#anyway i want to lick noodle's toes.

[adiduck]

@oathkeeperoxas asked for forehead press for SaintSpy May, and I have provided. Now with more Cat content!!! Send me a kiss for SaintSpy May~

2. Forehead press

It’s pretty rare for Ethan to have a nightmare that doesn’t wake his husband.

He hasn’t asked why, exactly—frankly, he very, very rarely wants to talk about nightmares after they happen, so the topic just hasn’t really come up. More often than not, though, he’ll end up pulled from a nightmare by a familiar, beloved voice calling his name, and then fall back asleep wrapped in warm, strong arms, listening to steady breathing and—these days—the ocean just down the way from their door.

Tonight, it seems, is not one of those nights. Ethan wakes with a gasp, shocked and shaking, and for a moment flounders as he tries to place himself here and now in his bed, rather than inside a torus filled with water, unable even to scream—

Next to him, Ethan’s husband makes a snuffling noise—responding to the tension in Ethan’s body, maybe, or how quick his breathing is. Ethan forces himself back to relaxed practically on instinct, lays there breathing deeply until his partner falls back into a deep sleep. It’s enough—the breathing, the slow and careful releasing of stress from head to toes—to at least fend off the confusion of the nightmare, and instead he’s left shaky, staring up at the ceiling and cooling in his own fear sweat, very much awake.

Well, he thinks. Fucking great. Maybe I should have woken him up.

He doesn’t, of course. He clenches his left hand into a fist, instead, taking some comfort in the constriction around his ring finger, and watches their ceiling fan slowly spin. Maybe if he stares at it for long enough, he’ll hypnotize himself, and then he can just—just will himself back to sleep—

Next to him, there is a gentle whuff, followed by the inevitably familiar smell of dog breath well-known by every fortunate human of a greyhound.

Ethan turns his head, and is met by a very long, gray and white snout, carefully, politely, and silently laid upon his pillow. Cat blinks her big, dark eyes at him, and then licks her chops. Her ears are perked—relaxed and happy, and definitely begging for pets.

Ethan—

—smiles. Really, he can’t help it at all.

“Hey there,” he says, voice low but not a whisper—he doesn’t want to wake his husband, and any of the typical attempts to be quiet will. “Who’s being very silly, hm? No dogs on the bed, Noodle-noo.”

Cat is completely unmoved by this announcement. She stays precisely where she is, staring directly into Ethan’s soul like she could simply will her apparently-awake dad to petting her.

“I guess I woke someone after all,” he says, and reaches over to stroke his thumb up between her eyes the way she likes. She closes them, pressing up into his fingers. “What, if I’m awake I should pay attention to you? Is that what’s happening here, sweet S’ketti?”

Cat headbutts his palm, attempting to get a little bit more contact, and Ethan has to suppress a laugh. Well, he thinks, I’m not sleeping anyway.

It’s a bit of a challenge to get out of bed without waking his bed partner, but he manages it in slow increments, sliding to the side of the bed without disturbing the covers too much, and then slipping off the side. He settles into a sitting position, back pressed up against the mattress, and is immediately claimed as a human-shaped dog bed.

“There’s my kitty-cat,” he croons, sub-vocal, and trails his fingers down her neck as she attempt to make herself as small and round as possible. She’s way too big to fit properly in a lap these days—too tall and long, entering doggy teenagerhood with a cheerful, lanky bound—but she still does her absolute best. Mostly, Ethan thinks, because her other dad instated a ‘no dogs on the furniture unless contained to a lap’ rule when she was much smaller. Very foolishly. So far, he mostly seems resigned to the failure of this particular rule, but it’s still very funny to watch him long-sufferingly attempt to maneuver a full-sized standard greyhound off the couch cushions.

Cat settles down with a huff, and very soon is snoozing in her pile of limbs, arguably on Ethan’s lap. It’s soothing, feeling her breathe, the warmth of her furry body and the sound of his husband breathing, the laps of the sea along the shore—

—Ethan wakes to the sun reaching its first rays through their bedroom window, and his husband peering down at him over the bed, lips pinched as he tries not to smile. “Surely I’m not that bad a bed partner?” he asks.

Ethan smiles up at him. In his lap, Cat opens one big eye, observes her dads flirting per usual, and closes it again, by all accounts falling right off to sleep. “Yes,” he says. “I’ve replaced you entirely with Kitty Spaghetti here. You’re lucky she seems to like you. It’s the only reason you’re allowed to stay.”

Ethan’s husband loses the fight with his smile, huffing out a laugh—sleepy and happy, the early sunlight hitting the gray-streaked blond of his hair and making it glow. “Understandable,” he says, and leans forward to press their foreheads together, something like a kiss. “Cat’s happiness is clearly the priority in all things.”

“Definitely,” Ethan says, and tilts his head up finally for a good morning kiss. He receives it, like he knew he would “Though,” he says, pulling back a little, “I, uh, really need to use the bathroom, and unfortunately my legs have fallen asleep—”

Ethan’s partner cracks, up, far to close to Ethan’s face—Ethan gets a full nose of morning breath and can’t even be mad about it. He kisses Ethan again and then rolls away, out of sight, and pads around to crouch next to them and pet Cat. “Hey there, kitty-kitty,” he croons as she opens her eyes again. “Breakfast?”

The magic word. Cat’s ears perk up, head coming slightly off her folded paws.

Ethan’s partner stands and starts pointedly heading for the door.

Cat’s up almost at once, stepping on Ethan’s thigh painfully for only a moment as she untangles and then bounding after the newly proclaimed food-bearer, tail wagging hard enough her entire body wiggles. Noodle-girl, Ethan thinks, very very fond, and then turns to the slow, uncomfortable process of levering himself to his feet. It hurts—obviously. His back and ass are not going to thank him at all for the last few hours, probably for the next couple days.

Oh, well, he thinks, as he lets himself into the bathroom to use the facilities and brush his teeth. His family, probably, can be called upon to help work out the knots, or at least keep him company while he’s supine on the couch. Not a bad exchange, all told.

-

[dreamingoftaehyun]

tongue piercing! jeonghan

summary: jeonghan gets a tongue piercing after hearing you tell your friends your fantasies involving one

wc: 1.1k

a/n: i don't have and never have had a tongue piercing so idk if eating noodles straight after getting one is bad to do but oh well! anyways, this is a thought i've had for a while and finally got time to write about it. enjoy ^^

smut warnings under the cut

smut warnings: porn without plot, oral (fem! receiving), fingering, squirting. that's rlly it, this is a short one :P

jeonghan didn't mean to eavesdrop, you were just very loud.

it was a girls night and he did his best to stay out of you and your friends way, but when he was in the kitchen the conversation topic piqued his interest.

"what's your opinion on piercings?" one of your friends asked.

"oh, tongue piercings are so hot." another said.

"i know right?! i also want to know how it feels to be eaten out by someone with one." you drunkenly and the girls laugh. "you said what we're all thinking."

jeonghan immediately picked up his phone and went on the local piercing shops website. if jeonghan would be called anything, it'd be 'people pleaser'. also would he let some other guy give you that experience? absolutely not.

he made his way back to his office with a mischievous grin on his face, booking an appointment for tomorrow. he couldn't wait to see your reaction.

the next day you got home from work tired and still a little hungover from last night. walking through the door you were greeted by warm lighting filling the apartment and the smell of freshly cooked noodles.

you walked into the kitchen and spotted your boyfriend at the sink. tip-toeing towards him, your arms wrapped around his waist. "hi, hannie."

"hey baby. hungry?" he asks as he dumps the noodles into a colander and lets the water drain before putting the noodles in two bowls. he laid out different flavour packets and sauces, along with two fried eggs and a plate of meat. "help yourself!"

while you were mixing the flavouring and the sauce in your noodles you noticed something shiny in jeonghan's mouth in the corner of your eye as he spoke. "what's that?" you ask.

"what's what?" he replies as he finishes making his noodles. "open your mouth." you tell him and he does so with a slight smirk playing on his lips.

then you saw a tongue piercing and gasped. "jeonghan! oh my god?!"

"do you like it?" he murmers as you take your bowls to the table and sit across from each other. "obviously... did you know i'm into tongue piercings or something?" you say as you slurp your noodles.

"heard it from a little birdie." he teases and you ease into a comfortable silence as you eat. when you finish your meals and wash up jeonghan speaks up.

"okay, i'll admit that i may have heard you say something last night that made me get the piercing."

you snort and turn to look at him. "and what would that be?"

"you want to know how it feels to get eaten out with one." he says casually while putting the dishes in the sink. you almost choked on your spit.

"oh god, did you hear me last night?" you bury your face in your hands and jeonghan moves them away with his own, his face close to yours. "and you got a piercing... because of that?"

"what can i say?" jeonghan smiles and you roll your eyes before kissing him. his arms immediately wrapped around your waist pulling you closer. the kiss deepened and he pushed your back against the kitchen counter. his tongue mingled with yours, sloppy and desperate.

"jeonghan," you gasped out when his tongue licked down your neck to your collarbone that he exposed by pulling your t-shirt onto your shoulder. he left a few marks while his hands were busy undoing your belt. "wait, let's go to the bed." you whisper and jeonghan nods before pulling you to your shared room.

jeonghan wasted no time undressing himself and you, his head already between your legs in the blink of an eye. he teased you a little, lips ghosting your inner thighs until you felt his warm breath on your cunt.

he licked a single stripe up your folds that had you quivering. the coldness from the metal of his piercing along with the warmth of his tongue was addicting and you'd only had a little taste. when he finally dived into your pussy you cried out. "fuck!"

he circled his tongue around your clit and you felt his piercing get caught on it for a second and you jumped. "jeonghan, shit.."

the feeling of the piercing going in and out your folds was so new to you, you had no idea how to react to it. your hands found jeonghan's hair, pulling on it whenever his piercing got caught on your clit, moans spilling out of your mouth.

"feel good?" he asked when he lifted his head to look at you, chin glistening in your slick. "so good." you nod breathlessly, unconsciously pushing his head back down to your core. to which jeonghan simply goes back to eating your pussy.

"ah, jeonghan, more!" you cry when his tongue plunged into your hole, thrusting the muscle in and out of you while his fingers played with your clit. "i'm close, please!"

then jeonghan's tongue left your heat, his head coming up. "not yet, i wanna savour you." he spits on your clit, rubbing it in with his fingers. they traveled down, two of his fingers dipping into your hole briefly before fully plunging in.

then his tongue was on your clit again, thrusting his fingers in and out of you in a torturous slow pace. his eyes never left yours. he added another finger, now thrusting faster.

"fuck, jeonghan!" you whimper, legs starting to shake. "cum for me, cum on my fingers." he coos and starts to suck on your clit, his piercing circling around it perfectly.

the knot in your stomach snapped suddenly and your eyes clenched shut, your whole body convulsing from one of the hardest orgasms you've ever had. "fuck, fuck, fuck!" you whimpered. you felt jeonghan's fingers leave your hole but his mouth enveloped your heat while you rode your high, moans and whimpers spilling out of you.

when your orgasm finally subsided you opened your eyes to a jeonghan with blown out eyes, looking at you like pray. "that's my good girl, fuck. you just squirted in my mouth."

"shit, i feel like i'm gonna pass out, that was so fucking good." you say while jeonghan gets up to get a towel from the bathroom. you looked down onto the sheets and saw how wet you got them and laughed. "i've never came that hard before."

"well, this means my piercing was worth it." jeonghan smiles as he wiped your slick off his chin with the back of his hand, pulling you in for a kiss. you could taste yourself on him.

"are you okay for round 2?" he asks. "sorry, but that took everything out of me tonight." you sigh while rolling over on your side and jeonghan chuckles and joins you, arms wrapping around you. "goodnight baby. i love you."

"i love you too, jeonghan." you whisper before drifting off to sleep.

[emilycollins00]

*slides in* can i have some fluff about tsuzuru and reader meeting the entire minagis _(:3」∠) (p/s love you emily~ hope you have a nice day)

My face when I read this request? I am FLOORED Miru. Big brain time. Love you too 💕

Thanks to @androidjasmine here is a photo of the young ones and their names to keep you all on your toes! It’s all fun and games until you remember everyone is called almost the same. Enjoy! 💕

Meeting at the Minagi's (TsuzuruxReader)

Kaoru stopped in his tracks and squinted his eyes, holding onto the heavy basket full of clothes. “Are you two really going to stay there until they come?”

“Of course we are!”

“We are!”

None of his two youngest brothers even bothered to turn around, eyes fixed on the door’s entrance, hands on their hips.

The seventh Minagi adjusted his glasses from inside the living room at the responses. He then licked his finger to pass another page of his book. “Don’t waste your time Kaoru-niisan. I’ve already tried to talk to them. It’s a lost cause.”

“Hey, I heard that!” this time Takeru’s head moved slightly, though his body and eyes remained facing the door. “And we are not a lost cause! We will make sure this Y/N person is good or bad before they set a foot inside!”

“Inside!” the youngest Minagi happily yelped.

Kaoru rolled his eyes, leaving the basket on the floor of the living room. As long as they were occupied for now it was fine, he imagined. He had been all over the place since he came back from school so any peace he could get was appreciated. “Can you fold these Tooru? I need to check on the vegetables cooking for dinner. Don’t want to ruin them.”

“What are we having?”

“Stir-fried crispy noodles.” Kaoru looked at the clock. “Some side dishes too If I manage.”

The young boy left the book on the side and stretched. “Sounds good. Want to help me Mitsuru? I know you can fold socks now.”

The soft boy who had until then been engrossed watching tv turned around quickly. “Yeah! Can I show them to Tsuzu-nii when he comes? He doesn’t know I learned yet!”

“Sure. You better fold them the best you can then, okay?”

“Okay!”

Kaoru smiled at the exchange. He was about to head back to the kitchen when the front door opened. “Ah, those must be-”

“Get away from Tsuzu-nii!”

There was a sound of something heavy falling and hitting the ground.

“Ow! Takeru what the-That hurt!”

“Tsu-nii comes home!”

Laughing, Yuzuru ran past the first twin and jumped on top of the second one -still untouched- who took him in his arms.

“You don’t have to follow everything Takeru does Yuzuru.”

“Come on now, I already told you before they are not coming for another two hours!” Kaoru walked in and bent over to help them stand. “Sorry Suberu. They have been all over the place about Tsuzuru’s and Y/N-san’s visit.”

“I can see that… why though? You didn’t act like this with Meguru-nissan.” he caressed his pained back. Takeru huffed, crossing his arms and turning his back on them.

“Meguru-nii stinks! He hasn’t come back to visit ever since he got married!”

Noboru chuckled, leaving Yuzuru once again down. “I see some pieces coming together.”

“Me too. Anyway, you two can stay here but only as long as there’s no more headbutting. You hear me Takeru? You promised you would behave today.” after he received a pouty nod from him, Kaoru decided to leave it be and turned his attention to the middle schoolers. “Welcome back you two. How was school? Think you two can help me prep the table and take away the toys?”

“Are mom and dad not home yet?”

“They both texted they might be a bit late, hopefully still on time.” The oldest finally managed to enter the kitchen, lowering the heat of the big pan. He should start prepping the rice and the noodles.

“Then we’ll shower and come back down.”

“Hey Mitsuru, are you and Tooru folding socks?”

“Yeah! I’m going to show them to Tsu-nii!”

“Tsuzuru’s partner uh.” Suberu muttered as both climbed the stairs. “I'm kinda excited too, not going to lie- who knew this day would actually come.”

Noboru laughed softly, following his twin inside their shared bedroom. “I know. Whoever was able to crack the head of that brother of ours, as much as I love him, deserves a raise.” .

.

.

A sneeze came out of you stronger than you had anticipated, making you stop in the middle of the road.

“You okay there? Here.” Tsuzuru looked inside his pocket, pulling out a small box of tissues and handing it to you.

“Ah- Thanks.” You cleaned your nose while looking at him ask for two train tickets on the station. He then gave you one and kept one for himself.

“It’s weird for you to sneeze, do you think you are getting sick? It’s gotten pretty chilly at night lately.”

“I’m good. You on the other hand are the one who looks constipated.”

“Ah…” He sighed, shaking his head. “Well, you can say that again, sorry. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

You nudged him on the way to the platform. “You worry too much. It’s just your parents and brothers right? Anytime you mention them it even makes me jealous of how much you all care for each other.”

“They are great. For the most part at least. It’s just… I guess I’m like this because I’ve never brought home someone. So, yeah. Don’t pay much attention to it.”

And while he tried to shrug it off, you couldn’t help but feel a little happy. You both had been dancing around the idea for a while, and after arranging times, although the two oldest Minagi brothers had had some difficulties to come at the last moment, you both decided to keep the day and meet the rest of the family.

“You know, I would lie If I said I’m not nervous, but I also can’t say I’m not excited. Hey,” tapping Tsuzuru’s knee he spun to face you. “We got this. Mankai was already covered right? I doubt I’ll have a bigger interview than that one.”

The sound of the train made its way into the station at the same time Tsuzuru groaned.

“Please don’t bring that up. I’m still trying to forget it.”

You laughed at the face he started to make. “See? This will be a walk around the park. Plus I believe bought sweets for everyone,” you lifted the token bags you had been carrying since you two had met and nodded proudly. “I count on convincing at least four to my side.”

Your joke finally made him grow a tiny smile. As the train stopped in front of you two he reached out to take your hand into his, your touch seeming to calm him down. You gave his hand a light squeeze.

.

Later on

“Okay, here we are.”

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend’s dramatic remark when he stopped at the sight of -what you guessed was- his household roof.

“Tsuzuru.” cupping his face you pulled him close, his nose against yours. “I love you and I’m going to love your family too.”

His cheeks grew warm at your loud statement. “Just… if my little brothers are too much, let me know. Everyone kind of… tends to get overexcited.” he confessed. You both walked up to the front door, Tsuzuru knocking a few times before he stepped back to stand next to you.

Immediately a few voices came from inside the house, followed by the sound of closing steps. A woman opened the door, beaming at the sight of you two. “There you are, welcome!”

“Hi mom.”

“Hello dear.” she hugged him tightly as you followed them inside, setting down the bags and enjoying the scene. She gave off the same natural warmth and comfort Tsuzuru gave off, along with the distinctive turquoise vibrant eyes both wore. "I'm glad to see you are doing good," she then turned to you with a gentle smile. “And you must be Y/N, it’s so nice to formally meet you in person.”

You smiled back as you bowed. “I feel the same. You have a very lovely home by the way,” Tsuzuru and you started to step out of your shoes, tucking them up against where the others lay when the voices you had heard with the door closed -and a good sound of running steps- became louder and louder.

“Oh, I guess the twins weren’t able to stop them.”

“Tsuzuru-nii!!”

Tsuzuru's mother moved you both discreetly to the side as three balls of energy of different heights passed in front of you and tackled your boyfriend, making him almost fell to the ground. "H-hey, careful!" All of them wore brown hair and turquoise eyes just like in all the photos you had seen of them, and talked at such speed it was difficult for you to understand what one said over the others.

"We missed you!"

"Missed you lots!"

“Yeah it’s been ages, what took you so long?!”

Your heart grew warm when you noticed Tsuzuru’s eyes softening, even though he was slightly scolding them at the same time -trying to calm them down. You turned to her mother, who was watching the scene with the exact same expression. “Is there anything I can help you with meanwhile? I guess preparing food for this many people is no small feat.”

“Oh don’t worry Y/N, you are our guest today. I imagine you are tired too.”

“Tsuzu-nii you have to see my socks, look!"

"Leave the socks alone, come upstairs to see what game mom bought us last week!"

“Well aren’t you mister popular around here.”

His mother chuckled, embracing herself. “They get really attached to him whenever he comes back.”

“I imagine.”

"Are you Y/N?" one of them glanced your way, hiding behind Tsuzuru but without fully letting him go.

"I am. It's nice to finally see you all instead of just your pictures."

“Woah! Are these presents?”

“Yuzuru?” his mother called out “What did we talk about looking inside other people's bags?”

“Oi, Yuzuru!” Turning away from praising Mitzuru’s folded socks and Takeru’s hold, Tsuzuru tried to take him away from your bags too. You smiled, waving silently as to tell them it was okay. You crouched down to his height.

“Yup! Some sweets I brought for everyone later. I hope you like mochi.”

“I do! Take-nii too!”

“Is that so?” You turned to said boy, making him flinch and blush, still trying to hide between Tsuzuru’s legs. He glanced your way frowning shyly.

“I only like it with cream...”

“I-I like it with chocolate and strawberries!” Mitzuru called getting close to you now, socks now long forgotten. You smiled, mentally thanking asking Tsuzuru for advice.

“Good thing we have both and some more then.”

As if that changed everything, the three youngest Minagis started jumping and celebrating enthusiastically around you. Tsuzuru’s mother smiled while Tsuzuru himself tried to calm them down again.

“Thank you Y/N. I will take them to the fridge. For now let’s try to enter the living room and get you two seated. Kaoru has been all afternoon in the kitchen and your father and I are trying to help him finish making dinner, I’ll go get them.” .

.

.

With the youngest right on his toes, Tsuzuru guided you to the living room, finding the twins and the one you guessed was Tooru -mainly because of the glasses- waiting patiently for their turn.

“Hey guys. Y/N, these are Noboru and Suberu, the twins and Tooru.”

“Hi there!” you waved brightly, receiving a few quiet smiles. They seemed warier to approach you than the young ones, so you had waited for Tsuzuru to present you. "Oh. Tsuzuru was right, I can differentiate you better than I expected."

"Ah- yeah, when we were younger we used to look a lot more similar."

"I see... Are you two really middle schoolers? I'm really jealous of this house's general height."

The spring member laughed while turning to the one who had been quieter, kneeling next to him. “Hey buddy."

"...Hi"

"I see you are already on the second volume of that series, uh” Tsuzuru placed a hand on top of his head patting it. “I loved when I was younger a lot too.”

Tooru looked up at him surprised. When he noticed his behaviour he blushed, adjusting his glasses and quickly lowering his head smiling. He hugged the book against his chest tighter and nodded. "I missed you around, Tsuzuru-nissan."

"Me too." Tsuzuru patted his head once more as he stood up. "Y/N's right, I can’t believe you two are this tall already.”

“Well- It’d be nice to beat you nissan.”

At that moment another figure entered the living room, older than all the others you had seen so far. “I hope we don’t scare Y/N with all this chaos guys, we can hear you from all over the kitchen.”

You walked up to him and bowed with a smile. “Everyone has been great so far. It’s nice to finally meet you, Minagi-san.”

He nodded with a friendly smile, the wrinkles around his eyes making his face calming and comforting to look at. “The sentiment is mutual. You know, Tsuzuru's never brought anyone home before. He must be serious about you.”

You grinned, noticing the spring member's face gain color. “I’ve been somewhat informed.”

“Yeah! How did you convince him to go out with you?”

“I know! Is it because he tells amazing stories?”

"He also plays football super good."

"But not as good Meguru-nissan!"

"But still-!"

“Guys I appreciate the effort but can you not.”

The man gave a relaxed chuckle, ruffling his playwright son’s hair affectionately. “We are just glad to see you are doing good Tsuzuru, we’ve missed you.”

“You all have a weird way to show it.” Tsuzuru sighed embarrassed.

“Mhm? We haven’t taken out the albums yet.”

“And it will stay like that over the whole dinner.”

“Coming through!”

Making way for them, Tsuzuru’s mother and Kaoru arrived with a few more plates to share with everyone in the middle of the table. After they were placed, the high schooler turned to you. He gave away a similar vibe as the spring member, looking a bit all over the place, although that could also have been because of all the cooking and prepping you imagined it took. “Nice to meet you. Kaoru, right?”

“Yeah,” he smiled back. “Nice to meet you too, Y/N-san. The house is a bit of a mess but I hope you enjoy dinner at least.”

Oh, he definitely is a clone of Tsuzuru. “Are you kidding?” you shook your head at the number of plates with the biggest smile. “It smelled amazing even from the entrance! I can’t believe you cooked all this.”

The boy flushed at the sudden compliments. His parents shared a smile behind you as they made everyone get to their seats. “Ah- well, kinda. We use to have food prepared each day so it wasn’t that difficult.”

“Styr-fry crispy noodles, uh?” Tsuzuru looked around as you all placed your hands together and gave your thanks. “Mhm, this is good.” He nodded contentedly. “I can't believe how much I missed this flavor. Thanks Kaoru.”

Kaoru instantly lighted up at the statement, making you understand just how much Tsuzuru’s opinion and figure were valued around. All the young ones had fought in order to sit next to him, so you decided to give away your seat and instead eat next to one of the twins and his mother.

“So Y/N, are you studying too?”

“Yeah.” You explained your major and engaged in conversation with Kaoru and the twins, talking about selecting careers and future schools.

“How’s Tadoru-nissan? I’ve talked to Meguru-nissan lately but he’s unavailable whenever I call.”

At Tsuzuru’s questions, his mother placed a hand on her cheek pensively. "I wonder too. The last thing I know was him staying in an old village, where was it...?" her husband shook his head when she glanced at him. "But well- you know how he is. One day on one place yet tomorrow he could be perfectly knocking on this door."

"I hate how right you are..."

“Hey, Y/N! What do you think of his stories?” Takeru looked at you, eyes bright with expectantly. "Aren't they just so awesome?"

Having your mouth full too, you could only give him a thumbs up while nodding. You swallowed and chuckled. "They are. Your brother is pretty awesome in general."

You noticed Tsuzuru rolling his eyes, hiding his probably flushed face by drinking water.

“Right? He works so hard too!”

“Maybe too hard though.”

“I agree.”

“We used to do plays written by him when everyone was younger.”

His father leaned on the table entertained. "Right. You all loved to be selected for different roles."

“Oh, I didn’t know that! I’d love to see a full Minagi play at some point.”

Tsuzuru's eyes opened in shock. You could perfectly read the word traitor coming from his lips before gasps and general chaos erupted.

"We could?! I want to!!"

“Man they were a mess but it was fun. Tooru always wanted to be the hero, remember?”

"Me? No way!"

“Play, play!”

“I-I too wanna do a play written by Tsuzu-nii!”

His mother cleaned the corner of her third-youngest and smiled. “Maybe Tsuzuru could write something the next time he comes. Now it’s dinner time okay?”

Takeru gasped with excitement and stood up, looking at the playwright. “That would be so cool! You have to promise you will make one for us!”

“Promise!”

Tsuzuru scratched the back of his head. He looked in your direction but you shrugged, enjoying the situation too much to intervene. In the end he sighed and smiled defeated. He could never win against such excited faces. “Sure, I’ll try to come up with something next time.”

"Yay!!" .

.

.

“Are you sure you two don’t want to sleep here tonight? It’s gotten really late.”

“It’s fine mom. We both have University tomorrow so we should try to head back”

After having dinner and enjoying the sweets you had brought, midnight almost reached the Minagi household, so you two decided it was about time to head home. You were now at the entrance, having already said goodbye to the rest of the siblings and now being just both parents and Kaoru left.

“Alright, just be careful okay? And Y/N, come back whenever you want. We loved having you today.” Tsuzuru’s mother gave you a hug while his father smiled agreeing, nodding as he rocked an already sleep Yuzuru in his arms.

“It was a pleasure.”

“I’ll go with them,” Kaoru suddenly decided, stepping in to grab his own shoes. “I want to buy some ice cream from the convenience store anyway.”

And so, you three kept talking until the station came to view. Tsuzuru took a deep breath. It had been quite a while since he had walked around like that, a nostalgic feeling emerging as he remembered old times by looking at the streets. Time really flies.

“You didn’t have to walk us back, it’s late.”

“I know. Still wanted to.” his younger brother shrugged and placed his hands inside his pockets. The evening air was fresh. “I like them.”

“Uh?”

“Y/N-san, I mean.” looking behind Tsuzuru, he saw you humming while waiting for the train tickets back to Veludo to come out from the machine. “They must be special if you’re willing to bring them home to meet us.”

Tsuzuru copied him, watching your back and your little dance in the distance. He unconsciously felt the corners of his mouth rising up. “…Yeah. They are.” It was embarrassing to say it out loud in the silence of the night, but it was true.

“Meguru-nissan and Tadoru-nissan told me they would both try to come for dad’s birthday. You should bring them too.”

Tsuzuru snorted. His older brothers were on a whole new level. He ruffled Kaoru’s head. “Thanks. For everything.”

“You know you don’t have to thank us."

“Still-"

“Done!” You waved the tickets as you made your way back to the two brothers. “We are all set to go.” Kaoru nodded in understanding.

“Then I’ll go too. It was nice getting to know you, Y/N-san. We leave our big brother in your care. He’s a worrywart… so please don’t be afraid of taking his coffee and make him take a break.”

“Oh, that’s some hard quest right there.”

“I’m still here, you two are aware of this right?”

You both laughed at the spring member. “I will do my best to take care of your big brother, I promise." you turned to him.

Kaoru's eyes softened at your response. "Thanks." .

. .

“I think they liked you.” The playwright suddenly commented once inside the train, some time after you parted from Kaoru. You yawned and looked up smiling. “I got that feeling too, although I didn’t wanna jinx it. Were you expecting something different?”

He shrugged. “Not really. Just glad it ended well.” Tsuzuru took your hand, caressing it with his thumb.

“I liked them too, you nailed every single one of them.” You yawned again. “I’m also deadly tired though.”

“Welcome to my life.”

You giggled, allowing your head to rest on his shoulder. You could feel how happy and fortunate he had felt tonight, being able to enjoy some quality family time even though he used to complain here and there. Soon enough your breathing fell into a steady rhythm at the soothing sound of the rails. Along with the empty wagon, you closed your eyes enjoying Tsuzuru’s warmth.

It had been a nice day.

_____________________________________________________ The Minagi household literally has my heart.

Hope you all have a wonderful day! 💕

[heli0s-writes]

III. Paralysis*

Summary: “I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around Bucky’s bicep, his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.

A/N: 9.8k words. OOF.

Warnings: Language, robots v. monsters violence, Big Time angst and comfort, smutty bits (dry-humping, thigh riding).

Trinity Epoch Masterpost

He leaves around sunset. Hair combed neatly to the side and freshly shaven, Steve’s dashing in a fitted suit and tie. 

In the middle of passing around a basketball, Erik Killmonger, in all his subtlety, whistles, “Looking fresh, white boy!”

Steve smirks, smoothing the front of his jacket, “This monkey suit? I’d rather be in circuitry.”

He’s been laying low since Siegehook, since Bucky’s arm, and since you. But now the story’s changed and he’s gotta get his narrative straight— he’s introducing a new character, changing the players, and guiding the spotlight exactly where it needs to go.

Jimmy Fallon— Kimmel? One of the Jimmies personally flew into Hong Kong for a special taping of his late-night show. Orion racked up eleven kills; it’s another record and the people want what they want.

Fury called the three you of into his office after the network reached out for the umpteenth time. He strategized shrewdly to have Steve on this particular broadcast because it’s not as serious as a news report and not as wordy as an interview. Too many things can go wrong in both: cross-examinations, misquoting, scrutiny after the fact.

Steve works best in front of a live audience. He’ll sit down tonight—broad and tall—smile at the camera and the host, make a few charming quips, and then he’ll let the world know.

James has been hurt. The next breach will overlap his recovery time—don’t worry, everybody, fortunately, there’s a pilot available to step in and fill his place until he’s fully healed. And yes, he’ll be back soon, both in the Jaeger and on the show— I know you miss him, he’s even more popular than me, huh? Broody and quiet, right, ladies? He’s a hit!

Then he’ll laugh and field some questions about his new partner—but keep it vague for both yours and Bucky’s sake.

It didn’t need to be said. You didn’t want to be named, Steve didn’t want to make any assumptions for the future, and Bucky didn’t want to know if anyone thought he couldn’t pilot anymore.

Erik passes and you catch, sidestepping Thor and shooting over his figure which is no easy feat considering his massive height and the way Steve is staring you down. You don’t have to be hooked up to his brain to know what he’s wondering. 

Since the trial run, you’ve been feeling the after-effects of the drift in oscillating waves. Sometimes you catch yourself standing ramrod straight, physically feeling heavier, knowing it’s him.

You okay? We talked about this. Yes, you are. No, you aren’t. It’s complicated. He’s fixes his tie the same time you spot a wrinkle. After-effects.

Erik jumps for a rebound when you miss the next basket, getting it knocked away by Thor’s enormous hand. Steve’s already gone when you look back, but Erik is passing again, and your next shot sinks through the net.

“That’s fuckin’ right!” He knocks his elbow into yours proudly, pushing sleeves over elbows until you can see the patterns of scarification up his arms. Feet back and forth on the scuffed concrete with distracted rhythm, you dribble, thoughts still on Steve.

“Hey,” a voice calls over the sound of the slamming ball. Barnes toes the edge of the makeshift court. A jacket is tucked under his arm, baseball cap atop his dark head. “Come on, it’s Friday night and you’re thinking too much. I wanna show you a place.”

-

He leads with confidence, directing the taxi in practiced Cantonese picked up over the last two years. Then, once disembarked, he peeks back every few minutes on the street to check if you’re still following. Your gait is awkward—steps firm, but lopsided. All off kilter and wound up like a spring.

It’s okay. In Bucky’s experience, food always helps. He’s taking you to his favorite restaurant—hole-in-the-wall Sichuan. He hollers over his shoulder, "You better be prepared for spice!”

-

Red lacquered doors open with a tinkering sound, a tiny overhead bell signaling new arrivals. A hostess steers through a path of similarly varnished tables and decorated chairs when Bucky asks for a quiet corner. Fish tanks of koi gleam green and blue. Chandelier scatters gold and white diamond shapes on a ceiling painted like a cloudy sky.

Hot tea first, and he sips carefully, gaze moving up to the T.V. behind your back when you’re busy flipping through the menu. A few more minutes pass of your furrowed brow sinking deeper and Bucky’s hand slides quickly across the tablecloth, nudging the booklet from your clutch.

“I got this.” And relief washes over your entire body like rain.

-

The appearance of entrees breaks your trance. Mai Gai, Char Siu Bao, Dan Dan noodles, and eggplant in garlic sauce—you’re trying to tell him it’s too much, wondering when he even ordered, but he ignores you. Not his fault you spaced out, he says, catch, and a napkin flies directly into your chest.

It makes you laugh, and Bucky secretly wants to tell you that it wouldn’t kill you to do it more often. Why the hell not, anyway? He’s tired of being upset about something that was largely inevitable. He knew the risk of death when they signed up to be Rangers so on the bright side, at least it’s his arm and not his head. At least it’s his arm and not his co-pilot’s. You’ve proven to be more than capable and proven to be someone he can trust with Steve’s life.

If Bucky had any doubts about whether or not that damned Rogers determination would see them through—they’ve been dispelled now.

The drift was sound. When Steve stepped out from the loading dock, he was lighter like half his weight had been sloughed off. When you followed, helmet pulled from your face, Bucky could see where it landed. Your hips, your shoulders, your jaw, all defiant—even if temporarily—coming down from the high of the handshake. Squared and strong, you looked at Bucky and certainty gleamed from your eyes.

You are Orion’s new pilot. He’s gotta give it up. It could be worse.

Bucky’s fingers shift as he unsnaps chopsticks and grabs spoons, the plates on his left clicking quietly, flexing his pointer when it sticks. Sometimes the prosthetic is a little glitchy because nothing’s perfect, but Stark and Shuri are constantly making updates. They use technology from the spinal clamp to connect his synapses, running tests on its reaction time, sensitivity, and functionality. He can feel pressure, but not pain, and wouldn’t it be nice if it applied elsewhere, too?

He passes your utensils over, wrapped loosely in a napkin. It could be worse.

“Hey Barnes,” you call earnestly, running your fingers over an embossed floral pattern on the paper, “Thanks.”

He’s not looking at you yet, firmly on a mission for soy sauce and chili oil. He makes a well of it in a ceramic dish and stirs with a chopstick, moving it to the center of the table, finding distraction in small tasks.

“...Barnes?”

“It’s Bucky,” he says finally, flicking his eyes to your hopeful face, “You can call me Bucky, alright? Usually that’s just for Steve, but you’ve been in his head—know me now, I guess. So you might as well. Hold your horses—I’ll serve you.”

Speechless, you put your hands in your lap and observe him scoop food, the syllables of his offered nickname tapping like a metronome over your curious tongue.

Bucky, you consider, watching the way he moves. Bucky, with his long hair pulled back and out of his cap. Bucky, his soft and worn hoodie, boots drumming gently against the table leg, eyes discreetly glazed over because he doesn’t think you notice the change in his mood.

Bucky, who made you laugh in the Jaeger hangar—even if he did threaten your life upon the first meeting. Who could have let you rot from boredom and worry, but instead took you into Hong Kong to his favorite restaurant without being asked to. Who could hate you—truly, truly hate you—for taking half his life from him, but instead is piling a mound of fragrant jasmine rice on your plate.

“What?”

“Bucky. I like it. It sounds nice.”

A clipped noise of displeasure, “Okay. Don’t fuckin’ wear it out.”

“Bucky...?” You murmur, sly. “Bu-cky. Buck-y.” The tips of his ears swell pink as you continue, emphatically pressing your lips together, letting your jaw hang open, pronouncing with precision. A bite of a steamed bun and you lick the edge of your mouth, “Bucky…hm…”

He sputters.

“Would you stop? Jesus, you’re annoying just like him— no fucking wonder— the two of you. Just fuckin’ darling.” His words are all run together with how fast his frustrated tongue moves, a healthy flush over his cheeks, spoon clinking on his plate.

It’s cute. Stoic, serious, James—Bucky Barnes– just a boy who can’t take a bit of flirting without lighting up like a candle. It’s fun. You like him, Bucky Barnes.

An unexpected ache overtakes you and suddenly Bucky looks more familiar than he ever has. Something excruciating about the soft crinkles of his brow, the way his generous lips draw back to reveal a sliver of his teeth.

He’s Bucky wiping the sweat from his collar in a dirty alleyway, jeans torn at the knees, bruises budding along his knuckles as he yanks up a troublesome blonde friend. Bucky, young and determined, helping Steve into bed every time he got sick.

Bucky, hovering pallid and broken in the drift, hurt and afraid but you felt his resolute strength in Steve’s head even as he howled in agony. Far off and shuffling in transparent layers until he was little more than a specter, but he was there.

His eyes lift again, raising to point you toward the T.V.

“There’s our boy.”

Our boy. And it keeps hurting.

You twist your torso as Steve steps out from backstage, waving and smiling, impeccably poised. He shakes Jimmy’s hand— silently mouthing thank you and hey because the cheering and yelling is too loud to hear him anyway. You try to stop thinking about Bucky anywhere but corporeal and whole across the tablecloth.

“Hey, Jimmy, how are ya?”

“Good—good, Steve. It’s so great to have you on the show again! Wow, you look great! Specimen.”

Steve chuckles modestly, tucking his chin to his chest, “Thanks, you do too.”

“Alright, no need to flatter me, we’re already in love with you, okay?”

You grin the same time Steve does, but whereas he continues to joke and enthrall two hundred people, you grow restless. Bucky refills your tea and drops a crumble of yellow rock sugar in.

“Relax,” he mutters, “It’s fine. He’s good at this. Eat your food.”

And you know this; you know him. Steve’s good when the questions get too personal and when there’s gaps in the conversation—when the cheering interrupts him or when his jaw ticks before he morphs it into a smile.

He’s good when he breaks the news to a hushed audience, gone eerily quiet like they’ve stepped on consecrated ground. Steve gives them those big blue eyes and the room immediately bursts into applause. Some people are crying. The host is shocked into wordlessness.

You feel relieved, getting what you pleaded for. No cameras. No questions. No pressure. The truth is aired, and Bucky seems pleased, too. You’re about to turn around, offer your full attention, thankful for his company, but then something else happens.

Jimmy blinks his stupor away from the blow of Steve’s confession. He takes a sip from his mug and after a short exchange of, thank you for your transparency, it must have been hard— wow I didn’t think you’d drop a bomb like that on us tonight! I thought I was the one with the ace up my sleeve— ha!

He points off-stage and says, “After that, I think you deserve a nice surprise, Steve. Ready?”

Tall, gorgeous, lightly curled hair cascading down her back—the surprise is a woman. She steps easily in heels, an off-the-shoulder red dress hugging tight to her body. Stunning. She waves to the audience and they go wild. 

Steve shoots up to meet her for a kiss in front of the host desk, shaking his head in disbelief, tangling his fingers in her silky hair. There’s cheering again and the crying keeps on.

“Oh my god— Jimmy! You sly devil!” He’s overjoyed. “Baby— how’d you—I thought you were working.”

“I can always make an exception for my favorite guy.” She showcases perfectly white teeth and the high apples of her rosy cheeks.

It’s Ophelia Reyez, Steve’s model-turned-actress girlfriend of approximately six months. Her recent appearance on the Victoria Secret fashion show blew up the internet and her last Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover sold out in every gas station you went into.

Their first meeting was at a charity event—raising awareness about pollution in the Pacific, discouraging scavengers from harvesting Kaiju parts after battles. A picture of them standing two feet away made its way through social media the next morning her PR team made contact before noon.

So of course, it was decided; it’s a beneficially mutual relationship, after all. Doesn’t matter if he hates it or not—people don’t want to know that pilots live in a metal box and play basketball on Friday nights. They want to see Rangers in a role— monogamous relationships with beautiful people, white picket fence (or gated community) future in the making, and eventually plump-faced babies in strollers.

Steve’s now back in his seat, shifted so Ophelia is sitting in his lap, turned to the side. His hands are locked around her slender waist—an incredibly believable display of public affection. She kisses his cheek, leans her head on his shoulder, beaming brightly. If you were anybody else, you’d believe it; you have before.

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw,” you whisper in both awe and annoyance.

“Feeling it, huh?” Bucky speaks plainly around a bite of eggplant when he notices your jaw. That habitual and microscopic signal he’s grown to spot a mile away means Steve’s irritated and pissed off, and now it means that you are, too.

“Yeah,” you admit, shaking your head. You turn back to him, thoroughly bothered, having had enough of the performance.

“Uh-huh. Everyone’s a Fly—even her.”

You sigh at the label. Jaeger Flies, is what he’s saying. Ranger groupies. Derisive titles— and maybe deserved— for men and women who are attracted to pilots solely because they’re pilots. They want the opportunity to be famous or the privilege of being elite.

Even her, Ophelia Reyes. She’ll forever look at Steve Rogers as the Ranger.

Natasha always lamented—usually as she took her earrings off after a date, heels slipping off her pale feet—about another civilian man who worshipped her, and how that would be a dream for most people, to be so adored, so revered, but you always felt her sorrow in the drift mourning a love she couldn’t have.

She wanted the white picket fence. The normal life, normal husband, normal family. Her clean break from the past where monsters could no longer chase her in Decima and nightmares could no longer chase her at night. Behind closed doors, she was all torn open at the seams. And you’d wordlessly tell her shut up because she had a family with you. You loved her too, wasn’t that worth something?

She’d spiral and spiral and nothing was ever enough.

Your stomach twists and it keeps hurting.

-

Bucky pays for dinner. He asks as he pops a mint into his mouth, “Up for dessert?”

“God, Buck.” You groan, and Bucky takes a second to run that through his head again. God, Buck. Another thing like Steve.

“C’mon, I wanna show you another place,” he says thoughtfully, “Hold on to your hat, punk.”

A lighthearted swat to your back and then he’s shoving the ballcap hanging from his chair on your head.

-

The streets are lit with all sorts of colors as you follow him through the market, peering at vendors showcasing an abundance of food and miscellaneous items. You keep telling him you’re too full and can’t eat another fucking bite, but he only commands you to walk it off. The crispiest egg waffles are somewhere down this way, and even though he can’t remember the intersection, it should be close.

Between steps and dodging passerby’s, he relates his own experiences of brief PR relationships. A Russian woman one time, and a Greek woman another time. Cross-cultural because it made the PPDC look good—and it was all about looking good. He loathed it, of course, but he’d bite down a couple of months before their representatives would release those asinine joint statements about “conscious uncoupling” – schedules too busy, still have love for each other in their hearts, though.

“Couldn’t tell you those girls’ middle names. We’d get together just long enough for some media circulation—dates where we’d pretend to be offended when pictures leaked on TMZ.”

“Well,” you muse over a vision of Bucky leaned back on Steve’s mattress, returned late and bored of another paparazzi encounter swarming him in the lobby of some hotel. You know it like a dream—his ankles crossed, shoes shucked off, cracking his neck. Fuckin’ wild, Stevie. This girl. My knees ain’t what they used to be.

“Least you got your dick plenty wet, didn’t ya?”

He makes a noise like an engine backfiring—offended like you’ve pawned off his prized possessions or something.  

“Jesus—you’re an ass.” He slams the bill of the cap down until it hits you in the nose. Another huff, more cursing, and then he’s saying fuck you before speeding off alone. 

You chase cheerily, finding his chestnut head peeking over the crowd with ease because he’s tall and hard to lose in Hong Kong. A few more blocks down with him looking back surreptitiously to make sure you’re not lost, and Bucky ends up being the one who is actually lost.

“Shit. Can’t find the stand,” he grumbles, “Don’t give me that face. These are way better than the ones we passed earlier—fucking all soft in the middle—fresh pandan leaf, alright? You don’t get it.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” you laugh, feeling your cheeks grow tired from the way they’ve been lifted all night.

A stifled, hot breeze of urban downtown mixes with a chilly gust of wind, carrying Bucky’s petulance away though the throng. Blinking, you look around, craning your neck and shuffle to the curb. Stalls with hanging lanterns. Carts lined with pickled mango. Vendors grilling skewers of pork and cleaving roast duck into chunks.

You suddenly dart from him across the busy road and barely avoid a rickshaw balancing two enormous baskets of finger bananas. When you return, you hold up matching green popsicles. One gets shoved into his mouth, other one into yours. Pandan, like he wanted.

“Hey, it’s not bad,” you give it another taste. Lingering coconut, a little bit leafy, but not unpleasant. “Oh shit—cold!”

Bucky licks his lips, stinging red from the ice. You shudder loudly as brainfreeze hits, another chatter of your teeth following when a gust of wind whips through. He shrugs his jacket from his shoulders.

-

He calls you a dumbass after an embarrassing story about the time you skinny-dipped in a pond near The Icebox in the middle of winter. A handsome man, your eager libido, and a handle of whiskey had been involved. You giggle about being bed-ridden for half a week afterwards, but you got his number and a few good nights in his bed.

“Guess you’re not as boring as I thought.”

You whistle, “Sweetheart, I got stories that’ll put some hair on your chest.”

Bucky smacks you on the shoulder. “Ass.”

-

The Shatterdome comes into view much later.

What would have normally been a three-hour excursion, at most, has unintentionally into six and you’re nowhere close to tired—not quite ready for it to end. Bucky is bright with energy, too.

The past hours have been dedicated to recalling old tales. One led to another, threads pulled from the most insignificant of mentions—your old Boston Terrier’s underbite; Bucky accidentally knocking Steve’s bottom lip into his own braces in sixth grade and it swelled up so big he could hardly talk; Natasha, unable to pronounce fucking aluminum out of all the damn words in the world; you, unable to pronounce facetious; and then Bucky, trying his own hand at it and realizing he can’t either.

“Fa—fa-shish-shush? Fascist—tus? Factitious… Ah, shit.”

“Buck,” you gasp through another fit, “Bucky—you have to shut up. Oh—Oh my god—my face hurts.”

“Christ, who fucking made this word up?” He turns the corner toward the living quarters, shaking his head. Just you and him between the rooms and his steps slow at the advent of an inbound goodnight.

Bravely, now that you’re in more secluded space, you offer, “I can tell you more... if you want. Anything. It’s only fair.”

“Yeah,” he says, going quiet and careful. “If you want to.”

So, you take a deep breath, bookended by a nervous grin because other than Steve, the only person who knows anything about you outside a confidential manila folder is dead.

“Well, it might surprise you, since I’m just so goddamn talented—"

“Oh, here we fuckin’ go.”

“Kidding. I wasn’t good at anything,” you elbow him before fishing out your key. “Other than getting into trouble.” Clicks of the cylinder and your vault door squeaks open. “Lots of fighting—I was a small kid. Had nothing but the clothes on my back and just the biggest chip on my shoulder.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

Yeah. It’s funny. Steve’s alleyway fisticuffs might as well have been your own. You tell him as soon as the PPDC started recruiting again, you were in line. Their standards were confusingly specific and the tests they ran didn’t make any sense, but you passed and landed in Kodiak Island under the austere care of Stacker Pentecost. 

Flipping the light on, you invite him inside. “I’d been in and out of foster homes. Barely had a high school degree. Got into… bad work. You know— what do homeless young adults with questionable moral codes do when their 9-5 isn’t paying the bills?” It’s desperate joke to break up the tension but he doesn’t take the bait.

“I’m not judging.”

You plop down on the edge of your table— a spotty metal thing pilfered from a vacated room. He takes the single seat in front of you, moving a dusty glass of water toward the wall, expression only showing attentiveness.

“Well, anyway…” you pause, “I was in the Bay Area after Trespasser— you know, scavenging. But, well, it changes your perspective a little when you’re sneaking through government tape at 3 in morning, stepping over flowers and memorabilia for all the deaths to crouch over a monster’s fucking toenail.” 

“Hell,” a sardonic and self-deprecating grin, “I might have been a degenerate street urchin, but someone’s family got taken from them and here I was—monetizing their tragedy.”

Arching your back for more comfort, you splay your left leg over the surface, “Pentecost always said if I was lucky enough, I’d suffer brain damage or radiation poisoning, but might as well die in a Jaeger than in a ditch like I figured I always would. Son of a bitch had my number.”

Bucky’s lips are pursed lightly, eyes are tracing the path of your laces through bent hooks when you wriggle your boot back and forth. He spreads his hand over your ankle, keeping you still.

You swallow when he squeezes.

“Uh— I met Nat at Kodiak.” Bucky is warm. You oscillate between ignoring him and focusing on him, clinging to his hold instead of chasing the thought of Natasha too much. “We were… very similar. Childhood, um, troubles and all that.” You give him a pointed look and he makes a small noise of understanding with no intention to press for details, “She became my best friend. She was the first person I had. My only family.”

A nod of mock irritation and he says, “Yeah. Steve was always a part of mine. Sometimes they say they like him more than me. Can’t blame ‘em.”

“It’s the charm. They make it seem effortless, huh?”

“Fucker can’t take a bad picture to save his life.”

You laugh. “A smile like the goddamn sun!”

“One look into those stupid blue eyes and you’re a goner.”

“Criminally pretty.”

“Hah!” Bucky snorts, “Pretty enough for all of us.”

The floodlight on the wall casts darkness in the shape of your head over his shoulder. Lines of wayward hair caress his neck, tapered strands resting on his collarbones, chestnut glowing orange. His irises stipple forest green when it touches the light, smile nostalgic and lovely.  

“Don’t be stupid,” you look at him for another minute longer, “You’re pretty, too, Buck.”

A raise of his brow. Bucky’s mouth opens and closes a few times vacantly. “Thanks,” he mutters finally. Then, bashfully, “So are you.” 

Then, a cautious murmur of your name that you almost miss, and he’s peering up at you, deliberately soft. Bucky’s thumb knead small circles over the stitching of your jeans.

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

You loved her, didn’t you?

The years sweep through, passing over your face in a range of rapid-fire emotions. Bucky watches them change like shadows of a bonfire. Delight, amusement, longing. Anger, despair, grief. Deep and unforgiving because she was your whole world—all you had— and she left too soon.

You inhale and it sounds like a sniffle— exhale, and it sounds like a sob. No going back now; you did promise him anything.

You loved her, didn’t you?

Of course you loved her. Natasha-fucking-goddamn-Romanoff. Yeah, of course you did.

You loved her like a sister. You loved her like a lover. You loved her in reflexive ways, like mother’s intuition, finding your motivation in the need to protect her even though she hardly ever needed protection. You loved her like precious gems. You loved her like she was made from your own rib. You loved her enough to love unreciprocated.

“Well, you spend years living with someone, in their brain, learning everything about them— every decision in and out of their control that led them up to who they ended up being. Their—all their impulses and all the things they think about themselves. How—how they hate themselves sometimes.”

You’d always said you were the stupid one. Too stupid to reflect on the past and too stupid to let it burden your conscience the way she’d let hers. A running gag whenever her hand jammed putting on a lipstick she’d worn a million times and you’d finally have to do it for her.

Cheer up, Nat. You’re too pretty to cry. You’d line her lips, pat in rouge delicately, encouragingly. And then you’d shut up because there was nothing you could tell her. A million reassurances rolled off her back because they only made her feel worse. She clung onto your care like another weapon in her chest because she couldn’t return it even though you told her you wanted nothing from her but happiness. Jesus Christ, Nat, I thought I was the stupid one.

“When you know someone like that, it’s easy, isn’t it? You see them exactly for who they are and suddenly there’s no longer the concept of good or bad. What else could I do but love her? Especially when she thought so little of her damn self—tried everything to be someone else but—Jesus, if you only knew how radiant she was—”

You shut your eyes. “A smile… like the goddamn sun. Ah, fuck—"

And now you’re crying. You haven’t cried about Natasha in almost half a year because it’s something you track like the entrance bay’s war clock. Five months. Ten days. Zero again.

You’re choking back too many words and you don’t even know why you said all of that. You start apologizing, rattling out more, too much again, desperately like a prayer, pitch escalating higher and higher. “She deserved everything. A life that was completely—solely—hers. A life that made her happy— and why— why her?”

Why not me? 

Bucky hears it in the silence. Watches it descend like a funeral shroud, weighing you down until you look as heavy as Steve on his worst days—when he stares at Bucky’s arm, like Bucky can’t see, can’t feel him there. And he knows Steve is thinking, why not me?

Bucky rises to his feet, stepping next to your uselessly dangling leg, resting his left hand on your shoulder and you grasp him, clutching achingly tight, torn to bits. And it’s too much all at once.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around his bicep, then his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.

You’re smashed into little pieces, barely keeping your head above water, holding it all in, and no one recognized how you were drowning the entire time.

Solemnly, curiously, he feels like he’s seeing you for the first time but not quite, remnants of familiarity sparks in him—the filmy plastic layer of an old photograph pressing down to reveal something he once knew and finally knows again.

You make helpless noises, staring numbly ahead, tears rolling out like marbles to drop into your lap.

Bucky shakes his head, “I’m fine,” he whispers gently—frustrated—brow furrowed, his fingers rubbing the salt from your chin, “Quit your blubberin’.” He tilts your face up to the light, watching you take a shuddering breath, exhausted from unearthing buried skeletons.

It's wet when he kisses you, supple flesh chapped around the edges from anxious gnawing, swollen hot from weeping. It’s soft and quick, and then he pulls away.

“St—sorry,” he says, mouth pressing into a thin line, lips drawn in and tentatively licked. “Sorry, I don’t know… I don’t know why I did that. I shouldn’t have.”

Your eyes are sad—big and vulnerable, inflamed red, confused, worried, something else weaving through the damp gaze. Your strong, small fingers are still tight on him, and even though Bucky pulled away and apologized, he rushes forward again.

His free hand curls around your neck, supporting your head. Lips part and close, pressing firmly, expertly, naturally. It feels like he’s kissed you before and missed it— like a kiss he’s been waiting on for a long time.

Banging on your door jerks him away. You careen off the tabletop, smooth the back of your hair, wipe your face and the vault creaks open.

“Marshal,” Bucky greets.

“Rangers…” Fury’s steps are suspicious, phone in his hand aglow. “I thought we had a plan.”

Your heart is beating too fast, the press of Bucky’s plush lips still warm, the scent of his skin still near. You sense it like an imprint, feel it like a brand. The room spins with an onslaught of possible scenarios—all horrendously unclear.

“Care to explain this to me?” The marshal turns his phone toward you, the lit screen displaying a photo of a dark street, illuminated by red and yellow lanterns. A thick crowd is spread around stalls of fruit and knick-knacks.

The headline reads James Barnes Spotted in Hong Kong with Mystery Woman, and the two of you are circled inside a red ring. You’re teetering off the curb of the sidewalk next to a sewer grate. It’s grainy and distorted, but Bucky’s striking features are clear.

“And this one?”

Bucky’s cap on your head, popsicle sticks between your teeth and his.

Steve Rogers on Jimmy! Jimmy Barnes on a Date!

James Barnes Officially Over Penelope Mercouri.

James Barnes’ Injury?

Fury tucks his device back into his coat. “Not that I care what you get up to on your spare time, but we had a tale to tell. It’s hard pushing an agenda when you’re pushing the wrong way.”

“We just got dinner,” you stutter, an upsurge of guilt rising. The speculation, the kiss, the gut-wrenching reflex that feels like a crime. Fury’s calculating now, looking from you to Bucky, assessing the situation with some pity because you truly look pitiful.

“What you got is PR on cleanup. Potts has been trawling Twitter for the last 20 minutes. For someone who doesn’t want to be in the public eye, you’re making a lot of noise.” He points to Bucky’s jacket still over your shoulders.

You tear it off. “It’s not—”

“Oh no—I won’t be losing sleep any over it.” The marshal’s single eye blinks calmly, “She can spin the story, but you become responsible for this.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, Ranger, that the spotlight is on you now. And there is nowhere to run.”

And if you didn’t think it could get any worse, footfalls down the hallway reach your ears in a pattern that you recognize immediately. Here he is, stepping into your room like it’s his own, suit jacket over his forearm, shirt halfway untucked and tie pulled loose. His lips drawn together and unreadable.

But you read it: Steve’s seen the pictures, too.

And goddamn, if you didn’t think it could get any worse— the earsplitting alarm announcing sudden movement in the breach startles you all.

“Orion Bravo, report to Bay 08, Level B. Codename Polidori. Category 2 Kaiju.” Shuri’s reedy voice is collected but critical. The thin screen next to your bed blinks on primary colors, wavy lines of activity rising and falling, counting down until emergence. Three hours.

Banner streams down the hall. The ruckus drowns him out.

Fury’s dark skin is ochre beneath the lights, “Category II,” he says, “Should be achievable. Odinsons will be on standby, guarding the Miracle Mile. Maximoffs on the coastline. They’ll come to you if necessary. Shelve your personal troubles, Rangers, we’ll continue this conversation later.”

-

Circuitry. Battle armor. Helmet beneath your arm. Muscle memory cuts down the time to seven minutes until you’re set to board, but you need more. Just a few—you have to tell him—better now than later—better from your mouth than from the drift. So, you blurt, “Bucky kissed me.”

Steve turns.

“We kissed. It—it’s nothing. I just needed to tell you before we get in. Didn’t want to seem like I’m hiding anything—I’m not.” It sounds so stupid, like a child admitting fault for breaking a window with a too-hard throw. It sounds like betrayal.

His helmet is gripped tightly in the crook of his elbow. Steve’s chin juts out incrementally, chewing on the inside of his lip, the air around him gone stagnant until he makes a noise both like a scoff and a hum.

“Sure. Fine. I get it—you’re lonely.” It’s worse than any response you expected to receive. “You know what I mean.”

It must be a testament to the depth of your connection now— you knowing him, him knowing you in all the ways that can make an argument escalate into atomic warfare. Precision strikes and then the two of you walking Ground Zero in its aftermath. 

“Wait—you think I’m lonely?” You block his way out, furious. “What the fuck does that— have you met yourself? Girlfriends who will never see you for who you are. Ophelia Reyez? Katherine Lau?”

Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.

“I know exactly what I’m doing—do you? I spent all evening on T.V. for you--”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, Mister Martyr in front of a drooling audience telling white lies and screwing a Victoria’s Secret Angel in some penthouse suite— such sacrifices you’ve made in my honor.”

Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.

“What the fuck have you done lately?” Steve snaps, “Other than try to fuck my co-pilot?”

His words hit like a kick in the goddamn teeth. You slam your helmet into his chest and the polycarbonate shells knock together violently.

“I’m your fucking co-pilot,” you snarl, “You wanted me.”

Steve steadies himself, twisting until he’s snarling at you down the bridge of his nose, “Enough. We’re being hailed, I’m not breaking this record because of you, and not for a Category II. Get your shit together.”

You grind your molars when he pushes you aside, stumbling on shaking legs. Your brain feels gnarled—misshapen and bent up in sharp, jagged points—and as much as you want to stomp his goddamn face in, he’s right: you can’t feel this way. You can’t. It’s your first drop in two years with the best pilot by your side—and you’re responsible for his life. The last one proved disastrous, and you cannot risk that again.

Your suit feels heavier with each step. When you climb in after Steve, the rig feels more obstinate. Your head, chest, heart are all swollen with turmoil and hot rage.

He’s next to you, breathing deeply. You mimic, shelving personal troubles like the marshal commanded.

Out of alignment, the automated voice of the system calls, and you push it back further, grabbing the entire shelf and hurling it into the depths. Steve sends you an incisive look. A blame. You take a breath, another, and another. Fuck!

“Orion.” The heads-up display spotlights Bucky’s face in the control room, emotionless. “Focus.”

You inhale one more time, seeking reassurance in his unwavering gaze—necessary peace in the silhouette of his phantom left arm. Bucky. Steve. Natasha. You. There can be no more loss. You cannot let it happen again.

Levels stabilizing.

To your right, Steve makes a noise like he’s shaking something off.

Neural Handshake complete.

Bucky stands behind the glass, watching aircrafts lower their hooks. A nod of his dark head is the last thing you see before Orion is lifted from the hangar.

-

There would be a fucking storm.

You’ve always hated fighting in the rain because Kaiju are enormous, slippery, alien amphibians, and Orion’s left fist slides off more times than you’d like. This one’s much smaller than Orion, which allows it the slight advantage of speed, slicing through the water like a shark, corkscrewing for an extra boost of velocity before emerging with a splash from behind.

A miss when you and Steve weave away, hazarding a minor scratch to the right shoulder before Orion’s shield knocks it back.

Despite the vexing evening and the simmering hurt in the pit of your chest, the drift is steady. So, you take it for what it is, cast the rust off your bones, and the two of you do some fucking damage on this thing.

Banner named it Polidori, after the writer credited with inventing the vampire genre. K-Science sonars detected protruding fangs and petal flaps folded on its back like vestigial wings. So, Polidori, he shrugged, it’s cute.

You discover with swift horror that the flaps are neither vestigial nor cute when Polidori pulls one sliver of leathery skin free with a splat. An atrocious shriek rings over the storm as it struggles with its own body, then another shriek and the left pillar continues to stretch, knobby blunt end of its shoulder blade shooting high, ripping itself full of gaping holes in its endeavor. 

Banner was more accurate than he realized.

“Orion!” Shuri’s voice is sharp, “Bring it down! Do not let it into the air! Use your cannon!”

You’re frozen stuck, eyes squeezed shut at the sight of stretched membrane. A terrified whimper and a puncture of nauseating memory nicks at Steve’s concentration.

No! Levels spike on the HUD screen. Fuck! Steve is caught in the undertow and the rig jams beneath both your feet.

“Orion! You’re out of alignment! Orion!”

She’s here.

Natasha’s bright hair is unfurling all around you. There’s deafening splintering when the incisors of her killer punctures through Decima’s chest and both her legs. Metal grinds against metal, the sound searing itself into your eardrums—your brain—your heart. Wings are beating—wild flaps of rubbery sails against the downpour—muffling screams from Decima’s cockpit.

It’s as real and cruel as the last time you saw it.

Bi Fang, like the bird from Chinese mythology, beaked and blessed with flight to make up for its one leg. Bi Fang the Kaiju was legless, and Natasha was convinced Decima could take it. You had no reason to think otherwise; five previous kills cultivated your confidence. You had her by your side, after all. Two orphans with something to prove, proving it again and again.

Wings and fangs? No legs? Six is an auspicious number. The smirk on her lips blooms fiercely. You’re laughing when Decima hovers above the water. Alright, Tasha. Six drops.

A tremendous splash and you touch ground.

She grins. Six kills.

Polidori has one limb fully flexed, fragmenting pixels bending into the shape of Bi Fang. Natasha is bending, too, lowering her center of gravity. Her elbows are against her ribs, fists set. This is gonna hurt. Come to–

Come to me! To me!

He’s stepping in ink. In water. And then metal is beneath Steve’s feet. There are flashes of rain, lightning, and he recognizes her dead center of the storm. 

Natasha Romanoff, vibrant and joyful through the glass of her helmet. You, next to her, reciprocal smile on your face stuck in hysteria, tears streaming down your cheeks in wide stripes. Steve’s hand is reaching but going nowhere. Echoes overlap of crying and shouting. Yours. Hers. His.

Come to me!

He yells again, but you’ve chased the rabbit too far.

Come to me!

He’s trying his hardest, stretching himself like ropes to bridge the fissure. He feels your fear, your hurt, and for a flash, it eats him whole, spits him out a twisted-up way and his brain screams for Bucky.

Bucky is doing the same through the control room, reaching his will out to Steve, praying their connection still holds despite their distance. He’s yelling for you, too.

“Steve! Get the hell out of it! Steve, you need to get her!”

The ripping of his red left arm loops three times in quick succession before Steve can temper it down. Bucky is howling, crying, sobbing. Steve is breathless, stuck, rattled, steeling his entire body to witness the amputation for another inescapable replay until your frozen body smears across his blurry field of vision. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Bright whites burst behind his eyelids. Flares of panicked emotion. Bucky. Natasha. Him. You. An endless rippling chain of trauma lashing Orion open.

“Come on— Steve! It’s moving! Steve!”

“Buck! I’m— I’m okay! Just— need a second.” Steve scrambles for his sanity, latching on, knowing Bucky’s well— alive and not hurt. Shuri begins urging him to get up faster. Polidori’s moving slow, but it is moving, and it needs to be put down now. She’s calling for the Odinsons—Colossus, be prepared to walk-

The metal under Steve’s feet slides away. Water returns, ink flowering behind it—molasses and murky. His steps are unsteady, chest heaving as he advances through a field of speckled glimmers like fireflies at dusk. Each flicker reflects an agonized shard of your distorted face.

A flit of your voice rushes behind his head. Steve whips around and tries to catch it but no such luck.

Again, to the right, then gone each time he spins. It builds and builds until he feels half-deaf, frantically invoking your name into the ether where it becomes lost in dissonance. Butterfly-winged iridescence scatter and plummet, shrieking, shrieking, shrieking. 

Then, nothing.

He finds you crumpled over on Anchorage’s shore.

Decima reaches sand as a crackling mess of Jaeger parts, chest piece ripped clean off the right side. You clamber out of the rig, hugging Natasha’s mutilated corpse. Your drivesuit is split open down to the hip, the glass of your helmet fractured and splattered with blood from your nose– still dripping.

He shakes his head, attempting to free himself of your scarred clutch. You had been hooked into the rawest fear—linked up when she died— gored and broken with half your brain believing it is also dead. Chills race up his spine and breaks him out in a cold sweat. He feels strangled to his very soul.

Then, seizures take you—the casualties of solo piloting—the neural damage come to collect. Nobody know how many miles you steered Decima alone and truthfully, it should have killed you.

Your eyes roll up to the sky, body convulsing before slamming into the ground like a rag doll, shaky fingers still reaching for your co-pilot. Steve shudders quietly, flinching with each impact. A final wail and everything slackens to a dull vibration. You quiver on the sand, howling and crying for Nat.

Polidori’s right wing casts itself loose, jaw opening wide. Steve’s on a time limit; there are only a few grains left in the hourglass. He croaks your name.

A second of recognition triggers from behind the curtain and it’s miraculously enough for you to see him. It’s enough.

He begs. He begs on his goddamn knees, crawling to you.

Look at me, only at me. Come back to me, please. Please. Please.

Steve gathers you in his arms, both of you trembling and afraid. Your suit heals itself, pieces stitching back together, blood little by little disappearing from your nose. Natasha shimmers away. 

He presses the glass of your helmets together. He needs to get closer.

Steve? S-Ste-Steve—Steve?

You’re still crying. You’re breaking his heart.

Yes. I’m here.

St-Steve, what d-d-do I do?

You’ve got me now. I’m here with you. You understand?

He can see you struggling to escape, consciousness clawing with nails and teeth to return to the present.

Yeah. Y-Yes.

We have to move.

Steve—Steve—everything hurts.

Just for now. Just for a little bit—but I’ll make it better, I promise. Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. Will you hold on to me? Do you trust me?

Y-yes… Yes, yes. I trust you.

The rig lurches back to life beneath his feet. Jittery and creaking with strain, Orion rocks forward with a rumble. The drift stirs once more, noise giving way to silence.

Steve’s vision clears. You’re back in the present, precariously grounding your strength inside his guidance. You raise an unsteady left arm. He powers it up. Energy surges through the cockpit, tremors running up your side as it charges. Your hand splays. Steve’s palm takes aim.

Activating plasma cannon.

The beam pierces Polidori’s shoulder and its roar chases a simultaneous thunderclap.

A crack of lightning flushes the sky purple. Orion’s right arm lifts high above its head and slams back down, the glowing hot edge of its shield cleaving through Polidori’s skull.

-

Bucky’s grip on the control room’s railing feels like it could warp metal. Wilson is on his right, other pilots in a row next to him. All is silent.

Through the relay of Orion’s camera, Polidori’s writhes one final time. A death throe—pathetic trilling drowned by rising water, falling into deep darkness. Overhead, Kaiju clean-up advances, jet engines rumbling behind an ashy horizon. Orion’s shield retreats to its side with a wet, sloppy sound. The handshake pulled through. Steve got to you.

Abruptly, the room vibrates with the shouting of about fifty voices. Sam is banging on the railing, strong fists rocking the entire length of it, roaring with glee. The others are even wilder— shoving each other in triumph.

Bucky tunes it out, waiting for quieter confirmation. He can hear the both of you despite the racket. Steve’s steady pants, cut with throaty relief—this one, Bucky’s familiar with. Your small, weak sobs strangled with tears—this one, he’s quickly learned, but knows now in his bones.

“Twelve drops,” you announce hoarsely. Raw. “B-Buck?”

He grins, dazed comfort rushing over, your voice chasing the torture away.

“Twelve kills, sweetheart,” Bucky says, “You did it.”

-

The raucous celebration in the Shatterdome simmers down around four, sunrise just a couple hours behind the horizon. Unruliness had broken out, triggering a party that lasted from the time Orion got picked up ‘til now, and still there’s chatter in the common room. 

It’s normal; Anchorage celebrated too after most kills—as long as no one died.

You’re freshly showered and changed, barefoot as you patter it back to your room. Voices from other beds are lowered as you pass—friends taking banter back to private spaces, couples pressed up against each other. All standard-issue revelry to commemorate the endurance of life.  

It’s how these things go. Violence on a massive scale, humanity threatened with extinction—the people closest to death feel it the most. When routine becomes monotony, it’s good once in a while to be stimulated again.

Damn near two thousand people in close quarters—Rangers in perfect form, friendships assembled on the foundation of sharing an exceptionally singular purpose. Even Pentecost in all his grave formalities couldn’t ward off human nature. Plenty of pilots hooked up with each other and other staff in Anchorage and no one cared as long as it didn’t muck anything up on the job. At least the marshal could control that; mishandle your personal relationships and you’d be off the docket for your next drop.

Sex is biology. Desire is human.

It’s hard for you to feel human this morning. Exhausted by the fight and the prior evening—awake now for over 24 hours, you broke away from the commons as soon as you arrived, spending an hour simply breathing in the steam, the habit achingly comforting. Your chest still feels tight, heart bloated with invasive flashbacks.

You used to decompress with Natasha. A few drinks, tales from the cockpit, shadowboxing and putting on a show, glad to be in the company of friends— to be back safely with each other. Then you’d scatter with the crowd, meet her in the showers, and help her wash her hair in silence. Nothing but the trickle of shampoo down the drain.

She’d cry, sometimes. Catharsis, mostly. Curled up in your arms, the both of you cozy in pajamas on the floor. Then off to bed where she’d climb under your sheets, falling sleep with her head on your shoulder, your fingers in her hair.

A love unspoken. A home in the shape of a twin-sized bottom bunk. Cramped and narrow. Too brief.

You sigh. Everything hurts.

A few rooms away from yours, Steve’s door is open just enough for a line of orange to escape. You know he’s there, waiting patiently as he has been. You went near catatonic on the way back, lying down in the cockpit, no longer needing to be hooked up. You shed the armor, holed yourself into the corner of Orion’s hull, and said nothing when he sat by your side.

Walking in front of the light, he places himself in the entrance way until he’s looking at you. His face is a gentle blue shadow, resplendent halo glorious behind his head. He’s dressed in soft pants and a t-shirt damp at the collar. A droplet of water runs down his neck.

It emerges like an orchestral arrangement. Leisurely notes creep into your ears—a tune you’ve always known. Plucks of strings, escalating windchimes. It echoes, the trails on his skin, his measured breath, his percussive voice layering and pleating until there are dozens of him.

Look at me. Come to me. I need you.

You feel it all at once. A knotted, chaotic tempest. Hesitation. Confusion. Ache. Bucky. Him. You. Your eyes lock with his. A mistake and a revelation.

Steve holds out a steady hand. You take a step, terrified, pulled into his overwhelming atmosphere like magnets, your bodies humming a secret frequency, purring for each other.

The drift opened everything up, but the battle tore it all out. The both of you are laid bare, everything else fallen away.

Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. You’ve got me now, you understand?

You reach the shadow he casts, eclipsed entirely by his bulk. Steve threads his fingers between yours and with a tug, you surrender your worries to him.

He’s kissing you before the door is entirely shut and latched. He fumbles for the locks, wraps his arms around your waist. A click and a clatter. He moans into your mouth. 

You exhale from deep inside your chest. He inhales like it’s all the oxygen he needs.

Your hands move to one place, his hands to another. Before your bodies can savor it, the both of you have roamed on, reading each other’s minds, knowing what’s next.

More. More. More.

It’s impatient and fast and Steve picks you up with ease. You forget yourself, forget the world outside the room, outside the three-by-three tile area of where he’s got you lifted, legs wrapped tight around his hips. Fingers dive into the back of your pants, squeezing, up your shirt, pawing at your breasts.

His groans blow heat onto your neck. You arch away, giving him more skin to brand kisses onto. He nips at your throat, light, then again, rough. His voice is raw and thick, husky little clouds making their home on your body.

Gentle sucking on your bottom lip follow each kiss. He takes you to bed, dropping himself onto the mattress, you on top of him. He’s been in your head; he knows what you like. Knows where you want him. Your voice is getting higher, sounds quick and shallow.

Steve guides you with one hand on your hip and the other beneath your thigh, soft pajama bottoms pressing against his. He groans each time you rock forward, needy for more contact against his groin.

You’ve been in his head, too. He likes feeling hands in his hair, so you grip his flaxen strands. He likes hearing, so you make a little more noise. He likes seeing his partner helpless because of him, losing all control, falling apart for him.

So you do. 

Pleasure rushes from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, his name burning in your throat. It’s an incredible shock and you’re spellbound, enraptured by him drinking in the parting of your swollen lips. Quickly, he places you on his thigh, enormous and strong, needing a better position to see— to feel you on him. Hungry attention, eager eyes, pleading like a mother tongue.

“Keep coming for me. Just like this— don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

The shamelessness of it—your underwear soaked to your pants. The fever of it—his body like a fire, low, husky begging just from watching lighting up your spine. It’s extraordinary adrenaline— the heightened and profound connection of knowing one another in every way—as if you were made for each other.

Animal instinct liberated from human sentience. Desire pursuing release. Two bodies colliding and igniting.

You can’t stop the next cresting wave, crying out again.

Steve pushes you on his leg repeatedly, back and forth, solid and firm between your thighs even as you shudder and whimper, telling him it’s too much— you’re too sensitive. He kisses your neck, jaw, chin, cheek. He doesn’t stop moving.

“Hold on to me.”

A bead of sweat collects on the dip of your cupid’s bow. He looks at how sweetly your skin shimmers as you shiver, how your pupils are blown wide, how you look so perfect to him. He presses his forehead to yours, looks into your eyes like the way he did in the drift.

You reach for him and rub in quick strokes, fumbling when he rocks you back, gripping when he rocks you forward. Parted lips hover, “One more time for me—ah, please,” he begs, “Before I do.”

But he’s too late and too heated. Steve makes a mess of his sleeping pants, taken over the edge by how you feel without hardly feeling you at all. He buries a groan into your shoulder, riding it out with indelicate thrusts into your palm.

“Oh,” he murmurs, “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.”

He’s blush pink and beautiful when he remembers himself again, rubbing his cheek against yours. He knows what you’re thinking— the realization in the comedown, the leaching fear of what could have been a mistake. But it isn’t, and Steve remains faithful to your body.

“Stay. I’m sorry—for hurting you. I’ll make it better.” Velvet kisses to your lips and you shake your head, apologies no longer necessary.

A whisper of his name like it’s the most radiant word. You cling to him, kissing him, answering only to him.

-

In the afternoon when Steve is still sleeping, you retreat to your room. You pause at the sight of Bucky already on your bed, caught in the bleary focus of his gaze. With lashes soaked wet, his throat constricts around a forceful swallow.

“Hey,” he says, voice breaking on the syllable. He pats the space next to him and you come sit, turning your knees until they knock into his.

“Bucky…”

He laughs like you’ve told a joke, like the sound of his own name is a funny thing escaping your mouth. “Hoped I could catch you last night, before—” he laughs again. “—Before bed. Just wanted to—I guess I don’t know what I wanted to do.”

The hurt resurfaces. You find him through the rose-dappled lenses of Steve’s eyes. Those warm summers with two boys running wild, effortlessly devoted to each other. Your heart swells like you’re there, gazing at russet locks flying in the wind. Years and years between them—Bucky’s smile, lopsided and carefree. Steve’s gaze, illuminating Bucky in every memory.

“Bucky,” you say again, so wonderfully soft, he thinks, even as his chest feels stretched to bursting. “You love him.”

He places his temple on your shoulder, face hidden by the long strands of his hair.

“You’ve been in his head. He’s easy to love.”

“Yes,” you agree, touching his bangs, pushing them over his ear, streaking four affectionate lines through, “He is.”

“So are you.”

Bucky turns into your palm, smiling openly, like the truth is the simplest thing in the world.

[dontshootmespence]

You Do Something To Me

Summary: Spencer and Y/N have been on a few dates, mostly consisting of Doctor Who, poker and bad takeout. This time, the reader suggest upping the stakes.

Words: 1,228

Warnings: Fluff, then strip poker, and then some sexy times.

A/N: My next entry for @cmbingo​ 2020! This fulfills my free space square and fulfills a request I’ve kept for a hot minute from @friedtacostarfish​, who asked for a strip poker fic between Spencer and the reader who’ve been on a few dates but haven't slept together yet. They love playing poker though, so one night the reader suggest taking it up a notch. Also, I don’t do poker, I barely know the hands and lingo so if I got shit wrong...oops.

Probably wasn’t the sexiest thing in the world - lo mein noodles hanging sloppily out of your mouth. But you couldn’t help it. You were hungry. “Is this everything you ever wanted in a woman?” You asked, slurping the rest of the noodle into your mouth before flashing him a cheesy smile.

“Absolutely,” he laughed. “As long as you don’t mind when I do something like this.” After forfeiting the chopsticks he still couldn’t figure out how to use correctly and grabbing a fork, he popped a piece of teriyaki chicken into his mouth and splashing soy sauce on himself in the process. “Another round?”

You smirked and felt a wave of heat washing over you. Hopefully, what came out of your mouth wouldn’t scare him away. “How about we up the ante?”

“How much?”

“Not money.”

Spencer’s mouth contorted into a face you hadn’t seen before, making you snort. “I’m confused.”

“How about...we play strip poker? Every hand lost, loser takes off a piece of clothing.”

He blushed and looked down, but when his eyes met yours again, they were filled with want. “Are you sure you want to play that with me? Texas Hold’em?” Oh, now he was getting cocky.

“Definitely.”

Without a word, he divvied up the cards - two hole cards a piece and five community cards. Not that he didn’t love playing poker, but he seemed more invested than usual. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

In the center of the table sat an ace of hearts, 9 of diamonds and 3 of spades. 

As you glanced across the table, you tried to read Spencer as best you could, which considering he was a profiler put you at a distinct disadvantage. There was the slightest tick in his lip - upward, so an okay hand at least.

If you got lucky with the next two community cards, you’d beat him, but it was a long shot. You decided to call him anyway. One of you would hopefully get naked and then maybe the cards wouldn’t be necessary anymore. “I call,” he said. “Burn the card and the next is a king of diamonds.”

You could win this hand. In your head, you just screamed gimme a queen, gimme a queen, gimme a queen.

“I call.”

“Burn one and...queen of clubs.”

You tried keeping your game face on. You were sure you had him. “I raise.”

“Okay, I fold,” Spencer said.

He had a pair with threes, but you’d found your lucky butt with a straight - ace, king, queen, and your cards, jack and 10. “Strip, lover boy!”

Spencer chuckled and removed the sweater he was wearing. Unfortunately, or fortunately (depending on perspective), the next few hands didn’t go so well for you, which resulted in you losing both socks and your shirt. The choice of a nude lace bra was definitely a great choice because Spencer couldn’t stop staring. “That choice of bra was mean. It’s fogging my brain,” he said, not once glancing up toward your eyes. 

Snorting, you stretched your arms behind you to give him a nice unfettered peek at everything. “Not my fault you’re a man and can’t concentrate in the presence of boobs.” 

He bit his lip and dealt the next round of pocket cards before dealing the first three community cards. Within 30 minutes, he was wearing only jeans and you were in your bra and panties. Spencer was practically sweating and you were just waiting for him to break. “Spence, do you...do you think you can go another round?” You asked cheekily.

“No, absolutely not. I know we haven’t done anything before, but um...bedroom?” He pointed his thumb back toward his room, swallowing hard.

You stood up and slowly turned around, finally giving him a long head-to-toe look. “Ah!” You shrieked when he lifted you up and threw you over his shoulder, kissing your outer thigh along the way. 

“You’ve been killing me,” he said, his breaths heavy. “All night long. Do you know the things that have been running through my mind?”

Grasping his belt buckle, you fumbled with it as you replied. “I could imagine. What about me? Can you see what’s going on in my head?” You kissed his stomach just above the waistband of his jeans while you pulled them down, palming his length through his boxers. “Look, Spence, I’m all about foreplay on most occasions, but right now-”

“Yea, me too.” As he crawled over you, he pushed your bra up, not even bothering to unhook it before he clasped his lips over your nipple and began to roll it around in his mouth. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Your entire body blushed at his praise. You lifted the bra over your head and threw it somewhere toward the edge of the bed. It creaked from age but neither of you seemed to care, your labored breaths and the rhythmic sounds of the mattress was music to your ears.

Even though he seemed desperate, his muscles tight and coiled, he couldn’t help but press kisses down your stomach as he hooked his fingers into the waistline of your panties and pulled them down. Hungrily, he spread your legs and licked a stripe up your slit. “I know we said no foreplay, but I just couldn’t resist.”

Smiling, you pulled up and into a kiss. “Spence, I had no idea you could talk this way. I like it.”

“Only because I know you so well. And you’re perfect for me.”

You sighed into his mouth and helped him kick his boxers away. “Want me?”

“Hell yes,” he mumbled. He kissed your neck as he reached into his bedside drawer and grabbed a condom. In a few quick flicks of his wrist, he slid it on and placed the head of his length at your entrance. “So wet already.” He practically sing-songed.

“What can I say? You do something to me.” You skimmed your hands down his torso and grabbed his ass. When he slipped inside you, you immediately mewled, wanting more, to be overwhelmed by feeling.

Spencer pumped inside you over and over again, groaning as you closed your legs around him. “Fuck, Y/N,” he breathed. 

You bucked into his movements, his hands slipping over your arms and toward your own hands. He intertwined his fingers with yours and held them above your head as he fucked you. Whimpering, you wrapped your legs around his waist and used your heels to push him deeper, feel him harder, more insistent. “I need you, Spence. Please, I-”

Your begging was cut short when he reached his hand between your bodies and massaged your clit as fast as he could. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I-” As you came, your toes curled, every muscle in your body tightening. You barely heard him as he screamed your name into your neck, the only indication being the feel of his lips on your skin. 

Both of you came down slowly, heavy breaths getting in the way of forming a coherent thought. You grasped his face in your hands and probed his mouth with your tongue. “That was...wow.”

“Was it you that suggested strip poker or me?” He asked, falling to your side. 

You giggled and pulled the blanket closer to you. “That would be me.”

Spencer swallowed and took your mouth in another hungry kiss. “God, you’re brilliant.”

[buckleyy--diazz]

Love your writing! Not sure if you take requests, but any chance you would do a smut one shot with frat cocky Niall? He's a known player, while y/n is a good student and she hates him. He's always trying to charm her, but she always denies him. But then she goes to a pool party, and he is there in his swim trunks, and he's all tan and his muscles are glistening. He works his charm on her, and then he makes her suck him off. She's gagging on him and he's dirty talking and boasting non-stop.

FINALLY! It's ready! Sorry it took so long, I admit I had a major writer's block in the middle of writing it and also work was (is) completely crazy at the moment. I hope you will enjoy it and that I did justice to your prompt. 

°•°•°•°

Once again Niall walked into the lecture hall late, a love bite high on his neck that he hadn't even tried to hide and a girl on his arm. Love bite you were pretty sure had not even been given to Niall by the girl he was with right now. Niall leaned in and pressed a kiss to the girl's cheek and whispered something in her ear that made her blush bright red. She giggled loudly and you rolled your eyes. 

"Mr. Horan, could you please stop disrupting my lecture and take a seat. I'm sure this lovely lady also had class to attend since she is not one of my students."

A few laughs erupted around you and Niall joined in. The girl left the room, her cheeks still red but probably from the embarrassment of being called out in front of so many people. Niall climbed the stairs two by two and sat right next to you. You sighed. You loved to sit in the back completely because it was usually more quiet and easier for you to concentrate.

"Hey babe, got a spare pen for me?" Niall whispered once the professor started talking again. 

"Don't babe me Horan," you replied without even looking at Niall. You hated him and the kind of person who thought they could charm everyone in doing what they wanted. 

"Darling? Pet? Petal? Which one should I use then?"

"You could start by using my actual name," you said before throwing a pen on the desk in front of Niall.

"Thank you, Y/N." 

The way he said your name so softly made your heart skip a beat and your cheeks felt hot. You hoped Niall was not looking in your direction anymore because the last thing you wanted was for him to notice the effect such simple words had had on you. You knew exactly who Niall was and what his reputation was. He was always parading around Uni with different women on his arm, you rarely saw him with the same one two times so even if Niall was gorgeous and very tempting you absolutely hated him and would not entertain the fantasy of being with him. This is what it was, a fantasy that maybe you indulged in when it was late at night and you were alone in your dorm room but no one needed to know that, especially not Niall. There was no way you would become just another number in his phone and someone he wouldn't talk to ever again. You were also hating yourself for the way you were feeling about him. It was all very confusing. 

Niall put his shoulder bag on the desk and he took his laptop out and a bunch of pens fell out of his bag. 

Niall saw you looking at the pen and winked at you. You groaned and tried to concentrate on the lecture.

*

"Darling," Niall shouted behind you in the empty hallway leading to your dorm. You kept walking, ignoring him and hoping he would leave you alone or maybe he was talking to someone else you had not noticed. 

"Please don't ignore me, it's breaking my heart." You rolled your eyes, he was definitely speaking to you then. Niall walked past you and stopped dead in his tracks in front of you.

"What do you want?" You asked curtly because you really had no time to spare today and especially not for someone like Niall.

"Come to a party with me?"

A party, Niall was insane and this was another reason why you hated him so much. You had to work your arse off and study for hours and hours to have a good grade. You had absolutely no time to party in the middle of the week or even on the weekend. Sometimes you would go out for dinner with your friends but needed to be back by 9 so you could study for a few hours before bed. Niall could show up hungover, on two hours or less of sleep and ace the exam. This was unfair.

"A party? Niall it's Wednesday night and we have an exam tomorrow morning at 8. All I'm gonna do tonight is study and take a shower."

Niall laughed.

"Breaking my heart again but maybe one day you will say yes. Well I hope you have fun studying and think of me when you take that shower," he replied with a wink before leaving you alone in the empty hallway. You looked around yourself in confusion after Niall disappeared, wondering if what happened had just been a fever dream. You touched your forehead but your temperature seemed normal. You resumed your walk to your dorm room hoping no one else would bother you. 

*

"It's been going on for weeks now," you said to your friend on the phone. You were on your way to the grocery store to buy a bottle of wine and your favourite Ben and Jerry's ice cream. The semester was finally over and you finally had time to relax. No exam to stress over, nothing. Now it was the time for ice cream, wine and catching up with your favourite Netflix show. 

"And you always say no?" replied your friend, "I don't know if I am proud of you for being able to resist him or if I want to smack you on the head for resisting him. He's hot and obviously into you."

"He's not. Or well he is but until I stop resisting his charm and then what? I sleep with him and he never gives me the time of the day ever again?"

"I thought that's what you wanted anyway? You always say how annoying he is and how much you hate him. Hate sex is hot and passionate and it's a win-win situation. You get a good shag and Niall stops bothering you. Unless that's not what you want. You actually love the attention he's giving you don't you?"

"Sorry my phone is dying, I will call you back later."

You hung up and dropped your phone at the bottom of your purse. Immediately it started ringing again. You ignored it and walked into the grocery store walking directly to the freezer to stock up on ice cream. You hated the way your best friend was able to read right through you. So what if you liked the attention Niall was giving you? 

"Are you following me?" A voice said behind you. You turned around and really? Why did you have to see Niall everywhere you went? This week only you had ran into him at the library, the coffee shop, the pharmacy and now the grocery store.

"I could ask you the same thing," you replied and Niall laughed as if you just said the funniest thing. 

"Maybe I am, you'll never know."

"If you're trying to charm your way into my pants you can stop now it's never gonna work."

Niall took a step closer, you were toes to toes and you could feel the warmth his body was radiating. He licked his lips slowly and your eyes involuntarily followed the movement. Niall smirked and you knew you had been caught.

"Are you sure about that?" Niall asked, his breath hitting your face and it took you all your willpower to not kiss him. "Seems like you want me as much as I want you but if you really want me to stop, if it's really what you want then I will. Have a good day Y/N, I'll see you around, maybe" said Niall before turning away and leaving the store.

*

Days went by and it's like Niall had disappeared. Sometimes you would walk past the park and see his friends playing footie and you would catch yourself stopping to see if Niall was there but he never was. You had no idea where he was but it's not like you were going to ask his friends. You hated him, you reminded yourself before walking away. You knew you should have been happy, that's exactly what you wanted. 

Your phone dinged bringing you back to earth. You reached for your phone and saw it was your friend Sam who has texted you.

"Get your bikini ready, pool party at Gavin's I'm coming to get you."

You sent a reply back saying you'd be ready and got out of bed. You did not really feel like partying and wish you would have said no but Gavin was one of Niall's good friends and a part of you was hoping to see him. What was wrong with you? You hated him, you had always hated Niall, yet here you were getting ready anyway. 

You put on your favourite yellow bikini and slipped on a black dress. You grabbed your purse on the hook behind your door and went outside to wait for your friend.

*

As soon as you walked in Gavin's backyard you knew Niall was there. There was a circle of girls around him laughing at whatever he was saying and you felt something bubble in your stomach. Jealousy supplied your brain and you needed a drink because you were not jealous of these girls. You were not, you hated that guy you reminded yourself. You walked inside and got a beer from the kitchen, some friends you hadn't seen in a long time were there and you chatted with them for a while. You were sitting on the kitchen counter, nursing your beer for over an hour when Sam walked in and replaced it with a fresh cold beer.

"You should go talk to him instead of glaring from afar."

"I'm not!"

"Believe me you are," replied Sam, laughing.

You jumped down the counter, ignoring Sam shouting your name, to go outside to enjoy the sun. It was a beautiful day and you were at a pool party, you were not going to sit inside and hide just because Niall was there. You put down your beer on a table nearby and removed your dress before folding it nicely and putting it next to your beer. You jumped into the pool, letting the water cool you down. You swam around for a while until you found a pool noodle and you let yourself float, enjoying the warm sun on your body. Your eyes were closed so you didn't notice Niall running toward the pool and jumping right beside you. You startled when water hit you in the face and you opened your eyes to glare at whoever had done this.

Niall. Of course it was him. 

"Y/N, long time no see!"

"It's been eight days Horan."

"Been counting them I see," Niall laughed, his eyes crinkling because of the sun, and you regretted the words that lefted your mouth immediately. 

Niall swam closer to you and leaned against the side of your noodle making you lose your balance and go underwater. Niall splashed you and you dunked him under the water. He came out laughing and started swimming on the other side of the pool.

"Catch me if you can," he shouted over his shoulder as he pushed himself up with his forearms to get out of the pool. His biceps were bulging and water droplets were running down his body. He looked delicious and you wanted to chase the water with your tongue, his tan skin glistening under the sun. You swam to the pool ladder and started running after him. You had no idea why you were chasing him, you knew this was exactly what he wanted. Niall disappeared through the backyard door and you followed the wet traces his feet lefted on the floor through the house. 

A door closed on your left, you turned the handle and pushed the door open only to be met with a screaming girl you didn't know. Oops. 

"Sorry," you muttered and closed the door. Niall laughed and your turned around to see him take the direction of the bedrooms. This was a bad idea, you knew if you followed him there you might not resist him any longer.

"Searching for me?" Niall asked, a cocky smirk playing on his lips.

"Yes," you replied as you walked closer to him and pushed him in the bedroom and closed the door behind you, "I've had enough of your little games," you said pretending you still had an ounce of power and control over the situation when you and Niall knew he had won. 

Niall chuckled and pushed your back against the closed door, his arms on each side of your head.

"Oh really? Could have sworn you were the one chasing me," he said his lips mere millimeters away from yours, his hot breath was hitting your face. His eyes searched for yours and you nodded slightly.

Niall closed the gap between your mouths and you kissed him back immediately. Consequences be damned you wanted him and you were tired of denying it. His tongue was warm against yours and you moaned low in your throat. Your body arched against his and you hooked up your leg on his hip, trying to get some friction against your core. Niall moved his hands from the wall, putting one on your hip and the other under your thighs, holding it in place as he rut against you. He groaned and you had never heard anything hotter than that. Your head fell back against the wall in a loud thud, leaving your throat exposed. Niall kissed his way down your neck, sucking on the skin under your ear.  

His hand moved from your hip to your side, sending shivers all over your body. When he reached your breasts Niall pushed away the fabric of your bikini top exposing your breasts to the cold air in the room. You shivered and Niall palmed your left breast gently before leaning in to take your nipple between his lips, making you whimper low in your throat. Your pussy throbbed between your legs, it had been too long since someone had touched you like that. 

"Fuck babe, I knew you'd look gorgeous like that," whispered Niall as he moved his hand down your side, his fingers slowly trailing on your skin, making you shiver again. His fingers were calloused and felt amazing.  

"Wanna know how you'd look even more gorgeous?" Niall asked, his mouth moving on your neck.

"H-how?" You stuttered. 

"On your knees with your lips wrapped ar-"

You didn't even let Niall finish his sentence before you dropped onto your knees, tugging on his swimming short hastily. His cock sprang free, hard and red. Precum was already leaking at the tip and your mouth watered. You flicked your tongue at it to taste him and closed your eyes. 

"Fuck! Someone's eager," laughed Niall and you glared at him from under your eyelashes. 

"Shut up," you said before taking Niall's length into your hand and pumping it a few times and spreading the precum with your thumb around the tip. You licked at the tip again before closing your lips around it. You bobbed your head up and down a few times to get used to the girth. Niall was bigger than anyone you ever been with and the stretch of your jaw felt so good. You pulled away and swirled  your tongue around messily. Niall slid one of his hands in your hair and grabbed a handful, not pulling yet but enough to make you feel a sting on your scalp. 

"Look at you, I didn't even have time to finish asking and you were on your knees for me," said Niall and you took him back into your mouth. Your head was bobbing up and down rapidly and you had spit dripping on your chin from the corner of your mouth.

"Think you can take me deeper, love?" Niall asked as he pushed his cock further down your throat, making you gag but you kept sucking. 

"Fuck! Look at you gagging on my cock. It's like you were made for this babe. Made for my cock, taking me so well," Niall praised. Usually Niall's words would have offended you but right now all you wanted was for him to come down your throat. His words were only making you suck harder. You didn't care, you kept gagging and Niall seemed to like the sound because everytime you gagged he groaned.

Niall tugged on your hair, pulling you away from his cock and took your chin between his fingers, he swiped your bottom lip with his thumb. 

"I knew you'd be a little freak in bed, good girls are all the same," Niall laughed. 

He took his dick in his hand, rubbing the head against your shiny lips. You opened your mouth licked at the slit, gathering precum on your tongue, waiting for him to push it in again.

"Can I fuck your mouth?" Niall asked, "Please? I really want to fuck your pretty mouth."

You nodded enthusiastically and Niall guided his cock slowly in your mouth. Your throat contracted around the head and Niall growled.

He started to fuck your mouth rapidly, talking non-stop.

"I bet you touched yourself thinking about this. How many times did you push your hands down your knickers thinking about me? Late at night, your cheeks red and panting. Maybe you used a toy, imagining it was my cock fucking you good."

You moaned around Niall's cock his words going straight to your pussy. It was aching with want. You fisted your hands on your thighs trying to wait as long as you could before touching yourself.

"I want to come all over your pretty face and tits, I'm sure you would like that. Everybody will know what we did when we go back downstairs. Your lips are so red and puffy, your hair a mess. I always knew you'd be gorgeous like that."

"Your lips feel so good babe, I'm gonna come soon," Niall said as he slowed his thrusts. You pulled away to take a deep breath and Niall chuckled. He caressed your cheek with his hand and smiled softly, too soft for the situation. 

"I can't wait to fuck you properly, in my bed. You'd look beautiful tied to my bed, letting me do whatever I want . Could spend hours teasing you until you beg me to fuck you. Would you like that?"

"Yes," you replied, your voice hoarse, not sounding like you at all, surprising yourself before taking Niall back in your mouth, using one of your hands to stroke what wasn't in your mouth. You hollow your cheeks and sucked harder.

"Touch yourself for me pet, c'mon I know you want to. I want to see you touch yourself."

Sliding your hand between your legs you lightly touched yourself over your swimsuit before pushing it to the side and pushing two fingers between your wet folds. You were so wet you could feel yourself drip on your fingers. You moaned loudly when you brushed the tip of your fingers against your aching clit. It was throbbing and you knew you would not last long. You moved your fingers lower, pushing them inside of you easily. 

"Fuck babe, you look so hot like that. I'm gonna come," warned Niall before he spilled down your throat. You kept sucking lightly until he stopped coming and started to soften in your mouth. You swallowed all you could but when you pulled away some of Niall's come driped down your chin. You let yourself fall back against the door and pushed your legs open giving you more room and started pumping your fingers hard and fast. Your head was thrown back against the door and you were moaning steadily. 

Niall let himself fall on the floor next to you and opened his legs wide, "C'mere babe," he said, helping you to move between his legs. Your back pressed against his chest. One of his hands moved to your exposed breast, palming it gently, rolling you nipples between his fingers. Your head fell on his shoulder, exposing your neck. Immediately Niall started to kiss it while his other hand was sliding down your body until it reached your pussy.  His fingers grazed over your clit making your whole body convulse. Niall chuckled in your ear and pushed two fingers inside of you, your walls clenched around his fingers when Niall started moving them in and out in a slow and torturing pace. 

"Niall, Niall fuck, please fuck."

"What is it babe, what do you need?"

"I need to come," you moaned and Niall pressed the pad of his thumb against your clit. 

A long cry escaped your throat, "fu-uuck!"

Niall sped up the pace of his fingers, hitting your g-spot every time.

"C'mon babe, come on my fingers."

A familiar warmth spread in your stomach, your breath was ragged and you would not last long. Niall pressed hard on your clit again and you clenched on his fingers again your orgasm hitting you full force, your legs thrashing and hips bucking uncontrollably. Niall kept his fingers moving until you pushed his hand away. He laughed and you watched him wipe them on his swimming shorts. 

You stayed between Niall's legs for a moment, trying to catch your breath, your head on his shoulder, your nose pressed to the side of his neck. You just had sex with Niall Horan, the only thing you always said you would never let happen. You needed to leave. You tried to get up on your feet but Niall tightened his arms around your waist, keeping you between his legs. Niall was drawing circles on your stomach and you shivered. 

"M'tired," he mumbled.

"We need to go back to the party, our friend will search for us."

"Don't care."

Niall moved first, awkwardly sliding his leg behind your back to get in his feet. He put his swimming shorts back on and extended his arm to help you up. You tucked your boobs into your bikin top, suddenly feeling weird being half naked in front of him. 

You turned to open the door but Niall stopped you, boxing you against the door like he had done earlier. 

"How about we do that again sometimes?" Niall said, taking a step closer, your bodies millimeters away, "Next time I want you to come on my dick," he pressed a kiss on your neck, "or maybe on my face," he added, his lips moving against the shell of your ear. You bit your lips and nodded. 

It was a bad idea, the worst idea you could ever agree to and you knew it. Maybe you would regret it but right now you didn't care.

[thestarsaroundyourscars]

Hanzier, by the river, life or death

Thank you my dear! I hope you like this!

Read on AO3

When Mike asked his friends if any of them would like to go on a camping trip with him, he expected all of them to say no. If he had to pick one to say yes, he would've said Bill. Maybe Stan, if he thought it would give him a chance to see some birds.

Mike never thought that, out of all of them, Richie would be the one to say yes. At first, Mike thought he was joking and he waited, amused for the punchline, only it never came. Now, it was a week later and the two of them were making their way through the woods and Mike was starting to believe Richie was serious about it. 

They kept having to stop because Richie was in terrible shape and his noodle arms were having trouble carrying his backpack. Mike would wait patiently for him to recover, hand him a water bottle, offer to carry his stuff. He didn't mind that it was taking twice as long to get to the campsite as usual, he liked having Richie there with him. 

"Fuck Mikey. Are we almost there?" Richie huffed, breathing heavy. He was slumped against a tree, arms wrapped around the trunk to support his weight. His bag was so overpacked that if he tried to stand straight, gravity would make him fall on his ass. It happened once already and Mike had to pull him back on his feet while Richie wailed about knowing how turtles felt now. “I feel like I’m gonna pass out any minute and I know that on any given day you could carry me like a fainting damsel, but I doubt you can also carry our things.”

Mike chuckled, handing him a water bottle. “We’re almost there Rich, don’t worry.” 

It still took them half an hour and several breaks to get there and when they did, Richie tossed his backpack on the ground and dropped himself right next to it, whining dramatically about how he couldn't feel his legs.

Knowing it would be a while before Richie got up, Mike started setting up their tent. They only brought one, because Richie didn't own a tent and because they really didn't need to bring something else they'd have to carry. Besides, Mike didn't mind sharing a tent with Richie. It was big enough for both of them and they had their own sleeping bags anyway. It's not like they would be sharing a bed or something like that. Not that Mike would mind that either. 

He was staking down the corners of the tent when he heard Richie let out a whistle. Mike turned around to face him, he was still on the ground but now he was leaning back on his elbows, smirking. "Damn Mike, I recovered my breath just for you to take it away again."

Mike felt his face go hot. He tried to blame it on exertion or the fact that he was working under the hot sun, but he knew it was all on Richie and the way he licked his lips while staring Mike up and down. 

He bit down a flustered smile, rolling his eyes at Richie. "You're just being dramatic because you don't want to help me."

"You seem to have everything under control, buddy."

He did. And he finished setting up the tent quickly after that. 

As soon as Richie was able to stand on his legs again, Mike was dragging them into the woods. 

Richie gave him a wary look."Where are going?" 

"We're going for a walk." 

"A walk? Why?" Richie whined. "We already walked to get here."

Mike chuckled, his hand dropped from Richie's arm to wrap around his wrist as he picked a trail. "We didn't get to enjoy that one."

"You mean, because of my whining and complaining? Because that's not gonna change." 

Mike rolled his eyes, picking up the pace. He intended to let go of Richie's wrist but then Richie was lacing their fingers together. Mike felt the tips of his ears start to burn.

"Uh."

"So I don't wander off, you know." Richie said, shrugging. His cheeks were an adorable shade of pink. "I don't want to get lost in the woods, Mikey."

Mike's lips twitched and he squeezed Richie's hand. 

Richie did complain, huffing when making their way up a particularly steep incline and panting when he felt like he was melting inside the black jeans that he insisted to bring, but he also admired the view, pointed excitedly at a squirrel they came across and happily accepted the berries Mike picked for him. 

After a while, they decided to head back. When Richie started to whine again, Mike offered to give him a piggyback ride.

"Thank you, stud." Richie said, climbing on Mike's back. 

"I think you meant steed."

"Nope, I meant stud." Richie said, winking. Mike felt a pleased smile appear on his face. 

Back at the campsite, Mike told Richie to go take a nap because his friend looked like he was going to pass out any minute. In the meantime, Mike gathered some wood for a fire, chopping it with an axe. The hot sun was beating down on him and made Mike take off his shirt half way through the task, sweating profusely. 

Half an hour later, Richie emerged from the tent, shielding his eyes from the light. It made his shirt ride up a little and the sliver of exposed skin made Mike's grip on the axe falter. He forced himself to look away, he didn't want to drop the axe and chop off his toe because he was distracted by the line of hair disappearing into Richie's jeans. 

"Holy fucking shit." He heard Richie gasp and he put his axe down before turning around to face him. Richie was staring at him with wide eyes, his face a dark shade of red.

"Hey Rich." 

Richie faltered. "I know there's a very good line about a lumberjack and something about you giving me wood, somewhere in my head, but I don't think my brain is working at the moment." 

Mike chuckled, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, he didn’t miss the way Richie followed the movement with his eyes, mouth parted slightly. 

Then he shook his head and focused on the chopped wood at Mike's feet instead. “Are we having a fire?”

“Yeah, I brought chocolate and crackers, I thought we could make s’mores.”

Richie's face lit up, grinning at Mike, big and honest. "Fuck yeah." He said, pointing at the axe. "I would offer to help you, but I doubt I could lift that fucking thing over my shoulder."

Mike snorted, waving him off. “I’m almost done anyway. If you want to help, you can refill our water bottles.” He suggested, pointing over his shoulder at the river. 

Richie wrinkled his nose, eyeing the river with distrust. “Is that safe?”

“Who are you? Eddie?”

“Hey, I’ve heard him rant about Listeria or shit like that too many times, man.”

“Well, water is pretty clean up here but don’t worry, we’ll boil it before we drink it just to be safe.” Richie nodded, grabbing their water bottles. “Be careful though, the current is pretty strong.”

“Got it, chief.” 

The campsite was near enough to the river that Mike could see Richie sitting down on a rock, leaning forward to fill the water bottles. He could also hear him singing to himself. 

Mike felt a silly grin break in his face, he ducked his head trying to focus on the task at hand.

Mike's crush on Richie wasn't new to him, but lately he was having a hard time keeping his feelings in check. When Richie said he would go camping with him, Mike was both excited and worried, because he would get to spend time with Richie but they would also be alone in the woods for three days and Mike didn't know if his heart- and other parts of him- would survive that. Especially in those moments where it seemed that maybe Richie was also attracted to him, like before, when he was practically drooling at the sight of a shirtless Mike or when he held his hand as they walked through the forest.

A loud splash made Mike whirl his head towards the river, thinking maybe Richie accidentally dropped one of the bottles in the water but when he did, he didn't see his friend. 

“Richie?” 

Mike expected him to pop up from behind a tree with a stupid grin on his face but he didn’t. He felt a lump starting to form in the back of his throat. 

"Rich this isn't funny, man." He tried, but again, nothing. “Fuck.” He muttered, dropping the axe and running towards the river. 

He saw the water bottles neatly placed on top of the rock Richie had been sitting on, but no Richie. The river had grown and the current was stronger than before and Mike started to panic. 

He looked around, fear prickling under his skin. Then he noticed something a few feet away and he recognized the eye-watering pattern of Richie's ridiculous Hawaiian shirt. He ran towards him and dropped to his knees. Richie was lying face down and Mike was scared to roll him over. He did it anyways and gasped, Richie was bleeding from a small cut on his forehead and his eyes were closed, he didn't seem to be breathing. 

“No no no Richie fuck.” Mike shook his shoulders, but Richie remained unmoving. “Richie, come on man.” 

He pressed his hands to Richie’s chest and started pushing, grateful that he attended that first aid seminar the first week of college. He pinched Richie’s nose, tilting his head back and pressed their lips together, blowing air into his lungs. When nothing happened he did it again, muttering under his breath, Richie and come on and please.

After the third time, Richie surged up, spluttering and coughing up water. Mike fell back on the ground with a relieved sigh, giving Richie some space while catching his own breath.

“Motherfucker.” Richie groaned, voice hoarse and strained. “Fucking hell, my fucking lungs feel like they’re on fire. What the fuck.”

“Yeah, what the fuck, Richie?” Mike shot back. “I told you to be careful and you, what? Decided to go for a swim?”

“I didn’t- Fuck.” Richie coughed a few more times. “I wasn’t trying to go for a swim, I was filling up the water bottles like you said, but then my glasses fell off and when I tried to reach for them, I lost my balance and hit my head with a stupid rock and then nothing.” His hand went to the cut on his forehead, it wasn’t big, wouldn’t even need stitches thank God, but there was a bruise already forming around it. “Shit. That hurts like a bitch. Not as much as my chest, but pretty fucking close.”

Mike scrunched up his face, apologetic. “That’s partly my fault, I think I went too hard on you trying to get you breathing again.”

Richie blinked. “You gave me mouth to mouth?”

“Well yeah, you weren’t breathing and I-”

“Wait wait! You’re telling me that you kissed me for the first time and I was fucking unconscious for it?”

Mike's eyebrows knitted in a frown. “It wasn’t really a kiss.”

“It’s literally called the kiss of life, Mikey.” Richie said, then rolled his eyes. “Of course, that would happen to me.”

Mike snorted. “Well yeah, you’re the only blind idiot I know who would drop his glasses and then himself in a river."

"Hey, rude." Richie narrowed his eyes, then waved him off. "But no, I meant- I finally get you to kiss me and I didn’t even get to enjoy it.”

"Finally?" Mike's eyes widened and he spluttered like he was the one who nearly just drowned. “Wait, enjoy it?”

Richie rolled his eyes, snorting. “Who’s the blind idiot now?” He shot back. “Come on Mikey. I’m pretty sure I popped a boner when I saw you chopping wood, shirtless and looking like a fucking sex god. I've been hitting on you for years! I held your hand the entire fucking time we were walking. I agreed to go camping with you. Me, the guy who drives his car to the store that is only a block away, who gets winded walking up a flight of stairs. Why the fuck would I do that unless it was to spend time alone with you?"

Mike chuckled, wrapping his head around Richie's ramble. "There are easier ways to do that, you know. Ones that don't end with you almost drowning."

"Why do easy, when I can do you?" Richie said, winking exaggeratedly. 

Mike started laughing. Hard. "That was terrible, even for you Rich." He said and Richie stuck his tongue out at him. "Do you have a concussion, is that your concussion talking?"

"Fuck you, Mikey." Richie said with no heat. He was also laughing, face scrunched up adorably. His glasses were still missing and Mike knew they would have to worry about that later, but right now it allowed him to see the glint in his pretty blue eyes. It made his own laughter catch in his throat. He lifted his hand to push back some of Richie's wet hair before cradling his face. Richie stopped laughing, staring at Mike with wide, slightly unfocused eyes. 

"I like you, Richie." Mike said, heart fluttering at his own admission. 

"Ditto."

"And I really want to kiss you right now."

Richie gulped, nodding and letting Mike pull him close at the same time he leaned in, connecting their lips. Richie hummed into his mouth, a short little noise that that made Mike's heart speed up as Richie delved deeper into the kiss. Richie held onto Mike's shoulders, feeling him up. Mike totally forgot that he was shirtless until he felt Richie's hands running over all that skin. His own hands were tangled in Richie's hair and he pulled, putting some space between them. Richie whined, chasing after his lips and Mike chuckled, leaning back to give him a big, giddy smile.

"Wow." Richie said, licking his lips and staring at Mike in a daze. 

"Yeah." Mike agreed. "That was so much better than our first kiss."

Richie frowned, offended. "Hey, no. I was unconscious. You can't hold that kiss against me." 

Mike smiled, if he was being honest, he didn't think he had stop smiling for a while. He placed a chaste kiss on Richie's lips before standing up. "Come on, buddy. We have to find your glasses and clean up that cut. Then we can get you some s'mores. The more sugar you eat, the easier it will be to stay up all night." Mike didn't miss the way Richie's eyebrows did a little wiggle, he let out a snort before explaining. "I'm not letting you fall asleep when you could have a concussion."

Richie heaved out a dramatic sigh. "And here I thought you were keeping me up for," Another eyebrow wiggle. "Other reasons."

Mike's lips twitched at the same time his stomach fluttered. “I wouldn't be opposed to that." He winked, pulling Richie along with him.  

He wouldn’t be opposed to that at all.

Tag list: @daddyphantomtbh​​​ @yes-dillman-yes​ @richietoaster​ ​ @beepbeeprichiellc​ ​ @its-stranger-than-you-think​ ​ @lemonaayyee​ ​ @losers-gotta-stick-together​ ​ @tinyarmedtrex​ ​ @richiefuckfacetozier​ ​ @sam-i-am2468​ ​ @richardtoz​ ​ @s-s-georgie​ ​ @reddie-for-anything​ ​ @eddiefuckinkaspbrak​ ​ @constantreaderfool​ ​ @stanleuyris​ ​ @jesuschristsupruvestar​ ​ @mirandonsky​ ​ @reddie4diaster​ ​ @alargedepresso​ ​ @purplepoisonedgem​ ​ @pan-ini​ ​ @reddie-to-cry​​ @reddieforlove​ ​ @trashmouthnick​ ​ @multi-fandom-wby​ ​ @wheezyeds​ ​ @nancynwheeler​ ​ @reddieslashgeneralhorror​​​ @madi-personal​ ​ @reddie-tozibrak​​​ @lover-mouth​ ​ @atownofeggs​ ​ @that-weird-girls-blog​ ​ @appojoos​ ​ @castielwinovak​ ​ @a-gay-treee​​ @twoidiotsinl0ve​ ​@fcngirltrxsh​ @spirited-marvel​ ​ (if you want to be added, let me know!)

[smoothiegameshow]

Hisoka x Illumi Hunter Exam pt.1

The only thing Hisoka loved more than hot showers was writing for his travel blog. But when he found that the places he wanted to visit were restricted, he decided to enroll in the hunter exam. Will Hisoka be able to pull through with the help of his new (and dreamy) friend, Illumi?

Hisoka woke up on the day of the exam feeling excited. As he breathed in the fresh morning air, his mind was alight with the possibilities this new certification could bring him. This morning, though it was the beginning to a bid day, started no different than any other morning: with the blog. 

“Zaban City- your complete guide to the city of aspiring hunters,” he started to write. Aspiring hunters... Just the idea excited him, and made him giddy. Too nervous to work longer than that, he got up, took a shower, and put on his favorite outfit: Harlequin leggings, a white crop top with the four card suits on it, black platform boots, and his gold star earrings. To top it all off, he drew a pink star under his left eye, and a blue water drop under is right. 

Perfect. Now that the look was done, it was time for breakfast. He thought about what he should pack... A change of clothes for sure... How long was this exam, anyway? Just as he was finishing his favorite breakfast, Froot Loops with almond milk, he got a text.

“Wishing you luck! I hope you have lots of fun! We miss you!! -Chrollo”

Hisoka couldn’t stop the rush to his stomach. The last big city he wrote about was Meteor City, a place he never wanted to go back to. But while he was there, he met a tight-knit yoga group that called themselves the spiders, presumably because they could stretch really far with their long legs. Hisoka made sure to tell them that he wasn’t too into yoga, but they let him in anyway, as Chrollo, the leader, clicked with him right away. Although, after missing a couple of meetings, Hisoka got the feeling that maybe the rest of the group didn’t like his spontaneous, fun style. Still, Chrollo and him kept in contact, and had become quite close, even over the distance. 

“Thanks babes! I can’t wait to show you my new, shiny licence”

But before sending the text, Hisoka added his signature heart emoji, but this time in red. He didn’t know if it was the excitement of the morning, but he was feeling flirty, and the sole recipient of this frisky attitude at the moment was Chrollo.

Hisoka always added a little flare, and that was what Chrollo liked about him. Chrollo was a shy, bookish sort, and Hisoka was confident, brilliant, and so very metropolitan. 

With his correspondence with Chrollo established, and his things packed, Hisoka left his small Zaban City hotel room for the Hunters Exam. As he was leaving the lobby, though, a delicious smell from the restaurant next door greeted him. Well... Maybe I could just indulge a little... and besides, I could give this place some exposure on my blog.

Ever the critic, Hisoka found it best to experience the food and service of a restaurant from a quiet and undisturbed portion of the establishment, so he always made sure to ask for a private room, if they had one. He walked in, ordered and noodle bowl with medium rare beef, and was surprised at how quickly he was ushered into a delightfully decorated little room with a big table. 

This place seems super promising, he said to himself. Then, all of the sudden, what felt like an earthquake started to occur... well, no it couldn’t be an earthquake, but it felt so strange... as if the room itself was an elevator. He uncrossed his legs and immediately shot up from his seat and tried to open the door, but it was sealed shut and wouldn’t slide. It was then that he noticed that the table was bolted to the floor, which confirmed that this room was meant to move. 

Hisoka was angry and annoyed that the server didn’t warn him that this was only an elevator leading to the real room. He was also wondering how much time it would take for them to get there to serve him, as he had somewhere he needed to be. 

When the door opened, Hisoka was feeling very cross, so his arms were folded and his toe was pointed. What he saw next, he was not expecting.

An underground chamber full of chattering people, all wearing numbered badges. As a little green man walked up to him, Hisoka considered that he maybe wasn’t in a restaurant after all. 

“Welcome to the Hunter’s Exam! Your number will be 44. Feel free to mingle until about noon, when we will be starting the exam. Good luck!”

Embarrassed yet impressed with his instincts, Hisoka took the badge with his number on it, and sat down to write in his notepad. He didn’t want to bring his precious computer, so paper and pen would have to do. After a couple of minutes, he looked up from his notes to see that the room was now filled with a lot more people, one of which was walking right towards him.

A short, fat man with a five-o-clock shadow and a rectangular nose was making his way towards Hisoka with a can of juice in his hand.

“Hello. Is this your first time taking the exam?” Said the man, whose number was 16.

“Yes.” Said Hisoka, not interested in entertaining someone who looked like that.

“My name’s Tonpa, nice to meet you! Would you like some juice?”

“No thanks, I don’t drink anything but water and coffee,” Hisoka responded.

“Suit yourself,” said Tonpa, who looked upset.

As he was walking away, a man nearby, who had been watching the exchange, came over and sat next to Hisoka.

“You have quite keen instincts. What is your name?” Said the man, whose 301 badge was now clearly in view.

“Hisoka; charmed” He replied, outstretching his hand towards the stranger, being sure to show off both his manicure and his jewelry.

When the stranger looked back at Hisoka’s ivory, outstretched hand, Hisoka got a good look at him. His eyes were massive and luminous; very dark and not very expressive. His jet-black hair was down to his elbows, and looked so smooth and strong that someone could pull taffy on top of it and it wouldn't be damaged. But more than anything else, Hisoka noticed this beautiful stranger’s dead-pan expression. Had this man shaken his hand as he was invited to, Hisoka would’ve been uninterested; But instead, the man ignored his hand and continued asking questions. Oh no, Hisoka thought, He’s exactly my type!

“...could you let me know?”

“Pardon?” gasped Hisoka, who had been daydreaming instead of listening.

“I told you that I’m looking for a boy who’s about twelve years old and has white hair and a skateboard. If you see him, could you point him out?” Repeated the man, seemingly unbothered by having to repeat himself. 

“That depends,” purred Hisoka “who would I be reporting to?”

“Me. Perhaps I misjudged your ability to aid me..” replied the man, expression still unchanged.

“No, I just meant that I don’t know your name” said Hisoka, whose attempt at flirting had gotten confused for stupidity.

“My name is Illumi. What’s your phone number?”

Baffled at how quickly things were going between the two, Hisoka marveled at how straightforward Illumi was... how adorable. Hisoka loved a man who wasn’t concerned with self awareness. Biting his lip, Hisoka put his number into Illumi’s phone. Handing it back, Hisoka jested “Now I hope you know how hurt I get when I wait up for a call that doesn’t come.”

Seemingly ignoring Hisoka’s banter again, Illumi started to get up.

“Well, I won’t be too upset!” Hisoka tried desperately to keep him there, but Illumi was blended in with the crowd in a blink of an eye.

Still my beating heart, thought Hisoka, as he licked his lips and squinted his eyes. With a Man like that walking around, I need to be careful not to lose sight of what I’m here for.

[postimalone]

I tried my hand at writing erotica, its non fiction based on my daily life. Tried to keep it as gender non specific as I could.

 r/Ruiasoftporn

 mom says, always brush your teeth in the morning:

I have read about liminal spaces. The waiting rooms between the Then and Now.  The connection between what was and what will be. This  Dadar railway skywalk in the cold morning feels like one. I relish cold mornings in Mumbai. I relish anything cold in Mumbai. We don’t get a lot of cold here.

In movies, they always show liminal spaces empty.  Like it’s your own personal moment . Lonely . But I don’t feel lonely here. Maybe before you, maybe before us.  There is a floating anticipation in this chilly air. This space is my waiting room for now, till you come. Till I see you. Waving at me, on this bridge lightly shaking from the footfalls. Lightly shaking like me.

You arrive with a smile on your lips and sleep in your eyes. You hug me good morning and I hold you still. I’m listening to my favourite song and the saxophone trill is perfect for this moment. I push a earphone in your ear and kiss you tight. It takes you a moment to register, but you pick up quickly. You pick me up quickly, and push open our mouths. Tongue on tongue at this time of the day is almost taboo but we are far from our beds and freshly brushed and bathed to start the day. Brushed mouths and fresh bodies roiling against each other.Your hands in my hair, my hands on your back. And now you aren’t sleepy anymore , rather energetic. I’m pushed against the thick metal railings, their wet cold seeping through my t-shirt.  But I don’t want this kiss to end, we can go on for longer and this bridge is empty.

Also I really like the cold.

********

Nipples aren’t weed, they don’t need to be rolled like a joint everytime :

I’m in college now. I travel halfway across the city every morning  to earn my degree. I will insert a line here now that my friends wouldn’t catch me dead uttering. Ruia isn’t a place, it’s a feeling. It’s a small world here, but it’s foreign. A quaint building nested in a quiet neighbourhood. But I’m standing in it’s epicentre and I can almost feel it engulfing me.  It’s small, but it’s huge.  It’s a fish tank sitting in the dentist’s reception area.  I feel like Nemo. 

I do get carried away with these thoughts once in while. I get carried away a lot, mostly by you.  The Quadrangle is a strange place. It’s not square at all. It’s shape is a quarrel for another day, because  right now you are staring into my eyes. I hope the midday sun is doing me some favour hitting the right angles of my face.  After all, I don’t get your attention like this in public all the time. I straighten up in an attempt to make my boobs conspicuous. You laugh. “ You’ve got  really bad posture, you’re going to get a hunched back someday”, you say.

Apparently the next lecture is cancelled, it was 50/50 anyway. The professor is running errands for the Principal, couldn’t be helped. We have half an hour more, to while away. We both got dragged by our friends towards the stage at one end of this open yard. The Quadrangle is bustling with people and there is no other place to sit. I sit on the edge of the stage with my legs hanging over the edge. You sit cross-legged, behind me. I lean back into you and my ill-postured back finds comfort in this position. There are my friends on one side and yours on the other. My idiots couldn’t find a place and are standing on the ground in front of me. I put my bag on my lap, there is really no place here.

You are so busy talking to your friends, and my friends are busy talking amongst themselves. I might almost drift off to sleep. Your voice reverberates from your chest and I close my eyes in peace…  until I feel your  hand snaking under my arm.

My eyes are wide open now. The hand has progressed to the boob now. I regret having pads in my bra now. Suddenly  I am eerily aware of the number of people here. It’s bustling with people. My eyes dart all over the place, is anyone watching? My breath hitches, and my heart beats faster. I half turn to look at you questioningly. What are you doing? Why does it feel so good?

You are immersed in talking with your friends, who are dangerously close to us. Too close for comfort. I try to sit up,  but you hold me steady in place against you. I look at you, you smile at me. The sun is heating up the air, but that’s not why I am sweating.

You leisurely stroke my boob in rhythm with your talk. As natural as say, ruffling someone’s hair or swinging hands in hand. My toes curl inside my Converse. I look anywhere and everywhere except your face. I almost scream when the other hand lands on my other neglected tit. An audible “Oh shit” escapes my lips. The friend who was talking to you turns to me. He agrees, the tv show he was talking about had an unexpected main character death.

Now I have to focus on her and control myself. But your relentless ministrations won’t stop. My size doesn’t matter, you’re covering every inch. The gentle pressure is driving me crazy. I want to rip my bra off so you can find the nipple. But you find it even through the thick fabric, pressing on instead of rolling it with your fingers. I am losing my mind.

I am exposed here like this, naked amongst these people and your horny self. The strokes go back and forth from my tits to my back and everything in between. How hasn’t anyone noticed? My legs shiver from all of this madness. I slowly arch into the cup of your fingers, and my feet hanging of the stage lift on their own accord. I am no longer in control.

And I accidently kick my friend standing in front. Fast as lightning, I sit up straight and apologize. And that’s when I realize someone has unpinned my bra.

*************

Its considered rude in Japanese culture to not slurp your noodles:

The canteen is a funny place. It isn’t enough of a place, there needs to be more of it. There aren’t many tables inside and we always need to fight for a table to sit. Especially now, in monsoon every inch of the area that is not covered by a warm butt is cold and soppy wet. So the actual lunch tables are much coveted. Today’s star is me. I coaxed a group of people I knew to give up their seats to me. Hence, today everyone loves me.

Our seat is near a window, I am opposite to it. I have a good view outside. The canteen windows are funny too, they overlook the quadrangle and people can look directly into your plate. Marketing gimmick.

I feel like eating oily noodles today. So I lose my new and crisp 100/-  note today. Pity. I am slurping away when I hear your voice. I look up. You’re on the other side of the window looking directly into my plate. And then your gaze shifts to me.

The food is stuck in my throat. I take a fitful sip of water. I wave a ‘Hi’ at you. You wave back but don’t answer after that. You’re talking to someone on the phone. And that would be okay with me if you weren’t staring at me so much. I can’t question you, I can’t scold you. I can only look away. I am playing with my food now. I can’t eat. You make me so horridly uncomfortable in all the right ways.

But two can play this game. I start with the fork and lick it’s prongs. I smack my lips and run my tongue over them. I twirl my fork to heap noodles on it and caress the handheld end. I shove the glob of noodles in my mouth and lick the fork clean. I then proceed to moan like a kitten.

In any other circumstance I would be ashamed of myself, but this you totally deserve. You look visibly shaken. I see you gulping air, swallowing nothing. Your neck. “ I’d like to lick it someday” I think. Now I am getting distracted by the possibilities.

You end your phone call and half a minute later I get a text. 

--you’re coming home with me today.

Welp, looks like I might get to experiment today. 

“hey, Hey!” my friend sitting beside me calls me.

“what?”

“tell me what you ordered looks like it was really good, I’ll have a plate too”.

*************

Sometimes its better to bathe with Holy Spirit instead of Dettol after getting drenched in the rain:

Its really pouring cats and dogs today. We might get sent home early. We get phenomenal rains like these once every year in Mumbai. And Ruia lies in a low lying zone. Meaning water pools here like crazy. Just getting to college drenched me completely. The wind broke my umbrella. We all were sitting half soaked, waiting for lecture to begin. And again they got cancelled. But we still had lab work.

Me and my  group  of friends decided to go on the building terrace. It would be slipping wet, but we were soaked anyway. It was all empty and flooded. We dragged the tyre-cum-chaises and sat on them. It was lightly drizzling now.I looked around.

I really loved the terrace. It wasn’t too big and it wasn’t too small. It was the perfect size to hang out in. And from here, you could see the Matunga skyline. A weird mixture of really tiny, two-storeyed residential complexes and huge high-rising sky-scrapers. The clouds were rolling overhead. They looked so pregnant, their water ready to break at any moment. I loved being here, even if I was chattering from the ice-cold wind.

I text you, to come here. I need you to come here. You reply back a negative. You’re busy with your own labwork at the moment. This won’t do.

‘I am soaking wet from the rain and I’m so so cold’ I text back, attaching a selfie, as risqué as I can manage to get with people around.

I get a reply back.

‘give me 15 minutes’

Everyone else decides to leave. The labwork is simply not worth drowning for, we decide. Almost the entire college is emptying. I tell my friends I’m leaving with you. I wait inside until they leave and go back on the terrace waiting under the roof of the entrance. Out of the two entrances one is locked to prevent flooding. I am shivering.

I hear the elevator door open and close. I  attack your form furiously kissing you,pulling you into the terrace area. Thank God you’re alone.

‘Whoa,you’re wet!’you say.

“And not how I’d like to be” I reply.

You take that as a challenge. My bra is unpinned under my shirt yet again. You’re getting irritatingly good at this. I back you up against the wall next to the entrance, just out of range for any pair of wayward eyes. Not that it mattered, we were literally out in the open.

‘You are so worked up today” you whisper in my ear.

‘Mhmmhm’  is all I can manage while peppering kisses on your neck. My hands are all over your chest and fumbling at your waist. Your hands are splayed across my back rubbing sensationally, sending delicious electricity down my spine.

You bring your hands around my waist to slip inside my shirt and under my bra. I exhale. My hands are in your hair now, I can barely do a thing. I am shivering, but not from the rain.

‘Looks like you need this way more badly than I originally thought ,we need a quick fix’ you say.

I bite your ear.

You look around and suddenly your eyes brighten. You lead me to a corner section of the terrace, where  remnant beams of the building structure protrude outwards. They look like concrete tables. They are the perfect height to rest your elbows but a little difficult to climb and sit on.

But you straight up hoist me onto one, and pull down my pants. Track pants were a wonderful decision.

I gasped. I am soaking wet and now half naked, well almost, the pants pool at my feet. Your hands are under my thighs,over my calves racing across to my sex. Your fingers find me first, and I pull in your face for a kiss. I have crossed all my boundaries today. Your fingers come back slick, I blame the rain.

 Pleasing me is difficult. Both your hands are at work. One rubbing circles on my clit, the other pumping finger after finger into my vagina. I my legs start to shake, my stomach starts to quake.

 Every breath is inching me closer to glorious death. Le petit mort. I moan. Out loud.

The rain has gone from a drizzle to a raging storm. All that cold water on us, and I’m on fire.

You push away from my face only to bring yours on my sex. Your first lick on my clitoris sends me shaking into spasms. I can no longer sit upright, I lean over the surface, splayed out like a Thanksgiving turkey.

Your tongue finds rhythm with your fingers. Pumping me,  sucking me, pulling me closer and closer to you, until I can bear it no longer. With a scratch of your finger and flick of your tongue, I convulse into climax.

A bone-shaking, muscle-quivering, petit mort.

 I cannot move. You help me into my  pants and steady me inside the building, out of the terrace plot. Everybody is going home. We get our bags and reach the exit of college too. We leave and walk together. You notice I don’t turn towards my usual way.

‘You’re home is that way’ you turn to me and say.

‘I’m coming with you today, I have to finish what you started’ I whisper.

******* 

[thotful-writing]

Obedience

Jacob Seed/F! Character

Description: She had been reluctantly taken into Jacob's training as a Hunter, she was strong, but needed to learn her place and obey commands. Jacob had tried everything, there was only one other way to teach her.

A/N: I don't write much Jacob stuff, but figured I'd give it a go.

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, dom/sub undertones

Jacob paced the room, he wasn’t sure if he was angry or worried, he decided to go with both. He hadn’t heard from her in hours, he told her not to do anything but of course she was stubborn and constantly trying to prove herself. Suddenly the door opened, he stopped, his heart pounding as all of the worst scenarios ran through his mind. He was set at ease when he saw her walk in.

“I told you-I told you not to go, but you went anyways? You disobeyed a direct order.” He stalked towards her, anger seething through him.

“I-I was doing it for the Project, to help.”

“It was too dangerous to do alone and now I’m going to have to go and fix your mess.” He stopped a few inches away, glaring down at her.

“But-I did it. I secured the outpost.” She stepped back trying to get some distance from his obvious rage.

He blinked at her confused for a moment, how could she have secured the outpost on her own? With no backup?

“You did it? By yourself?”

“Yep. No problems or anything, Sir.” She gave him a weak smile, hoping he’d be grateful.

“You still went against my orders. You’ll have to pay for that.” 

She wasn’t fond of Jacob’s punishments, he was always so creative. She had been under his training for a few months now, she desperately wanted more with him, but knew her feelings weren’t reciprocated in any way. Jacob was all work and no play, completely closed off from any emotions or affection.

She shivered outside in the rain as she held the large rock over her head, her arms trembled, ready to give out if she let them.

“Why don’t you just put the rock down? Come inside where it’s warm?” He said as he paced around her.

“No, Sir.” She responded, keeping her gaze forward.

“Just put it down, it’ll be fine.” He continued to try and persuade her.

“N-No, Sir.” She shivered.

“Are you disobeying my orders?” He circled her like a predator circling his prey.

“N-No, Sir. You told me not to put this rock down until the sun came up. That’s what I’m going to do.” Her arms continued to shake. She’d sooner drop it on her head than put it down and disappoint him.

“Have it your way.” He said as he went back inside.

She could no longer feel her fingers, she was pretty sure they were now permanently attached to the rock. The rain let up a little, but she was soaked to her core, there was no way she’d get out of this without getting pneumonia. Jacob returned with a hot bowl of soup, he stood in front of her and got a spoonful, blowing it gently in front of her face. She instinctively licked her lips, she’d give anything for some food right now.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you hungry?” He furrowed his brow as he looked at her.

“Y-Yes, Sir.” She didn’t look at the soup, she held her gaze to his.

“Come inside and get some food. There’s plenty.” He placed the spoon in his mouth and made the most ridiculously pleased face.

“N-No, Sir.”

“You sure? It’s delicious.” He took another bite.

“Y-Yes, Sir.” This was the only time in her life she ever denied food and it pained her to do so.

“Guess I’ll just give the rest to the Judges then.” He left her once more.

6 hours, 6 hours had passed, she only knew because she could see the sun peaking over the horizon, she continued to wait though, determined to hold out until Jacob gave her permission to come inside.

“Oh, you’re still out here?” Jacob stretched and yawned in front of her.

She nodded her head her body trembled, she no longer had the energy to speak and her mouth was pretty much frozen shut.

Jacob didn’t say anything, he grabbed the rock from her and dropped it to the ground. Her arms immediately fell to her sides, they felt like cooked noodles. She moved to step out of the mud, but her legs gave out and she fell to the ground. Who knew standing in the same position for 6+ hours would cause your legs to become stiff and buckle the second you tried to move? She pushed herself up on her hands and knees, took a deep breath and tried to stand back up, but it was no use, she fell back down to the ground.

Jacob sighed as he watched her feeble attempts. He was initially reluctant to take her on as a Hunter, but she persevered through his training and had proven herself worthy, she still had a stubborn streak that needed to be broken though. He rolled his eyes before he leaned down and picked her up, cradling her in his arms.

“S-Sir?” She looked at him surprised.

“Jesus, you’re freezing.” He said as she shook in his arms.

He carried her inside and passed the shared quarters for the Hunters, he continued walking down the corridor to his quarters, she’d glanced inside but had never fully been in it before. He placed her in his bed and covered her with the thickest fleece comforter. He left for a moment before returning with two more blankets, piling them on her. She continued to shake under the warmth, but the feeling was coming back into her extremities slowly. Jacob stood over her as she shivered, her lips almost blue, he knew she needed more heat. He kicked his shoes off and pulled the covers back, lying down beside her and covering them both back up. He pulled her close to his chest.

“S-Sir, you don’t have-“

“Shut up. Your body temperature is too low. Why did you stand out there so long?” He scolded her.

“B-Because you t-told me to, Sir.”

“If you had followed my orders that closely before then you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Although it was a bit awkward, she actually enjoyed her current situation, not the freezing to death part, but the being in bed close to Jacob part. His body heat was helping warm her up quicker though, she had stopped shivering as she laid next to him. Jacob tried his hardest to remain completely unfazed by her closeness, he couldn’t deny he’d desired her for a while now, especially in watching her strength and determination increase over the months. Now, as she lay so close to him, he wasn’t sure how much resolve he had to resist her, one glance wouldn’t hurt, would it? He looked down to see her asleep against his chest, breathing softly. He brushed a piece of hair off her face, he panicked slightly when she stirred, but relaxed when she continued to sleep.

She stretched across the bed to find Jacob had left her, she wondered how long he stayed with her? Her arms were still sore and weak as she left the bed, she wanted to seek him out, to thank him, but she decided to return to her quarters instead.

“Heard you got quite the punishment yesterday.” One of the other Hunters commented as she entered the room.

“Lasted longer than you did though, how long did you stay out there before you’d pissed yourself?” She smiled smugly.

“You’re right, I didn’t last long out there. Maybe if I had then Jacob would have shared his bed with me too. But I guess we can’t all spread our legs for special treatment.”

She wanted to lash out, but she refrained, she knew Jacob wouldn’t be happy if she started killing off his Hunters. She ignored the comment and gathered her clothes to go take a shower. She let the hot water warm her still semi-frozen bones, her fingers and toes still felt somewhat numb. When she returned to the shared room the man was still there, he glanced up at her, but she ignored him. Before she knew what was happening, he was behind her, pressing her against the concrete wall.

“Just want a taste of what Jacob gets.” He said into her ear as his hands travelled down her body.

She would have screamed but it wouldn’t have done any good, Jacob would have come to save her, but it would’ve only made things worse for her. She let him get distracted by her compliance, he let his guard down for a moment, she threw her elbow back into his face as hard as she could. He yelled out in pain as he stepped back from her, holding his nose.

“Touch me again and I’ll slit your fucking throat while you sleep.” She turned around to face him.

He was about to say something, but Jacob entered the room, “What’s going on here?” He crossed his arms as he glanced between the two of them.

“Nothing, Sir.” She feigned innocence.

“The blood pouring from his nose tells me it’s more than ‘nothing’. What happened?” He looked at the man.

“I-I tripped.” He said as he continued holding his nose.

“Is that so? Maybe you need more agility training then, clean yourself up and meet me outside in 10.”

The man left, glancing back at her, she held her gaze on Jacob. She didn’t want to tell him what had almost happened, she was worried he’d see her as weak.

“There something else I need to know?”

“No, Sir.” She shook her head. He looked at her for another moment before leaving the room, he was certain he knew what had happened and he didn’t plan on taking it easy on the guy.

“Jacob? Hello? Anyone?” A voice rang over the radio, she looked over at it, Jacob was still outside.

“Yes?” She pressed the button and answered, knowing she should’ve just gone to get Jacob.

“We need help! We’re under attack here at the Elk Jaw Lodge, by the Resistance, there’s too many of them. Send help!”

She stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. She knew she could get there quickly and help, as well as prove herself to Jacob, but he was so furious when she’d done the same thing the other day. She made her decision, she grabbed her guns and headed out. There were a lot more Resistance members than there should have been, by the time she got there it was almost too late, there were only a few followers left. She ran in, guns blazing, taking out anyone and everyone she saw. Her adrenaline was pumping so fast she didn’t realize when she got nicked by a bullet as it tore through the skin on her arm. When it was all over, she had either killed all the Resistance members or they had run away. She helped the remaining followers get patched up until reinforcements could come. She decided it was best if she headed back to the VA Center, hoping Jacob had heard about her success.

She walked in the door, half expecting to see Jacob waiting for her again, but he wasn’t there. She walked down the corridor further until she reached his quarters, she peaked inside but didn’t see him. Suddenly she felt someone grab her arm and turn her around.

“Looking for someone?” Jacob asked as his eyes bore into her.

“N-No, Sir.” She tried to pull free of his grasp, but he held firm.

“Heard you were down at Elk Jaw Lodge.”

“Yes, Sir. They needed help so I-“

“So, you disobeyed a direct order, again, and went to play hero?” He clenched his jaw as he glared down at her.

“Sir, I-“

“What’s it going to take to break you, hm? To get through to you that you don’t call the shots around here?” He narrowed his eyes at her.

She stared up at him, genuinely worried about what he would do. She didn’t think helping would be such a bad thing, but she did go against him, and she had made a habit of it recently. Jacob held her arm as he pushed her into his room, slamming the door closed behind him. She trembled slightly as she stood in front of him, not knowing what he was going to do to her. He grabbed her by the back of her neck, pulling her hair back, forcing her to look at him.

“You’re going to learn how to obey commands.” Before she could register what was happening his lips crashed into hers, kissing her forcefully.

He shoved his tongue into her mouth, she welcomed the intrusion and swirled her tongue around his. She fought for dominance in the kiss but was quickly reminded of her place by a hard pull on her hair and a sharp bite on her bottom lip. He pulled away from her abruptly, leaving her breathless and wanting.

“Clothes.” He commanded.

She didn’t need to be told twice, she quickly rid herself of her shirt and unbuttoned her pants. She paused momentarily when he grabbed her arm, looking over the wound she had, bringing her attention to it as well. He let out a heavy sigh at the sight, but knew it wasn’t anything life threatening, deciding to leave it for later. She returned to her task and removed her pants, remaining only in her panties in front of him.

“Still don’t listen.” He said as he grabbed the waistband of her panties and pulled them until she heard the fabric stretching and then ripping apart.

She shifted her legs, feeling her wetness already soaking her thighs and he hadn’t even touched her yet. He tossed her underwear to the floor with her other clothes and circled her, just as he had done before, like he was a predator and she was his prey. She jumped when his hand landed hard on her bare ass, sending shivers over her body at the contact. He moved forward, pressing his body against her back, she could feel his hardness on her ass, she instinctively reached back to palm him through his pants. He let her for a moment before giving her another smack on her ass. She pulled her hand away from him immediately. He remained there, his hands on her shoulders pulling her back against him, he loved the feeling of her body on his. He trailed kisses down the side of her neck, biting into the flesh on her shoulder. She moaned instinctively and reached back for him again, needing to touch him. The second her hand touched him he spanked her again, harder this time. She withdrew her hand once more.

“Desk.” One word was all she needed, she walked over to his desk and bent over it, waiting.

He remained where he was, admiring her from afar as she waited for him. How he wanted to take her now, on every surface in the room, but she needed to learn her place first. He didn’t move for several minutes, she began to wonder what the hold up was, she turned her head to look at him.

“Something wrong?” He asked.

“No, Sir.” She turned her head forward.

He moved closer, his fingers tracing down her spine lightly, she felt goosebumps form across her skin as his fingers moved down further, barely touching her ass. She pushed back into his hand, hoping to coax him into touching her more, the only thing it earned her was another hard smack on the ass, adding to the already reddened skin.

“Patience.” He growled.

He knelt behind her, bringing his face directly to her center. He smirked at how wet she was already, completely soaked. His hand started down at her ankle, lightly moving up her leg, to her thigh. He spread her open wider, but never touched her where she wanted it most. She whined after a few minutes, shifting her legs. It was taking all his will power not to fuck her over this desk right this instance, but he held back. He leaned forward and pressed his tongue flat against her, starting at her clit and licking up to her entrance, tasting her. Her eyes fluttered shut at the feeling, finally being touched where she needed it. He pushed one finger into her opening, feeling how tight she was.

“This is going to hurt.” He said as he withdrew his finger and stood up behind her.

She furrowed her brow for a moment, what exactly was he talking about? It didn’t take her long to figure it out after he’d unzipped his pants and pressed his tip at her entrance, pushing into her completely without warning her first.

“Wait, fuck…” She squirmed, trying to adjust to his size as he stretched her out, but he grabbed her hips and held her still, not letting her move.

He pulled out almost completely before sliding back in, at this point she was glad she had gotten so wet before he’d done this, if not it would have been a lot more painful. She tried to control the pace by moving further up the desk, but he caught onto her quick and grabbed the wound on her arm, causing her to yell and stop all movements.

“Please, Sir…” She begged as he tightened his grip on her, still thrusting in and out of her slowly.

“Begging is another way of trying to control a situation.” He laughed at her attempt.

He released her arm and gripped her hips once more, thrusting harder into her, causing her to lurch forward on the desk. She was finally getting adjusted to him and moaned each time he dragged against her walls as he pulled out. His pace had increased as did the pressure in which his fingers were digging into her hips. He groaned as he pounded into her, reveling in her tightness, the way she writhed beneath him and under his grasp. She began to tighten around him as she felt her imminent release approaching.

“No.” He said as he slowed his pace back down, bringing her back from the brink.

She panted and wanted to argue, but knew it was no use, he would just continue to drag this out if she did. She remained silent as he started moving faster again. He smiled at her obedience, she was learning quickly, even if she wanted to complain, she wouldn’t. He slowed his pace again, but thrusted deeper inside her, hitting that perfect spot that made her knees weak. She moaned loudly each time he hit it, he knew she was getting close again, as was he. He thrust into her harder and faster again, the desk banging into the wall, if no one had heard it before they definitely did now. She whimpered at each thrust and felt herself tighten around him again.

“S-Sir?” She asked, he knew what she wanted.

“Alright, Darlin’” He said through gritted teeth.

A few more thrusts and she came undone beneath him, her body shuddered her orgasm hit her. Her walls clenching around him pushed him towards his own release, he had no plans of pulling out of her either. He remained inside her, making sure she got every ounce of his cum. They both began to come back down, he finally pulled out of her, she remained on the desk, unable to move.

“You belong to me now.” He leaned down and spoke into her ear, placing a kiss on her shoulder as she lay there.

[megwritesfanfiction]

Concrete 3/3 (BNHA/MHA Kacchako)

Disclaimer: I do not own Boku No Hero Academia. I am not making a profit off of this.

A/N: Okay, I think this is done... Maybe? I have no idea... 

Concrete 1 Concrete 2

Read on AO3

It reminded her of floating.

She would know.

Her body felt fuzzy and weightless. The sensation had once made her dizzy and nauseous, but with practice and understanding she’d quickly found herself used to the feeling of it.

Uraraka had a feeling that she’d never get used to this.

Though feeling hadn’t returned to her body, neon dots burst brightly behind her closed eyes and beeping filled her ears. Slow, steady, and accompanied by the soft hum of electricity.

If she had to guess, Uraraka would bet she was in the hospital.

In the handful of times she’d been sent to Recovery Girl’s office, she’d never been hooked up to a monitor. She’d woken up on the way to the med room after she fainted during her match with Bakugo at Sports Festival their first year. Aside from normal bumps, bruises, and broken bones, Uraraka could only think of one other time she’d sustained a serious injury.

She’d taken a knee to the head while sparring and was unconscious for a few hours.

Uraraka couldn’t quite remember what had happened this time, but…

“Any change?”

Who was that?

To her right, the shifting of stiff fabric scratched against her eardrums. “No.” There was a heavy sigh followed by partially muffled words, “They said she’d be awake by now.” Bakugo? How long had she been unconscious? “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I’m off duty until Sunday morning.” Boots clicked across the floor moving closer to her. “Figured I would check in on you guys since Iida had to go back.”

Okay, so it wasn’t Iida. She would say it was Deku, but it didn’t quite sound like him. Kirishima had mentioned something about being on duty, so she had to assume something had happened. Knowing Deku, he wouldn’t stop working until he couldn’t move.

Whatever incident it was, Uraraka had to believe it was the cause of her injuries.

She was okay.

Even if she couldn’t feel her limbs yet.

She heard Bakugo huff as he moved again, “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Just making sure, man.” Kirishima. She should have known.

“Hey man,” she could hear the smirk on his face. “Someone needs to make sure you’re eating-”

The sound of paper crinkling and a whiff of something salty filled her nose. Smelled like teriyaki?

“And that you haven’t been arrested.”

If that statement didn’t wake her up, Uraraka wasn’t sure she’d ever regain consciousness.

The last thing she remembered was Bakugo scowling as she shoved pink and white frosted cookies in her mouth. He’d grumbled something about her “shitty eating habits” when he stole a cookie from her, refusing to admit how good the cookies were.

What exactly had happened to her…? Where did they go after breakfast? And how had her boyfriend nearly ended up in jail?

“Well-“ Why did Bakugo sound so tired? His voice was raspy and weak, not evening trying to but his normal amount of bite in his voice. “I’ve managed to stay out of trouble for the last day and a half.”

What day was it? Kirishima mentioned something about going back on duty Sunday, but she couldn’t remember what day she’d been rendered unconscious.

“I’m just making sure that you don’t punch anyone else out.” Had there been a fight? Had she gone out on patrol with him and gotten injured? Uraraka couldn’t recall being scheduled for a patrol or being teamed with Bakugo. As weird as it was, teachers at UA were aware of their relationship and made sure not to partner them up for patrol or projects.

There may have been one instance when he’d been assigned to be her partner randomly, but teachers had been sure to split them up for patrol practicals.

Kirishima’s voice was light as it faded toward the other side of the room. “You need to eat. Iida told me you didn’t eat last night-“

“I’m not hungry.“

“Kaminari told me you skipped lunch yesterday-“

“Not true. The nurse brought me a coffee and cookie-” A small part of her hoped that she could remember this conversation when she finally awakened. Bakugo had always been critical of making sure that she was eating regularly, especially with her training regimen.

“Mina told me you didn’t eat anything this morning-” It sounded like he was standing in front of Bakugo. “And I am not above telling Uraraka. She’s gonna be pissed.”

He wasn’t wrong. Uraraka was sure if she could move her body she’d sit up and knock some sense into her boyfriend. Warmth was finally beginning to tingle in toes and fingers, but her body felt like lead.

“She has to wake up first.” She’d witnessed her boyfriend fight against impossible odds without batting an eyelash at the odds. Why did he sound so hopeless? His soft sinking tone sent a jolt of fear down her spine as she heard the heart monitor play her nerves.

How bad was she hurt?

“Katsuki-” Kirishima resorting to calling him by his first name without Bakugo’s protest only confirmed the seriousness of this situation. “The doctor said that Uraraka’s surgery went better than they could have asked for. Brain scans are good-”

“She has a brain bleed-”

“Minor, non-surgical-” Personally, Uraraka would never think to associate the term brain bleed and minor, but if the doctor wasn’t concerned she could relax a bit.

“Her hair was soaked with blood and dust when I found her.” A head injury and the sedatives would explain her lack of memory. “I should have gotten her to a medic immediately when I-”

“Stop.” Kirishima’s voice was firm.

Uraraka could feel the pull of stitches against her side and at her scalp as she focused on trying to move.

“I should’ve noticed that she had a concussion.”

“Ka-”

“Like I should have seen that fucking gash in her side.” Had she been stabbed in an ambush?

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Kirishima sighed. “You’re going to have to forgive yourself eventually.”

“When she wakes up,” Bakugo insisted, stubbornly.

The sound of plastic and styrofoam rattling sounded louder in her ears.

“If you don’t eat something, you’re going to be in a bed next to her.” Kirishima’s hand came down lightly on something solid. She imagined there was a little table in her hospital room. “Eat the damn noodles and stop thinking about worst case scenarios. The doctor said she’s doing good.”

The black behind her closed eyes become lighter as she felt awareness returning to her body.

“Eat or I tell your mother.”

“You’ll be back on duty when she comes to the hospital.” Uraraka couldn’t ignore the small smirk in his voice.

“Actually,” Kirishima started with a smirk of his own. “She said she’ll be here this evening with dinner, so I can join you all.”

“Tch.” It was nice to hear the tension ease out of his voice.

Her eyelids painfully peeled apart, the fluorescent light above her head burning her eyes.

“I can’t believe you have my mother’s number.”

Kirishima laughed, pulling a chair of his own next to him, “How are you surprised?”

Uraraka would’ve laughed if her throat hadn’t felt like it was full of sandpaper and cactus needles. With a little inhale and eyes barely open, she watched as Kirishima unboxed the food and placed a covered bowl in front of Bakugo.

“Fair enough,” Bakugo sighed, leaning back in his hair as he shook his head. The skin around his eyes was dark and drawn tight.

When was the last time he’d slept?

He was dressed what looked to be a wrinkled pair of navy hospital scrubs, hair more unruly than usual.

“Stop pouting,” Kirishima said, holding a pair of chopsticks out in front of the blonde. “Eat your noodles.”

Uraraka licked her lips as the corners of her lips twitched with amusement. She inhaled deeply, opening her mouth. “Yeah-” That small word tearing at her throat. “Eat your noodles,” she rasped breathlessly, words slurred together.

Bakugo gasped, lurching forward as he pushed the small table out of the way. He jumped to her beside carefully cradling her head as he looked into her hazy eyes. “You’re awake?”

“Suppose so,” Uraraka breathed softly as she smiled at him.

His hands trembled as cool relief washed over him, hands gently pushing her hair back. “Shit,” Bakugo panicked. “We need a doctor!” He roared, turning toward the door.

“Ow,” Uraraka winced as her head throbbed.

“Shit,” he muttered, gingerly patting her face as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Sorry, sorry, sorry…”  

“I’ll go get a doctor,” Kirishima offered as he made his way out of the room.

The doctors swarmed her bedside and pushed him into the hallway. Bakugo had quickly called Uraraka father, then followed up with his own mother.

“Katsuki!”

“She’s awake.” Bakugo peeked back into Uraraka’s hospital room making sure what his eyes and ears had seen were real. Red eyes glanced at Kirishima, confirming his witness was still there.

They’d carefully propped Uraraka up against the fluffy hospital pillows. Her usually bright brown eyes were hazy, but she was awake and responding to whatever questions they asked her.

“Thank goodness,” his mother breathed with relief. “What’d the doctor say?”

“I don’t know yet,” Bakugo look another look into the room. “But, I figure she still has a couple days here.”

“Did you still want me to come by tonight?”

“I guess,” he shrugged, phone clutched against his ear. “Ochako probably won’t mind the visit.”

“Well, if she’s too tired,” Mitsuki started sternly. “I can just bring you kids some food tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

“You called her father, right?”

“I talked to him before I called you.” he peeked back into the room again. They were removing the blood pressure from her arm. Her eyes were still open, drowsy but alert.

“Good. Don’t forget to keep me posted.”

“I won’t.”

“You take care of her, Katsuki.”

“I am, mom.”

“You must have been worried if you called your mother,” Kirishima commented, a little smirk on his face as he watched his friend hang up the phone. He bit his tongue, forcing himself not to comment on how normal their conversation was.

Bakugo narrowed his eyes, placing his phone in his pants pocket, “Shut up, shitty hair.”

“Will do,” Kirishima smirked with a satisfied nod as he leaned against the wall across from his friend. “I’m glad Uraraka’s okay too.”

Bakugo nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. He sighed loudly, looking up to the ceiling as he frowned awkwardly, “I owe you.” The words weren’t quite right to express how good of a friend he’d been to him, but Bakugo wasn’t quite sure how to say it.

“No, ” Kirishima patted his shoulder before stretching his back. “That’s what bros do, man.” He understood.

The doctor exited the room, stepping in front of Bakugo with a smile. “She looks great.”

Bakugo felt his body relax on a loud and long exhale.

“We’re still keeping an eye on that head injury, but hopefully on Monday we can have the specialist come and heal her. And,” the doctor flipped through the chart. “If everything goes according to plan, she should be able to go home on Tuesday. Do you have any questions for me?”

“No, sir.”

“Alright,” the doctor nodded. “I suggest you get some rest yourself now, hmm?” He suggested as he stepped away.

Bakugo ignored the glare and Kirishima’s chuckling. “Don’t you start.”

“What?” Kirishima raised his hands in surrender, unable to contain his grin. He pushed himself off the wall as he started down the hall. “I can’t agree that you need to get some rest?”

“No,” Bakugo frowned watching him walk away. “Where you going?”

“Figured you crazy kids could use some alone time.” Kirishima gave a small salute as he kept moving. “I’ll let the others know.”

Bakugo had forgotten about telling their friends. Kirishima hadn’t even disappeared down the hall, and he was already standing in the doorway. With slow breaths, Bakugo kept his eyes on her sleepy face as she watched the TV mounted in the corner of the wall.

The footage of the building dominated the screen.

Rubble and concrete slabs filled the screen as a reporter recounted the accident.

No villains.

No bombs.

Just a minor earthquake and an unstable building causing the death toll to approach two hundred.

Bakugo couldn’t help but think that it had could have easily been two hundred and one.

“Did I fall?” Uraraka whispered, eyes glued to the screen.

He took slow steps into the room as he cleared his throat. “No,” he replied softly stepped into the room. “You um,” he stopped at the foot of her bed, gently placing his hands on her blanket covered ankles. “You, I think-”

Uraraka slowly turned to face him, eyes widening a bit with worry.

“You and Deku-” Bakugo still hadn’t decided how much of the blame the green haired boy needed to shoulder. “Were helping to evacuate people inside, and when Deku came out-”

He wondered if she could hear how loudly his heart thudded.

“You weren’t with him. I,” he paused, looking at her. “I found you with a kid. You had blood in your hair-”

Uraraka inhaled sharply, trying to recall what he was saying.

“When I took the kid, you collapsed.” Bakugo’s gaze left her eyes as he stared past her. “You had some metal lodged in your side, and you were bleeding really bad.”

That explained the long row of stitches on her side. “Is,” Uraraka cleared her throat. “The kid okay?”

Bakugo nodded, “Yeah, he’s fine. They found his mom.”

She felt herself relax into the bed a bit, ignoring the burn in her body. “Good,” she sighed with a small smile. Her eyes drifted close as she breathed slowly.

“You know I love you right?”

Uraraka felt her head snap up faster than she should’ve. Her jaw clenched, feeling her head throb. “What?”

“You-” He wanted to blame this on the stress of the last few days. “You know I love you right?”

“Of course.” Why would he doubt that?

His hands tightened a little around her ankles. “I thought you were going to die.”

Uraraka felt her breath catch as she saw tears catch on his eyelashes. “I’m sor-”

“You don’t get to die on me, Ochako.” Bakugo’s head dropped between his shoulders as he panted. “You don’t get to bleed out on me, say ‘I love you’, and die in my arms.”

“I-” She wasn’t sure what to say to him. Even without the morphine flooding her veins, the right words seemed impossible to find.

“The last thing I told you was you could have as many those stupid frosted animal cookies you wanted.” His eyes squeezed tightly trying to will away his tears. This was supposed to be a happy moment, and he couldn’t erase the memory of the life fading from her eyes.

Uraraka chuckled, tears spilling on her cheeks, “Come here.”

Bakugo’s head slowly raised, red eyes tired and grief filled.

“Come here.” Her hands padded against the bed, motioning for him to get in.

“I can’t-”

“It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

True, but- “I don’t wanna hurt you.” The bed was small, and it wouldn’t be comfortable for her to lay on her side.

“Get over here, Katsuki.”

Bakugo smirked carefully crawling into the small bed with her. He pulled her against his chest as her toes tickled against his ankle. Cradling a gentle hand against her scalp, he placed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Of course you love me,” she whispered, digging her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “You said I could have as many of those cookies you hate.” A smile broke through her tears.

“Dork,” he murmured affectionately against her forehead. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

She tilted her head up, meeting his eyes. “I won’t,” Uraraka promised softly.

“You need some rest,” Bakugo whispered pressing their lips together. Pulling away, his hands gently held her face as his thumbs stroked her pale cheeks.

“So do you.” Snuggling against his chest, Uraraka closed her eyes relaxing into him.

A nap sounded nice. “My mom is gonna come see you this evening.” His arms carefully looped around her as he held her.

“You called her?”

“Yeah,” he sighed sleepily, finally able to relax.

“Hm,” she chuckled lightly as she felt herself drifting back to sleep. “You do love me,” she teased.  

“Don’t you forget it.”

[thrashff]

Comeback

Word count: 4,300~

A/N: So my friends and I were feeling particularly soft after Yoongi’s post on fancafe, wondering how all the boys must be feeling right now. One of them asked me to write this drabble about the night before their comeback and this is what happened. If you like it then please give @putsugaonme some love on Twitter, and if not then I claim full responsibility on @thrashff! :)

Arranged out of order so it might be a little confusing, but the real sequence is Seokjin, Hoseok, Jungkook, Jimin, Taehyung, Namjoon, then Yoongi.

Warnings: Cursing, slightly (hopefully not!) OOC and might (hopefully yes!) leave you feeling soft as well :3

Taehyung

Storm clouds. They’re all Tae can think about as he stares at the ceiling, the quiet ticking of the clock on his bedside the only thing keeping him grounded because he swears to god if it wasn’t for that sound, that small, stupid, inconsequential sound rushing to keep time with his heartbeat, the storm clouds in his head would have swallowed him whole by now. They’re there every time he closes his eyes to blink; fat, purple-gray monsters roiling over a violent, green-black ocean, their colors bleeding together like a fresh bruise, crackling with so much unshed possibility that he can feel the surge right down to his fingertips, to his toes, to the fucking ends of his fucking hair.

Tick. Thump. Crackle. Tick. Thump. Crackle.

He’s been in this position before, and those same damn storm clouds have always kept him company. Like fucking harbingers of doom, but instead of four horsemen he gets an entire army ushering in the apocalypse. He figures to anyone else they would seem pretty menacing—a threat, even, but Tae just licks his lips, the corner of his mouth quirking into a small smile as he welcomes them into his head and down his chest, spreading through the rest of his limbs like medicine, like poison, like lifeblood. They rush through him, descending like a heavy woolen blanket on his skin. The whisper of fabric on flesh, is it time?

Storm clouds. They’re all Tae can think about, and his entire being vibrates with the electricity from them, with all that unshed possibility.

The clock beside him stops ticking, and in the awful, awful silence Tae’s heart whoops and soars. He swings his legs out of bed, socked feet sparking with static as they touch the carpet. Is it time? The storm clouds roll over in his stomach, thunder, demand. Isittimeisittimeisittimeisittimeisit—

A knock on the door, and Tae’s face breaks into a grin. It was time.

Seokjin

Seokjin doesn’t know how many times he’s played the Bowser In The Sky boss level on Super Mario 64, but he’s played it on every night before a comeback and like hell he wasn’t going to play it tonight. As he steers Mario off a tilting platform and onto another block, effectively avoiding a Piranha Plant in the process, a small part of his brain reminds him that he should be worried that the house was so quiet, that the great room was empty and where the hell is everyone?

The thought is so distracting that he misses his jump from one spinning disc to the next, and he stares at the screen of his DS in disbelief for a few (okay, a lot of) long moments. He finally sighs and shuts it, tossing it onto the cushions like it had offended his mother, rubbing at his face tiredly with one hand. He doesn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a full night’s sleep, the last time any of them had gotten proper rest at all for that matter, but he doubts it’s going to happen tonight.

The evenings before a comeback were always like this. Everyone would go their separate ways, thinking that they could deal with their nerves and feelings on their own: Namjoon would retreat into his bedroom and listen to music on his headphones so loudly sometimes Jin worried he would go deaf, Hoseok would saunter into the garage and return two hours later covered in sweat, Taehyung would go catatonic in his bed for an hour before flitting from room to room like the freaking Tasmanian Devil come to life, Jungkook would be on his cellphone watching videos of himself as some weird method to self-soothe, Jimin would work out until he injured himself or broke something (sometimes both), and Yoongi would pace tracks into the hardwood of his bedroom floor until he eventually exhausted himself into a near-catatonic state. Eventually, though, each member would find their way here, to the great room where Seokjin was, where Seokjin always was, ready with a joke to lighten the mood.

There were a lot of things he didn’t understand about his housemates in general, owing primarily to the fact that they were all slightly insane, slightly evil musical geniuses, but he especially didn’t understand why they worked themselves up to the point of breaking before a comeback. It wasn’t that he himself was possessed of any supernatural ability to remain calm in a stressful situation; it was just that Jin wasn’t scared. He was nervous, sure, but he was nervous every day that he was with BTS. He was nervous for concerts and performances, photoshoots and hell, even guestings and interviews, but he wasn’t worried when it came to releasing new music because he had the utmost faith that whatever they had come up with was the best version of itself it could possibly be. How could it be anything but, with how much love and devotion each of them had poured into it?

Sure, there would be people who would love it and people who would hate it, but none of that mattered to him. He was happy when people liked it, sure. He loved being able to use his platform to express himself, loved the journey he was on with his Bangtan brothers and every member of ARMY, but all of it paled in comparison to how ridiculously proud he was to be part of the whole machine. He was proud of the way Yoongi obsessively wrote music into the wee hours of the morning, the way Namjoon fretted over every arrangement, how Hoseok would practice the same move hundreds of times before he was satisfied with it, how Taehyung would spend hours digging through the internet for music that would inspire them, the way Jimin would work so hard to keep himself strong because he loved them so much he didn’t want to disappoint them, and how Jungkook worked twice as hard as every one of them to prove himself worthy of his role in a family and in a life that he still had trouble accepting as his.

So Seokjin was content and happy and the farthest thing from scared because he had Bangtan by his side. Everything else was just a bonus.

He leans back into the couch cushions, propping his Mario-slippered feet on the coffee table. He eyes the clock on the wall across from him and waits for his brothers to return.

Jimin

It wasn’t his fault, Jimin thinks as he stares at Jin’s favorite frying pan in his hands. Formerly favorite, he corrects himself. Former frying pan. The handle had melted clean off the rest of it where it was supposed to be attached to the actual pan, because how the hell was he supposed to know you weren’t supposed to pre-heat a frying pan to 350 degrees and that it only applied to ovens?

Jimin sighs, dumping the slightly twisted pieces of metal and plastic into a bottom cabinet, wondering if he could get it to Hoseok to fix before Jin found out and gutted him like a fish. The thought makes him shudder, and he pouts at his reflection on the granite countertop. It wasn’t his fault, he thinks again. All he wanted was a goddamn cookie and to decorate it with the ice cream sprinkles Namjoon had brought home the week before, to take a picture of it and send it to ARMY to reassure them that he was fine, that they were fine, because sugar and sweets made everything better and Jimin was absolutely screwed if he wasn’t going to be fine instead of the mess of feelings he really was right now, raw and bare like an exposed nerve ending.

Because, frankly, Jimin wasn’t good with feelings. Jimin wasn’t good at a lot of things, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, but he was good at working them off in the gym and dancing from his demons instead of with them. Right now he was too tired to work out and too wired to dance with Hoseok and too much of everything, really, to do anything but stand like an idiot in their big, empty kitchen and want, with every fiber of his being, a stupid cookie to shove into his mouth.

He wanders from the kitchen like a lost puppy, unsure where his feet are taking him until he reaches Jungkook’s door. Jungkookie would understand, wouldn’t he? Jimin nervously fingers the ARMY necklace around his neck, chewing on his lip, before shaking his head and continuing down the hallway. He wouldn’t know what to say to him anyway, because sometimes words weren’t enough, couldn’t possibly be enough to explain how badly he needed a hug, how he felt like there were butterflies the size of Boeing 747 airplanes in his stomach and that they were threatening to lurch up his body and escape into the hallway like ashes from a fire, staining everything they touched with soot and fear and maybe the dirtiest thing of all, failure.

Namjoon

The house is full. It’s an odd realization, but it’s the first time in weeks that Namjoon feels like it is in every sense of the word. The analogy is so cliché he almost kicks himself for it, but it’s exactly what it feels like: a pot that’s about to boil over—like Jin forgot to tilt the lid on a pot of noodles and all that starch was coming to the surface, bubbling over and flooding out the fire below it, effectively ruining dinner to a chorus of Does this mean we can get takeaway from Taehyung and I’ll eat it if no one else will from Jungkook and Jesus fucking Christ, Jin-hyung from Yoongi like he could do any better.

If he closes his eyes he feels like he can almost imagine where each member is in the house—like if he reaches for the wall or the floor he can tell just by the vibrations what music Hoseok is dancing his nerves out to, if it’s Jungkook or Taehyung that’s winning their videogame, if Jin is on the couch on his DS or his iPad, how many push-ups Jimin has done to work off his excess energy, if Yoongi has broken anything in his room yet from the stress.

Leadermon, he thinks wryly, face screwing up at the role that had always and probably would always make him uncomfortable. He hadn’t asked for it, yes, of the personal belief that if anyone should be the leader, it should be Yoongi with his proclivity for creative curse words and magical ability to keep even Taehyung in line with just a glare. But after all these years Namjoon had grown into the role to the point that he couldn’t even think about himself without thinking of everyone else in this full-to-the-brim goddamn house. Between the stress and tension and hope and heartbreak and fucking love he wonders how any of them even fit, if they’ve somehow mastered this virtual game of Tetris and the lines at the bottom just continue to disappear, like only an act of God is even allowing them any room to breathe above it all.

He rips off his headphones, the cacophony of bass and treble and how in the hell does that growl even come from Tae echoing in his ears as he abandons his attempt at a nap for a bad job and makes his way to the great room.

Leader, he thinks with each echoing thump of his clumsy feet on the stairs as he hurtles down them. He was their fucking leader and right now the guilt over thinking he could leave them alone on the night before a comeback and nap, of all the impossible, improbable things, instead of be with them is making his stomach twist.

He reaches Taehyung’s door first, and to his surprise the maknae is already standing there, his arm outstretched for the doorknob if only Namjoon hadn’t gotten to it first, the slightly unhinged and manic glint in his eyes sending an involuntary shiver of fear down Namjoon’s spine.

“Is it time,” Tae asks, his voice sounding like it was coming from everywhere but his mouth, and Namjoon nods his head, dislodging the thought as an auditory hallucination from how much sleep he hasn’t been able to get.

“C’mon, let’s get the rest of the boys.”

For some reason, with V at his back, he starts to feel like Dante descending into hell.

Jungkook

Whatever the fuck Hobi is doing, Jungkook wishes he would keep it down because it sounds like he’s dropping hundred pound weights onto a concrete floor in an empty room. He regrets, not for the first time, calling dibs on the first-floor bedroom closest to the garage. At the time, it had been a purely knee-jerk reaction born of convenience: closest to the garage, closest to bed. He hadn’t, however, anticipated Hoseok turning part of said garage into a practice space, or that being next to a big, empty room would send the strangest sounds throughout his.

A loud bump is followed by what sounds like cymbals crashing, but none of that made any sense because Hobi’s space was literally empty and where in the world would he even get a drumset in the middle of the night?

The sound of flesh hitting cement echoes through the wall, and Jungkook decides that he’s just about had enough. While he typically let his hyungs have the run of the house and do whatever they wanted, he wasn’t having it tonight, couldn’t have any of it tonight. All Jungkook wanted was some peace and quiet and maybe even a little room to think about how just when he was getting the hang of things, it was all going to change again, leaving him the only upright thing in a topsy-turvy world. He just wanted to be prepared. Jungkook liked being prepared. He didn’t like being caught off guard and he didn’t like not knowing what he was supposed to do or say and he especially didn’t like not knowing what the hell was going to happen now.

Yeah, he was the youngest, but that didn’t mean he didn’t get tired. It didn’t mean he was as secure as his hyungs in what they were doing, as confident in moving about the world they had created for themselves. It wasn’t his fault that these things came easy for him; they asked him to sing and he sung, to dance and he danced, to rap and he rapped. Seokjin would probably berate him for his hubris, but that was the way it was and so that was the way Jungkook regarded them. He hadn’t fit in in the normal world, where these things came by through hard work and practice. Jungkook was used to trying something a couple of times before getting the hang of it, and if Jin or Yoongi or Tae called him conceited for it and gave him shit then he supposed they could—they were his hyungs and he wasn’t in any position to tell them otherwise.

All of those things came easy for him, but the one thing Jungkook struggled with, the one thing that he could never get the hang of no matter how hard he worked or how much he practiced, was being part of Bangtan. He hadn’t fit in with the outside world, and so to find a place, a home, with six other impossibly talented and skilled men who were all older than him was just something that he couldn’t believe, couldn’t get used to, couldn’t get the hang of. Even on good days he always felt like he had one foot in and one foot out, constantly wondering in the back of his mind what he would be doing, what he could be doing, if he wasn’t with Bangtan.

He had realized over the course of his first year that there was a difference between being good at something and wanting to be good at something. He just so happened to be good at these things and so he did them, and this was the only thing it made sense to be. But being around all of them had infected him with their impossible work ethic and passion, and over time he had learned to love it, all of it, this life and the music and the fans and performing just as much if not more than they did. They had taken care of him, helped him grow, turned him into the man he now was. He worked hard to be worthy. How could he not?

But then he would watch them develop a new skill or discover a new talent and wonder how in the world he was supposed to keep up, if he even could keep up, worried that he had already given the extent of his abilities, unraveled too soon, reached his limit, shown his full potential and now, this, this is where it stops. This is where it would end, and his hyungs would leap even farther ahead and leave him behind.

He groans and flips over to his stomach, burying his face into his pillow and shoving another over the back of his head as Hoseok’s noise turns into a steady thump that makes his walls vibrate.

He just wanted to be prepared, and here was this whole other chapter waiting to be turned and all Jungkook wanted was to slow time down and maybe even press pause if he could, just to breathe and remind himself that he could do this, that there was nothing to be scared of, that his hyungs were right outside his door, waiting for him.

Hoseok

Hoseok isn’t sure if the screaming is coming from inside his head or from somewhere inside the house, but he hopes that whoever or whatever it’s coming from is okay, especially if it’s coming from him. He hasn’t slept in days, only pretended, running on fumes and pasting a brittle smile on his face that has started to look fake, even to him.

J-Hope, they named him, and he always tried his best to live up to it. The past week had been hectic, chaotic even, and he hadn’t been able to help the extra surge of energy it had given him as they flitted like bees from one thing to the next, the possibilities seemingly endless of whether this flower or that would bear more nectar, plant more seeds, bear more fruit. It wasn’t Hoseok’s fault that he was easily (read: a lot) excitable, that he could tap into a reserve of seemingly superhuman energy and drive that more often than not left him feeling barely human after. It was only by sheer force of cheerfulness and well-timed jokes that he even managed to get away with his obsessive-compulsive behavior, when everything had to be perfect and wonderful and happy and okay, because if it wasn’t he would feel like he hadn’t been enough, wasn’t good enough. That he could possibly let everyone down.

He turns up the volume on the television he’s stashed away in his practice space, trying to drown out his own thoughts with the horror movie on the screen. Nobody ever came here except Jimin anyway, and even then he would just sit at Hoseok’s feet and watch him watch other things, quietly decompressing before inevitably asking if he had any sweets or how to do that move he pulled the other day at practice. Hoseok never minded, just glad that he could be this for the other boy because it reminded him that he was still Hobi, that somehow maybe the sum of his parts still equaled to more than just the music or the dance or the photo or, god help them all, the job and the persona itself.

The edges of his vision start to blur, and he wonders if it’s the television or reality before he gets to his feet and does a couple of jumping jacks. It’s no good and his eyes are somehow more tired than the rest of him, how is that even possible, and he decides it’s probably time to head inside and check if everyone has filed into the great room the way they always do; Yoongi managing to look murderous and all of twelve years old at the same time, Taehyung manic and still strangely serene, Jin expectant and relaxed, Namjoon anxious but trying valiantly to be calm, Jimin on the verge of tears but still fighting, Kookie vacant but resigned.

Their faces flash through his head like scenes from the flip-books he used to love as a kid, and for the first time all week he finally feels a strange sense of peace wash over him at the thought of them waiting for him. He takes a deep breath and flashes the first real smile at his reflection in the dead TV screen, steeling himself.

It was comeback time.

Yoongi

Yoongi is the last, as usual, to make his way to the great room, having already broken his newest computer mouse in a fit of frustration by throwing it at the wall. The damn thing just wasn’t working, would any of this even work, what if they hated it, what if it flopped, why did he even feel so goddamn fucking responsible when that was Namjoon’s area of expertise, all fueling the fire in the pit of his stomach that was slowly burning away all of the carefully-placed walls he had built to keep it contained. There was just so much pressure both inside and outside of him that maybe it was the only thing even keeping him whole right now, but he swears to god one wrong word from Tae or one eyeroll from Jungkook and he was going to kill them, he really was.

He needed Seokjin. He needed Seokjin to make a stupid, corny-ass joke to poke fun at and Jimin to make fun of and Taehyung to do something ridiculous and for Jungkook to accept it and play along and for Hobi to hold him and for Namjoon to tell him it was going to be okay and he hated it with every fiber of his being because he hated needing things the way he so desperately needed his bandmates right now.

He hated comebacks, he hated the chaos, he hated the gimmicks and he hated and he hated and he hated almost as much as he loved, because that was the only reason he was doing it; because he loved what he was doing and he loved that he was doing it with them and he loved writing music and he loved performing and godfuckingdammit did anyone in the history of the universe ever love anything more than he did right now—he swears to god he’s going to explode with the sheer force of it running through his veins that if he doesn’t hit something soon he’s going to spontaneously combust.

The first thing he sees is Taehyung with his legs wrapped around Jungkook’s pink-tinged face in a headlock, and the younger boy is somehow breathing and yelling for Tae to let him go at the same time, a feat if Yoongi ever saw one. Jimin is on his stomach, lying on the floor watching them, his eyes slightly desperate when they meet Yoongi’s as he steps into the doorway. Namjoon and Hoseok are on the couch with Seokjin between them, looking for all the world like a poly-amorous couple watching over their dysfunctional brood, except Jin is egging on Tae and Hobi is trying to get Jungkook to listen to him and you idiot, angle your arms behind his knee and push up if you want to live.

Yoongi shakes his head at the tableau, making his way to the armchair that no one else is ever allowed to sit in for fear of a cruel and usual death. He collapses into it, letting out a long breath and already feeling more stable just by being around actual, living people, like maybe his jaw won’t fall off from how hard he’s been grinding his teeth and maybe he’ll even get through tonight without reading every comment before the sun starts to bleed its way into his bedroom.

Namjoon catches his eye, and he shrugs at the question he finds there. Are you okay?, like any of them were on these nights. He can’t stop the growl that escapes him then, and instantly Taehyung stops laughing and Jungkook stops struggling and Jimin is on his feet and Seokjin is fishing for the candy he always keeps in his pockets and Namjoon’s wrist is sprained but he’s still reaching for him with it and Hoseok’s arms are already around him and fuck.

From seven individual men they turn into a tangle of limbs and tears and there’s a lollipop already sticking out of Jimin’s mouth how in the world as they all try to angle their lanky bodies, trying to find a spot on, beside, or around him as they hold him. He’s left wondering where in the world the wetness on his cheeks has come from, where did the pressure that was keeping him together go.

But then Taehyung is laughing, mumbling something about storm clouds under his breath, and Hoseok’s smile is like sunshine peeking out from behind clouds on a winter day and Yoongi has Jungkook in his arms with Namjoon wrapped around his shoulders and Jimin’s face is on his knee and Jin is complaining about someone’s elbow in his face and there are so many tears and laughter and Yoongi breathes for the first time since they started planning this comeback. Yoongi breathes and Taehyung sings and Namjoon smiles and Seokjin laughs and Jimin tries to hide his tears and Hoseok is burying his face in someone’s shoulder and Jungkook is looking at everyone like they’re a fucking revelation.

Eventually they disentangle from each other, returning to their own bodies. Yoongi breathes and realizes it was never the pressure that was keeping him together but this. Always, above all, this.

[izanyas]

Moonglow

Commission for @ectology​: mermaid Shizaya AU!

Rating: GA Words: 3,500 Warnings: mentions of depression, body horror elements.

Moonglow

Shizuo was bad at asking for favors. In the workplace and in his personal life both, he despised having to ask for help, for time, and for attention. It was a mix of pride and uncertainty, he thought. Or maybe the certainty that no one had time to give him in the first place, and that he was imposing by asking.

With Shinra, though, it was just that Shizuo would rather go to anyone else for help.

"Can you come over tonight?" he asked him over lunch, leg jittery under the table, his food lying untouched in front of him.

He didn't have much of an appetite for fish lately.

Shinra finished slurping on his noodles dispassionately. He put his chopsticks down, wiped his mouth with a napkin, raised his glasses over his eyes. "Your famous scientific mystery," he declared. "Sure, I can come tonight. When it's you telling me something unbelievable is going on, I'm ready to follow you halfway across the world."

"God, shut up."

Shinra laughed brightly. He still had his white pants and coat on, the latter stained at the elbow with something that looked suspiciously like drying blood. His shift at the hospital only let him have forty minutes for lunch, and the only reason Shizuo had taken over Mikage in keeping him company for it was because he needed to. Usually, he only had to do that on Fridays.

"Will you tell me what it is beforehand?" Shinra asked. His eyes had a teasing glow to them that made Shizuo grind his teeth together in irritation.

"No," he replied. "You wouldn't believe me."

"I've seen you kick a car like it was a soccer ball."

Shizuo hesitated. "It's… it's different. You wouldn't believe me if I just said it out loud."

Shinra had the look of someone being challenged, now. His skin was less pale in the summer than it tended to be in winter, mostly because Kadota made sure to make him cram outside instead of in. His internship had been better to him than theory was, as well. He seemed more tired but more energetic. Healthier.

Shizuo felt himself relax. "Whatever. Just come over around two. I should be home by then."

--

Shizuo's parents' house was only inhabited by him at the moment. His mom and dad were away on a trip, Kasuka was touring with his theater troupe, and Ruri went wherever Kasuka went. Shizuo got home from his work at the bar at one and a half, and he dragged Shinra directly outside when he arrived at two-fifteen. Dokusonmaru was asleep on the window of the kitchen and didn't even blink open his eyes when they walked past him.

The house didn't have a garden. The kitchen opened to a terrace back out; the terrace stopped where the sand began, and behind was the sea, black and blue in the moonlight, gently licking the rocks around the wooden fence that marked the limits of Shizuo's home.

"You really have the perfect place," Shinra commented, sitting down onto one of the plastic chairs. Shizuo saw him take off his shoes and dig his toes into the cold sand with a sigh of appreciation. "Growing up here must've been so amazing, I'm jealous."

"You were here almost every day," Shizuo pointed out.

"It's not the same as living here." Shinra kicked some sand in his direction, and Shizuo brushed it off his naked calves without much more than a groan. "So. Why am I here?"

Right. "Just wait a bit," he replied. "Shouldn't be too long now."

It never was.

Shizuo heard Izaya arrive before he saw him. He had gotten used to the sound the water made around him when he was about to breach the surface, deeper than that of the quiet waves hitting the shore. Heart beating fast in his chest, he ignore the strangled breath that Shinra took in and focused on the sight of Izaya's head rising above the water, body glowing from the water and the moon in a way it only did at night.

There was no need for any light. Izaya dragged himself onto the sand, shining like a beacon, making it impossible to mistake the sharp cuts in the sides of his neck or the black scales along his legs. They were still halfway into the water, hiding the fins at their extremities.

Shinra probably got the picture anyway.

"You brought a companion," Izaya said, water dribbling down his chin as he shifted from whatever means of communication he had down under and to the use of lungs. He completely ignored the spluttering sounds Shinra was making right in front of him. "Well, no matter. I have two."

Two more heads emerged behind him. Girls, Shizuo thought, and he was thankful to notice that at least they were wearing something over their bodies.

"This wasn't a competition," Shizuo said, eyeing the obviously younger creatures behind Izaya worriedly. "And I told you not to be naked."

"Must've slipped my mind."

One of the girls, the one with long hair, huffed loudly at that. "You know humans don't like bodies," she said. She choked a little, surprised by the water she had to hack out in order to speak.

"Really?" Izaya rolled onto his back, none of the wet sand sticking to his skin, and extended his arms up toward the sky. The thin membrane between his fingers was translucent and pearl-like in its shimmer. "I probably skipped that class."

"You never skip human class."

"Shizuo," Shinra murmured. When Shizuo looked at him, his face was gleaming with sweat. "Are those mermaids?"

Izaya chose this moment to give a long strike of his leg into the water, and the fin at its end came up into the air, long and powerful.

"I think so," Shizuo replied. He pushed himself off the chair and walked until he reached Izaya's level, sitting down next to him. "He won't tell me."

"There's no word in any of your languages for what we are," Izaya said. He wasn't looking at Shinra. Shizuo was meeting his eyes evenly, and Izaya's were red, the sides of his face framed with more of the black scales that covered his legs and patches of his arms and back.

The girl with long hair was holding on to Izaya's leg now, and her—sister? Her sister had her arms wrapped around her middle. When she spoke, her voice was very soft, and the water came out of her mouth less harshly than it had the other. "Not supposed to be here," she whispered.

"Don't be a killjoy, Kururi," Izaya replied uncaringly. "Shizuo won't vivisect us."

Shizuo didn't specify that Shinra might try—he could stop Shinra if needed. "Izaya showed up here by accident a few days ago," he told his friend, eyeing the silver wound in Izaya's side. "He was hurt. That's why I wanted you to come."

"Hurt how?" Shinra asked. He seemed to have finally regained some composure. His feet barely made any sound as he walked to their level and peered at Izaya's body. He looked more alive than he had in years, as Shizuo had hoped.

"I swam too close up and got almost harpooned by one of your fishermen," Izaya said. His hand touched the edge of the deep cut.

The girl holding his leg tugged back harshly, making Izaya slide onto the sand. She ignored his wince of pain and said: "You shouldn't have swam up at all. Mom almost went belly-up when you came back."

"Are you his sisters?" Shizuo asked.

The girl grinned. "I'm Mairu. This is Kururi." The soft-voiced one holding her nodded her assent.

He could see the resemblance now. Mairu glowed differently, faintly pink and gold, and Kururi was a dark grey. The three of them looked like the expensive pearl necklaces being sold in the jewelry stores in town. But Mairu's smile was the same as Izaya's, and Kururi had the same intensity in her yellow eyes that her brother did, as if she were trying to see through Shizuo rather than look at him.

Shinra sat down in the sand on Izaya's other side. "May I?" he asked, hands hovering over Izaya's torso. Shizuo had never seen him act so considerate of another person.

Izaya let his hand drop to his thigh wordlessly. Shinra gently touched the wound, tracing it and then pressing slightly onto it, making something silvery leak out of it. Shizuo had seen a lot of it on the day he had found Izaya unconscious on the sand after work.

He would never forget it for as long as he lived. His cat meowing in distress by the kitchen's door, the damp, unbearable warmth of that night, and the silver man-like creature in his backyard. Shining brightly under the moon, trapped and hurt, silver blood running out of the wound in his side.

It was weird, seeing someone else touch Izaya. Watching Izaya let someone touch him. It had taken days for Shizuo to convince him to let Shinra come in the first place, but now that he was here Izaya wasn't showing any of the defiance he had when Shizuo tried to convince him to let himself be seen to.

"It doesn't look healed at all," Shinra mumbled. His hands were still on Izaya's belly. "Does it still hurt?"

"Only when I come out," Izaya replied, bored. "Air is surprisingly harsh. It'll heal on its own eventually."

"It doesn't look to be threatening your life, at least."

"You'll have a cool scar," Kururi said with reverence in her eyes. "Like grandma. You're the same color as her too."

"How did your grandma get a scar?" Shinra asked, voice as excited as a child's.

"She battled a submarine."

Shinra crawled forward on his knees, mindless of the seawater drenching his jeans as he got closer to the girls.

Shizuo shifted on his behind to look at Izaya once more. Izaya immediately met his eyes, his lips stretching into a smile; his teeth were sharp and pointy, colored a dark grey. Almost as dark as the scales on his body.

"I told you it was fine," he said. His tone was dripping with satisfaction. "The sea heals us eventually."

"I don't think it works that way."

Izaya raised a hand, and Shizuo didn't move back like he had the first time. He let Izaya's cold, wet palm rest on his cheek, fingers stretched apart so that the membrane linking them together touched his skin softly. He didn't look away from Izaya despite the warm blood flooding his face.

"I wanna touch him too," came Mairu's voice, and Shizuo jumped backwards, heart skipping a beat.

She and Shinra were looking at them. Shinra's face was red with the kind of interest that Shizuo never wanted directed at himself.

"You can't touch him," Izaya said. He pushed himself into a sitting position and kicked with his leg lightly, making his sister let go of it. "He's my human."

"No I'm not," Shizuo said, mouth dry.

"You're not allowed to have one!" Mairu yelled angrily over his words. "Humans kill us!"

"This one's domesticated."

"I wouldn't call Shizuo-kun tame," Shinra said, pushing his glasses up over his nose. Their lenses were smeared with water and salt. "He's inhumanly strong."

"Oh, I know," Izaya murmured. He looked at Shizuo's hands briefly.

Shizuo pushed himself to his knees and then up before the conversation could continue in this direction. Cool air brushed over his face, smelling of salt and algae, and he couldn't help but shiver when Izaya's hand brushed over his calf. "If you think he's fine then you don't need to stay here," he told Shinra.

Shinra took a moment to answer. They looked at each other in the eye, and Shizuo knew without a doubt that Shinra didn't want to leave—wanted nothing less than to leave.

Reluctantly, he added: "Maybe you can come back some time. If Izaya's okay with that."

Izaya's fins gave one stroke into the water, sending it splashing over his sisters. "I don't care," he said.

"Okay," Shinra replied. "Walk me out, Shizuo-kun."

Shizuo threw one last glance at Izaya before turning around to lead the way into the house.

Dokusonmaru wasn't sleeping anymore. He was sitting behind the door, tail twitching nervously, and he meowed pleadingly at Shizuo as soon as he came in. His ears lay flat on his head.

"They'll go away in a little bit," Shizuo told him. He pushed Dokusonmaru with his foot lightly, until the cat decided to obey and leave the door—hiding himself into the open cupboard under the sink instead.

"Is he afraid of them?" Shinra asked.

"Yeah. He's just afraid in general, though. It's less of a pain when Kasuka is here."

It took walking Shinra to the entrance for Shizuo to realize just how tired he was. He hadn't been able to sleep well since a mermaid had showed up in his backyard bleeding to death, and the double shift he'd had at the café-bar on the other side of town hadn't been kind to his feet and back. His shoulders ached, his head felt like a brick, and he could feel his legs ready to drop under his weight. He couldn't drive, and there were no buses or trains this late into the night. He had to come back home by foot.

"Shizuo," Shinra said tensely once they reached the door. His hand grasped the handle but didn't push it down. "You can't hide him."

Shizuo stayed silent.

"Your house is pretty isolated, but it only takes one boat passing by while he's there, and the picture is all over the internet."

He licked his lips. "I know that."

Shinra let go of the door to hold his shoulder instead. "I am incredibly grateful for the opportunity to see a real life mythological creature with my own eyes," he added. His voice was sincere but pitying. "You really might have cured my depression with that. But he will die if you don't make him stay away from you."

"He won't leave. I don't want him to die either, you should've seen him—it was the worst thing I'd ever seen." Shizuo had to swallow painfully as he recalled it; Izaya had looked more beautiful than anything he had ever seen even with the wound in his side spraying silver all over the golden sand, even with half of his right leg caught under a boulder. Shizuo had to lift it up with his bare hands to free him, and Izaya had been terrified.

Wide-eyed, scales raised over his skin like spikes, mouth open and ready to bite. Spitting water out of lungs he had never used for air before and yet still trying to threaten Shizuo into getting away from him. It had taken an hour after freeing him before Shizuo was even able to approach and help him back into the water.

He went to sleep that night with the sight of him stuck in his head. Glowing in the moonlight, looking like magic made into shape. The thought of something so incredible being killed in a fishing accident kept him up for hours, guts twisting in misery.

"He likes you," Shinra said, and Shizuo blinked, eyes hot. "And truly, I would love to be able to study him and what little they've all let slip about their lives—this would be huge. We could become richer than any scientist has ever been." He took an exhilarated breath. "Imagine being the ones to prove the existence of mermaids."

"I don't fucking care about money," Shizuo replied heatedly. "I just wanted to be sure that his wound wasn't serious. I'll… I'll try to get him to not to come back."

Shinra's hand tightened over his shoulder, squeezing it gently.

--

Izaya was alone when Shizuo came back outside. He was still sitting on the sand, legs in the water up to his thighs. From behind Shizuo could see the bumps of his spine and the patches of black scales at his hips and shoulders.

He walked up to Izaya's level but didn't sit down next to him. The sky was getting cloudy; already the moon was but a white stain, and Izaya's glow was weaker. It made some of the tension along his back lessen.

There was less of a chance of someone seeing Izaya when he wasn't shining so much.

"Thanks for accepting," he said, looking into the darkness ahead.

Izaya's hand wrapped itself around his ankle. "You said he wasn't feeling well."

"Yeah." Shizuo rubbed his palm over his mouth and felt salt on his lips from the wind and the humidity. "Shinra's been ill for a while now."

"He didn't look like a sick human."

"It's not really the kind of sickness you can see."

Izaya didn't question it. He stroked Shizuo's ankle with his palm, and then his foot, stopping over his where his toes had disappeared into the sand.

Shizuo looked down at him, chest tight with the knowledge of what he had to do, but Izaya spoke before he could.

"Lift me," he said.

A couple seconds later, Shizuo finally managed to reply: "What?"

"Lift me upright," Izaya repeated, brows furrowing in irritation. "I want to stand, Shizuo."

"Oh."

It took some figuring out. Shizuo bent forward, hesitating as he always did before touching Izaya; in the end he had to link his hands behind Izaya's back, locking his hold under the other's arms.

Lifting him took no effort at all. Shizuo couldn't decide if Izaya was lighter or heavier than a human his age would be—he was about Kasuka's build, but Shizuo hadn't lifted Kasuka since they were kids.

Izaya winced when his feet touched the ground. "One second," he said, and his breath hit Shizuo's face, cold and humid like a sea breeze, making him shiver. "Mmh. It doesn't look like I can hold my own weight like this just yet."

"Or at all," Shizuo retorted. "You're not fucking made to stand."

"I can stand on the ocean floor."

He couldn't help but smile. From this close it was impossible to mistake Izaya's face for a human's. His eyebrows weren't made of hair at all but a simple line of scales, the same as the ones on his cheekbones and temples. His skin still shone despite how faint the moonlight was. Even his hair didn't look like it was made of hair, and before he could help it, Shizuo shifted his hold to be able to touch it with one hand.

It felt soft, like nothing he had ever touched. Just as black as his scales. When Shizuo looked down from it and back into Izaya's eyes, the other's expression was impossible to mistake.

Blood rushed to his head, almost dizzying. "Izaya," he warned.

Izaya looked up from Shizuo's mouth. "Yes?"

"We can't do this."

"Of course we can." Izaya's hand let go of Shizuo's arm to touch the opening of his collar instead, palm laying right against the hollow of his throat. Right against his heartbeat. "Unless you don't want to."

"You should never have come back here," Shizuo said hoarsely.

"Forget about that." Izaya leaned forward, pressing his face into the side of Shizuo's neck. "Don't think about whether someone might see me. What do you really want?"

There was really only one answer to that.

"You're so warm," Izaya murmured into his neck. He straightened up, and Shizuo felt his arms weaken from fatigue or from want, making Izaya have to grab his shoulders for support when they lowered. He laughed as he did it, most of his body sticking itself to Shizuo's in order not to fall. "My human," he said, affection and fascination as heavy on his tongue as it had been on Shinra's.

Shizuo kissed him, tasting salt even before Izaya opened his mouth to respond. He felt Izaya's hands run into his hair, wetting it, flattening it against his nape; and he felt the way Izaya's lips warmed under his as if touched by sunlight.

He pulled away quickly. Izaya watched him, running his grey tongue over his lips pensively. "You taste very differently that I expected," he declared.

"You taste like fish," Shizuo replied, face hot and guts knotted from wanting more. "Now get out."

"I don't want to."

Shizuo lowered his hands, grabbing Izaya around the hips and lifting him above his own head this time, mindless of Izaya's gasps and squirms. He walked forward until the water reached his knees and threw Izaya as far ahead as he could manage.

He barely made any noise hitting the water, of course, and it wasn't three seconds before Shizuo saw him swim back to him under the surface. Fast as lightning. He emerged and coughed until he could use his lungs again. "I don't think I've ever heard anything about this side of human courtship."

"That's because it wasn't courtship."

Izaya laughed. "Well, I might as well leave now," he said. His eyes were alight with glee. "I need to have a talk with a certain someone about a certain spell."

"What spell?" Shizuo asked, doubt seeping into him.

"You'll see," Izaya replied.

He gave a kick of his legs, falling back under as fluidly as if he were water himself. Within seconds even the glow of moonlight on his skin was but a stain in the distance, indistinguishable from the stars' reflection.

[carolnein]

here’s the other thing i already wrote for the esports girls i posted last night

this one also has an issue with game stuff between america and japan, where i spent more time trying to look up details of a specific event pokemon distribution in japan than actually writing the whole thing, before giving up and using the american distribution as a stand-in

under the cut

The nearest game store was a little out of the way of Aiko’s usual daily routine, but she finally had a day off work and only morning classes. She just had to go to the register and pick up a card with the serial code from the promotional distribution, and then she could get udon for lunch at a great place she rarely had an excuse to go to, which was the real reason she was driving to the other side of town for a game she barely had the time to play.

She didn’t particularly need to make the trip, but she had been playing Pokémon for a long time and was never able to get a Mew in the newer games. There was no guarantee she’d be able to get everything from the year-long event, so she might as well do what she can.

The trip went as usual; the store wasn’t particularly busy on a weekday, and the only sound that stood out over the speakers was a loud girl with a stack of used games in her hands, asking another girl out on a date.

“I’m not…like that,” the cornered girl responded, backing away in palpable discomfort as she picked up a game box off the shelf.

“Ah, really?” The louder one raised an eyebrow and looked her up and down quickly like she didn’t believe her, but shrugged. “Can’t blame me for trying, right?”

She didn’t get a response, and Aiko ignored the pair to ask the employee at the counter for the code. She’d only just turned away from the counter to leave the store when someone blocked her way. The loud girl, just spurned, was now standing in front of her with a cocky smile. When Aiko tried to move out of her way, she was met with, “Hey, wait.”

“What is it?” Aiko didn’t have the time or patience to deal with someone desperate enough to hit on every girl she saw if she wasn’t at work, even if she was tall and pretty.

“You’re picking up the Mew code, right?”

“I already did, and that’s all I came here to do.” She took a step to the side, but the opposing girl took a few steps back to meet her.

“You know, most girls who play Pokémon should be pretty interested in me,” she told her, grinning obnoxiously.

“Why’s that?” Aiko asked, deciding her chances of a clean escape were better if she humored her.

“I’ve been told I must be part Lickitung,” she boasted, licked her lips suggestively.

With a disgusted groan, Aiko turned on her heel and left the store, not looking back to make sure she wasn’t being followed but listening for the lack of footsteps behind her. She made it to her car without incident, reassured in the knowledge that at least her lunch wasn’t going to check her out.

---

Late shifts ending at almost midnight didn’t leave much time to cook dinner, especially with a stack of homework to finish. Aiko kept her bitter thoughts about the coworker she was expected to cover to herself, and with the extra hours she could at least afford to splurge on a premade bento to save time for studying.

She was at this particular Family Mart between work and home at least twice a week because of work, and even more often when school became particularly rigorous. The occasional bento or rice bowl was a nice break from instant noodle cups, when she dared treat herself.

The only other person in the store was another girl with an armful of sodas and snack foods; she was familiar, but it wasn’t a feeling so strong Aiko could place her memory anywhere, nor did she care to try when it was this late. However she was struck with realization when the other girl grinned smugly and asked, “Have I seen you somewhere?”

“Doubt it,” Aiko lied, not wanting a repeat of their last meeting at the game store.

“Hmm.” She bit the inside of her cheek in thought before her face lit up. “Ah! You were the little Pokémon master getting Mew, right? I don’t easily forget cute girls that don’t tell me no.”

“Then I’m telling you right now I’m not interested,” she said firmly, ready to tell the store attendant she was being harassed.

“Ah?” She looked confused, but then shrugged. “Alright.”

Aiko looked at her suspiciously, but she only smiled. At her silence, she finally introduced herself. “I’m Ren, by the way.”

“Alright.” She didn’t offer her name in return.

“What are you doing here so late, anyways? Long night planned?” Ren wasn’t aggressively flirting anymore, but she wasn’t leaving her alone, either.

“Yeah, studying,” she said, making a point to emphasize she was doing something important. “You?”

She’d only asked out of the forced habit of indulging a customer in conversation, and winced when Ren started speaking, now engaged. “My little sister wanted to marathon some older games, I’m on a snack run.”

There was a lot in that sentence that didn’t match the impression Aiko had of Ren. “Your sister?”

“Yeah, she’s probably just sneaking a nap while I’m out, we started yesterday so she’s tired.” Despite her words, she didn’t look like someone who had been awake for about 36 hours. All-nighters for Aiko meant an even grumpier disposition than usual, dragging her feet and spacing out when she wasn’t buried in work. “But she doesn’t want to get caught sleeping before I do, thinks it’ll make her look weak.”

“Sleeping is weak?” Aiko asked this skeptically, almost judgmentally, at the statement.

“Eh, she’s 16, let her think what she thinks for now.” Ren grinned again. “And she’ll never get through the Castlevania games if she doesn’t refresh her mind a bit.”

“I can’t even remember the last platformer I played,” she said absently. If a game didn’t have a save function, she was guaranteed to not have the time to finish it, and the platformers she grew up with were intended to be beaten in one long session.

“Wanna skip the books and come over?” Ren’s smile turned hungry. “I was hoping to invite someone over for an excuse to sneak off into my room, catch a nap myself.”

Aiko decided that was definitely enough socializing with Ren for the rest of her life, and placed her bento on the check-out counter, ignoring that she was there before her. “Good luck staying awake for your sister.”

---

The thought of old-school platformers had stuck to Aiko’s mind even weeks after her last meeting with Ren. Maybe she didn’t have the time for one she grew up with, but a quick Google search assured her that the modern games in classic series had save functions. The Wii U she’d received as a gift a long while back had barely gotten used, but there were Mario games for the console. She could find the time for a level or two now and then.

It rested better on her conscience to buy a used copy, since she was putting an advance on her free-spending limit. The itch to play couldn’t wait another two weeks to be scratched.

One of the last people she expected – or wanted – to see was in the store already, browsing the Playstation shelf. Ren looked up and saw her, smiled, and Aiko’s stomach sunk in dread before Ren did absolutely nothing. She gave her a quick wave of recognition before turning back to the games display.

Aiko was more shocked at her inaction than her forward actions the previous meetings, and stayed on her toes on her way to the game, and then while in the line. She berated herself for the invasive thoughts – “she’s kinda tall,” “she’s pretty when her mouth is closed,” – and kept focused on the counter at the front of the line. Some yen and about three meters were all that was between her current position and leaving unscathed with the game.

Her self-control wavered at the counter when she paid, and was unable to not ask, “Can I borrow a pen?” She stepped aside while the next customer in line paid and scratched her email onto the back of the receipt.

Aiko called out, “Hey!” while walking up to Ren, catching her attention and shoving the receipt into her chest. She spoke over her before she could flirt and ruin her bold moment. “I’m not online until late most nights, don’t expect a response.”

Ren only managed a shaken, “Huh?” before Aiko turned on her heel and rushed out the door, heart pounding in anticipatory regret. She’d only given Ren her email, not her phone number or something else easily traceable. If she did regret this, it was easy to block and ignore her.

Thoughts of everything that could possibly go wrong, minor and major, weighed her mind down. She was almost nauseous with worry on her way home, and the ping! from her phone alerting her to an email did nothing but exacerbate it. In her rush to return to her apartment and check the message, Super Mario 3D World was forgotten in the car’s front passenger seat.

Aiko threw herself to the couch immediately, taking up every cushion in an effort to get as comfortable as possible before diving into risky territory. She opened the email, and read the short message. “Hey there Pokémon master, what made you change your mind?”

Her immediate reaction was to bitterly send back, “It’s Aiko.” It was too early in their...whatever stage of their acquaintanceship it was, for pet names. Before Ren – it was obvious that the unfamiliar address was her – replied, she sent a second message. “Changed my mind about what?”

It was a few seconds before the next message came. “You said you weren’t interested, and then you throw your email at me. Can’t stand not making the first move?”

Aiko paused to think about what it was that changed her mind. “Because you remembered that.” She didn’t have much more of an answer. What was most flattering wasn’t her efforts to get close to her, but that she remembered her, and more importantly, remembered what she’d said.

“Are your standards that low wwwww,” was her quick reply, and Aiko felt a twinge of irritation that she was taking her honest praise so lightly. It was followed with, “But I told you I remembered.”

“I didn’t expect you to remember, honestly.” She seemed too carefree, like she was spreading herself too thin to remember anyone for as long as the months between their initial meeting.

“It’s hard to forget a girl as cute as you, especially one who’s interested.” She punctuated it with a winking emoji.

“Or it’s easy to remember if your flirtatious gimmick drives them all away, and I’m the only one who didn’t shut you down.” She worried she sounded too annoyed; she was annoyed, but charmed by the brazen front that had some substance behind it.

“It worked on you, didn’t it?”

“What ‘worked’? Who said we’re anything?” Aiko had realized she was essentially accepting being asked out, but wanted to see what other depths she was hiding.

“So you don’t wanna be my girlfriend then?”

Aiko paused and considered the question. It sounded like a strong word for two people who were only just now emailing each other, but the thought didn’t turn her off either. “Maybe if you take me on a date first I’ll consider it.”

The next reply came quickly enough Aiko wondered if she used it before. “Get out your Pokémon and let’s battle. If I win, I get to take you out to dinner. You win, and I’ll treat you to dinner.”

It was cliché and corny, but Aiko let herself smile at the attention directed at her. She texted back, “Tonight is the only night I’m free this week.”

“Then I guess I’d better cancel my date with Zelda, I’ll see you at 7.” She followed it with a kissing emoji, and some options for restaurants that they could go to. Aiko slowly felt that free time rut veer away, with school work not on the table, and something more exciting than a game coming up in just hours.

[roh-tae]

Something Else

genre: fluff, suggested smut

summary: you’re hongseok’s gf and you’re at the pentagon dorm making the boys food, but you’re not hungry for the food

a/n: I hope this is what the anon requesting was looking/hoping for? if not I am so sorry haha, i kinda just went for it because I’m secretly in love with hongseok

You tapped your finger on your chin, searching through the refrigerator for something to cook. And you were struggling. Let’s just say the boys didn’t eat in very often. And it was for that reason that you were taking the opportunity to cook for them.

The search through the fridge had only produced a decent amount of vegetables and loads of chicken. Why would they buy raw chicken? None of them probably know how to cook it…hence why it was still in the fridge untouched.

You set the ingredients from the fridge on the counter as you looked for something else, you couldn’t just cook them chicken and vegetables. Opening the cabinets you came across tons of rice and noodles, not to mention loads of sauces. “Hope they like chicken and rice.”

Before you started cooking, you washed your hands and threw on one of Hongseok’s old t-shirts, not wanting your clothes to show signs that you were cooking. Plus you figured he wouldn’t care if it got dirty, you did his laundry for him plenty of times anyways, along with half the other boys in this dorm.

You started cooking the chicken first, knowing it would take longer than the vegetables. Since the boys had a packed schedule today you knew they would appreciate you cooking for them. But you had a limited time to hurry and get things done. Doing your best impression of the chefs you often saw on tv you quickly cut up the vegetables, tossing them in a bowl to let the sauce you’d mixed up coat them.

The rice had cooked quickly and you put that into a larger stir fry pan. Wondering why the boys had so much stuff for cooking if they never used it. But never the less you continued on. Mixing the vegetables in with the rice until the sauce was coating everything. The smells in their kitchen could certainly be smelled out the hall and down the stairs.

Just as the chicken had gotten a golden brown color, you took it out of its pan and cut it into smaller chunks. You glanced at the clock on the stove wondering when the boys would finally return. And almost on cue, they came crashing through the door. Each of them dragging their feet as they all found a place to collapse, not even noticing you in their kitchen.

“Where’s the takeout menu? I’m placing the usual order.”

As Kino went to get off the couch, all the boys stopped in their tracks. “Y/n?” Their eyes all widened at the sight of you, and you could almost hear their stomachs growling as they’d now each gotten a good smell of the food you were cooking.

“Food will be ready soon boys.”

They each groaned out of relief, grabbing their stomachs as they all could relax. Hongseok smiled as he walked over, wrapping his arms around your waist as you mixed the chicken in with the rice and vegetables. “Hey babe. What’s all this for?”

You blushed as you felt his lips graze against your neck, tickling you and making your shoulders rise a bit. “Oh I just figured after a long day this would be better than the same old takeout.” You looked at him over your shoulder, smiling before kissing his cheek.

“This is definitely better than takeout, especially because,” he paused as he took a step back, eyeing you in just his t-shirt, “you’re cooking in nothing but my shirt. This is like a dream or something.” You just giggled as you grabbed bowls from the cupboard, Hongseok’s hands never leaving your sides. And his eyes took advantage of his shirt sliding up your legs as you stood on your tipytoes. Something you were well aware of, not even having to turn to see it.

He sat on the counter as he watched you fill ten bowls, then stood back before calling the others who were practically starved to death to eat.

“Okay boys! Come and get it!”

You didn’t have to tell them twice as the boys jumped at your words. You could have given them spoons to eat right out of the pan and they would have. They said their thank you’s, and Hongseok just stood by your side in the kitchen as you handed him his bowl.

“Thank you. Not just for my bowl, but for doing all of this. You really didn’t have to cook for us.”

You smiled up at him as you began cleaning up what you could, knowing the boys would back up for seconds soon. “But I wanted to. You guys always eat take out, and plus that food would have gone bad eventually. Someone had to cook it.”

He laughed as he practically was shoveling his food into his mouth. “Woah, slow down, I don’t want to have to perform the heimlich too.” He just laughed as he chewed, making you laugh as you saw the rice and sauce stuck to the side of his mouth. “Oh-you have a little something, right~”

You stood on your tip toes, kissing the side of his mouth to remove the food only making him smirk as you licked your lips, going back to your cleaning. Hongseok just watching you contently as he ate, his eyes could practically burn holes in your back for how hard he was staring.

“Wait, after all that you’re not eating?”

You shook your head, giving him a pout as you finished cleaning what you could, then taking a spot in front of his knees. Resting your hands on his thighs. “Nah, I made it for you guys. I’m fine.” You ran your hands up and down his legs as he finished the last of what was in his bowl, setting it down before taking your hands in his.

“What’s up with you?”

You scoffed, looking at him in disbelief, “What’s wrong with me? You’re the one that’s been staring at me ever since you got home, watching my every move, can’t keep your hands off me.” His hands had moved to your hips as he slightly blushed, knowing you were right and not feeling the need to protest. “So? Your my girlfriend, and you look so sexy cooking in my kitchen wearing nothing but my t-shirt. I can’t stare?”

You hated when he got like this, he knew what his words could do to you, what they were doing to you. But he didn’t care, not even bothered that the others were just in the other room. Not even separated by walls or anything. “You know, now that you mention it. I am actually kinda hungry?”

He smirked cockily as you looked at him, a playful look on your face as you messed with the hem of his shirt. “Oh yeah?” “Mhm.” He got down from the counter as he pulled you close, his hands resting lightly at the small of your back. His eyebrow raised as he looked down at you. “And what would you be hungry for exactly?”

You knew it would sound cheesy, but you also knew Hongseok would love it. So you bit your lip as you looked up at him as your finger slid across his bottom lip. “Well, your lips do look really nice.” He giggled a bit, his tongue swiping across where your finger had just been.

“My lips?” He smirked as you nodded, leaning his head down as pressing his lips to yours as his arms wrapped around your waist. Pulling you closer to him. Your hands tangled in his hair as you smirked into the kiss. The two of you had forgotten you were in the kitchen, that is until you heard the groaning of Yuto and Wooseok who were just trying to get seconds before everyone else.

“Ah, hyung, really? Can’t you two get a room or something?”

You hid your face in Hongseok’s neck as he just laughed wrapping you in a hug as he knew you were slightly embarrassed. Tucking your hair behind your ear, you looked at the two boys to apologize, but Hongseok spoke before you could.

“Actually I can make that happen.”

Without warning, Hongseok threw you over his shoulder and carried you down the hall to his room while you playfully smacked him for being so embarrassing in front of the others.

He set you on his bed before closing the door behind him and turning back to you with a smile. “Hongseok, you’re not actually wanting to do anything with them here are you? They’ll hear us.”

“Don’t worry about them, they’ll watch a movie or something. They’ll be fine.”

You rolled your eyes as he joined you on his bed, his hands finding their place at your sides once again.

“Remind me to never cook for you in just a t-shirt ever again.”

[thescholarlystrumpet]

Hands On Rated Explicit

After a stressful day, Gold stopped into an unknown parlor for a massage, not realizing he had paid for a little “extra.” Embarrassed by the mistake, he takes his leave, but he can’t get his masseuse, Lacey, out of his head.

Lacey’s no fool. She knows that guys will lie to get what they want. But Mr. Gold is the kind of guy who doesn’t need to. So, what does he want with her?

PART ONE   PART TWO   PART THREE   PART FOUR  PART FIVE  PART SIX   PART SEVEN   PART EIGHT

Chapter 9 - A Night In Lacey makes dinner but Gold finds dessert much more satisfying.

On AO3 HERE

*** 

Lacey started at the sound of him knocking. She glanced at the clock. He was bang on time. Down to the minute. Which would have been fine if she wasn’t still barefoot with her hair in a messy bun atop her head, standing over half-cooked noodles. She padded over to the door, taking a deep breath to calm her racing pulse.

The door swung open to Gold holding a bouquet and looking a bit like a deer in the headlights.

“Hey,” he gave a small smile.

“Hey.” She licked her lips, shifting her weight.

They stared at one another, unspeaking, until Lacey realized that perhaps he was waiting for an invitation. She cleared her throat, stepping aside. “You can, um, you can come in, you know.”

He looked momentarily startled, then smiled bashfully as he walked past her. “Right. Sorry. I didn’t… um… Here.” He held out a large, vibrant bouquet.

She blinked at them for a moment, recognizing the the genus from a childhood working in her father’s flower shop.. “Amaryllis?” she asked, her voice feeling oddly tight.

He bit back a frown.“Pardon?”

She took the flowers, shaking her head. “Nothing. I… used to have an interest in botany. Sort of. Whatever. Anyway, they’re, um, they’re really beautiful. Thank you.”

“No matter,” he murmured, withdrawing what she recognized as a very expensive wine bottle from the bag on his arm and placing it on the counter.

Lacey looked around for something to put the flowers in and then remembered there was a glass pitcher she used sometimes for sun tea. It was tucked away in a top cabinet and she had to stand on tip-toe to almost reach the handle, but not quite.

From behind her, Gold reached the pitcher and pulled it down, the lapel of his suit jacket brushing her exposed back. She turned to face him, finding herself backed up against the counter in a way that made her breath catch. He smelled delicious.

“Thank you,” she said, feeling a little breathless. They’d been sleeping together a couple months now, but just standing this close still left her dizzy and excited, butterflies taking wing in her belly.

“It’s nice to be taller than someone for once,” he chuckled, adam’s apple bobbing as he set the pitcher down on the counter beside her. His gaze shifted to her face. “I’ve been a terribly remiss date, Lacey, and I do apologize.”

“Remiss? How? You already brought flowers and wine. I mean chocolates would have maybe made the trifecta but probably would have been overkill.” She was babbling slightly which was very unlike her but she fell silent as Gold brushed a stray lock of her hair behind one ear.

“I forgot to tell you how beautiful you look,” he said softly, his breath warm against her face.

Lacey swallowed hard. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Of course,” he murmured, his lips barely an inches from hers.

She closed the distance between them, kissing him firmly, one hand coming to grasp his tie and the other on his shoulder. He deepened the kiss, his free hand bracing on the counter. The edge was digging into her lower back and she arched away from it, bring her hips flush against his. He made a noise low in his throat, pulling back just enough to nip playfully at her lips.

In retaliation, Lacey grabbed a handful of his arse and squeezed.

He chuckled, “So far, I like your cooking very much.”

Lacey hummed her amusement. “Just wait til we get to the main course.” Gold licked his lips and leaned back in but Lacey slipped away, waggling a finger at him. “Ah ah ah, no spoiling your appetite on hors d'oeuvres…”

Gold grinned, his brown eyes sparking with mischief in a way that made her stomach flip. Before she made a complete fool of herself, she turned to where the bouquet lay abandoned on the table. She trimmed the stems into the sink with efficiency, muscle memory kicking it. She hadn’t uttered a word but the moment she turned, Gold was at her side with the pitcher full of water.

“Thanks.” She accepted the pitcher, dropping in the flowers and arranging them to their best advantage.

Gold was looking at her with frank curiosity. “Botany?”

Her cheeks went hot, fingers fumbling over the petals. “Florist’s shop, technically. But I liked knowing all the names and... and what they meant.”

He shifted closer, his hand resting on her lower back. “You sound like a very dedicated employee.”

Lacey’s head shot up, searching for any trace of mockery but his gaze was full of gentle interest. It made her want to unfold, to reveal herself to him in ways she never had before. “My parents owned a flower shop. Mom... “ she smiled at the memory, “Mom was kind of obsessed with the language of flowers. She always wanted to go to Japan and study flower arranging but we could never afford it. Just coming to America took a big chunk of the nest egg. But Dad had better prospects here and Mom starting setting up her flower shop. It was just this little hole in the wall but she was so proud of it…”

A lump rose in Lacey’s throat as she recalled the tiny, brightly colored shop. Her father’s business was drained dry by the cost of treating her mother’s cancer, but even when they lost the house and had to declare bankruptcy, they’d kept the flower shop.

Lacey and her father would bring fresh flowers to the hospital every day and Momma’s eyes would light up. She would name each flower and tell a little story about what they meant together, even when her voice was cracking and lungs struggling to draw breath.

“Lacey?” Gold’s voice drew her from the memory. “Sweetheart?”

She turned to him, the backs of her eyes burning with long unshed tears. “I… um. The noodles are probably done, now.” Padding to the stove, she forced herself to breathe normally. “I hope you don’t mind sauce from a jar. I got the brand name stuff just for the occasion.”

Gold shifted his weight awkwardly and cleared his throat. “Sounds delightful, sweetheart. Do you have a corkscrew?”

Lacey made a dismissive noise, expelling air through her teeth. “What kinda silly question is that?” She pulled open the drawer beside the stove and fished through it as she turned off the burner with her other hand. Her fingers closed over the smooth plastic and she held out the wine opener without looking toward him. Her heart was still drumming fast, the past weighing heavily around her narrow shoulders.

Wordlessly, Gold took the wine opener. Then, he made a choking noise, somewhere between a laugh and a cough.

Lacey glanced over her shoulder and immediately wanted to smack herself in the face for not paying attention. There, in the center of her very sophisticated date’s palm was a little plastic man with painted on chest hair, the corkscrew rising proudly from his cheetah print undies.

Gold was staring down at the thing as though unsure how to proceed. His lips were pressed tight and eyes wide. “Well…. let it never be said your tastes aren’t eclectic.”

Lacey felt a giggle building in her chest, pushing away the darkness that had begun to settle in. “Hey, I never promised you high class, buddy.”

Gold’s shoulders were beginning to shake, his nostrils flaring with the repressed humor but he inclined his head politely and began to open the bottle with a practiced hand. Just as he was pulling out the cork, their eyes caught.

She nodded toward the man-shaped wine opener. “See, he gets the job done.”

“Oh, yes indeed.” He affected a slight pout that looked wholly out of place on his handsome face. “It’s just that… I had hoped to be the best dressed man here.”

And that was all it took, the bubble burst and she couldn’t stop the giggles from flowing. Soon, Lacey found herself bent over double, laughing so hard her stomach hurt. Gold was in a similar state, hastily putting the bottle on the table before it could spill and taking his cane back up. In his free hand, he still clutched the wine opener, the cork only adding to the crudity of the image.

When she could breathe again, she crossed to the table and flung her arms around Gold, kissing him soundly. Both wine and pasta were forgotten for several minutes more.

***

The pasta was overcooked and the sauce was watery but the wine and - more importantly - the company were more than excellent enough to compensate. Gold had allowed himself to relax, discarding his tie and cufflinks, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt and rolling his shirtsleeves to the elbow.

They talked of nothing in particular as they ate, Lacey's bare foot occasionally sliding under his pants leg or along his inner thigh. She seemed to take a certain delight in making him stumble over whatever banal thing he’d just been saying. He’d been half hard since she kissed him in the kitchen but he was determined to make it all the way through dinner before throwing her down on table to make another sort of meal. It seemed she was just as determined to tease him out of this resolution.

He heard a soft scrape as she scooted her chair closer to the table, sliding down in her seat. He felt the soft pressure of her big toe sliding unerringly up toward the apex of his legs. His cock gave an interested pulse, lengthening against the confine of his zipper. He licked his lips and met her heavy lidded gaze across the table.

“Sweetheart, if I didn’t know better, I’d say that dinner was only a ruse to get me here for...” he raised one eyebrow, “ other purposes…”

She gave a throaty chuckle. “Clearly my ingenious plan had a fatal flaw if you’re just gonna sit over there all night.” The ball of her foot skimmed across the hard line of his growing erection.

“Well, I do hate to be rude.”

Lacey snorted, eyes gleaming in the dim light. “You love to be rude.”

“You love it when I’m rude,” he countered with a lazy grin.

She raised both eyebrows, cocking her head to the side. “Do I?” She stroked him again with her foot, increasing the pressure.

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, gently removing her leg and rising from his seat. “A polite man wouldn’t have buried his head between your legs on the massage table where you work…” he stalked over to her chair, using the table for support in lieu of his cane. The tip of Lacey's tongue appeared at the corner of her smile before sweeping over her lips. Gold continued, “a polite man wouldn't have bent you over his desk with his coworkers just outside the door.”

He pulled her chair away from the table and she helped him pivot it toward himself. “A polite man would finish dinner” he sunk to his knees, careful of his injured calf, “before indulging himself in dessert…” his hands at her knees gently pushed them apart. He dipped his head to plant a hot, open mouthed kiss on the inside of each thigh.

Lacey made a needy little sound at the back of her throat, sliding even further forward until she was balanced at the edge of the chair. Her skirt hiked up with the movement, revealing a red thong, the fabric made darker by her gathering wetness.

Gold met her gaze, a thrill running through him at the raw hunger he saw there. His hands massaged his way up her thighs, thumbs rolling in semi-circles until they framed her core.

Leaning in, he ran the flat of his tongue up the red scrap of fabric and she inhaled sharply. He repeated the motion, flicking the tip of his tongue hard just at the top. Lacey swore, leaning back on her hands to drape one leg over his shoulder. Gold smiled and nibbled the flesh of that thigh. Lacey giggled and squirmed, drawing him closer with a nudge of her heel.

He hooked one thumb under the front of her thong drawing it tight against the slick flesh, the fabric outlining her lower lips perfectly.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Lacey made a soft little noise that almost sounded like embarrassment. But that couldn't be. Not his balls-out brash little Lacey. He dismissed it as his imagination and pulled the sodden scrap of fabric aside to taste her fully.

She moaned, her head lolling back as he slid his tongue the length of her slit, swirling over her hooded clit. He teased her with little licks until she was whimpering and begging for more. Then, sliding one finger knuckle deep, he turned the full focus of his mouth to that sensitive little bundle of nerves peeking out at him over her entrance.

Lacey bucked her hips, urging him to add a second finger, then a third as he fucked her with his hand. Unbuckling and unzipping his trousers, he palmed his hardness, stroking himself in time with the thrusts of his fingers. He felt her legs begin to shake, one heel digging in between his shoulder blades as her inner muscles clenched and fluttered. Lacey soon howled her release, nearly tipping over the chair in her enthusiasm.

Gold had barely taken a breath when she launched herself from her seat, pushing him backward until he lay prone on the floor. He almost laughed at the clumsy maneuvering when her hot little hand wrapped around his cock and all he could do was gasp with pleasure. He's been steadily ignoring the aching throb of his cock and heavily balls but Lacey was happy to alleviate his suffering. She kissed him deeply before ripping off her thong and dress. She'd worn no bra so she was fully, gloriously naked as she straddled him.

Slicking him with her own wetness, Lacey sank slowly down, taking him inch by inch until he was fully inside her. Gold groaned his relief, his hands going to her breasts, palming their slight heft and plucking at her taut nipples. She set up a punishing rhythm, grinding and snapping her hips as she rode him. Gold felt himself ready to explode, muttering jumbled filth and adoration, planting his feet to match her thrust for thrust.

At last he felt her getting close once more and let her milk him into orgasm, pleasure ripping through him as he shouted her name.

Lacey swore again and collapsed atop him, breathing hard as he softened and reluctantly slipped out of her. Something occurred to him and a laugh escaped, giddy as he was.

“What?” Lacey's voice was muffled by his shoulder.

“Well, I just realized what a mess we've made of these trousers. I probably shouldn't wear them home.”  

“Mm. There's a dry cleaner down the street. We can take them in the morning,” she said dismissively then paused, going slightly tense in his arms.

He swallowed, fighting down the little flurry of excitement in his chest - far different from what they'd shared already this evening. “Does that mean you… would like me to stay here tonight?” He felt like an idiot having to ask, and even more so for holding his breath until she answered.

“It… would be rude not to invite you.”

He ran a hand through her sweat dampened curls, come loose from the knot atop her head. “And you, unlike me, are never rude.”

Lacey nosed his neck. “Nope. I'm nothing if not a motherfucking lady.”