looks like next summer’s festival season will be cancelled too, but festival season 2022, this top is coming for ya. Optimism, you know. Other than that, the shorts are reworked Levis from Studsnstuff vintage on Ebay, which I have ALWAYS wanted and now irritatingly pair with absolutely everything and call it a look, and the two piece is stolen from my sister’s wardrobe, lol. Lastly, we have the sunhat, which reminds me of something my parents would’ve put me in when I was little and is totally adorable, from Happydais’ Depop store.

-28/07/20-

-12/07/20-

(top from tash2 on Depop, skirt from anishacassanova)

-27/08/20-

(skirt from mollie_morton on Depop)

-19/08/20-

(jeans from izziesanders on Depop)

-16/09/20-

Looks 6-10

Up there with my favourite Depop purchases of the summer is the striped corduroy trousers in the bottom right from Annasctx’s shop. I was desperate for some vintage trousers in this style but most resellers were, typically, charging extortionate prices for them, so it was a blessing to come across these for under £30. It sounds like a lot but they are a popular item on there at the moment so it’s a good price considering! Also from Depop is the red bodysuit from Alzaska’s store, the monogrammed headband from Jadexlaurenx’s store, and the PU flame print beret from House_of_erotique who do the most AMAZING custom pieces. I am waiting on a couple of things from them at the moment for an American Horror Story inspired lookbook I’m doing for halloween and I am buzzing to try them on! The bag I’m using here is my new go to-it’s a second hand Calvin Klein I found for THIRTY FUCKING POUND in a local charity shop! The woman at the tills told me that lots of people had gone to buy it and then put it back because it was too expensive which is insane! I know you go into a charity shop for cheap things but this bag was such a steal I have no idea how nobody just bit the bullet and bought it. Anyways, I’m not complaining because now it’s mine and I'm in love and I’m gonna try not to spill a monster energy drink on this one<3

-26/08/20-

-18/08/20-

(suit from emmafisher3 on Depop)

-10/09/20-

-15/08/20-

So, that’s it for now! If you got to this point, thank you for reading! I’m sorry it’s not longer but I’m finding it really hard to motivate myself to write at the moment with everything going on-I’m only finishing this now because it’s 3:30AM and my friend’s cat that I’m looking after is keeping me awake and I’m too much of a softy to shut it out the bedroom. London has just gone into tier 2 lockdown which means I can’t visit my sister or my friends up there, and they’re not allowed to travel down here either. I get it needs to be this way and that we have to make sacrifices, but that’s not to say it isn’t tough on a lot of people’s mental wellbeing. I was really beginning to get my shit together this year, lol! Oh well! Sorry 2021, messy bitch me is getting a sequel. I know, I hate her too.

With regards to what’s coming up on my page, I’m working on the American Horror Story lookbook I mentioned this week and then a (probably non-existent this year) party season lookbook following that. I do intend to do more mood boards and a summary of the S/S 2021 shows soon. I don’t know if I’ve got it in me to do a whole ass review at the moment so I might spice it up and do a tier ranking or rating out of 10 or something fun like that, but there will definitely be something within the next couple of months! I also thought it’d be cool to do a post on the style of some incredible black influencers who are sorely underappreciated on Instagram for Black History Month, but even if I don’t get it out in October, expect that at some point.

Thank you to anyone who read this and thank you in general for bearing with me! I really hope things look up from here but regardless, if we all work together and be considerate of others, we can get through this. I hope everyone is doing okay and as always, if you are struggling, my inbox is always open. Post suggestions are welcome too, as well as feedback as long as it’s not *too* mean. A bitch is sensitive atm.

Stay safe!

Lauren x

16 notes · View notes

crashdevlin · 4 years

Text

Crashing 1- Drowning

Crashing Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3 (This is an edited and improved version) Part Four of the Red Queen Chronicles!

Summary: When Loki pulls Cassandra Campbell out of cryo and uses her trigger words against her, the memories that have been hiding from her since she was ten years old finally crash down on her completely.

Word Count: 3686

Pairing(s): Clint Barton x OFC, past Loki x OFC, past Bucky Barnes x OFC, past Steve Rogers x OFC

Chapter Warnings: mentions of brainwashing, mentions of murder, violence and anger, mentions of cheating

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” Loki asked, setting his hand against the glass of the tank. The terrified Wakandan scientist nodded nervously. “Gives off an air of regality, even asleep.” He scoffed. “Especially asleep. There’s no fear on her here. No contempt. No attempt to run from her king,” he mused before turning to the scientist. “You can speak German, yes?”

“Y-yes.”

Loki produced a red notebook from his breast pocket and handed it backward to the man without looking away from the frozen woman. “Halfway through. Labeled ‘Kind’. Open this and recite those words.”

The man hit several buttons on the console attached to the tank and it filled with a chemical. Cassie blinked her eyes open, green orbs filling with confusion. The blur of confusion cleared out of her eyes and it was replaced with fear. “Loki?” she squeaked, struggling against the binds as the tank opened.

“Junior. Vierhundert.”

“No! Don’t read that!” Cassie struggled harder, but she didn’t move. “Please!”

“Keep going,” Loki ordered, smiling at her as she fought against the binds.

“I’m sorry,” the man said. “Rot. Tochter. Vermächtnis. Fünfzig. Messer. Schädel."

“No! God, please, no! Please! Please, stop!” she begged over the trigger words.

“Johann. Zwei,” the scientist said, shaking as the woman blinked slowly...as if everything were suddenly clear.

“Undo her restraints,” Loki demanded, and the man rushed to release her. Cassie stepped down from the tank and looked around like she had new eyes. “How do you feel, Joanna? What’s different?”

“Shut up, Loki,” she bit out quietly before turning to the Wakandan man. “Run. Now. Go.”

The Asgardian watched in amusement as the man ran from the lab. “Now. How do you feel, my queen?”

“Not as different as you would want,” she snapped, leaning against the tank and looking up at Loki with disdain. “You really thought I’d come out on the other side of this ready to be your bride or something?”

“I wasn’t sure how you’d come out of it, Joanna. I was actually hoping you’d be ready to take directions as the other one does.”

Cassie scoffed and shook her head, scornfully. “Someone’s feeling a little flaccid without his scepter.”

Loki’s eyes went wide. “How dare you talk to-” he started, indignantly.

“Don’t start, Loki. Let’s just go. We don’t wanna be here when the king and the Doras get here,” she said, grabbing his coat and pulling him out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

T’Challa sent word to Steve as he was mounting his offensive on the Raft that Cassie was kidnapped out of the cryo lab by Loki, so when they were safely away from the prison and sitting in the cargo hold of a ship on its way to America, Steve sat next to Clint. “You know, Cassie was the one who gave me the information I needed to get you out.”

Clint nodded. “Yeah? When did she talk-”

“She didn’t go home after she got out. She found me and Bucky and she helped us get to Wakanda. She was instrumental.”

“Wait, but she was--what about the…” Steve looked down and Clint’s whole body slumped. “No. What happened?”

Steve shook his head. “She said she lost it, but...she also said she had some interaction with Loki after she left the Raft so...he may have...I’m not sure.”

“She must be devastated,” Clint whispered.

“Um...there’s...more.” Steve pulled the letter out of his inside pocket, but he didn’t hand it to the archer.

“Wh-”

“And before you read this, you need to know...Loki found her in Wakanda.”

Clint’s eyes went wide. “What?! What do you mean? Why did she stay in Wakanda?”

“She had them freeze her. She said that the letter would explain.” Steve set the envelope on Clint’s lap and stood.

Clint’s stomach was in knots as he slid his finger across the envelope and pulled out the letter. A weight in the envelope had him shaking out a white gold ring that he recognized. He cleared his throat to deal with the sudden dryness.

My Dearest Clint,

I’m so sorry that I cannot do this in person, but you’re in prison and I’ll be frozen by the time Steve gets you out. Loki is looking for the red book, the one that Zemo used to activate Bucky as the Winter Soldier. I’m 90% certain that my words are on those pages too. What I’m not sure of is who I will become when those words are said. Since it means I’ll be who Hydra wanted, I can’t imagine anyone would enjoy finding out. That’s why I’m going into cryo, because I can’t hurt anyone if I’m frozen. I decided it was the best course of action...and I know you’re thinking that I would never hurt anyone, but you have never been more wrong. I’ve been remembering things and I know that I have killed. I killed two SHIELD agents when I was a child and I killed a man just a few days ago. Who knows what else is hiding in my head?

I’m sorry to send the ring back like this, but it’s what you deserve. I never should have said ‘yes’. It was selfish of me. I wanted my happy ending so much that I lied...to myself and to you. But I’ve been pretending for so long and I can’t anymore. I can’t keep putting up this facade for you. I kissed Sgt. Barnes. He saw the real me, those parts that I’ve been hiding from you and something about that drove me to break your trust. You deserve better. You deserve the woman you thought I was.

Despite it all, I love you. Be well.

Cassandra Campbell (R.Q)

Clint crushed the letter in his hand, anger almost palpable in the small space. “Let me get this straight,” he snapped as he stood, stomping up to Steve as the others stared on in confusion. “While I was in prison for helping you, your buddy made out with my fiancée and then one of you convinced her to freeze herself, leaving her completely defenseless when Loki showed up to get her in the supposedly impenetrable fortress that is Wakanda?”

Steve looked up at the ceiling. “It was Bucky’s idea to go into cryo...and he isn’t the only one that she kissed,” he finished quietly.

Clint’s fist smashed into Steve’s left cheekbone, groaning as he pulled away cradling his hand. “Worth it!”

“You kissed her back?” Sam asked, as Scott tried to not look impressed and Wanda made no effort to hide her judgment of Cap.

“I…” Steve rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat. “She...I didn’t know she kissed Bucky first and...she did say she was breaking up with you, Clint, and...I didn’t know if I was ever going to see her again. I’m sorry, Clint.”

“I know what you are thinking and she is not,” Wanda practically growled at Scott. “I could feel your judgment. You don’t know her like I do, like we do. She isn’t promiscuous.”

“Oh, really? ‘Cause, I mean...evidence to the contrary, Wanda. How many other guys does a woman have to kiss before she gets labeled a slut?”

“Shut the fuck up, Lang,” Clint growled.

Scott rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Get angry with me.”

“So what are we gonna do about Loki taking her?” Sam asked.

“We’re going to go to the U.S. and we’ll go from there. Coulson gave me the location of an old SHIELD black site where we can hang our hats. We’ll search for them from there,” Steve responded.

“Screw that,” Clint snapped. “I’m going home. You can find me on the farm.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clint stood in the barn, launching arrows into a target made of hay. He was furious. He was dismayed. He was taking it out on the wall behind his target.

“What’d that wall ever do to you?”

Clint turned to the voice, immediately dropping the bow and bounding for the small blonde woman. “How’d you get away from Loki?!” he asked, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight.

“I fought back,” she answered. “Did you expect anything less of me?”

He pulled back, eyeing her warily as a feeling of unease settled in his chest. “You...you wrote me a letter. You said Loki was looking for your trigger words. It’s the whole reason you let yourself be frozen. You didn’t want him to let out the sleeper-”

“You think Loki’s controlling me?” she asked, incredulously. She scoffed. “He’s just an alien without his fancy scepter. I’m a super soldier.”

Clint drove his fist into her jaw and stepped back into a fighting stance. “You might be, but Cassie hates being called that. You’re Joanna again,” he accused.

She smirked as she straightened, her tongue darting out to lick at her busted lip. “Actually, Clint, I prefer ‘Cassie’. Joanna Schmidt is an obvious Nick Fury construct. It evokes uncomfortable feelings and images of the noseless abomination my father became.” She wiped at the blood leaking from her lip. “Cassie, though, that gives off a feeling of hope and love. It evokes images of a young woman crying over a holiday dinner because she finally has a family to share Christmas dinner with.”

She sighed and shook her head. “I was afraid you were going to be a problem. That you were going to see the change, recognize.” She hummed sadly. “Sad. I was praying to fool you.”

“You could never fool me,” Clint spat out.

“Because you love me,” she finished for him. “You, the man who watched through a scope as I tried to piece together some semblance of a normal life. But I couldn’t, could I?” She chuckled ruefully. “Not with Phil’s help. Not even with your help. It’s like I was trying to put together a puzzle with half the pieces gone. Joanna...she was a completely different puzzle, but she was missing the same number of pieces.”

“And you, what, you’re the missing jigsaw pieces?” Clint asked as his hand went to the tactical blade clipped to his belt.

Cassie lurched forward, grabbing the knife from his hand and punching him in the mouth with the handle. “The words are the pieces, you idiot. I’m the big picture, Clint. Pay attention,” she snapped. “I’m the image we’ve been trying to get to but haven’t been able to because we didn’t have the words to trigger the memories. The memories that Hydra and SHIELD decided I’d be better off without!” She kicked Clint in the chest, sending him backward into the barn door. She let out a satisfied sigh as the sound of cracked bones hit her ears.

“Because what good could come from me knowing that I killed my first enemy agents at nine years old?” she asked, with a bitter laugh. “Fury said he was afraid I’d look in the mirror and hate myself but he was terrified that I’d like it...and you know what, Hawk? I don’t.” Her smile faltered for a moment as a nauseated look took her face. “I don’t like it...but it feels right to be me. The ‘me’ I was bred to be.”

Clint coughed painfully and moved to sit up against the barn door. “This isn’t you. This is Loki.”

“Loki has nothing to do with this! I sent him packing a week ago! He wanted nothing to do with Hydra and since I am the future of Hydra, I sent his ass back to Asgard.” She squatted down in front of him, a sincere sadness gracing her pale features. “I knew this was going to be difficult for you to understand, Clint. Even before Loki made me...complete, I knew you’d hate this. I knew you’d hate me if I became this.”

Clint glared at her. “We won’t let you-”

“I know,” she interrupted softly. She nodded as she stood. “All of you would fight tooth and nail to get me back to being the person you think I should be. You’d send me off to SHIELD to be erased again. So, I guess I’ll just have to kill you all.”

Clint’s lip twitched into a sneer. “Harder villains have tried.”

“You’re right, they have...and we’ve overcome them all, but...see, Zemo had the right idea and he did half of the work for me.” She ran her hand through her hair and licked her lips. “The Avengers are strong because we work well to balance each other’s faults. The powered and the nonpowered, tacticians and geniuses and just plain strong heroes...but right now, we’re fractured. Those of that signed can come and go as we please and the rest of you, fugitives, you’re scattered. I heard Scott is even on house arrest. Are the rest of you even in contact with each other?” She shook her head. “I’ll have marched through the hidden Avengers before you all realize the rest of your team is gone...and then I’ll take the Compound.”

“You’ll never make it through all of us,” he groaned. “Even separately.”

“See, you forget, Clint, that I’ve known you all for quite a while now, so...I know your pressure points. I know your buttons, Clint. Like I know that just mentioning Bucky makes Steve stop in his tracks.” She smiled cruelly as Clint swallowed heavily. “I wish I could have been there to see his face when the Winter Soldier showed up at Fury’s old black site.”

“You didn’t,” Clint whispered.

She chuckled. “Of course I did. Why would I leave such a powerful Hydra asset on ice?”

“Why would you send him after Steve?”

“Why wouldn’t I? He’s Steve’s weak spot. I would be a fool to not use him. Especially since I know Soldat’s trigger phases. It’s the only Russian I know. Strucker taught me a long time ago. Did you know that Winter Soldier was supposed to be my right hand man when I came of age? When they put me at the head of Hydra, Bucky was going to be standing next to me.” Cassie examined the knife in her hand and smiled sadly. “I remember that now. I’m finally the person I was created to be, Hawk. I know you can’t be happy for me about that and...if it’s any consolation, killing you is really gonna hurt my feelings.”

A shock went through her as something hit her back but it didn’t put Cassie down. She turned to the redheaded intruder with rage in her eyes, then forced a tight smile. “Natasha! How unexpected. I didn’t think you’d be here. Did you know she was coming, babe?” she asked, stomping her booted heel down onto Clint’s hand.

“Steve sent me,” Natasha said, hand resting on the stingers on her wrist.

“Really?” Cassie growled.

“Bucky showed up at Steve’s new base and tried to kill him. Luckily, Sam was there. They were able to subdue him. When he came back to himself, he told them you sent him. He was adamant it wasn’t your fault though, so Steve called in to get you some help.”

“And you’re just here to stall until the help gets here, right?” Cassie rolled her tongue along the inside of her cheek and scoffed. “Let me guess...my help comes in the form of Phil’s Zephyr 1, which will take me to Fury to be erased again.” She shook her head as she twisted her heel until she heard the crunch of Clint’s bones. Her lips twitched, attempting a smile as Clint screamed. “Someone’s not drawing a bowstring anytime soon. Something to remember me by, Hawk, since I won’t be able to.”

“It’s better this way,” Natasha said, matter-of-factly.

Cassie took her foot off of the archer’s hand and squared herself off with the Russian. “Says you. You’re not the one who has to walk around with a giant hole in your personality. You aren’t the one who gets to feel wrong every day and not know why.”

Clint cradled his broken left hand in his right and stood with a wince. “You don’t even like yourself like this!” he argued.

“I hit a wall, Clint,” she growled through clenched teeth. “I couldn’t deal with fighting myself anymore. Since Sokovia I’ve been trying to convince myself that this isn’t who I am, that remembering wouldn’t change me, but it did. I changed...and when I woke up, when Loki said those words, everything clicked. Who I really am flooded into me...so I let myself finally drown.”

“What, you’re tired so you just stop fighting? What happened to the strong woman I wanted to marry?” Clint snapped.

“She died in Africa,” Cassie snapped, looking from Natasha to Clint to the barn door to the hayloft. “About the time she killed a warlord and threatened to drown a little boy in the blood of his friends.” She bent her knees and vaulted herself over Natasha, landing on the ladder before jumping to the loft. “I can’t let you take me back, sorry.” She started toward the hayloft door but stopped in her tracks when an arrow hit her right thigh.

“Barney! What the fuck? You shot my-” Clint yelled as Cassie pulled the arrow from the soft flesh of her leg.

She turned and flung the arrow at the tall ginger man, who grabbed the arrow from the air. “What? You can’t shoot her so I did.”

“Barney Barton! Nice to finally meet you!” she said with sarcastic enthusiasm. “Unfortunately, I can’t stick around. You understand, I’m sure,” she said before jumping out the loft door.

Barney handed the arrow shaft to Clint’s good hand. “Great taste in women, bro.”

“That wasn’t Cassie,” Clint defended as Barney walked out the door. He threw the tracer-arrow shaft to the ground and followed.

“Yes, it was,” Natasha said, pulling up a map on her tablet and watching the retreating dot.

“How can you say that, Nat? You know Cass. You know she’s not-”

“Clint, I know what you wanna hear, but I can’t say it.” Natasha shrugged. “She was one person with those memories gone, but she is someone different when she has them.”

“Yeah, okay, but...you remember your-”

“And I fought to become someone better than what they made me in the Red Room,” she interrupted, following the Bartons across the field to the farmhouse. “Cassie doesn’t wanna fight so unless we can get her to Coulson to get those memories erased, your fiancee is gone.”

“Do you even want her back, Clint? Bitch just broke your hand.” Barney threw the bow on the porch swing as he walked through the door. “I mean, even if you got her back to being...what’s her name? ‘Red Queen’. Even if you get rid of the homicidal tendencies the Nazis gave her, she tried to kill you. It’s gonna change how you see her, how all of you treat her.”

“And we won’t be able to tell her why,” Natasha added.

“What does that matter? How many times have you tried to kill me, Barn? Nat was trying to kill me when we met!” Clint exploded.

“Different,” Barney said, pulling a beer out of the fridge with one hand and grabbing an ice pack from the freezer with the other. “This is the chick you said hadn’t ever killed anyone, right? That actively avoided doing more than incapacitating the bad guys, ‘cause her dad was a huge dick?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Now we all know that’s not true, don’t we?”

“You don’t seem too surprised by that, Natasha,” Clint said suspiciously as he put the ice pack over the back of his hand.

“I read the file. The Projekt Kind file. I knew she killed the agents in ‘99 before she did,” Natasha said, sighing as the signal on the tracer dulled. “She’s blocking the transmitter.”

“She’s a scientist,” Clint growled. “I coulda told you a tracker wasn’t going to work.”

“Shut up, man. I had to try something.” Barney popped open his beer and took a drink. “At least you know which direction was heading and she’ll have to pull whatever’s dampening it eventually to cut out the chip.”

“If we even want to find her,” Natasha reiterated.

“Of course we do! What kind of-”

“Exactly what memories do we take, Clint?” Nat asked, calmly. “Just her childhood or do we take her memories of the things that made her start remembering? Do we take away Loki’s second attack? Do we take Austria? What about Wanda? Where do we stop?”

“Wherever we need to to get her back!” Clint’s hand reflexively started to clench, causing him to hiss in pain.

“But if we take everything, she’ll barely know you. She’ll still be terrified of Steve. She will be drowning in a bottle of whiskey and pining for Phil, who kinda still loves her and is currently very unattached.”

“Coulson wouldn’t.”

Natasha shrugged. “Man’s lonely. His last girlfriend was shot and bled out in his arms. He might.”

“And she’d have no memory of playing Avenger with you,” Barney said from behind his beer can.

“Why don’t you just turn the new Cassie?” Laura suggested as she entered the kitchen and all eyes fell on her. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not supposed to listen in, but Cassie’s a friend.”

“It’s not that simple, Lore. She’s gone over to Hydra. It’s not like we can just convince her to come be an Avenger again.”

“Also, Avengers are less a thing now,” Natasha finished.

“She loves you, Clint. You know she does.”

“She woulda been really sad about killing you, right?” Barney set the can on the counter and turned to his wife. “She may not be fixable.”

“But...you just bring her in, help her,” Laura argued. “She doesn’t have to be bad just because she was made to do some things when she was Hydra...right?”

Clint looked between Barney and Natasha. He sighed loudly as he heard the sound of a Quinjet landing in the yard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Kitchen Sink - @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @wasabiwitteks @rainbowkisses31 @rissbennett @mariekoukie6661 @officiallyunofficialperson @dolphincliffs @mrs-meghan-winchester @gayspacenerd @foxyjwls007 @ilovefanfic86 @marvelfansworld @f-yeahfandoms @wonderlandfandomkingdom @hhiggs @sev3nruby @hobby27 @paintballkid711 @divadinag @thewhiterabbit42 @fantasymyth-1 @queenoftheunderdark @cosicas-cuquis @superfanficnatural @letsby @supernatural-bellawinchester @onethirstyunicorn @swinchester27 @chalicia @sunnyroadtrips @screechingartisancashbailiff @death-unbecomes-you @dayasvalkyrie Hero Tags - @atc74 @winchesterxfamilybusiness @holylulusworld

#cassie writes stuff #marvel fanfic #loki (marvel)#Steve Rogers #clint barton #Loki/OFC #steve/ofc #clint/ofc #red queen chronicles

21 notes · View notes

tigereyes45 · 4 years

Note

RWBY request: Blacksun leaves Ruby to babysit for them, but discover that she brought Zwei with her. Blake’s less than enthused to find the Barking Bane of Beacon snuggled up with her baby. Ruby and Sun just think it’s cute!

Here’s your requests anon! Please no hate because of the ship everyone! This was a request and I’m currently still accepting them. I’ll write for almost any ship since I enjoy most of the ones in the fandom. So if you don’t enjoy Blacksun feel free to request something else! (Or you know just avoid this post.) I am still accepting them at the moment!

Ao3 link is here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigereyes45

________________________________________________________________

It was well past eleven am when Ruby finally arrives. Anxiously Blake had been pacing around Melanie's playpen for the last hour. Sun watched her go again and again around the fenced-in area from his spot on the couch. They had gotten lunch reservations at a new restaurant in town. Not only was it difficult finding any stores near them, but ever since they moved to Patch to be closer to the rest of the team it was hard to get any time to themselves. A fact that had gotten worst with her taking some time away from hunting. Midday was really the only time of the day Blake could stand to be away from Melanie for a few hours. Ever since little Melanie finally recovered from that persistent fever. It's been two months. Yet Blake was still so fiercely protective. This lunch was just as likely to be canceled as Ruby was to show up. Neither thought helped to keep Sun from bouncing his legs.

Melanie played blissfully unaware that anything was wrong. Her playpen area took up the back half of the living room. All the way from the glass back door, ending right between the black couch and white loveseat. Sun smiled. He had always been better at hiding his nerves. Though when he couldn't they were far more expressive on his face then Blake's.

When the bell rang Blake's feet finally stopped. His legs freeze. Before either parent could make it to the door, Ruby lets herself in. She greets them. Her signature nervous smile pinned to her face. The twenty-six-year-old was sweating profusely. Black bangs hang down over the right side of her face. The red-streaked strands swept off to the sides of her messy head. Clearly she had used her semblance more than once on the way over.

"What happened?" Blake rounds on her team leader almost as quickly as she had stopped mid-step. Ruby throws her hands up.

"Nothing. Nothing happened. Your living room looks great Blake. I, uh," long black hair falls in front of silver eyes. The perfect camouflage as the younger woman searches the room. Eventually, her grip tightens around the bag she brought along. "I made cookies!"

Scrambling, Ruby digs through her bag. Deep down, under the diapers, wipes, the bottles, and extra pack of formula she frees a bag of squished chocolate chip cookies. Blake frowns. Her black ears fold flat against her head. Nose twitching, her amber eyes stop narrowing.

"You overslept. Again."

"Now now Blake. I promised you I would set my alarms. And I did. Ergo I didn't oversleep. I lost track of time cooking," the shorter woman shoves the bag into Sun's hands. "the cookies. You'd be surprised how long this new recipe takes." With a quick push, Ruby is out from between Blake and the door. The Faunus barely gets a sigh out. Sun's hands gently knead the back of her shoulders. A soft smile and Ruby knows she's gotten away with her obvious lie this time.

"Ru! Ru!" Melanie's short, dark black curls cling to her face. Her skin was already becoming darker like her father's. Though not as dark as her long black tail. Sun insists it looks like his, but Blake seemed to believe it resembles a cat's more. Long and slender it sways back and forth with excitement as she sees Ruby. Small, fat hands grab at the air. With determination, they go again and again. Every hand just trying to pulls the space between them shorter. She was about to Ruby's knee when standing straight up. That had to be about three inches since her last visit. A few inches within a couple of weeks, was that normal? The huntress resigns to asking her father later. She dreads the thought that this baby girl would be yet another person taller than herself.

She pulls her long scarlet cloak off. It swishes past Melanie, like the curtains do when she plays in them. The three-year-old giggles. Red encircles the young Belladonna. The long fabric swallows the baby girl up whole. The outline of hands pats against the cloth a few times. Ruby smiles down at her goddaughter from the hole of the hood.

"Ruby you're gonna make her dizzy."

"Oh, sorry Blake." The shorter woman spins the cloak up and into a ball. Melanie's laughter stops. She looks around confused. Her big blue eyes narrow in on Ruby's hands. They stay trained there. Nothing could make them waiver from their target. Not even her parents picking her up and kissing her chubby cheeks goodbye could move them. They were like a pair of blue bullets, focused, and moving forward before Ruby had a chance to pull the cloak away. She all but hands it back to the toddler as she leans out of her parent's grasp, right at Ruby.

"Gotcha!" The twenty-six-year-old babysit did indeed have her. Though she also had the ire of her mother. Honestly, there were a lot of new expressions Ruby was starting to see from Blake. A whole array she had never used in the field before. The leader couldn't help but wonder if those were a part of the changes her dad had warned her of.

"Just be careful." Exhaustion. That was a voice of pure fatigue. Yang's tired voice was usually grouchier. So in a way, Ruby was lucky. Just not as lucky as she would have been if she hadn't broken her alarm yesterday.

"I'm always careful!" Well, she always tried to be. It was pretty much the same thing. No point in crossing hairs over the small stuff now.

"Thanks Rubes." Sun squeezes Blake's shoulders. "We really appreciate this. Our reservation starts soon though so we should really be going." That last part was more for Blake then her. Nodding gingerly Ruby shifts Melanie out of her arms and onto her hip.

"You guys go. Have fun. I've got this!" Ruby flexes her free arm. Melanie waves her arms wildly. Ruby holds her smile even as they hit her shoulder. Still, that anxious look never left Blake. Not even as they walked out the door. She casts one last look back before Sun shuts the door. Running over to the window Ruby watches them leave. Melanie waves goodbye as her parents walk off.

Blake's whole demeanor changes as they walk away. Slowly and visibly the tenseness in her shoulders shrinks. She stands taller. Her smile isn't nervous. With every step away she looks more like she had before Melanie had gotten sick. Happy. Not afraid of anything. Ruby holds Melanie closer to her. Just a few months ago they weren't sure if she would recover. What had started out as just a fever became so much worst, so quickly. Blake stopped going out on missions. Sun started selling his keepsakes from old missions. Anything to save up enough if for the travel. Their doctor insisted it would pass, but Ruby had seen it. She looked so sick. It looked like she had jaundice the way her skin had shifted to yellowish tints. All her energy was gone constantly, and it was hard for anyone to get her to eat.

They had all been so scared that Ruby can't really hold all this newfound protectiveness against Blake. Even if everyone thought it was overkill, they understood. Really the rest of team RWBY and SSUN was shocked that Sun wasn't also acting somewhat overprotective as well. He shrugged off those months of fear and nervousness as if it were nothing.

'She's better now!' He insists anytime someone tries to bring it up. He was right. She was better now, but there's something in the way he was so easily able to blow everyone off. In a matter of days, he had effectively cut ties with everyone. Not in his usual way of going off without saying anything either. He wasn't talking to anyone. Wasn't reaching out and couldn't be reached. When they came around either Sun had Melanie in his arms or the two of them couldn't be found. Blake knew where they would go, but the family never told anyone.

'He needs some space. Melanie's safe and with him.' She assured Yang and herself once when they had brought some leftovers by.

"Ru!" Ruby's head shoots down. Melanie was squirming in her arms. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she pushes on Ruby's side. "Let go!" The huntress realizes that she had been squishing the young girl against her.

"Ah, Aunt Ruby is sorry Melanie. She didn't realize." Quickly she sets her down. Kneeling on one knee Ruby keeps her hands out. They hover a few inches away from either side of Melanie. Ready to catch her if the toddler starts to fall again. She had been walking for two years now. Her clumsiness wouldn't know it though. She fell on her butt just as often as she actually stands. Maybe clumsiness was a learned trait? It certainly felt like Melanie shared a lot of traits with Ruby. They both had dark black hair. Though Melanie's was curly like her father, and a shade closer to her mother's. They were both really clumsy, and-

" 's fine Ru. We ate cookies?"

Ruby laughs. Gently she pokes Melanie's cheeks. "Yes, we can eat the cookies now." Ruby lets Melanie follow her over towards the table Blake had set her bag on. The cookies sit beside it in their open bag.

"Wanna know what the best thing about Aunt Ruby's cookies are?"

"Wat?" She screams the word as if that was the only way she could get an answer. Melanie was going to be loud like her dad. No doubt about it.

"There's always more!" Ruby cheers pulling out a full jar. It's heavier then it had been earlier. Suspicious she looks down to see the jar had no cookies. In fact it was filled with black fur. Strands of white hair stand out here and there. Of course he couldn't have just let her leave. Zwei has found quite a knack for following her out of the house lately. Blake was going to be pissed. Letting out a heavy sigh, Ruby pops the top off the jar. There's the sound of scrapping nails against glass. Then just like that, Zwei pushes himself free. With a loud pop, his head falls out of the jar.

Somehow Melanie manages to catch the old dog. Right in her arms, he landed. The two of them go down together. Melanie's hands never letting go of Zwei. His cheerful yip sounds raspy. Ruby frowns. She hadn't brought his medication with her. At least Blake and Sun would only be gone for a couple of hours. That wasn't too long, and she could just give it to him after.

As soon as he was in her hands Melanie was running off with him. Practically hopping back onto her feet as she holds him closer to her. Zwei yips cheerfully. The two dash through the living room cheering and barking. Ruby rushes after them. Mustering all her speed the dignified huntress was turned into a storm of limbs. Her hands and feet darting every which way after the tornado that was Melanie with Zwei.

It was a constant battle, keeping the house clean after the two of them. Suddenly Ruby could recall every reason she had for not bringing Zwei over anymore. Blake's disdain for the dog being the lowest on the list after this current shit show. It takes the better half of two hours before the dastardly dup was done. Their chaotic messy energy began to die down when Melanie tripped over Zwei. From there all their teamwork only went downhill. A plane crashing and burning right into Ruby's arms. They land on the couch tired and ready for a nap. Instinctually Melanie reaches out for Zwei. She finds the dog resting next to her. Of course, she pulls him closer.

It was an adorable sight! Melanie's tail curls around Zwei's stomach. The old dog wiggles closer her chest. He was so comfortable on his back with Melanie's arms tucked under his head and around his chest beside her tail. She coos a little as her beautiful blue eyes slowly drift close. The pair of them were just so cute and warm Ruby couldn't help herself but curl up on the couch with them. Carefully she adjusts her shoulder under her head and gently lifts Melanie's head up to rest on her wrist. Zwei whines. He quickly quiets down as he realizing it was just Ruby joining them for a nap. It didn't take long for the three to all drift off.

Ruby's peaceful dreams were interrupted by a soft touch. A nudge that grew intensity the longer she kept her eyes closed. Begrudgingly the red-clad woman opens her eyes. The soft hand that had been shaking her was indeed one she knew. Blake's ears were standing at attention. Turned slightly towards the two small bodies Ruby could feel against her side. Sunlight filters in from a window somewhere in the room. They must've finished lunch already.

"Oh hey, Blake. How was lunch?"

"It was great! Thanks Ruby!" Sun answers in a hushed whisper from somewhere towards her left.

"It was nice. Thank you for babysitting, but Ruby," Blake stops and looks at the two still sleeping forms. "What is he doing here?"

"Huh?" Slowly Ruby pulls her arm free from under Melanie's head. He? Rubbing at her eyes she sits up. There, sound asleep on his back was Zwei. "Ah him. He snuck into my cookie jar."

"And you couldn't send him home?" Blake asks. Ruby notices that she was hovering above her daughter, but the rest of her body was leaning away. The awkward pose an obvious attempt to try and keep some distance between her and Zwei.

"Blake my house is a few miles away from here. I'm not making him do that trip on his own. He's old now." She pokes his little black nose that now had little white spots freckled on it. "He can't even keep up with Melanie let alone try and run home alone."

"Fine. Fine. Can you take him home then?" Blake asks taking a few steps back.

"Yeah sure. Though I think Sun might be right. Melanie doesn't have any problems with Zwei. Maybe she's a monkey faunus."

"Thanks Ruby, but Blake doesn't like Zwei because she's a cat. She's just a weirdo." Sun adds crossing his arms over his chest. Blake shoots him a glare. but her ears fold down. Obviously she was more insulted by the joke then actually bothered.

Time to change the subject. "Aw they look cute together! All snuggled up like that." Ruby grabs her left wrist. "I want to pinch them! Must. Fight. The. Urge." She makes a show of her hand inching forward before being pulled back with every word. "Just. Sooooo cute."

Blake rounds on her with a glare. "You wake Melanie up and I'll ask Weiss to babysit from now on."

Ruby gasps. She holds her hands over her chest as if Blake had just broken her heart. "You wouldn't dare!"

Blake just gives her a look that screams, 'try me'. Something Ruby honestly was too tired to do now. Dejected Ruby sticks her tongue out in one last act of defiance. Sun smiles from over Blake's shoulder. He winks and holds up his scroll. A picture of Zwei and Melanie cuddling fills the screen. Ruby mouths, 'send me that'. Sun nods and hides his scroll as Blake turns around. The monkey faunus smiles innocently as she looks him over.

"Well I doubt I can grab him without waking her up." Ruby mentions, rocking back and forth on her tiptoes. Blake frowns as she looks back at the two. Melanie's tail was wrapped so tightly around Zwei, that it probably would be near impossible. Just another time she wishes she could make her shadows take the forms of others as well as herself. If she could then it wouldn't even be a problem.

"Might as well let them finish sleeping." Sun suggests shrugging. Ruby watches him drops his scroll into his front pocket. They share their sly smiles. Blake shivers at the thought of letting Zwei stay sleeping on her couch. "Come on Rubes. Have you seen the latest episodes of Arena Battles?"

"Nope!"

Sun loops an arm around Blake's waist. "Let them sleep. Ruby can take Zwei as soon as Melanie's naps over."

"Fine."

"Great! Rubes the remote is on the other side of the couch." He pulls Blake along with him. The two fall into the white loveseat together. Blake tucks her arms under Sun's arms. He buries his legs under her's. It was adorable, and gross. Adorably gross.

"Quit staring and start the show Ruby."

"I am! I was just thinking." She rolls her eyes. It was nice seeing the two comfortable around each other again. Maybe things could return to something resembling normal. Carefully Ruby sits on the couch next to the sleeping duo. There was never any telling with the future. She pushes her back deeper within the cushions. At least they could all enjoy this right now.

#rwby #blacksun #sun wukong #blake belladonna #oc #melanie belladonna #it fits Blake's and Kali's naming pattern #rwby blake #rwby sun #rwby ruby #ruby #ruby rose #zwei #fanfic #fanfiction

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rockshortage · 4 years

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SKILLS - Fallout OC Ask Prompt

Here it is, everything in one place. The questions I haven’t answered already in a different post are in bold so you can easily skip to those if you want.

now all in bold because it’s been a while since I posted this

Barter

1. How important is making money or acquiring wealth to your character? Do they even need it?

Hector generally makes do with what he has, but he sure as hell enjoys the monetary benefits to being Overboss. Finally he can indulge a bit, get a semblance of pre-war comforts back and invest the surplus to get the rest of Nuka World to that stage too. And also buy a bunch of shit he doesn’t need because he thinks it’s cool. And since part of the Overboss’ job is to flex on everyone once in a while, he allows himself to be a bit excessive sometimes.

2. Is your character quick to take care of others in need, or do they look out for themselves first and foremost?

If they’re a good friend, they almost always come first. With strangers/acquaintances, it depends a lot on the situation and on what people expect of him. He has trouble saying no, so if someone asks him for help, he’s not likely to leave them hanging. If not specifically asked, he’Il try to just kinda slip away undetected (which often works well because he doesn’t have much of a presence). Nothing is his business unless people make it so. He will feel bad about his inaction in various situations though.

3. What is something other than money that could make your character do something they otherwise wouldn’t want to do? What about something they otherwise really, really, really wouldn’t want to do?

He does a lot of things he doesn’t want to due to peer pressure or expectations people have of the Overboss.

For the latter, if his own safety or the safety of someone or something he really cares about is seriously threatened. Blackmail, basically. Or if it’s something that someone he cares about would really appreciate. Like this is their lifelong dream and Hector can make it reality if he just does this thing that he absolutely does not want to do. He’d do that.

Energy Weapons

4. Does your character prefer high-tech or low-tech solutions to problems?

High-tech if there is time for it, as that usually takes longer than the equivalent of hitting the problem with a rock. He’s a techy guy, solving problems using his field of expertise is fun and rewarding, so that’s what he’ll usually try to do. But sometimes he can’t argue with the simplest solution often being the best.

5. What does your character think about pre-war society?

Hard to say since I haven’t really worked out what the heck he was doing pre-war and how much he remembers of it. But he’s always been rather isolated, whether that be of his own choice or a result of his conditions. Which means he doesn’t care all that much about society and whatever it’s up to again. He’s just trying to vibe in his own little space. I can’t imagine him being happy that they started a war though. He doesn’t regret the loss of society as much as he regrets the loss of the comforts and luxuries it brought him. Existential dread about the world ending bad but not worrying about more immediate threats to his life in the form of wasteland inhabitants good.

6. Is your character easily exhaustible? Are they normally an energetic person or more lethargic? If the former, what would reduce them to the latter; if the latter, what would excite them into the former?

It’s not that he’s easily exhaustible, he’s got rather good endurance and drive. It’s just that he is exhausted most of the time, due to his sleep issues. So his default state is generally on the lethargic side, but he has bursts of energy. Be that finding the fun in clearing the parks and destroying shit, or less noticeably when he’s engrossed in a project.

Explosives

7. How does your character express anger? Do they have a short temper, do they bury their rage until they burst, or can they handle it well?

He usually buries it, at least for the moment. Put on a pokerface and then release his anger later with the help of loud music or going out into the wastes and destroying some shit. There are exceptions, where he loses his shit on the spot, the main one being someone ‘hurting’ MAAK.

8. Does your character have any particular pet peeves that irritate them?

Way too fucking many to list – once he notices that is. The only reason he doesn’t spend every second of being around other people angry is that he’s often kind of oblivious or anxious, which makes him self-centered and not notice the little things people are doing around him.

I think I named a few examples in another ask meme, such as excessive public displays of affection and loud/open mouthed chewing. Here’s another one: when someone uses a lot abbreviations and acronyms and assumes everyone will just know what they mean. It’s often a cultural thing and therefore most if not all people around him will know, but Hector can’t ask ‘what does this mean’ 7 times in one conversation because then he’ll look stupid but he literally cannot follow this conversation anymore which will also make him look stupid if someone catches onto it and this could have all been avoided if they said actual words instead of nonsensical amalgamations of letters and ARGH.

9. Is there anything that anyone who knows better should avoid bringing up to your character (i.e., any conversational landmines)?

I was gonna say criticism about MAAK, but if I’m getting this right, ‘anyone who knows better’ means they have some form of positive relationship with Hector. So I’m not sure this applies all that well. They’d still have to be careful around the subject because he takes this kind of thing personally very quickly, but if they are an acquaintance or friend, he will be a bit more lenient instead of like… trying to fistfight them on the spot. Maybe he’ll let a comment slide or calmly remind them to Not Speak Their Mind about this. Seriously. Back Off From This Topic And We Won’t Have A Problem.

Can’t think of any better examples right now, file it under pending character development :V

Guns

10. What is your character’s weapon of choice? Are they good in a fight, whether armed or not?

He prefers to be far away from his target and pick them off before a fight can really break out, so his go to is a sniper rifle. Though he hasn’t (or rather I haven’t) found ‘the one’ yet. It’s a dilemma between ballistics, which are more fun to shoot, and energy weapons, which have little to no recoil and are therefore much easier to handle (and because technology cool). It’s probably going to be a heavily modified laser/plasma/gauss rifle of some kind.

He’s not very good when it gets to close range. He has to end the fight as quickly as he can, put some distance between himself and his opponent, or just try to outlast them by dodging/absorbing hits until they tire themselves out.

11. Has your character ever killed anyone purely in cold blood?

I might just be dumb but I’m having genuine trouble deciding what counts as cold blood and what doesn’t. Since Hector frequents raider circles where murder is almost normalized, I feel like the definition of it gets much more narrowed down, which means there’s a chance he’s never actually killed someone by strict definition of ‘cold blood’ (without emotion or mercy). From a non-raider, upstanding citizen viewpoint though? All the fucking time.

(Technically obsolete since I rewrote the answer, but I’ll leave this here anyway: Say, he has to lead a raid on a settlement – the people there have done nothing wrong, but they’re on turf that one of the gangs really wants, and Hector hasn’t been able to convince them to just leave. So they have to die, and Hector has to set an example to keep the respect of the gangs. He’ll do it, but it’s shitty and he’ll feel awful, their terrified faces and dying breaths haunt him for a while. From an outside perspective, he killed them in cold blood. But on the inside, Hector isn’t emotionless about it at all, it doesn’t feel good, it wasn’t fun, he’s full of regret and he dreads the next time he has to do this again.)

12. What are your character’s opinions on war? Is it something necessary or barbaric, or both? Do they believe in noble conflict or the existence of “a good war?”

As with many things, he can be swayed in either direction, depending on the circumstances, the people around him, and his own memories. Sometimes he thinks it’s a necessary means to an end, might even go as far as to glorify certain aspects of it – as long as he has the outside perspective. When he’s actually involved himself and everything gets too close for comfort, he’ll see how ugly of an affair it really is and regret that he ever condoned any of it. …until he forgets again.

Lockpick

13. Does your character prefer careful finesse or brute force in most situations?

Careful finesse, definitely. It really frustrates him to watch people trying to brute force something that would be solved so much easier if they just showed a little care.

14. How greedy is your character? Would they scavenge anything and everything they can carry from someplace “just in case”, or only ever take what they know they need?

By that definition, very greedy. But like, why go out to scavenge ruins and not take everything you see? Are you really gonna leave half the stuff just in case some other scavenger maybe comes across it at some point later? Nah, you take that shit and then have Gage pressure you into selling the surplus later even though you wanna keep it, there’s still a little bit of room in the storage, come on, Porter don’t be like this

15. What is your character’s most prized possession, and where do they keep it?

Does MAAK count? Because MAAK definitely is his pride and joy. He keeps MAAK with him as much as he can. And most likely his preferred weapon, once I figure out what it is exactly.

Medicine

16. How does your character tolerate pain? How do they handle stress and trauma?

He tolerates pain very well in the moment it happens initially. It’s not always out of survival instinct and such like I’ve specified previously, sometimes it’s just sheer embarrassment / anxiety. When he gets hurt while people see, his immediate instinct is “it’s fine, i’m fine, nothing to see here” and then he’ll go hide somewhere and decide for real if it’s actually fine or not.

He handles the aftermath of injuries a lot less well. You know the cliché of men being much more sensitive to pain/sickness than women and just being very noticeable in their misery? That’s Hector once he’s back in the safety of his home and recovering from his injuries. (usually MAAK is on the receiving end of his suffering but unfortunately for Gage it’s more satisfying to lament at someone who can actually react)

17. Does your character have any habits? Any tics, fixations, rituals, superstitions, or dependencies?

Totally. Hector is very much a creature of habit and it takes real effort to get him out of his comfort zone. He’d absolutely have a tic or two but I can’t come up with anything specific that isn’t just randomly made up. I’m thinking something along the lines of fixing his clothing a lot, like pulling at his gloves checking his collar, etc. But it’s nothing solid, so I’ll leave that aside for now.

A daily (if possible) ritual is writing in his journal. It helps him retain information and gives him some peace of mind that even if he forgets, he’ll be able to look it up again.

No superstitions (or none that I can think of). He loves to challenge superstitions actually, because it’s all complete and utter bullshit to him. This is actually one of the rare cases he does not care to think of people’s feelings first and can be a total dick on purpose. Oh you’re scared bad things will happen if I do this? Haha fuck you, not only will I open this umbrella inside, I will also smash a mirror with it and specifically point out to you that I am not knocking on wood.

18. What’s something that always makes your character feel better (physically, emotionally, mentally)?

A nice warm shower and sleeping in a clean bed afterwards. Being outside at night when it’s a little chilly and dark enough so he can take off his mask or other clothing items. Bonus points when there’s a campfire, so the lighting is nice and it’s just a little bit spooky, and he’s able to feel warmth on his skin without being burned. Being around MAAK, baby talking to him, cleaning his chassis, feeding him some trash. Listening and singing along to his favorite music.

Melee Weapons

19. What does it take to motivate your character to violence? Do they try to avoid violence as much as possible, are they willing and able to instigate violence, or are they even outright bloodthirsty?

Necessity is his main motivator. He tries to avoid violence as much as he can (in most scenarios), but he also won’t always bend over backwards to find a peaceful solution to everything. Instigating it is kinda difficult for him though, it’s so much easier if the other one attacks first and he can react in self defense.

20. How resourceful is your character? How adept are they at improvising with things around them or repurposing random junk into valuables, weapons, or tools?

Now this is something he excels at, mostly when there’s tech involved. Don’t just destroy turrets and robots, change their targeting parameters so they fight for him instead. Rig one up to explode and let it run into crowds of enemies. Have a speaker emit a frequency that either attracts or repels wildlife and ferals. Use that highly dangerous power line to electrocute a gatorclaw. Set up a whole grid that’ll fry the ferals or bloodworms. So many options.

21. Does your character have any comfort objects that they prefer to keep on their person as much as possible, or frequently hold in their hand just to hold it?

MAAK unfortunately does not fit in his pocket, so keeping him around at all times is more complicated. Maybe I’ll figure out some small comfort object at some point because I like the idea, but for now it’s just good old impractical emotional support robot MAAK.

Repair

22. What is your character’s single most handy trait or skill?

Engineering/robotics.

23. How concerned is your character with practicality? Are they more down-to-earth, grounded, or focused on necessity, or are they more of a dreamer, indulgent, or reckless?

More of the latter. Simple and practical things are good and all, and he’s often satisfied enough with them. But what really sparks joy is going above and beyond and just kinda off the wall sometimes. He has the resources now instead of having to just scrape by on the bare necessities, so why wouldn’t he take that opportunity??

24. How quick is your character to forgive? Are they able to earn forgiveness from others easily?

In theory, he’s the type to hold grudges. In practice, he has bad memory and sometimes forgets who wronged him or why.

Earning forgiveness doesn’t come super easy because he’s bad at communication. He shoves problems and issues aside because confronting them is uncomfortable. Even if he feels bad about X thing he did to Y person and he could just apologize.

Science

25. What kind(s) of intelligence would you say that your character does and does not have?

Thanks to a different meme I learned of the nine types of intelligence, so I’ll use those here:

High: Logical-mathematical, linguistic, spatial

Medium: musical, bodily-kinesthetic, naturalistic

Low: intrapersonal, interpersonal, existential

26. What kinds of things fascinate your character? Do they have any personal interests that aren’t necessarily practical, but that they just like?

A whole lot of things he’s interested in aren’t exactly practical. Those things are generally in the realm of book smarts, which can be useful, but often don’t have direct applications to his job or survival in general. e.g. knowing how nuclear fusion works on an atomic level is great and all but that deathclaw does not care and only wants to eat you

27. Does your character appreciate a good puzzle, or any other kind of intellectual or strategic challenge (e.g. Sudoku, chess)?

Yeah! Mostly the things he can do on his own though or things that are at least cooperative. There’s a considerable inhibition level when it comes to competitive strategy games like chess, but if ‘forced’ into a round he’d probably end up enjoying it.

Sneak

28. How does your character handle being alone in a wide-open space, being one of many in a large crowd, and being stuck with someone else one-on-one?

Alone in wide-open spaces: hell yeah

Large crowds: hell no please get him out of there asap

One-on-one: this is ok, he can deal with this. If it’s the right person he’ll even enjoy himself.

29. How does your character behave when nobody else is around? How does this differ from how they act around strangers, friends, or lovers?

When no one is around and no one can hear him, he tends to be the most energetic, coming out of his shell. He’ll turn up the music, sing along loudly, dance around, do theatrics. Have in depth discussions about this or that with MAAK, an inanimate object, or himself. Or on the flip side just vibing quietly and comfortably.

Some of that carries over once high enough friendship levels are gained. Strangers on the other hand are not allowed to see that side of him, no, he’s just a quiet and uninteresting guy, nothing to see here.

Lovers? What’s that

30. Suppose your character just wants to disappear; where would they want to disappear to?

Far Harbor looks tempting.

Speech

31. What does your OC sound like? What is the tone of their voice, their cadence, and their vocabulary; are they particularly profane or eloquent? Are they funny, and if so, what’s their sense of humor? Are they long-winded or do they speak little, and if it’s the latter, is that only because they’re concise or is it because they have genuine trouble speaking?

His voice is on the deep side but not remarkably so. He generally speaks in a soft manner, but he can get surprisingly loud for a man of his stature. Vocabulary is all over the place. He has a tendency to be formal and use big words, but then the next moment he’s trying to describe the thingy and the stuff with the some such and whatever, like fuck man, speaking hard.

He has a case of the dad humor. Some people will find that funny, some will not find it funny but a bit endearing, and others will find it not funny and incredibly aggravating. His jokes are generally innocent enough, but he can get dark too. Usually rather dry.

How little or how much he speaks depends entirely on the situation and the topic. He rattles on endlessly about Science and has an unfortunate tendency to mansplain. But when he’s not super passionate about something, it’s just whatever. If he doesn’t feel like he has anything of value to add, he just keeps quiet.

32. Is your character a good liar, or can they manipulate people well? Are they able to conceal what they mean or what they’re feeling, or are they an open book whether they mean to be or not?

He’s quite good at withholding information, but not at straight up lying to someone’s face. His entire attire helps a lot with concealing his feelings or intent. Having no visible facial expressions and a robotic modulated voice allow him to come across as cold and distant, downright emotionless to people who don’t know him or don’t know him well (with a bit of practice). That said, he wouldn’t even know where to start at attempting to manipulate someone.

Hector can be hard to figure out, but once you invest some time and effort into doing that (like Gage was forced to), he’s pretty much an open book in most situations.

33. What is something that could be said to your character that would be unforgivable, either by someone in general or by someone specific? How would they respond?

This is hard. Hector gets insulted / hurt fairly easily and tends to hold onto that negativity longer than he should, but all that mostly stems from his low self-esteem. And it’s rarely stuff that cuts so deep that a continued relationship / association is unthinkable. If Gage was to make it clear to Hector that making him Overboss was actually a horrible mistake and he almost wishes he had Colter back? Oof, ouch, that hurts a lot, but like… he’s not wrong. Gage knows what he’s talking about and Hector never was the perfect man for the job, nor did he want it. Yeah he was trying really hard and maybe he thought he was making good progress, but if Gage says it’s not enough, then it’s not enough.

Before I go too far off track – I’m not sure there’s really one thing someone can say that would be unforgivable. If there is, it would definitely have to be someone Hector trusts / trusted. But actions speak much louder than words. Gage saying he wishes for a different boss is one thing. It hurts but it’s a fair sentiment and doesn’t change the fact that they still have to work together. But Gage actively replacing him, spitting on all their hard work and throwing whatever relationship they had into the trash in the process? There’s no going back to normal after that.

Survival

34. How well does your character take care of themselves in the wilderness? Do they feel most at home in the wilderness, small settlements, or densely inhabited areas? Are there any particular reasons why that is?

As much as Hector likes keeping to himself, he’s not the type of survivor to go out into the deepest wilderness. He could survive out there, but his quality of life would probably be pretty bad. His ideal place would be near a small settlement, within comfortable enough walking distance but not really part of it. He can go into town maybe once a week for supplies and just be alone in his humble abode the rest of the time.

35. What kind of diet does your character keep? Is it more indiscriminate, or picky or particular? Are they good cooks, whether in a kitchen or by a fire? Do they think of food as simple sustenance, or do they appreciate indulgent dishes and finer flavors? Do they have a favorite food?

He's not a picky eater by any means. He will eat what’s on the table and not complain, unless it’s like actually rotting. His cooking is fine, of course until he gets creative with it and makes questionable combinations happen. But what I didn’t mention there is that he only rarely gets the chance to do some train wreck cooking. Usually he does have to treat food as just fuel that lets him go about his day due to the impracticality of having to wear a mask and not being able to take it off during the daytime. And it’s rather difficult to find an interior that reliably lets no sunlight in among all the ruins of the wasteland. When he’s on the road, he quite often just has to go find a reasonably dark corner in which to crouch down and cram in a nutrient bar like some kind of feral man who hasn’t eaten in a week.

36. What keeps your character going? What is the one thing that they have that could motivate them to keep persisting if they lost literally everything else?

There is not one sole thing. Hector has to find drive and motivation in anything at all, because what other choice does he have? There’s no real sense of purpose or meaning to life for someone like him, and he prefers not to think about it too much (or rather not at all). Currently, it’s the friendships he’s made. His responsibilities as Overboss. Whatever little project is on his mind right now. And when all is lost, he has to bide his time, wait until he forgets whatever or whoever he’s grieving. Then it’s back to the same old.

Unarmed

37. How good is your character with their hands or fingers? Do they have a light, gentle touch, or are they hard or uncoordinated? Does your character have any dexterous talents?

Light and gentle, his manual dexterity is above average but nothing outlandish. Just someone who works with his hands a lot and developed his skill accordingly.

38. Is your character physically expressive or do they make a lot of gestures (i.e. do they “talk with their hands”), and if so, what kinds of gestures do they make?

He’s fairly expressive with his hands – less when he’s in an uncomfortable social situation and more when he’s going off about science. It’s a way for him to compensate for the lack of facial expressions. Can’t go that deep yet to name specific actions.

39. Does your character like to be touched or touch others? How does your character value personal space? What kinds of boundaries, physical and otherwise, are important to your character?

In general, no, no touching, keep away, personal space radius is higher than most people’s. Also don’t like, ask him about his day or feelings too much. He’s open about his feelings on his own volition but shrivels up in ‘I don’t know how to communicate’ when specifically prompted. I can imagine there’s a situation of him being severely touch starved going on here, but I’m unsure how much it would take to get him to accept / feel comfortable with physical touch, let alone crave it. In the meantime, he can go hug an animal. Mason always knows when Hector’s particularly sad/emotional because that’s when he comes to the zoo to hug a furry creature. Yes MAAK is his emotional support robot and absolutely his number 1 go-to for that, but sometimes the cold metal of a robot just doesn’t cut it. Sometimes he needs something that’s equally pure of heart but warm and alive

#ask meme #yeet it is done #after this has been up for a while #i'll probably bold all the questions #or none #if i remember to do it #hector messerli #hector ref

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flightofaqrow · 4 years

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non-combat STRQ role

expanding on this post about his role in a team/group regarding for combat.

this is. gonna be mushy. not fully formed. but i wanna talk about it while i have the chance here.

what we know:

Summer is (probably): leader, which probably comes with its own anxieties; something of a brat.

Tai is (probably): sunshine golden boy; bright and bold.

Raven is (probably): intense; troubled; flighty.

qrow is: honestly, who knows besides doing inappropriate things?? (probably) edgy and depressed, wanting to prove himself. but... i’d say, comparatively, he’s the “chill” one of the bunch?

qrow grew up with bandits, likely being mistreated due to his semblance - children who get mistreated become more aware of people’s nonverbals in trying to learn how not to upset them

what we’ve seen:

qrow gets stressed out when other people are stressed out (eg. Jaune)

qrow tried to keep people from throwing the first blow at Haven

qrow tried to convince anyone from throwing the first blow after martial law was announced.

(so uh. neither of those worked, but he tried.)

qrow tries to be reassuring to his nieces.

qrow is a very logical thinker.

qrow (after, um, punching him initially) looking after Oscar, cognizant of how overwhelming things are, getting him drinks, speaking to him gently.

this leads me to believe that maybe he was kind of a peacekeeper of the team?? like I think Summer was probably the proverbial voice of reason as far as conscience and responsibility, but qrow seems to be able to keep a cool head under pressure. i don’t know how good at it he was, but he seems to naturally try and manage people’s emotions, even if it’s only for his own comfort.

he’s been doing it a lot in my threads and it feels ic?? and being able to de-escalate and disarm a little bit sounds like really good qualities for an espionage agent! and damn if it was his job to be the one to keep people sane, wouldn’t that just add a lovely extra heaping of self-blame that everyone fell apart?

...but at the same time littleblackqrow and I were already discussing how the bandit tribe probably taught him the exact opposite of proper conflict resolution, lol. And we’ve seen qrow be downright antagonistic too. or maybe Summer really did handle that part too. maybe he wasn’t like that as a teenager and was just a complete brat himself? i might be off base or missing some contradictory things still. give us more strq info rt, i beg.

but tl;dr i think he plays a support role outside of combat, too, but I haven’t fully resolved in what way.

regardless, my current hc to resolve this is that he’s just a belligerent drunk, and the softer, quieter sides of sober qrow we see in vol 7 are closer to his normal personality.

but! i’m waiting until we see more sober qrow in 8 to totally commit to that.

weeps..... vol 7 qrow is so hard to interpret because who knows what is the effect of sobriety, what is the effect of new people on him, and what is the effect of the situation. all i know is it definitely confirms his discomfort with leadership, because he is SO happy to step back for a little bit and let Ironwood and the Ace Ops take over with the kids. that’s part of what makes his gratitude toward Clover really churn my butter. it’s not just: thanks for helping the kids, it’s: thanks for giving me some breathing room.

#* behind closed doors = ooc *#* gotta look inside / a little introspection = character development *#* hey don't get mad cause i'm right = headcanon *#this ones a mess i may rewrite it some day #but this is my space i can ramble if i want to #qrow is a good boy with a good heart i want to cry about it #that's all this is #long post #* legends and stories; some of them true; some made up = meta *

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crossbows-and-moonshine · 5 years

Text

Let The Flames Begin (Chapter 4)

Let me know what you guys think of this so far. I currently have 10 chapters written, this story is just coming to me right now. If there's anything you’d like to see happen, let me know. If it fits the story I might use it as inspiration. I always love it when people suggest things to help me along.

I’m posting this as I go, so it should be once a day as long as I stay ahead of my writing. All my other Daryl fics (I think I have like 6 others?) I won’t post until I’ve completed them. So shout out to my awesome beta @rhyatt-deauxtreve for currently beta reading one of them for me so I can get it finished.

Also, I’m currently dying of food poisoning.

Pray for me :’)

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The Jackpot, that's what this place was. It wasn't just a roof over their heads, it was the fucking jackpot and Daryl couldn't believe their luck. After they checked the place for threats, Merle had rummaged through the cupboards and found it stocked full of food and even bottles of water. There was enough there to last them at least a week and Daryl felt the relief flood his body at the idea of just resting for a damn minute. Daryl had asked his brother if he had any ideas about how to reinforce the place. It was a rickety old wooden cabin, the wind would make it fall over if it picked up. He was concerned a hoard of the dead would come along and take the place with them. They needed to do something if they planned on staying here a little while. Merle had promptly disappeared saying he had an idea.

Daryl plonked down on the worn armchair, his eyes casting over to Charlene as she stood in the kitchen, opening a can of peaches she had found with the can opener Merle had found in the kitchen drawer. Once she got it open, she slurped some of the syrup greedily and let out a soft moan at the sweet taste. Daryl's pants tightened and he looked away, the tips of his ears turning pink. He felt like such a fucking creeper, but damn if that noise wasn’t the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. He was broke out of his thoughts when Merle walked back in. He tossed a bundle of barbed wire on the small coffee table in front of Daryl and Daryl quirked a brow at his brother.

“Found this in the little shed out back. Could make a fence, maybe string some cans up on it so we hear if there's any visitors,” he explained as he flopped onto the couch ungracefully.

Charlene padded over then glancing at Merle before her eyes landed on Daryl. She shot him a sweet smile that made his throat constrict. Kill me now.

She sucked the juice off her fingers as she sat down and Daryl had to fight the urge to groan. Should I shoot myself or stab myself? Bullet would prolly be quicker.

“Barbed wire? They don't feel pain though do they?” she asked softly, nibbling her lower lip that was still glistening from the syrup. Maybe I could just set myself on fire...

“Nah they don’t, but it’ll tangle ‘em enough for us to go out and deal with ‘em. ‘Sides, the cans, we’ll hear if there's a hoard, we’ll know to get the fuck outta dodge,” Merle said seriously for once. The girl's eyebrows raised right off her fucking head at his brother's plan, at how good it sounded, well thought out. He knew what she was thinking, she didn't expect his brother to be able to come up with something like that. His brother was only a little high right now, just weed most likely. Nothing hard it seemed and that's when he noticed his brother was the best version of himself. When he was on the hard stuff, he would either be a fucking sexual deviant or just plain aggressive. But this right now he could work with. His brother was chilled out but his brain worked, that was all Daryl could ask for right now.

Merle and Daryl went outside to make their makeshift fence. Winding the barbed wire around the trees and making a parameter that the dead wouldn't be able to get through easily. They attached some empty cans they found in a trash bag and Daryl had to admit, his brother's plan was pretty good. It wouldn't stop them from getting in when it came down to it, but it would slow them down and give them enough warning for them to get out safely. When they were done, Daryl looked as Merle checked it over, making sure it was done right. His brother looked deep in thought and that was a rare thing, Daryl was worried about what he was thinking about. He didn't have to wait long before he looked over and spoke to him.

“I wanna ask ya somethin’ and I don't want ya to bullshit me here,” Merle said firmly, glaring at Daryl. Daryl blinked warily at him, wondering where the fuck this was going, he had a feeling he wouldn't like it, it was weird seeing his brother so serious.

“Alright,” Daryl replied hesitantly. Merle scratched the scruff on his chin, straightening himself out, looking like he was preparing himself to say something whilst his younger brother watched on carefully.

“Those marks...she deserve it?” Merle asked roughly, making Daryl's jaw clench in anger, like his brother was trying to justify the actions he didn't even understand himself and find a way out of this.

“For fuck sake Merle!” Daryl growled, narrowing his eyes at him.

“I’m serious here! Did she do somethin’? Hit me? Provoke me?” Merle asked him, sounding almost desperate, it was pathetic.

“It ain't matter what she did or didn't do! She's a tiny little thing Merle, look at ya. Fuckin’ built like a house and hopped up on whatever the fuck that was. Ya damn near snapped her neck!” Daryl yelled, he felt his anger deep into his bones. Merle shook his head with a growl as he started to pace and Daryl could see him unravelling. Merle wasn't exactly used to feeling guilt or remorse and it seemed to be eating at him.

“It weren't me alright?!” Merle shouted as he stopped pacing, pinning his brother with his gaze.

“I know it wasn't. But ya still hurt her, scared her half to death. Ya can't do this shit no more Merle! It ain't fair to any of us. Whatever that was, ya better not use it again, because if ya lay a damn hand on her again, I won't be fuckin’ responsible for what I do to ya,” Daryl threatened, his eyes turning cold as Merle just blinked at him.

They both had issues from their past and watching their father beat their mother mercilessly, that was something neither of them would forget. It was the very reason why they wouldn't ever lay a hand on a woman that way. They despised woman beaters, and now Merle was riding that thin line and he felt like his sanity was slipping away from him. When he was high, sometimes, depending on what he took, he changed into a different person completely. One without the same morals he usually had, one who seemed to have no control of that Dixon temper that had plagued him his whole life.

They didn't need words, Daryl could see it, the remorse, how it was affecting his brother. He hoped it had woken him the fuck up enough not to use whatever it was that got him that way again. He was glad his brother regretted it, showing him he hadn't lost his compassion completely, that his brother was still in there somewhere. They just watched each other for a moment, Daryl's anger ebbing away as Merle lowered his eyes. It reminded him of when they were younger, very young when their mother was still alive and she would tell him off for something he had done. He felt a pang in his chest and he pushed it down, way down into the deepest darkest parts of him, never to emerge again. He stalked off back into the cabin, needing a break, needing to see the girl and make sure she was alright. He turned back when he got to the door, seeing Merle opting to stay outside, no doubt to think about shit and clear his head.

He heaved a sigh as he walked through the door. Charlene was sat at the dining table, all the cans of food in front of her as she organised them. Seeing them on the table like that, it made him feel good seeing just how much shit they had. If they rationed it right, it could last for a little bit. He could also hunt around the area, see what he could catch. Maybe they could stay here for a while and just rest up. He knew soon enough food would run out, they would once again be on their way. He wanted to enjoy some semblance of normal before that happened. As normal as he could get stuck with his drug-addicted brother and a girl he barely knew.

“The fuck ya doin’?” he asked with a quirked brow as he sat in the chair opposite her. She gave a soft snort as she glanced to him then back to the can in her hand.

“I got bored, I decided to see what we’ve got. There's a lot. I also found some clothes. There's some shirts I’m gonna take. They look like a teenagers so they’d fit me better. The rest should fit you and Merle. Although you’d probably wanna rip the sleeves off,” she smirked wryly at him, making him lower his head feeling bashful all of a sudden as he scoffed. She had a pile of clothes on the chair next to her. Some jeans and plaid shirts.

“Probably,” he huffed, his lips tugging into a half smile.

“Why do you do that? Ripping the sleeves off?” she asked curiously, resting her chin on her hand like she was so fucking interested in the answer. He could feel the tips of his ears turning pink having her watch him so intently like that as he chewed his thumb.

“Just easier to move about with the bow I guess,” he shrugged.

“I guess that makes sense. You’ve got those broad ass shoulders and huge arms. I bet it's uncomfortable with sleeves,” she said breezily, like it was no big deal what she said.

All Daryl could do was blink at her for a minute as she went back to organising the cans. Shit, was that a compliment? He was bewildered and he glanced down to his shoulders and arms. He felt a strange feeling in his chest swell. The same kind of feeling he would get when he bagged a big buck on a hunt. Pride? Is that was it was? He didn't know but he fucking liked it. He didn't exactly know why she was organising the cans, but he didn't say a word. She was busy, and that meant she wasn't looking at him. That, in turn, meant he could look at her without her realising and calling him out on being a fucking creep.

Her long brown hair was up in a messy bun, but she still somehow looked good. Even with her mud-stained cheeks. She looked better now she had eaten and drank something, no doubt the feeling of safety from the cabin helped too. She looked less tense.

“Ya’ll never guess what I found outside!” Merle hooted as he burst in the front door, a shit eating grin on his face. Daryl and Charlene turned their eyes to him but made no move to talk.

“Well shit, don’t all ask at once,” Merle huffed a laugh, making Charlene snort a little as she toyed with the can in her hand. Daryl just looked at his brother expectantly.

“They got some sorta water system rigged up out back. Works on rainwater,” Merle grinned. The girl’s eyes lit up and Daryl couldn't tear his eyes away from her, watching a beautiful smile grace her face.

“There's running water?!” she asked looking excited.

“I’m gonna guess there is,” Merle smirked, looking so proud of himself it was ridiculous. Anyone would think he rigged the system up himself.

“Yes! I’m gonna take a shower. I presume you guys won't mind me taking first dibs,” she said casually as she grabbed one of the smaller shirts off the pile.

“The fuck does that mean?” Daryl scoffed, looking so fucking offended it made Merle bark a laugh. She stilled, eyes wide as she looked to Daryl and his offended face.

“Oh...I...Uh...I just meant that...you two don't look the type...to be concerned with showering...is all,” she stammered, looking awkward. Daryl frowned, was she saying he was dirty? She had just fucking complimented him damn near a minute ago and now she was insulting him? He didn't understand what was going on.

“She ain't wrong baby brother,” Merle laughed, walking past him and smacking him on the back brotherly, making him tense and flinch for a second.

Charlene was clutching the clean shirt to her chest, looking awkward as a light blush graced her cheeks, Daryl squinting at her.

“I didn't mean...I didn't mean it in a bad way. You're all...manly and stuff, ya know? And you guys are out there, you're used to it...the mud,” she rambled nervously, her hands fisting the material of the shirt.

“We are manly,” Merle smirked, slurping on a bottle of water.

“I didn't say you were manly, I was talking about Daryl,” she scoffed, making Merle choke on his mouthful of water. Daryl bit his lower lip and ducked his head so he didn't laugh at his brother's reaction. He still had no idea what was going on. Was she insulting him or not? Now she was saying he was manly, he didn't know which way was up right now. But watching her squirm was a little amusing.

“I’m just saying, I’m not used to this. I’m a girl and I've never been in the woods before and I-” she started rambling again and Daryl rolled his eyes.

“Just go,” he snorted giving her the out she so desperately fucking needed. She glanced at him once more before scurrying off and Daryl shook his head and huffed a laugh.

Merle flopped into a chair at the dining table with a scowl.

“I’m manly,” he huffed, sounding like a petulant child as he glared at his water bottle.

“Uh huh...whatever ya say,” Daryl smirked, grabbing a can and opening it with his knife, shovelling the canned fruit in his mouth.

“We gonna go huntin’ tomorrow? Could see what's out there, hopefully make the food last a while,” Merle asked, glancing to him. Daryl swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Might as well. Seems good here, be good if we could stretch it out a little,” he shrugged, making his brother nod, the pair of them thinking about it. Even Merle had to admit this little set up was nice. Daryl really hoped they’d bag a deer soon. They could prep the meat and ration it, make it last a while between them all. He wondered how she would react, having him catch something big like that, something to fill her belly with for a while. He felt a twinge in his stomach and tried to ignore it, grabbing more fruit and pushing it in his mouth to distract him. The girl was making him feel all kinds of shit and he wasn't really sure what to think about it. So he opted not to think about it at all. Ignorance is bliss and all that shit.

Taglist; @risingphoenix761 @daryldixonandfrogs @arlaina28 @divadinag @keeperofwonderlandus @jodiereedus22 @easnuppa @fand0m-fiend

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon writing #twd #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #The Walking Dead #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead fanfic #merle dixon

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tenderdorks · 5 years

Text

Sugar

Notes: Howdy, folks! It’s me, @justapalspal / @ryoubandwagon, taking a crack at writing some tendershipping on a sideblog I’ve finally given purpose to just now.

And y’all know me, I live, breathe, and eat goofy tendershipping, so have some post-canon tenderdorks while I stretch my writing muscles! Bakura buys Ryou cookies, then pretends he didn’t.

Word Count: 2722

Warnings: Save for two vague innuendos and Bakura having a semi-sailor mouth, nothing that goes above a T rating.

Ao3 Link: Here!

Oh, gods, I hate sugar, Bakura grumbled, fourth cookie crammed in his mouth. He wasn’t going to touch frosting for a month. Two months. Four was enough of them, he figured; that would be convincing.

Everything in his mouth was too creamy, though; Bakura made it to their floor and grunted, when he wasn’t crushing his teeth together. His jaw burned. His cheekbones stung a little from the force of it, too. By the time he made it to the door he was almost ready to swallow the damp lump, and he paused a second to give himself enough time to do so and scrub crumbs off his face so it wouldn’t look bad. Or suspicious.

Okay. Cool, cool.

Bakura stuck the key in the lock and pushed the door in. “Hey, Ryou.”

No response.

“...Ryou?” Bakura called, louder.

“Huh?” Ryou’s voice was loud, airy. Sounded like he was in the craft room, too; probably working on miniatures again.

“I’m back,” Bakura called, shutting the door behind him. He kicked off his shoes and pushed them into some semblance of order next to Ryou’s, just lying about. Messy, but hell, the rest of the place wasn’t any better.

He shrugged his jacket off—as much as he could, anyway, while keeping the box clutched to his chest. The jacket he threw on the couch. He stared at it. He stared at the walls, the unfolded laundry strewn about. He stood there.

“From work,” he said, blankly. Gods, he sounded like a damn fool.

A few clunking sounds, a door creaking, and Ryou poked his head out the hall, breathing just a bit hard from the rush. “Ah, right.” Holy shit, Bakura was going to die. Ryou was casual as hell and yet—his face? Rosie-red? His dark eyes glimmering a bit? His torso, all fluttering with life?

“Some idiot left cookies at work and I thought you and your whole sweet tooth syndrome would devour these if I brought them home.” That idiot being Bakura and work being a euphemism for I bought them on the way home from work to give to you because I am a sap holy fuck.

He held out the box. Four were missing. It would totally look like Bakura just grabbed them from the break room, he was sure.

Ryou only cocked his head. Then, walking closer, he snorted. “Did you steal someone’s food?”

“No, it was—” Fuck. “They left it for people to take, so I took them.”

Ryou flashed a toothy grin at him. That didn’t stop him from reaching out to pop open the lid.

Bakura’s heart jittered a little, inside him. “Really.” Was that too firm? Too desperate?

“I know, I know, relax.” He held it in some, but not all, of his fingers. The cookie, that is. Ryou did. “It’s just usually when someone leaves food around it’s a ‘take one’ type of deal, not the whole thing.”

Fuck, fuck. “Ryou, five people work there, tops.”

“Take two, then.” Ryou didn’t even nibble; he went straight for cramming it into his mouth, and Bakura had no idea how he managed to make chewing with his mouth open look attracting. Or reaching for another when he hadn’t even finished that first one yet.

Take two, take two. Cocky little—

Bakura didn’t want to think too hard about the warmth twittering up in him. Twirling, and flowing, like warm smoke, seeping into his ribs. So he just watched Ryou, and in watching him, realized he had been watching Ryou far too long. Much too long to be a normal, in-passing look.

Eyes lit up, Ryou grinned at him, with that damn cookie partially obscuring his teeth. “I’m messing with you.”

Hell. “Yeah, sure.”

“Did you have an alright time at work, at least?” Ryou crunched some more, the sounds soft, and took the box out of Bakura’s numb grasp. “Tolerable, intolerable? Yay, nay?”

“It was something, I guess.” Stay cool, stay calm. Everything had gone good. It’d gone great. It was okay, Bakura, really, Bakura, why were his fingers and toes so fidgety, his head so seepingly bleh—

He clenched his hands and then his toes. Ryou hummed as he walked to the kitchen, and without thought, Bakura followed him. It was as natural as being, this mindless tug toward him. So when Ryou set the box down and opened the fridge, Bakura sat down in a chair, filtering the mechanical buzz of it out.

“Is it a good something?” Ryou didn’t turn from the fridge’s contents; his head did, though, skim and flick about, and Bakura really needed to stop watching him this much, fuck.

“Uh.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good something.” The milk carton, ah. Bakura should’ve expected that. He just didn’t expect the chocolate one to be the one Ryou wiggled by the handle, and pop open with that crispy crack—

“I—oh! Fuck that noise, my legs are ripped from all the biking. You wanna see?” Bakura grinned so wide his face burned, and reached for his pant leg—pulling it up before smacking his leg on top of the table. “Look! Feel my calves, Ryou, they’re rock hard.”

Ryou burst into snorty sounds. “Bakura.”

“Seriously! Feel my legs. I could crush a man’s head with my thighs.”

“What, and you have men’s heads there often enough that you’d need to?”

There was no way he’d heard that right. Bakura blinked blankly, still smiling. “Y—what?”

Good gods, at this point, Bakura couldn’t tell if those doe eyes were Ryou playing clueless or messing with him. “What?”

“Uh.” Cup. Ryou had a cup in his hand now, he was coming toward the table, he had that—the milk—Bakura’s eyes darted to the cookie box and his brain jolted hard to connect straws together. Anything together. “You. Oh, hell, are you—”

“Am I what?” The chair made a small, skidding yell as Ryou dragged it back to plop into. His cheeks tugged up in a lopsided grin. Bakura groaned, shutting his eyes.

“You are. Why do I even…”

The milk glugged and popped and dribbled noisily as Ryou poured it. When Bakura opened his eyes again, Ryou had a brow cocked up at him. And a grin. Cocky—

“Yes?”

Bakura’s nostril twitched. “No.”

Ryou laughed, and it bubbled through his chest. “What, Bakura?”

“Oh, you know what. You’re disgusting. You’re mixing chocolate milk with frosting?”

“Yeah?” Ryou dunked that half-eaten cookie into it, not even blinking. “And? Coward.”

Bakura scoffed. He scoffed loud, hard, enough to send his nose high and his head shaking, but it flittered into a quiet giggle, a smothered grin. Grunting, Bakura rubbed his fingers along his brow, down his eyelids. “You’re an absolute monster,” he muttered. “Gods.”

“You’re telling me this is worse than pepperoni pizza and chocolate chip ice cream.”

“I’m saying I get you sweets and you wreck them beyond any recognition.” And—okay, Bakura couldn’t help it. He giggled, and snickered, skin tingling so warm that it blazed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Ryou kicked him from under the table. “You eat raw garlic. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“We’ll see when I don’t have tapeworms and you do.” Bakura kicked him back. Then he leaned far over, hunching on his elbows and arms. “You wanna try garlic, if you’re going to be nasty about food?”

Ryou jerked back like he’d been physically startled. “What? No. You are not making me eat that again.”

“It’s good.” Bakura licked his own teeth, very slowly. Very deliberately. “Zingy.”

“You look like a buffoon.” Ryou pushed his head away hard, and Bakura snorted. Maybe cackled a little. Fell back in his seat, even, giddy, as Ryou gave him a deadpan look and said, “Your tongue’s supposed to stay in your mouth.”

Bakura stuck it out at him.

“Imbecile,” Ryou muttered, dunking his cookie again.

And without a single ounce of filter Bakura tipped his own chin up and grinned and said, “If you want it to stay there so badly maybe you should make it stay, nedjeb nefer.”

”I’m...” Ryou’s eyelashes fluttered fast from how many times he blankly blinked. “I’m not sticking my hand in your mouth, what?”

Hand. Bakura snorted, lightly, out his nose. “You’re not?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes?!” Ryou’s torso jerked a moment, before sputtered, half-muffled sounds spewed out. Laughter. What a fucking dork.

“You’re really sure.”

“Yes I am really sure.”

“‘Cause you can kiss me anytime you want, I’m not gonna bite.”

“What?”

“What?” Oh holy—well alright then. For a second, Bakura lost the ability to feel. Then everything throbbed at once, shooting into a nauseating spike that made him want to get up and jig and shake his fingers and feet out until they undeniably hurt.

And all Ryou could focus on was that dang word. “Did you just say—?”

“Stuff your hand in my mouth? Yes, I did.” Put it right next to Bakura’s whole-ass foot, gods be—

“You said I can kiss you anytime I want.” Was Ryou red? Was that a flush on his face going down his neck or was Bakura hallucinating from the lightheadedness? “You did, I heard you—”

“No shit, really? How’d you get that from ‘stuff your hand in my mouth please, Ryou, just smash your fist into my esophagus?’”

Leaning in on his elbows, Ryou squinted and said, “Do you want me to kiss you?”

Yes?! “Pff—ha! Ha!” Bakura contorted into some sort of human spring, legs going one way and torso the next. “No? Why would—it’s a joke, holy crap, people joke about stuff all the ti—”

“Because here I was,” Ryou said, head cocked now to one side, “about to give you want you want and smooch you, maybe. You know. If you wanted.”

Bakura had to choke down a squeak; it sounded like some odd, aborted burp. And then he went very very quiet.

What was—what was happening?

“And I finally looked up nedjeb online,” Ryou went on, swirling cookie in chocolate milk concoction like a tea party guest might stir a spoon. “Have you really been calling me ‘sweetie’ this whole time and expecting me to think it was an insult?”

Dry, thickening throat. Bakura had to swallow the gunk away to speak. “Uh.”

“‘Cause I thought you were calling me pretty boy or something at first, but.” Ryou shrugged, eyes rolling upward, head making a few idle movements. He nibbled on his cookie thoughtfully. “Eh? That’s a bit sweeter, I guess.”

“I—uh—r… right.” Right. Some of the tightness was his spine locking up, Bakura realized. Ah, that was it. He sunk down in a vain attempt to relax it. Then he just plopped onto his arm, leaning all his weight on it. Buzzing fingers started tapping.

And kept tapping.

Tap tap, tap tap.

All he could hear was Ryou’s chewing.

“Maybe a peck on the cheek,” Ryou mumbled, sounding aimless. “Take this nice and slow.”

“They got nedjeb up online?” Bakura didn’t usually squeak, but this one was a bit hoarse, so it didn’t count. At all. He winced and sunk lower anyway.

Ryou puffed a laugh out his nose. “One of the few words from Ancient Egyptian they got up that’s easy to find, yeah.”

“Fuck.” Bakura dug his face down into his arm, then the table. End him. End him now. He felt too exposed, like eyes bored into his back, like every ounce of his skin had attention on it and he was a tingling display—

“It’s a cute word, now that I know what it means, not gonna lie.”

Bakura breathed deeply, noisily, in through his nose. Okay. Okay. He rocked a bit, trying to psych himself up, because come on, holy crap, he could deal with this, what was even happening though he could deal with this—

He shot his head up, blinking the imprint of lights from his eyes. His vision wasn’t blurry, per se, but he could definitely feel his ability to process it wither.

“Are those—any good?” Bakura flapped a hand at the box. Good, yes. Carry on like nothing happened.

Something about it made Ryou’s brows furrow. “These?” He turned his head to eye them. One side of his mouth tugged up. “Would I be eating them if they weren’t?”

“You eat shit combinations and then have the gall to say you can cook.” The itchiness spread up Bakura’s neck. Behind his ears, tingling, buzzing. He scratched at it hard, digging his nails into his roots. “But. You like them.”

“Yeah?” Ryou punctuated this by reaching over for the whole box.

“Cool. Cool, good, right. Yeah.” What the hell. All this nodding was going to snap Bakura’s neck in two, he was sure.

“Thank you, I don’t think I said that.”

“No problem.” Bakura rocked his chest a bit with the nodding, now.

Ryou laughed a bit, definitely awkward; not meeting Bakura’s eye; turning his head one way, then back the other while putting his mouth into his palm. His arm balanced him just barely on the table. “No, really. That was really nice of you to think of me, when you saw the—”

“Eat the goddamn cookies,” Bakura wheezed.

Ryou scoffed. It stayed muffled in his palm. “Well alright, sourpuss.”

And then they… sat like that. Nothing special. Perhaps too much nothing special, even with the hum of the air conditioning blaring, and the faint chatter in the background from other apartment goers drowned out by the walls and halls.

Eventually, Bakura’s foot started running a mile under the table, bouncing so hard his ankle burned.

“Bakura, do you like me?” Ryou asked, out of absolutely nowhere, except only a little not, and Bakura couldn’t even fathom how to respond anymore. “Because I’m absolutely oblivious, most of the time. I used to think crushes mean basically stalking because of my high school fanclub, and I don’t always pick up on the cues—”

“Holy crap, what do you think I mean by getting you sweets when I hate them but you don’t? Gah!” Bakura scrunched his face up. His eyes crushed shut.

“Oh! Good.” Through the numb pounding in his chest, Bakura cracked a slow eye open. Ryou smiled at him, lips closed, mouth full, crumbs on his cheek. “I think I like you too. You’re fun to be around now.”

Oh. Oh, well okay. Bakura eased up the rest of the way, but a layer of tension kept him stiff.

“Especially with how funny you are when I tease you.” Ryou leaned over to pinch his cheek and gave it a good tug. All Bakura felt was the soft stinging yank at his gums and cheekbones, and Ryou jiggling it again, again, and Bakura stared—well, gawked—the whole time, because Ryou’d just said—

“Ahh yuu—fuhk, leggo!” Bakura scrunched up as much of his face as he could then, which was just his nose really, and shook him off.

And Ryou just giggled, low and bright and giddy. “Awww, but your cheeks are so cute!”

“Are you serious? I’m going to—fuck!” Bakura stomped once, twice, three times with all his weight and both feet, before throwing his head up and back. “Aaaaaah!”

“Neighbors, Bakura.” Now Ryou spoke in faux-whispers. Cheeky ones. He smirked, lopsided and just as goofy as any time he did. “And save that for later.”

He was one hundred percent messing with Bakura. Those doe eyes were a farce and Bakura balked at him anyway, body burning, face tingling, the skin of his nose buzzing—and damn it all to hell, he reached over and yanked Ryou in by the shirt so he could get a kiss for himself.

Ryou’s mouth was soft; his hands warm, and getting warmer from how they started patting frantically at Bakura, before settling down steadily on his chest. Ryou kept laughing out his nose and puffing air on Bakura’s face. Fucking hell, Bakura thought, leaning into that smile. I can do sugar, if Ryou’s the one tasting like that.

“Did you—” Ryou muttered, not even breaking away. Fucker just talked right on his mouth. “Did you eat some of these? You taste like them—”

“Please just kiss me, oh gods.” It was wonderful, how Ryou’s laughter filled his mouth and ears.

#yugioh #yami bakura #ryou bakura #bakura ryou #tendershipping #fanfic #my fic #tenderdorks #yeet!

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serenagaywaterford · 5 years

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#5 - I am checking in now that you’ve read some of these reviews. Yeah, very uneasy about this development. You are right, if the diehard Serena fans are getting tired of the seesawing, imagine the casual fans, or haters. But I am still hopeful a firm and lasting June/Serena alliance is still a possibility in the second half of the show, we’ll see. Either that, or kill her off. I don’t want them ruining a great character. It is a bit tiring honestly, my enthusiasm definitely suffers a bit.

Numba 5 :D I take it you’ve read all the reviews too? Sigh. Just a great big head-shaking sigh.

One minute I read all this disappointing, worrisome shit. The next I read something nice and positive that gives me some semblance of hope it won’t be that bad after all, and then I come back and read new shit that sounds even worse than the initial disappointing stuff! What is happening lol. This is the worst way to build enthusiasm for a new season!! Honestly, I don’t see very many fans all that pleased in general. Serena fans are on anxious tenterhooks, Nick fans seem rather bummed by some of it, Rita fans are flipping out, Lawrence fans seem a bit hesitant, (Are there Fred or Luke fans???), Moira and Emily fans are also worried from what I can see, casual fans seem okay, I guess?? Everyone’s a June fan so... that’s sort of pointless to talk about lol. Like the reviews sometimes sound good, and then another one will say the opposite thing happens. (I really don’t know what to think about Emily’s arc... I can’t tell where its head is at based on the reviews/spoilers.)

I won’t post any spoilers, but just in case people don’t wanna read me bitching about the vague shit in reviews and interviews, I’ll cut this. Also, I’m a major Debbie Downer lol so I’m sure a lot of excited people don’t wanna read that either, haha.

But I feel ya. I’m tired. My enthusiasm has deffo really suffered in the last few days. I was just saying the other day that all these “teasers” aren’t helping either cos everything is out of context and says nothing really, but requires a lot of speculation and that’s just exhausting to do day after day. AND THE SEASON HASN’T EVEN STARTED YET. I remember last year being a lot more excited. Like legitimately thrilled, even reading the pre-season reviews. It’s weird to me to feel this way when I was soooooooo excited just a month ago. I was bouncing off the walls with joy! Now I’m burnt out, lmao.

“But I am still hopeful a firm and lasting June/Serena alliance is still a possibility in the second half of the show, we’ll see.”

You know. I’m with you. All of these reviews are based on the first 6 episodes of the season and it is sorta jumping the gun to judge a whole season based on the build-up. Six episodes isn’t even quite halfway. Maybe it gets significantly better in the backhalf. It just doesn’t bode very well if it takes 6 episodes to get things moving, and that even at that point Serena is still full on her annoying bullshit.

I’m pretty much a hopeless romantic in some ways. Like it won’t really matter completely but I will ALWAYS hope that there is a LASTING June/Serena alliance in the latter half of the season that is significant and shows Serena’s character growth--if there is any lol. Like, even in a non-shippy way, I want June and Serena working together. I’m gonna be picky and spoiled but I need it to be together. Not working towards the same goal, but divided and at odds with each other. I want them communicating and agreeing. Not just “Oh, look, there goes June doing her idea. And, oh, over there is Serena doing her totally separate thing, that’s vaguely related to the same goal?” I want teamwork. And I want teamwork with other women too. With Alma, Janine, Moira, (Emily? I dunno if she’ll be in a healthy enough place tbh.), even possibly Aunt Lydia. I don’t need unrealistic “super happy families!” vibes either. It can be terse and difficult and conflicted and they can stumble and miscommunicate along the way. It can require June ramming Serena with reality checks (as she does)... but I want them all in the same general direction, with the same general ideas of how to get there. Each has their own strengths, skills, opinions, and knowledge that would influence the goal in their own ways. Oh god, I’m making it sound like I want Ocean’s 8: Gilead Edition. And I want the complex June/Serena dynamic at the centre of it.

But that’s my personal perfect world and this show is very much not willing to be that brave, lmao. (MAKE IT GAY(ER), YOU COWARDS. I’m only half-kidding.)

“Either that, or kill her off. I don’t want them ruining a great character.”

I used to be really opposed to killing off Serena. But that was back when I thought they were going to move her arc along to something better. If this all they insist on doing to her for the backhalf of the season, and presumably the next... just kill her off already. I suspect, based on Miller’s “jokes”, that he has no intention of killing either Waterford off -- which is a shame cos Fred just... go away, Fred. He’s redundant and so superfluous to these women’s stories at this point and I don’t care what headass sympathy-inducing crap they give us in S3, I will always feel that way. But she’s been a fantastic character thus far and to just keep beating this flipfloppy dead horse they consider “interesting” wrt Serena, just let her go. I can’t imagine anybody sticking around and retaining their interest in a character that literally never grows or learns or commits to anything and is constantly going one way only to flip back the other for seasons on end. Sounds... annoying and boring.

Maybe some people like that? Miller and Strahovski seem to. (I get why Yvonne does on some level: it’s fun as an actress to play with all those extremes. It’s challenging and exciting not to play the same note all the time. So, I get why an actress would think it’s a good idea for a character to be so... extra.) What I don’t get is why a showrunner/writer would. I’m not saying never have Serena fuck up--cos we all know she’s gonna--but just not the same ways all the time. Cos at this point, we been knew. We KNOW that every single time Serena does something kind/nice/good, she’ll snap back and do something fucked up. Like, it’s just EXPECTED. There’s no surprise. The first few times, sure. But when they keep doing it over and over and over and over...

That is fucking BORING. It’s come to just eye-rolling now. I don’t read these reviews and comments by Yvonne and say “OH NOOOOO. Serena’s back on her bullshit!! Nooooo. SAD FACE!!!!” Nope. I just read them and say, “Ugh. Again? Really? Yawn.” and “What shitty writers that they can’t come up with anything new for her to do.”

Like, we knew at the end of S2 that Serena was gonna regret letting Nichole go. Miller came right out and said it. And that was fine. That’s actually reasonable and normal and I can get behind that. It makes sense. I was all onboard for some serious grieving and regret. That’s totally understandable under the circumstances. I’m even here for the way trauma/grief/fear influences Serena’s often confounding decisions. And, I mean, I’ve seen a lot of cult-breakers and cults in general and all sorts of psychological stuff so I know Serena’s crap isn’t something she can just shut off in one day; it’s a long process--but it tends to move in a determinate direction, even just baby steps (or not at all). It’s so deeply ingrained and it’s ~safe. It takes time and I was 1000% behind ALL that. But by the sounds of that, it’s not really going in that thoughtful direction. People’s attitudes and beliefs may be difficult to change, but they don’t weave all over the damn place merely for the sake of shock and drama.

More like “We want Serena and June to scream at each other under iconic American monuments! How can we do that? Make Serena do some super fucked up thing for barely any reason!” Also, “Hide all her motivations! Make it really murky so people won’t understand it! That makes us clever. Hurr durr!!”

It’s just giving me Benioff & Weiss vibes...

Harumpf.

I will keep an open mind, but I’m no longer holding my breath that something amazing is gonna come out of this unless the backhalf of the season is exceptionally better than the first 6. (But again, I feel like S2 was like that. The second half did seem stronger overall. IMO, anyway. With 2 major exceptions, heh.)

So, yeah. I’m trying to just not read or look at too much more until it starts airing. Otherwise I may talk myself out of enjoying it! LMAO. I’m so weak. (But I’m also such a slut for June/Serena so........)

#there aren't really any spoilers i don't think #but if you're concerned about them at all don't go behind the cut #also blacklist 'spoilers'#spoilers #just in case #Anonymous

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misskittyspuffy · 5 years

Text

Perfect Happiness (Destiel OS)

Summary: Cas understood what his deal with the Empty really meant the moment its consequences came to hit him in the face like a boomerang. (Destiel - season 14)

Notes: Before reading, be aware of the fact that there might be SPOILERS about the end of season 14, especially regarding the return of a specific character in the finale. This is the first time I'm writing in English :) (like I said in another post, I translated some of my stories in the past, but never actually wrote in English). I'm open to feedbacks, including if there are mistakes you wanna point out, I'm all for progress :D I hope you'll enjoy it, thank you for giving it a chance :D Please, feel free to let me know what you think.

Link to Ao3

Cas understood what his deal with the Empty really meant the moment its consequences came to hit him in the face like a boomerang. He hadn’t seen it coming. He realized that from the very first minute, he had misunderstood what it truly was about. Not that he had forgotten its terms.

For sure, things had gotten better. Things with Jack weren’t quite right yet, but the situation had improved faster with the help of Chuck. It had taken some time, but Dean and Sam were moving forward. Missing their mom was a feeling that would probably never go away, but knowing that Mary was in a good place, a happy one, considerably helped. Life in the bunker had progressively found again a semblance of normalcy —as normal as it could get for the Winchester family.

When Cas left for a case with Dean that night, he hadn’t realized that it would be a game changer. Things between them had stayed tense since they had been fighting over Jack’s fate a few weeks back, and even if Dean had definitely reassessed his judgment, the opportunity to have a real talk about what had happened since then never presented itself. The Winchester had needed some time and space, from everyone, and Cas had understood that.

Despite everything, the angel quickly realized that Dean had still some anger left in him and that’s only when they actually talked about it that he truly realized what it was about. He didn’t know how —Jack probably, or Chuck, maybe— but Dean had learned about his deal with the Empty, without further details. He wanted to tell him that given the terms, it wasn’t going to happen any time soon, but Dean had reacted the way expected, and he didn’t get a chance to do so.

"How long do you get? A year? Ten?" The Winchester’s voice was filled with uncovered despair. "You’re always down with self-sacrifice, that’s just…" Dean interrupted himself, turning his back to the angel, feeling incapable of saying more. He felt like, once again, everything was about to fall apart.

"Look who’s talking!" the angel said in a defensive voice.

"That’s not the same, you -you had a choice."

"Oh, really?" Cas replied in a tone of protest. "The Empty was going to take Jack. It didn’t look like I had."

Dean looked resigned. "Yeah, and see where it led us, great job…"

"I know things didn’t work out the way they should have, but Jack is a good kid! I saw it, YOU saw it," Cas insisted. "He sacrificed his soul to save us, this is only fair that we help him now. How can you not see that?! I did so many bad choices in the past. You and Sam too. He deserves a second chance."

"I know that…" Dean had let slip these words in a low voice. He knew he wasn’t fair neither to Cas, nor Jack. At this point, he was just feeling angry and needed to let it out.

"You want to come after me for not telling you about my doubts? FINE. Do that," Cas said. "But don’t come after him for something he can’t be held responsible for. We all knew. We just pretended we didn’t."

"I’m mad because you left and didn’t tell me the truth," the Winchester finally snapped. "You woke me up that morning, you told me you were leaving, but never mentioned why. Always down with the lies, the secrets, the big picture agenda, and I am sick of it, Cas! And now, I had to discover by myself that you made a fucking deal with the Empty?!"

Cas looked down, incapable of bearing the hurt in Dean’s eyes.

"I’m not blaming you, I’m just telling you that I need you to be honest with me because I love you!" he yelled in an angry voice.

The words came as a surprise to Dean as much as they did to Cas. He didn’t know the conversation would lead them there, but he realized he was glad it did. The angel was staring back at the Winchester, his mouth half opened. He looked deeply affected.

"Yeah, I love you," Dean said again, caught in the moment, "and I’m sick of being worried all the time. I want something better for us."

A beat. For a moment, they were left intensely looking at each other, the heat of their fight provisionally discarded.

"I know, we’re family," Cas finally said in a stunned voice, having a hard time to swallow. He was missing the point, too busy trying to contain his emotion. "We need to get better at this. Communicate."

Dean looked uncertain. "Yeah… but I don’t think you really heard me, Cas."

The Winchester felt that he was shaking, but tried to control his reactions. He couldn’t back down. Not now.

"I’m not talking about family. I’m talking about us."

Cas took a moment to process what Dean was trying to say. He didn’t dare to believe it, but Dean was breathing heavily now, and everything was pointing in that direction. The angel’s heart was pounding really fast in his chest. It left him speechless for a few seconds.

"What- what are you saying?" Cas finally asked.

"What does it look like?" he said softly. He was one step closer now. "I’m tired of fighting, Cas. I’m tired of pretending. I’m just saying… I wanna talk to you, and I want you to talk to me. Because I care. So much," he finally let out in despair.

He didn’t dare to say the words again.

"But you keep leaving and hiding things from me. And I- I don’t know…" he was hesitant. "Don’t make me regret doing this. Please, don’t," he almost begged.

Cas took another step, getting closer to the Winchester. He was on the verge of tears, but wasn’t going to let them out before getting a chance to tell him how he felt.

"You -you’re afraid I’m gonna push you away?" He tilted his head, looking incredulous. ”Ishim once called you my weakness, and out of all the horrible things he said, this one thing was true. You want honesty? I’m not running away from you, if that’s what you think. I’m afraid of not being worthy, I’m afraid of putting another burden on your shoulders. But… not once did I mean to get away from you or lie to you -for that matter. I was mostly afraid, and often feeling out of place. I never-… don’t you dare to believe for one second that I’m not feeling the same way," Cas finally said, openly touched.

He stopped talking for a few seconds, and slowly shook his head.

"We had so many things going on, you and I, and I never wanted my feelings to be a burden. I never had the courage to believe -not even once- that you’d feel the same way. Because the truth is that I always loved you, Dean."

A beat.

"Not just as a best friend, or as an angel and its protege," he added. "I always loved you."

The sincerity and the emotion in his voice were clearly palpable. At this point, Dean was shaken, speechless. They were now standing really close to each other, staring into each other’s eyes, anticipating their next move.

The kiss had happened faster than expected. It was hesitant at first, their faces growing closer together at a slow pace. Dean’s lips had softly brushed Cas’ before they finally embraced the moment. When they had reached each other’s lips, Dean had felt that he was doing the right thing. He didn’t have to pretend anymore. His life had been a show in which he had played the main role, and that was now coming to an end.

Cas had experienced many human feelings since he fell on earth. But even as a human, none of them were comparable to this one. He had butterflies in his stomach, and was loving every second of the emotions and sensations that were running through him. His hand tenderly reached Dean’s cheek, and at this moment, everything felt so right.

And that, was the story of how the Empty had come to claim his due.

Cas had let himself be happy. He had forgotten.

When he fell on the ground, Dean’s heart skipped a beat. "CAS?!!"

He tried to hold the angel back and ended up devastated when he realized that he was dead. Under shock, he was incapable of doing anything but kneel next to him, feeling that everything was taken away from him —again. A feeling of despair he had already experienced way too recently came to hit him really hard, and he looked around them, trying to understand what had happened.

"I told you, Castiel," the Empty had said when it came for the angel. "I know who you love, and what you fear.

I was always meant to come the moment you’d stop being afraid, the moment you’d let yourself be happy.

Congratulations.

You succeeded."

#Destiel #Destiel fanfictions #Destiel season 14 #Supernatural #The Empty #SPN fanfictions #Destiel ficlets #My fanfictions #Perfect Happiness

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mademoiselleseraph · 5 years

Text

12th Perigee's Eve with Some Minor Celebrities

A very belated secret santa gift for the @hiveswapsecretsanta2018 and @the-bisexual-dumpster about Charun, Chixie, and Cirava spending the holiday together and being best buds

~~~

Charun was running late, but when weren’t they running late? They supposed it was a small price to pay for looking nice. They knew looking nice for them meant looking like a disaster to others but it was typical for -- what did people call them? -- oh yeah, avant garde types. They were so avant garde. The avant-est of garde. Yeah.

They had already combed their hair (just to muss it up just right), brushed their teeth (doing what they could to dull their fangs), and washed their face (and applied some blood based paint to the sides of their mouth and one of their temples). Next step was to say goodbye. They patted the shell of their lion-faced snail lusus, Speedy, promising to be safe. Then they went to the ventriloquist dummy they found one day and had a strange attachment to though they could not, for the life of them, remember where it came from or when they first saw it, let alone what species it was supposed to portray. Some kind of demon thing? Maybe. They gave it a strong hug and gently placed it back down on the floor. Finally, they went to the wall.

The dummy always gave Charun what a friend of theirs would describe as “weird fucking vibes, man lmao.” Looking at its glassy eyes and painted smile unsettled them. It gave them a jittery giddiness for pain and destruction that itched and disoriented. There was a wall in the cave that had the opposite effect. The words scrawled all about in various shades of blood had a somber, melancholy look, but filled them with hope. They ran a finger under the words where they seemed to start.

“Let it be known before all else,” it read, “that there is no sin in wanting to live. Second, that to help instead of harm one’s fellow troll is nobler by far. Third, that worth and character cannot be determined by blood.”

And it went on. Their favorite part of it was the tale of Twelfth Perigee’s eve. This figure and his group traveled by day as often as they could, shielding themselves from the harsh sun with parasols, cloaks, and scarves. But the Twelfth Perigee was the darkest of all perigees, and one could could walk freely without fear of burning on that one day. They celebrated the ease of their burden, baking sweet cakes for the orphans and sharing cordial among the adults.

And then they remembered the sweet cakes. They had baked them in a fit of inspiration from the ancient scribblings to take to their friends for their Twelfth Perigee’s Eve get-together. Oh right, they were really quite late now. They put the still warm cakes into an insulated bag, and then into another insulated bag to be sure they were kept warm, and then in a basket for that rustic charm. They slipped on a coat, shaped to look like it had odd growths under the material and decorated with scrap metal, and headed out.

Meanwhile, Chixie was worried. She was often worried due to various factors, mostly having to do with cameras and what they would capture and what others would do with it. But it wasn’t entirely about that this time.

Her worrying was a major reason her friends agreed to meet at her place for Perigee’s Eve. That way no one would catch her walking to anyone’s hive and start rumors that would convince her more powerful and more obsessive fans to take out the competition in gruesome ways. Would that happen? No way to say for sure, but she’d rather stay on the safe side.

It must have been around the fifth time she looked out the window in the span of twenty minutes when Cirava called to her from the couch.

“Chix, I’m gonna need you to calm down,” they said. “This isn’t the first time they’ve run late and it won’t be the last.”

“I know,” she replied in as un-snippity a manner as she could. “but it’s been a while since you got here and you never know what kind of creeps are out there or what they’re seeing or what they’re saying.”

“Are people really watching your hive to see who comes and goes?”

“It’s not like I’m that hard to track down and it’s not exactly difficult to get into the bronze side of town.” Her breathing quickened and her face contorted in panic as she continued: “And you know whatever they write about me, he’s gonna see it, and --”

“Chixie!” They clamped a hand on her shoulder, trying to snap her out of it. “This is ultimately your place so you’re gonna do what you’re gonna do. But when you get worked up like this, you get agitated, then bitter, then hopeless, and that’s about when you tend to hit the bottle.”

Her shoulders drooped and she sank into the couch under their arm and squeezed the hand still holding her shoulder. They were a wispy thing and by all logic their bony limbs should have hurt to be held in, but nothing could make anyone feel safer.

“I don’t mean to cross any bounds by sounding all conciliatory and shit,” they continued, “but you said you were tryna cut back, so I figured we should at least wait til Charun gets here.”

“You’re not crossing anything,” she insisted, hugging them back. “I know you’re not meaning it like that, and I appreciate you trying to help.”

“While we’re at it maybe we could not talk about him today? Whenever he gets brought up, you seem to feel worse, and I know I don’t have any fond memories of the guy.”

“Yeah. I could use a break from even thinking about him. When do you think Charun will get here?”

And just then there was a knock at the door. Speak of the devil.

Chixie opened the door and drew Charun into a warm hug.

“I know I’m late...” they mumbled. An unfinished thought, but soon to come again.

“Oh, we’re just happy your safe!” Chixie chirped.

“You had her worried sick, dumbass,” Cirava joked.

“...but I brought food,” they concluded, holding up the basket. “Cakes for everyone.”

Cirava took the basket to the table and opened the insulated bags.

The lovely smell hit Chixie’s nose instantly. “Chocolate?”

“And raspberry!” Cirava murmured, mouth already full of a bite.

“Glad you like ‘em...” Charun droned on. “Made plenty…. Have ‘smany as you’d like….”

They tactfully did not mention the lack of cordial in respect for Chixie’s little problem, or the fact the inspiration came from a wall someone had written on in blood.

They talked fans, making sure to exclude him as promised, and the pressure of fame, and lusii of course. They were still young after all. Eventually they stumbled on the subject of Chixie’s lovely home and decorating.

“Yeah, I normally don’t get too festive,” she admitted, “but I wanted to go all out for you two.”

“It’s….” Charun mumbled.

“Bitchin’,” Cirava stated.

“....Pretty,” Charun concluded.

She swelled with pride, took a deep breath, and let herself process that pride. “Yeah, it’s not too shabby,” she said. “Actually, I think I did a great job!” It felt good. It felt true. None of that coy oh, you bullshit or false modesty. She didn’t have to pretend around them because they knew it too.

Her hive really was decked to the nines. Tinsel garlands, evergreen wreaths, the bones on the mantle, a roaring fire, candles, and of course the behemoth leaving with its own decorations.

“Why is that even a thing?” Cirava asked, gesturing to it. “Like how did that start? It’s not entirely sanitary.”

“Oh, I know this one!” Chixie said. “It’s excellent fertilizer. It used to be that you’d keep it in the hive so no one could steal it, and you’d put it on your crops through the planting season and they’d grow like crazy. The decorations started with cloves and evergreen twigs to make it smell better.”

“And the bones…” added Charun, “...were good for crops too…. But also… after you suck the marrow out… you can string ‘em up like windchimes…. Scares off some aggressive species... if you live out in the middle of nowhere….”

“Speaking of aggressive species,” Cirava noted, setting up their husktop, “you guys wanna shout out to my fans with me?”

The others agreed and sat on either side of them as they got the microphone ready, put on their camera face, and hit record.

“Hey all you funky little weirdos. I’m taking a break from streaming to spend the holiday with some dear friends, but I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. Thank you so much for all the love and support, and I’ll be sure to link in the description where you can listen to some of my fresh beats til I get back. But hey, from me and mine to you and yours--”

And then they all said, more or less in unison, “Happy Eve!” and waved at the camera. Cirava shut it off and posted the video to their chittr and other social media accounts, then put the husktop away.

And with that out of the way, and some touches of worry as to what her fans would make of it, Chixie decided it was best to break out the punch. She made it in advance and left it to chill and had completely forgotten it. That must have been Cirava’s doing, she realized, keeping her mind on other things and away from the drink. Though she restrained herself and made it significantly less boozy than she usually did, and apologized if that made it taste funny.

“Actually,” said Charun, “I think it’s… better.”

And she flashed a quick but genuine thank-you smile. She never really drank it for the taste before.

And they went on like that. Cirava and Charun passed a pipe between them, offering to Chixie. She only took one hit, not wanting to dry out her throat. Cirava, on the other hand, blew all manner smoke rings and swished their hand in the smoke to make blurry semblances of shapes. Charun tried to trace abstract outlines of them with their own finger. Something about it gave Chixie a cheery sense of ease that was quite rare to her. She asked Cirava if the case for their husktop was soundproof, which they confirmed, and she suggested they all put their palm husks in with it.

“So…. What was that about?” asked Charun.Chixie had the beginnings of a mischievous little smirk at the corners of her mouth and replied, “How about singing some carols?”

“Um, are you out of your gourd?” Cirava shot back.

“I already plugged the TV and anything else that might be bugged. And besides, what’s Twelfth Perigee’s Eve without a little illegal activity?”

“We should steal…” Charun trailed off, “from highbloods! And leave shit… on their lawnrings.”

And after some scared looks from their companions, they took it back.

“Nah…. You’re right… that’s a death sentence…. Let’s just sing some songs.”

Chixie started with the old familiar melody:

“Oh, merry moon

Lend me your tune

For on my pipes to play”

And then Charun in a surprisingly graceful baritone voice:

“And may the lonesome

Find a home

On this most holy darkest day”

And they both looked to Cirava waiting for them to join. Eventually they caved.

“They killed him

And they cursed him

But it’s said he’ll come again”

And all of them in unison:

“So merry moon

Lend me your tune

To welcome an old friend”

And they sang songs about respite and recovery and joy to be found among friends and a fruitful new sweep with burdens lifted. Songs that were outlawed and had to be sung in complete secrecy for fear that they could start a riot. Songs that made one feel like an honest rebel just for singing. Man, Twelfth Perigee’s Eve carols are hardcore! Well, maybe not outside of that context.

And hours stretched on and on and the three friends drew closer until crammed together on a single couch cushion. The smiles were genuine and the hands gestured naturally as they spoke about what happened sweeps ago and what might in the sweeps from then.

The softest, weakest bits of sunlight slipped in through the shades as dawn broke, getting a gasp out of Chixie.

“I didn’t mean to keep you out so late!” she apologized. The light was dim enough to walk in but highblood customs involved drugs and destructive raiding well into the morning. As one could imagine, it wasn’t safe.

“You’re fine,” Cirava said. “Cool if we crash here?”

“Sure!” she replied. “I just have the one ‘cuperacoon though.”

“Cirava can take… the couch,” said Charun. “I just need… some pillows….”

“Well, actually, if you two don’t mind, maybe we can share it?”

“You sure…? That wasn’t...virgin punch… it was still spiked….”

“Yeah, Chix, you really okay with this? We can sleep out here.”

“I’m sure! If you don’t want to, you don’t have to, but it’ll probably be much more comfortable.” There was a slight pause as she gathered up the courage to say, “I trust you guys.”

That came as a pleasant surprise to both of them.

“Alright,” Cirava said, followed by Charun some time after.

They barricaded the doors, not that it would really stop anyone, but it did make them feel a little better, and Chixie led the way to her respite block

There they took their waking clothes off and realized just how wonderfully not-awkward it all was. At no point did they feel like they should be ashamed or that they shouldn’t do it. Though it did get them all cracking up about a conversation they had earlier that sweep, about how if they couldn’t fill their quadrants in adulthood, they’d somehow find each other and pail.

“I really hope that’s not the case,” Cirava said after a good chuckle, “for your sakes. I wouldn’t want either of you having to fill a bucket with my ugly mug.”

“That’s what…” Charun replied, “...paper bags are for…!”

And there was another round of hearty laughter as they all squeezed in together. Admittedly, it was a tight fit, but not uncomfortable. Three kids in one recuperacoon. That would have been some kind of safety code violation if there existed safety codes to violate on Alternia. Besides the basic “do not fuck with the drones” but that was more common sense.

They realized just before drifting off that they were all holding hands. And that morning with its cloudy skies and lazy sunshine was the most restful sleep any of them ever had.

#hiveswap #hiveswap friendsim #chixie roixmr #charun krojib #cirava hermod

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bevioletskies · 6 years

Note

Could you maybe write a fic about Mantis and The Wasp teamup (like Evangeline Lily said once)? Love your fics💜

Takes place post-Avengers 4 in a magical universe where everyone is alive and well except for Thanos, who is super dead. Cameo appearances by Scott, Hank, and Janet, with a few mentions of the Avengers and the Guardians here and there.ao3 | word count: 3.9k

Despite spending her entire life wanting to be a hero just like her parents, Hope was determined to stay as far away from the Avengers as she possibly could. Most of it was because of her admittedly shallow dislike of Tony Stark, purely for the way his father had treated hers; another factor was Scott skipping out of their partnership - and relationship - to go running around Germany with Captain America and without her. Then the entire universe was in danger, and Hope didn’t really have the luxury of choosing who to fight with. And well, she also sort of died, but that was beside the point.

Now that the universe was back to some semblance of normal, Hope’s priorities were as follows - continue strengthening her newfound good relationship with her dad, spend quality time with her mom and catch her up on everything she’d missed, restore the good name of Pym Technologies, and enjoy her budding relationship with Scott. She had no interest in mingling with any other so-called heroes, especially not with the government still nipping at their heels, wanting them to cut a new deal.

Then, one evening, the Guardians quite literally came crashing down to Earth.

“The Benatar never did have a great braking system,” Peter Quill had reportedly said to the swarm of SHIELD agents that came for them.

Thankfully, they landed in the vicinity of Avengers Headquarters as (mostly) planned. They were invited back to “Terra”, as they called it, for Tony and Pepper’s wedding, an event that Hope and Scott were also invited to and were attending mostly out of politeness (though Scott was genuinely excited to hang out with the Avengers off-duty, the fanboy that he was). Their ship caused minimal damage - a scuff across the lawn that made Tony bemoan the days that he only had to worry about Thor’s unorthodox method of transportation - but it was enough of a signal that it was time to summon all the heroes to upstate New York. And by “summoned”, it meant a Quinjet touching down outside of Scott’s place (and sort of Hope’s, too, now that they were giving domestic cohabitation a try).

“This is gonna be awesome,” Scott said brightly, carrying both his and Hope’s overnight bags out the door despite her insisting she could take care of her own. “You sure your parents don’t wanna come with us?”

“And have Dad come face-to-face with another Stark? I think I’ll pass,” Hope remarked wryly.

When they arrived at the Avengers complex, it reminded Hope somewhat of the old Pym Tech labs - bright white walls, long stretches of glass and steel, with agents, engineers, and scientists scurrying around with somewhere more important to be. She and Scott were settled in a guest room, then ushered to an expansive outdoor patio where they were suddenly faced with just about everyone who they’d fought alongside in the battle against Thanos.

After some awkward “hello”s and “how are you”s, the two of them lingered on the outside of the circle of people who clearly knew each other pretty well, laughing and swapping stories as they dug into the buffet spread of artisanal meats and cheeses, fruit, and tea sandwiches. “Hello!” Mantis suddenly popped up out of nowhere, carrying a plate laden with food, a sunny smile on her face. “Are you not eating?”

“I will in a bit,” Hope said, smiling in return. It was hard not to when Mantis was so infectiously cheerful. “How are you? I heard you had a rough landing coming back here.”

“I do not trust Rocket and Peter when they try to fly the ship at the same time,” Mantis whispered conspiratorially. “They fight so much. You are so lucky to be working in a partnership instead of a group. Then you do not have to listen to so many people talking and yelling at the same time.”

“Oh, I feel like Scott talks enough for three people,” Hope replied, knowing full well he was standing behind her.

“Hey,” he protested in mock offense. “I’m down to at least…two.”

“Can you grab me a plate?” Hope requested. Scott shook his head half-amusedly but went to do it regardless. “But you guys work in pairs sometimes, right?”

“Sometimes,” Mantis agreed. “Gamora has been teaching me how to fight, but I am still not really a fighter. I am most useful in missions where we have to mentally manipulate people.”

“Interesting,” Hope hummed, quirking an eyebrow. “So, say I were having trouble trying to convince someone of something…like certain members of the government who are still after me and Scott because we haven’t signed the Sokovia Accords…”

“I might be able to change their minds,” Mantis nodded. She paused. “Wait, are you asking me or telling me?”

“Well, it’s not the most…legal thing I’ve ever done, but honestly? I’ve been acting outside of the ‘law’ for a while now, mostly because I don’t agree with it,” Hope admitted. “I have a sit-down meeting with some Accord representatives in a few days. I’m supposed to turn in my suit and sign some papers so they can put me on probation before they ‘let me’ be a reserve Avenger.”

“I am staying on Terra for another week or so,” Mantis offered. “Do not tell anyone, but the only reason we are staying this long is so that Peter can take us to his hometown. He wants to propose to Gamora at his mother’s grave.”

“Who’s proposing?” Scott returned with two overloaded plates of food and the corner of a puff pastry hanging out of his mouth. Hope and Mantis simultaneously shushed him. “Oh, sorry. What’re we talkin’ about?”

“Hope was telling me about your troubles with the Sokovia Accords, and I think I can help,” Mantis explained.

“Really? That would be amazing,” Scott exclaimed, letting out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “They’ve been comin’ after us for the research, the equipment, the suits…they even started keeping watch outside of my house, even when my daughter’s home. It’s not cool.”

“I don’t want things to get too messy, though,” Hope added, patting Scott’s arm sympathetically. Nothing had terrified him quite as much as the time Cassie had shrieked from her bedroom at 3 AM when she noticed a strange man on the sidewalk, seemingly looking right at her through the window. “If this was just about knocking some heads around until I get answers, I could do it in a heartbeat. But for this…I want them to feel like they came to the right conclusion on their own, if you get what I mean.”

Mantis grinned. “Of course. So, what’s the plan?”______

The wedding went about as smoothly as expected. That is to say, a villain of the week popped up during the rehearsal dinner, making Pepper even more anxious than she already was, but once the bad guys were disposed of, courtesy of Peter Parker’s quick feet and even quicker mind, the weekend practically flew by. Hope even enjoyed herself despite her initial reservations towards Stark. The company was good, the entertainment was engaging, and Scott said something rather interesting while they were slow-dancing during the reception.

“I wonder what my second wedding will be like,” he pondered aloud.

Hope looked at him curiously. “Is that so?” He only grinned at her softly in his very Scott-like way, and she could only return it with a smile of her own, both flustered and pleased at the same time.

Then, Wednesday rolled around and Hope was back in a pantsuit and perfectly coiffed hair, feeling a little uneasy with the remnants of her old self. She knew she had changed quite a bit over the past few years, letting herself be happy and relaxed and open again after spending so long wallowing in grief and misplaced anger. Being reminded of her tightly-wound corporate persona made her all the more grateful for how much more comfortable she was with herself now.

“Thank you all for meeting me here,” Hope said diligently, settling down into her chair. The representatives that were sat before her glanced around the office, looking dubiously at their surroundings.

“I thought Pym Tech was defunct,” one of them commented. Hope’s smile tightened.

“My dad decided it was time to resurrect his life’s work,” she said cooly. “And I think it would be appropriate to reinstate him as CEO, don’t you?”

“From what I remember - and correct me if I’m wrong, it’s been a while - you were the deciding vote, Chairwoman,” another said mockingly.

The third one cleared her throat sharply, glaring at her companions in warning. “Let’s not get off-topic here. Miss Van Dyne, your suit?”

“My assistant is bringing it in,” Hope said, folding her arms neatly on the surface of her desk. “And if you don’t mind me asking while we wait for her to get here, is there a reason you asked to meet without my partner?”

They exchanged uncomfortable looks, almost like they were dreading answering the question. “Mister Lang has…a history,” one of them said carefully. “At this point, I don’t know if we can offer him the same deal as we’re offering you.”

“Scott and I are a team. You don’t get to pick and choose,” Hope protested.

“Actually, that’s exactly what it means, Miss Van Dyne,” the woman replied. “Once we’ve cleared both you and your parents - ”

“My parents? My mom wasn’t even here when the Accords were created. And she worked for SHIELD!”

“And we all saw SHIELD for what it really was, so who’s to say she was on the right side?” the second man said dryly, and it took all of Hope’s willpower not to knock him clean across the room.

“Don’t talk about my mom like that,” Hope said through gritted teeth. “My parents are not to be touched, and Scott and I are a package deal. I won’t settle for anything less.”

“You seem to think you have the upper hand here, Miss Van Dyne, and I can assure you that you don’t,” the first agent said, narrowing his eyes at her. “You violated the Accords multiple times - unauthorized use of a powered suit, interference with - ”

The door to Hope’s office suddenly swung open, and her assistant came striding in with an armored briefcase in hand, smiling beatifically. “Good afternoon, Miss Van Dyne, I am sorry it took so long.”

Hope let out a slow breath to calm herself down before she could really lose her temper. “That’s alright, bring it over here.” It was then that the agents looked at her assistant and did a double take in near-perfect synchronicity. “Is something wrong, agents?”

“That’s - ”

“Is there a problem?” Hope smirked. Mantis blinked.

“Alright, we’ll entertain you for a moment,” the woman sighed. “Are you trying to tell us that an alien from a…peacekeeping team of her own is now your assistant?”

“She’s staying on Earth for a little while and wanted to learn the culture, so I offered to let her shadow me,” Hope said, unlocking the briefcase and turning it towards them with the lid open. “Is this what you were looking for?”

“Yes, but - ”

“Wait, is that the right one?” The second man leaned in a little closer, trying to place whether it was really the suit they were looking for. “If you’re trying to con us, we have no choice but to search your office until we find your actual suit.”

“Are you sure? Look again,” Mantis said soothingly. She drummed her fingers in a precise pattern on the surface of Hope’s desk as she leaned against it. The three of them blinked slowly, almost like they were in a trance. “There is no need to be agitated. Hope is only worried about the well-being of her loved ones, that is all. Do you not worry about your loved ones like she does?”

“…yes.” The first agent settled back in his seat, looking remorseful. “I apologize for my colleague’s comment about your mother. I’m sure the work she did at SHIELD was very important to the world and your family.”

Hope glanced over at Mantis, barely daring to take a breath in case it gave away the ruse. “Thank you. It was.” She bowed her head. “I don’t mean to be hostile, I know you’re just doing your jobs, but I want to look out for the people I care about. And I appreciate the chance to be reserve Avengers, but Scott and I work best as partners, not members of a team.”

The woman pursed her lips. “When we spoke with Mister Stark and Captain Rogers, they vouched for you both. Are you going against their endorsement, then?”

“No, we just don’t - ”

“I can tell this isn’t your suit, by the way. I’ve seen enough footage and photographs to know every last detail of the real thing,” the woman concluded, getting to her feet with a disappointed sigh. “You know what? I can tell we aren’t getting everything we need today. Bring us the real one, and we can discuss your new terms another time. I have a feeling they’ve changed…again.”______

“I am sorry it did not work,” Mantis offered sadly about an hour later. She and Hope were now sitting in the lab, having lunch, watching Hank and Scott squabble over something mundane in the distance while Janet tried to mediate as best she could while also getting increasingly exasperated. “The woman’s mind was very strong. I could not appeal to her nature the way that I did with the others.”

“It’s not your fault,” Hope reassured her. “It was a stretch for me to think I could convince them in the first place.”

“You said something about ‘knocking heads’, right?” Mantis asked.

“I’m not going to beat anyone up, Mantis,” Hope chuckled, shaking her head. “There’s a time and place for it, and this isn’t one of those times. It’s not worth it. I’ve already dug a deep enough hole as it is.”

“But you want to get your suit back, don’t you?” Mantis persisted. “And you know where they took it. Maybe you can go get it, while I talk to the agents again and see if I can at least convince them to talk to you and Scott together.”

“That’s…actually not a bad idea.” Hope glanced across the room at her parents. “Should he come with us?”

“I’m telling you, Hank, I didn’t do it!”

“I swear to god, Scott, I saw you - ”

“Go easy on the boy, Henry, I’m sure he didn’t mean to.”

“That ‘boy’ is sleeping with our daughter, I wouldn’t exactly call him a boy - ”

“Never mind,” Hope sighed, rubbing at her temples; she could feel the beginnings of a headache starting to form. “But before we go, let me jump in there before Dad castrates him.”

An hour later, Hope and Mantis arrived at the storage facility, both unusually nervous given their usual demeanors. They stopped several feet from the gates, with Hope shrinking down and zipping through in search of an external vent, while Mantis tentatively approached the security booth.

“Hello, I am here on behalf of Pym Technologies and I have a meeting with some Accord representatives,” Mantis recited neatly, albeit loudly, causing the speaker to screech with feedback. The guard winced, waving her through after a brief glance at the ID badge Hope had given her.

“Not so loud.” Hope’s voice came through the earpiece, nearly invisible beneath Mantis’s hair.

“Sorry,” Mantis said sheepishly. “Peter took us to a drive-thru in Missouri where he had to shout to be heard. We ended up with three more orders of curly fries than we were supposed to. Are you inside yet?”

“Yes. Trying to follow the air conditioning system to figure out where their warehouse storage is located.”

“Mantis!” The moment she stepped into the lobby of the building, she was greeted by the three agents, who looked just as surprised to see her as she was startled by them. “You know, I really thought someone was pulling our leg when we got the call.”

“I would not play such a joke on you,” Mantis said, smiling politely. “I just wanted to talk.”

“My office, then,” the woman replied. They went into an elevator and through a series of hallways until they finally settled in a room, all while Mantis could hear Hope quietly muttering to herself through the line in fervent concentration. “So what’s this all about? Why are you really working for Van Dyne?”

“What she said is true. I want to learn more about the culture here. You see, my leader is like a big brother to me, and he came from this planet. It means a lot to him, and I want to understand him better. Hope seemed like the best candidate for me to follow around,” Mantis explained.

“Why is that?” the first man asked curiously.

“She is not a super spy, she does not have magical powers. She is a normal person who is very brave and strong, all on her own,” Mantis said thoughtfully.

“You really think that?” Hope sounded half-distracted, half-touched.

“She’s also violated a lot of laws,” the second man added.

“I do not know very much about these Accords. I have only heard about them from my friends.” Mantis glanced down at her hands, twisting her fingers in her lap. “I know that you think you have good intentions, but sometimes it hurts them more than it helps. I know that they have fought each other because they do not agree, and they have had to run and hide and help people from the shadows instead of in the light. I know that in some ways, they still have not fully forgiven each other for everything they have said and done. I also know that you have scared people who have had nothing to do with it, like Scott’s daughter.”

“We had no intention of - ”

“I do not understand Terrans very well, but I guess I do not understand much of anything,” she continued ruefully. “I grew up in isolation for most of my life, watching my master hurt children for not being what he wanted. He would only let them have one try before killing them where they stood. I think they deserved a second chance, don’t you?”

“Van Dyne and Lang have had plenty of chances if that’s what you’re trying to insinuate,” the woman said smoothly.

“But you have not let them explain themselves together,” Mantis pointed out. “I heard that you arrested Scott when he did not fully understand the consequences of the fight in Germany.”

“Is that what he told you?” Hope muttered in her ear.

“And Hope and Doctor Pym didn’t even know he was gone until you started chasing them, too,” Mantis added.

“Dammit, I see the case but it’s got a motion trigger. I’m gonna have to switch them out at the exact right time.”

“Like Indiana Jones?” Mantis exclaimed, her eyes widening when she realized what she’d done.

The agents stared at her like she’d sprouted even more antennae than she already had. “…I’m sorry?”

“Mantis,” Hope hissed.

“Peter showed me that movie once. I think there were chases in it, right?” She blinked innocently.

“…right.”

Hope shook her head, annoyed but still impressed that Mantis was well-versed enough to make the reference. The sight before her felt just about as foreboding as the golden idol. She could feel sweat beginning to form on her brow, feeling burdened by both the half-finished prototype suit she was wearing, and the case tucked underneath her arm, waiting to be traded for the real thing.

She swallowed thickly, flying closer to the spot where her suit was sitting, but not so close as to set off the alarm. There was a vague buzzing in her head of Mantis’s ramblings; she seemed to be on a tangent about her fascination with Terran pop culture and Scott and Hope’s predicament at the same time.

“You got this,” Hope muttered to herself, taking a deep breath. She braced herself, lifting both her arms up with her finger on the size trigger in her glove. In one fluid motion, she swept the real case under her left arm, shrinking it down until it was no bigger than a fingernail, grew the prototype case to its full size, and slotted it neatly in place. The motion trigger light flickered briefly, then continued on as if nothing happened. She exhaled. “I did it. Heading back outside now.”

“And that is why they are very under-appreciated compared to the Avengers. Just because they have not saved an entire city from an alien invasion on their own - also, I do not like the way you say the word ‘alien’ - ”

“Oh, Mantis,” Hope sighed with a relieved chuckle.

Mantis exited the building ten minutes later with an unusual amount of pride in her step, meeting up with Hope back where they had started. “You got your suit back?”

Hope held it up triumphantly between her pointer finger and her thumb, so miniscule that Mantis had to squint to really see it. “How did it go in there?”

“They agreed to meet with both of you next week,” Mantis said happily. “And they will stop surveilling Scott’s house.”

“That’s great! How did you manage to get them to agree?” Hope exclaimed.

“I told them I would not leave until they did.” Mantis chewed her lip. “And I may have accidentally used my sleep powers when that man got too close to me.” Hope groaned. “He scared me!”

“At least we got what we wanted,” Hope sighed. She reached out to squeeze Mantis’s arm. “Hey…thank you.”

“Of course,” Mantis grinned. “I do not like seeing my friends get hurt.”

“We are friends, aren’t we?” Hope smiled back. “And friends take other friends to dinner so she can learn more about Terran culture. That is, if you’re free.”

Mantis’s eyes widened. “I am! I think if I go back to my team now, all I will hear about is the engagement, and I have heard plenty .”

“Good.” Hope gestured towards the car waiting for them a little further down the road. “I hope you’ll like tacos.”______

Hope winced as the front door creaked open slowly, almost painfully - she needed to talk to Scott about greasing the hinges, along with another half-dozen home improvement projects they could really use - and kicked off her shoes, tiptoeing up the stairs. She briefly disappeared into the bathroom to change, brush her teeth, and wash her face, holding her breath while she slipped under the duvet, trying not to disturb him.

“Whashappening?”

She sighed in defeat. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. Just go back to sleep.”

“No, hey, tell me…tell me how it went.” Scott yawned, rolling over to face her, blinking sleepily. She smiled, settling down comfortably into the pillows.

“Long story short, I got my suit back, and we have a meeting with them. Together.”

“How?” he mumbled; he was already starting to drift off again.

“Mantis went to talk to them while I shrunk down in the prototype suit - I didn’t have the same problems that you did, by the way - and went through the vent. She started off talking about how she wanted to learn more about our culture and somehow tied the Accords back to her upbringing, and…” She was interrupted by a snort, courtesy of Scott’s tendency to snore loudly and unashamedly. Hope chuckled amusedly, leaning over to briefly kiss him on the cheek before properly snuggling in underneath the blanket, warm and content. “Never mind. I’m sure this will make for an interesting story another time.”

#ask #Anonymous #hope van dyne #mantis #langdyne #myfic #marvel #i was gonna post this on friday but i finished early so why not haha #this week is kind of messy for me anyways so this might be for the best #hope you enjoy!

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