#exchange it for a ball cap is the best I can do

[bearlytolerant]

a little patch of heaven

[indigosunsetao3]

Submission for @glitterypirateduck's #CoDVacationMode challenge.

Title: Best Laid Plans Pairing: 141 x Reader, (Female Reader) Warning: 18+, implied smut, sexual situations, sexual thoughts Prompts: Budget Motel, Solo Vacation, Running into the same person (s) Word Count: 4.3k Summary: A nice long holiday to 'find yourself' is just what you need after a messy breakup. You look forward to the restful retreat for months, dreaming about what you'll do with all your free time. But when the trip finally arrives, everything goes completely off the rails.

This got extremely out of hand in length, as my stuff usually does. I can do a part two if there is an interest 💙

The summer plan of 'finding yourself' after an extremely messy breakup was not going to plan. In the slightest. You were supposed to hop off the plane on an island in the Mediterranean, catch a ride to your rented flat, and find a lovely man, or five, to occupy your next month in blissful self love.

The first flight had been extremely uncomfortable in coach, the seats too small and your neighbor too loud to be able to sleep. That was fine you told yourself, it was just a few hours. You had a four poster bed with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the ocean to sleep in for the next few weeks. What was a few hours?

Then when you arrived at the impossibly small airport after the second flight you found out your luggage hadn't made it. It was still on the mainland and they'd be sending it on the next flight; which wasn't until the following day. Fine. You could survive on your travel clothes for a night.

But the final straw had been when you arrived at your rented space to find the owner standing outside the place. It was flooded. Completely and utterly ruined, water running from the ceiling where the pipes had burst and their other place was already booked. So were all the other areas around. Summertime on the island was busy which was why you had to book this place out four months in advance. The owner apologized and hoped to have it ready in a few weeks so maybe you could finish your vacation there.

The only place with a vacancy is a small motel on the edge of town that looks like it rents rooms by the hour. You sigh as the taxi drops you and you walk up to the front counter. It's like the start of a horror movie, the fluorescent link flickering as you sign in and pay for a room. You'll find something better tomorrow you tell yourself.

At ten at night, there is nowhere around to eat so you settle for the vending machine that is on the way to your room. It only accepts cash. You hadn't had the chance to exchange currency, that was part of the plan for tomorrow. This was turning into such a disaster. Maybe you should have just stayed home, maybe it was the universe letting you know that this was not going to be the hot girl summer you thought.

Tilting your head back to hold back the frustrated, and tired, tears you hear footsteps approach. Carefully wiping your face you turn to see a man standing behind you at the machine, casually digging out his wallet as he looks at you.

"Oh, please go ahead," you mutter as you step aside, "I was just...leaving."

"Didn't find anything appetizing?" The man asks as he steps forward and peruses the selection inside.

"No cash. Had a bit of a change of plans and didn't expect my first night in the country would be vending machine food."

"You should always carry local currency," the man says with a grin and you catch the emblem on his ball cap is a British flag. Perhaps another tourist.

"I'm figuring that out," you answer as you look at your room key number to see where you need to go.

"What do you want?" He asks as he makes a selection, a candy bar.

You pause and stare at him with an eyebrow raise. You weren't one to accept anything from strangers but you were starving.

"What do you want?" You parrot back at him taking a step back.

He chuckles eyes roving over you before producing another bill and stuffing it into the feeder.

"No strings. Just don't think you should go to bed hungry. Even if it's shitty vending machine food." He presses in the selection and watches it fall to the tray below before bending down to retrieve the bag and holds it out to you. "Crisps?"

"Thanks," you say skeptically, taking it and preparing to run.

He smirks, unwrapping his own sweet treat and taking a bite. "See you."

You wait until he is gone, disappearing into his room down the line before hustling to your room. You slip in and slam the door shut, sliding the chain and lock into place before flipping on the light. The room is about as delightful as any seedy motel that hadn't had an update since the eighties would be. You're fairly certain something skittered under the bed when you flipped the lights on.

The next day isn't going better.

You can't find anywhere else to stay on the island. No one has any sort of openings for at least a week. Your luggage had arrived at the place you were supposed to be staying at, but since no one was there they took it back to Athens. You spend another few frustrating hours to arrange it to arrive at the motel but now they say it'll be another two days. You couldn't do another two days of dirty clothes and motel soap.

You opt to go shopping, to try and make the best of it and find some nice airy clothes and hygiene provisions. Shopping takes up the rest of your day and when you arrive back at the sketchy motel you walk up to your door and slide your key in the lock to get in. It jams. You rattle the knob in frustration, juggling your bags as you fight with it.

It's not budging.

"Need a hand?" Someone calls and you turn to see the man from the night before. But he also has a friend. The other guy is older, a bit taller, definitely gruffier, and would have been a bit more intimidating if he didn't have a boonie hat on like your father.

"Ah, no I got it," you answer as you try to shoulder the door open. It doesn't budge and you sigh.

"Here," he offers walking over, his friend lingering back with his hip on the railing just watching.

You step away from the door as he wiggles the key a bit and grabs the handle, his hand completely encapsulating the knob, and he lifts it. The lock slides free when he twists the key open again and he opens the door allowing you to slip past.

"Humidity shifts the doors, just give them a good lift," he says with a grin as you shuffle past and turn to stare up at him. You watch as his eyes sweep over the room before back to you.

"Well, I'll hopefully only be here another day or two," you answer, "thank you..." you pause to get his name.

"John."

"John," you say with a nod before moving to shut the door.

"Wait," his hand stops the door shutting and your heart jumps into your throat. "Key," he supplies pulling it from the knob and holding it to you. "Don't want anyone just wandering by and letting themselves in," he finishes with a small wink before turning away as you snick the door shut. You watch him walk away through the eyehole before turning back to your dismal room to make the most of your evening.

You are going to the beach today.

You had enough of phone calls, trying to make arrangements, and sitting in the infested motel room. Perhaps this was all part of that grand universe plan, a great story to tell later and a lesson to just roll with whatever was thrown at you.

You didn't have your suit but that was fine; a summer dress and a bottle of wine tucked into the tote bag you bought would keep you entertained. There is a public spot to visit and you decide to walk, taking in the summer day and the sights as you wander. Finally happening upon the beach an hour later before groaning. It's all the way down a hill, a hill full of steep stone steps that look like would be your demise at one misstep. Fuck it, you came this far.

Pulling out the wine you wander down carefully, sipping right from the bottle as you go. You don't pass anyone on the way down and when you make it to the sand half the bottle is already gone. You should have brought two. No matter.

You walk along the shoreline watching the water lap against the sand as you continue to sip. You aren't sure what the rules are for alcohol on the beach, let alone in public, so you keep tucking the bottle away as people happen upon you. A man runs past you and you twist to watch him pass. He grins at you over his shoulder but that's the only acknowledgement he gives you before he continues.

But then he comes back a few minutes later, slipping past you with a polite 'excuse me', hands brushing your shoulders as you step into the shallow surf to give him space. He's shirtless this time and you stare boldly as he goes, twirling the bottle in your fingers as you watch the sun shining on the sweat on his back. You bring the wine up to your lips to finish the last dregs, leaning back a bit tipsily to get the last drop. When you tilt forward again you nearly splutter the liquid out as you see the man standing right in front of you. How did he get back to you so quickly?

"Drink that whole thing yourself?" He asks, his Scottish accent thick as he eyes the bottle in your hand. You almost see a twinkle in his eye at your unsubtle attempt to grip the neck of the bottle to prepare to swing it as a weapon if needed.

"Going to tattle on me?" You shoot back willing your eyes to stay on his face. Not the way his chest heaves a bit to catch his breath, the lines of his muscles on his stomach that are taunt and oh so chiseled. And definitely not at his arms where the veins are on prominent display after all the cardio. Fuck. You snap your eyes up and he's smirking at you like a cheshire cat.

"Me? Never," he answers before looking over at the hill and the stairs, the only way back up. "Just curious if you plan on spending the evening down here," he grins, "you'll break your neck walking up those after all that. Especially out here in the sun, nary a drop of water in sight." With that, he sips on his own bottle of water and pulls his shirt that he's tucked into the waistband of his pants to wipe the sweat off his face.

"Be better than where I'm staying now," you mutter glaring at the stairs for a moment. "I think I have a multi generational family of roaches under my bed."

"Aye, roaches are better than rats though," the man states and he sees your eyes widen. "Thinking better of camping out here?" He laughs as you turn to stomp toward the stairs. You better start walking now if you want to make it out by sundown.

He follows though and you shoot him a look over your shoulder.

"Only way in or out," he reasons and you sigh before beginning your hike.

Your legs are on fire after only twenty steps and there are many more to go. He's a few steps behind, quietly following and politely looking at the ground, at least when you turn to stare at him. Halfway up you can't take it anymore and you step off to the side to bend over to breathe. The wine is churning in your stomach and you're slick with sweat from the heat. You wave him to go past you but you watch his legs stop in your vision before he taps you on the arm with his water bottle.

You snatch it with a muttered thanks before taking a few sips and handing it back. He's watching you quietly before you stand up and continue your march in silence with him still lingering a few steps behind you.

At the top, you breathe a sigh of relief before remembering you've still got about an hour's walk back. Maybe the rats would leave you alone if you just crawled under the bushes on the side of the road and slept there.

"We have to stop running into one another like this," comes a voice that makes your head snap up. It's the man from the motel in the baseball cap half leaning out the passenger window as he looks at you with a grin.

"I'm beginning to think you're following me," you answer the tone not a joke.

"Small island," he reasons as the guy from the beach walks around to climb in the car. Did all of these people know one another?

"Great, well enjoy," you answer and twist to walk the opposite way of the car.

"Motel's the other way," he calls and you hesitate in your steps. Goddamn it.

"Small island, I'll just walk the circle and get there eventually."

"We'll give you a ride." John is driving and he's watching you in the side mirror.

"I'm fine, thanks!" You shoot back and continue walking, stumbling a bit over some loose gravel.

"Careful."

A hand catches your elbow and you yank it back quickly looking up. Was all of Britain on this vacation? What are the odds you run into yet another British guy based on his accent?

""m fine," you snap as you take in him. He's tall, so tall you have to crane your head back to look at him. There isn't much to see of his face though between the black facial mask and sunglasses. He has a bag of what looks like takeaway in his hands and someone yells from the car for him to hurry up.

"The stumbling walk tells me otherwise," he answers as he blocks your path from continuing your walk. "Not safe to be out here alone in your state."

"Yeah? And what? Safer for me to get in the car with you lot?" You glance over your shoulder where the men inside the car continue to watch.

"Yes." He nods off to the right where another group of men are watching the whole scene unfold and as if on queue one wolf whistles while staring blatantly at you. "Considering Johnny was kind enough to keep them away from you on your walk, I would view us as the lesser of two evils."

"I-what?"

"It's the middle of the hottest part of the day, you think he went for a run for fun?" He laughs a bit, "get in the car."

Something about his tone is commanding enough for your confused, and tired, brain to listen. Maybe it's stupid. No, it is stupid. But what other choice do you have? You walk toward the car and the man in the back, Johnny, leans over to open it from the inside and you climb in.

The back seat is cramped once the other guy climbs in and he shoves the food into your hands, his knees tucked nearly to his chest. You take it before staring at John as he pulls off the curb and heads back to the motel.

Your heart is hammering through the whole drive, staring at street names, markers, anything to help you when they inevitably drove you down some side road and tried to murder you. No, they'd certainly murder you. Johnny's arms were the size of a small child and the guy next to you looks as if he could smash you under his foot.

True to their word though, you arrive back at the motel very much alive. Johnny gets out first and you slide out next to him and hand him the food with a shove before making to run for your room.

"Hang on," comes the big guy in the face mask's voice. You halt and twist as he walks over and sticks a Styrofoam box into your hands. "Living off wine and vending food is no way to spend your vacation." You swear he's grinning as you stare down at the box before he twists away to follow the other three men toward their room.

The food is delicious. You sit in the very center of your bed, above the blankets, and eat it all while watching the fuzzy television. You realize as you doze off in your wine haze that they had bought you food. There had been five boxes of in your hand sitting in that car as if they knew you'd say yes.

A few hours later you decide this was it. This was the thing that was going to send you into a breakdown.

Sunburnt, hungover, and the goddamn water in the shower is a very slow trickle that barely splashes the bottom of the tub. When you attempt to call the front desk for help it just rings. And rings. You're near hysterics in laughter, or rage, as you storm toward the door. Whoever is at the front desk is about to get an earful of misplaced anger.

Flinging the door open you make to storm right down to the front when a bit of your senses come back. You don't have shoes on and you are very much wrapped in just a towel. You twist to try and stop the door but it clicks shut just as your palm hits it. Shit. Shit. You wriggle the door handle hoping against hope that it didn't lock properly but it's good and snug in its place.

Gripping the towel knot at your collarbone you walk over to the railing and peer toward the front desk. Maybe no one would be around and you could just dart in there, ask the manager for another key, and run back before anyone saw.

The office is dark; they've closed for the evening it seems which is why no one had picked up.

"Oh my god," you whine as you twist to look back at your still very much closed and locked door. What do you do now? No phone, no key, no clothes. You glance to the right as someone steps out of their room and the leering look he gives you makes your stomach churn.

Lesser of two evils comes the masked guy's words. Right.

Before you can think better you walk down to the room that you know the four men are staying in and bang on the door. It's the middle of the night so you assume you're about to wake them but you barely get two knocks before it swings open. John is standing there looking very much awake, and perhaps a bit shocked at the state you're in.

Goddamn.

Where Johnny had been chiseled bronze earlier this guy is a broad-shouldered solid wall of man that you hadn't noticed the first time. He's not nearly as cut, but you know that brute strength lingers under his skin. Your eyes trace over his pecs that seem to bulge under his compression t-shirt.

"Ah, I know it's late...and this is all a bit odd," you say, your eyes sweeping into the room to see Johnny and the masked guy playing cards at a small table, their eyes darting between you and their hands. "But my shower wasn't working and one stupid thing led to another and I locked myself out of my room and the front desk is closed." You glance at the other stranger still standing watching you. "And I'm pretty sure if I don't get somewhere else my neighbor is going to kidnap me."

John looks out the door at the man who's smoking and smirking now and his hand gently comes between your shoulder blades to guide you inside.

"Kyle is just finishing up his shower then you can get cleaned up. See if I can scrounge up a shirt instead of just...that," his eyes give your body a once over and you feel goosebumps break out along your spine at the scrutiny.

You shuffle inside and grip at your towel to make sure it's good and wrapped before leaning against a dresser. This is so fucking awkward. The other two men continue their game doing their best to not stare and you jiggle your leg restlessly. What the hell were you going to do now? Just...sit here with them all night? You should have slept on the beach and risked the rats.

"This a guys' trip?" You ask into the silence in an attempt to fill it, noticing there were only two beds for the four men.

"Something like that," John answers as he brushes past you to sit on one of the beds. "What brings you here?"

"I decided to follow a stupid self-help book about finding yourself and a series of unfortunate events landed me here. I'm going to leave the author a horrible review." You sigh wistfully as the bathroom door opens. "I was supposed to be staying on the beach with my pick of men to bring home every night and just a nice break from reality for a bit. Little bit of 'eat pray love' in my life. But this has been a disaster."

"You've got at least one of those things," comes a voice, Kyle, as he walks out of the bathroom in just a towel slung around his hips. You have to mentally make sure your mouth is not hanging open at the sight because, fucking hell, he's gorgeous. The steam curling off his skin, water droplets still glistening on his chest, and a smile that about takes you out.

"Bloody showoff," Johnny mutters and you glance over at him before back to Kyle.

"Says the one running shirtless earlier, how's the burn?" The masked guy asks as he shows his cards and Johnny tosses his own in disgust at the loss.

"Sorry. What was that you mentioned? I've got one of the things?" You ask your hackles up a bit. This whole trip had been an absolute disaster, you hadn't gotten anything you had hoped for so far. "Fairly certain this motel is not the beachside villa I booked."

"Having your pick of men to bring home to your place," Kyle answers simply as if it were obvious. "I mean technically you're in our place but that's semantics." He waves a hand absently at the final word and you feel your toes curl at the thought, which he clocks instantly.

"I-what?" You ask a bit shocked looking between all of them.

"Do you think we would tell you no? Especially in that little number," John asks with a grin, his eyes on your fingers as you tug at the towel to see if it would grow an extra inch to cover more skin.

"And if I were to pick? What then? Rest of you go stand outside and wait? Sounds boring for the rest of you." You snipe sounding braver than you felt in an attempt to call their bluff. Surely they were messing with you.

"Can't just pick one doll," the masked guy answers and your eyes widen. "All or none, otherwise someone will be jealous and it's a whole fucking thing." You can see his eyes crinkle with a smirk.

Oh. Fuck. You squirm a bit under all their watchful eyes.

"Way to cut to the chase Simon," Kyle mutters as he takes in your shocked face.

"Dancing around it doesn't change it," Simon answers as he leans forward in his chair to peer at you. His head is cocked to the side a bit as if studying you, watching your body language as you process the newest development.

"All...are all of you," you stumble over your words, the filthy thoughts going through your mind despite the shock of it. "At the same time?"

"Promise we won't break you...unless you ask," Johnny supplies with a grin. "We can start slow though," he reasons cutting a look over at Simon as if warning him to keep his mouth shut.

"Can I," you lick your lips and dare a glance at the bathroom, "can I have a moment?" Because you are going to combust under their heated looks if you don't get away to breathe.

Kyle steps to the side and gestures to the bathroom to which you scamper to as quickly as possible. You shut the door with a snap and flip the lock before gripping the counter.

Were you really considering this? How could you not? But four men? Strangers. But the part you were most looking forward to of this vacation was no strings attached sex. And they certainly looked interested in helping you with that plan. Four? How would that even? Fuck, Kyle looked good. And how would it feel to grip onto John's chest and just...ride him? Shit, stop. But Johnny's arms looked plenty strong enough to hold you down so Simon could make you scream. Stop! These men had been purposely corralling you these past few days. But it was hot...how they wanted you. To share you. No.

Your brain is a garbled mess of thoughts as you look at yourself in the mirror. You need a drink, or ten. You take a shuddering breath, then another, as you steel yourself for your decision.

You only live once, right? You could always tell them to stop if you didn't want it. You could change your mind halfway through and end it...though you doubted you'd back out since just the thought of so many hands all over you, worshipping you, made your core ache with need. After all these shitty few days you deserved a good night, dammit. And who better to help than four men who had quite literally been chasing you around the island? Maybe the universe wasn't such a bitch after all.

"Fuck it," you announce as you pull open the bathroom door to give them your answer. But Kyle is already standing there and he grips you by the back of the neck to pull you to him in a heated kiss, stealing the rest of your words out of your mouth.

[stardustloserdoll]

Can u please do 2008 tom kaulitz fluff? Sorry if ur getting tired of writing fluff !! But I was thinking u could do like the fem reader can't decide on a nail polish so she asks tom to pick one out for her, she also asks him if he can paint her nails for her and he says yes, and he does them really well, and then they just cuddle after that, thank you!! Love ur whole account<3

-🩵

this one’s so cuteeee eee. no dw i love writing fluff!! and tysm💕

nail polish

“hmm.” i sat on my bed painting my nails deciding on which color looked best. tom lied on his back reading a magazine tapping his finger to the music.

“hey tom what do you think is better.” i said raising up my hand with the 3 colors. putting the magazine down he examined the colors pointing to the dark cherry red. “good choice! i was thinking that one too.” i smiled cleaning off the colors.

i began painting my nails but as i went my hand began shaking, the polish going on my nail and on the sides. “ugh..” grabbing the cotton ball i put some nail polish remover and took off the polish.

looking over at tom i put my chin on his shoulder. “tooomm..can you help me paint my nails please.” i said putting the bottle of nail polish on his chest.

looking down from his magazine he looked at me. “sure. it won’t be good though.” tom smiled setting the magazine down grabbing the bottle.

we both sat up and faced each other, tom setting the bottle on his thigh. grabbing my hand, he placed his on the bottom. “i’m warning you y/n, it will be horrible.” tom said taking the brush out of the bottle preparing to paint. “it’s okay. they’re gonna look great” i smiled.

tom carefully began painting my nails, concentration on his face. “wow tom they’re looking really good.” i smiled, tom finally finishing my right hand blowing on the polish.

“hey you’re right, maybe i can be a nail stylist as a side job.” tom laughed as he held my other hand and began painting the other. “rockstar by day nail tech by night. i like it.” we both laughed, singing to the music. as time went by he finally finished.

i looked down at my finished nails and smiled seeing them. “tom they look so prettyy.” tom put the cap on and set the bottle down to the side. grabbing the magazine fanning the polish to dry faster. “you’re seriously talented tom, thank you.” i said leaning over to kiss his cheek. “of course.” tom smiled.

once the polish dried we both lied down and just talked about random things. i rested my head on his chest putting my hand on his shoulder, tom wrapping his arm around my waist.

“i love your nails y/n they’re so pretty. i can’t believe you got them done without me.” bill pouted as he held my hands examining them. i looked over at tom exchanging a smile with him. tom resuming playing with his guitar.

“tom actually painted them!” i smiled looking up at bill. “nein.. no way he did!” bill gasped looking back at him. “tomm! wanna do mine next.” bill smiled lifting up his hands.

“no! y/n’s my only customer.”

[tsupertsundere]

FFXIVWRITES 2024 - DAY 5 - STAMP Complete ---- 1,777 words ---- Notes: The instant I saw the prompt I knew I could do nothing but this.

“The Postmoogle’s PostPals Initiative’s aim is to unite young people across the world through the act of writing letters to each other!” Angeline Carax declared, pride shining in her voice. “Yes…” came the more uncertain reply, from one G’raha the Tia. “With the help and organization of the Postmoogles, letter exchanges between pals can reach across not only continents, but even onto other shards!” “You’ve said….” “We’ll provide all the materials, writing implements, composition books - the pilot program connecting Idyllshire and Ishgard has gone SO well we’re ready to proceed with expanding all across Hydaelyn.” “You know I couldn’t be happier to hear that,” G’raha said, his delivery less than convincing, “but… my love, I have to ask. Why am I going to be the one on the stamp?”

If his voice held somewhat more of a plaintive cry than usual, it was because he found himself up on a small raised platform in Tataru’s atelier in rather different clothes than usual for a rather different purpose. “Not just stamps,” Tataru said from her perch at her table. Her hands hadn’t stopped for the past hour they had been in here, shuffling papers and clacking around on an abacus and, from time to time, juggling a handful of lalafell-palm-sized balls with an intense frown on her face before putting them down at once and attacking something else. “There’s mailers, posters, some initiative flyers, ideally we can pass them around - “ Angeline rounded on Tataru, waving her hands to try to get her to stop, but G’raha’s tail was already going, whipping back and forth intermittently, though his placating smile grew only a touch more forced. Tataru studiously kept her head down and hummed cheerfully to herself beneath Angeline’s glare.

Angeline stepped up onto the viewing platform and took G’raha’s hands in both of hers, even as he kept talking under his voice, just to her, “Don’t get me wrong, I was so happy you asked, I just - well I certainly can’t be the right person for the job. My days of being any kind of - of figurehead, visual or otherwise, are long behind me - “

Angeline rocked forward on the balls of her feet and dropped a kiss on the corner of his mouth - he stopped short, which was the point. His eyes widened, flicked to Tataru (not paying attention), then closed when they met again for a slower kiss. “Everyone is going to be wondering why it isn’t you,” G’raha murmured when they parted, just barely. “I’m wondering why it isn’t you. It’s your project!” “It is my project. Why would I want to stare at myself over and over again?” Angeline replied, stepping forward to slide her hands along his flank, to settle them on his hips. “I’m setting this up exactly how I want it. Is that bad?” A crimson cast had settled onto his face, making him enter into competition with his hair. He shook his head quickly and flushed even harder when she smiled at him, full sun. Angeline reached up to readjust the navy cap he wore, sending the brilliant pink glowing moogle heart bouncing above his head. “Then I have a Postmoogle General to capture,” she said, and tugged him forward in her wake, again and for always.

🎐🎐🎐

The bridge that she had picked - one of the many that crisscrossed and linked the rocks, shoals and docks that made up Limsa Lominsa - reflected the sun white hot off the stone, and the sky was crisp and blue, lightly clouded. G’raha Tia was doing his best School Picture Day imitation, his arms held awkwardly akimbo at his sides, stock in the center of the bridge. “Has the boy forgotten what standing is like?” the hired roegaedyn pictomancer muttered to herself, rubbing the back of her wide neck as the white plain of her canvas radiated to beat the stones.

Angeline clapped her hands and then megaphoned them around her mouth to call to him. “Okay! Now let’s relax….! Great! Give me relaxed!” G’raha shifted in indecision, casting his gaze back and forth as if to catch some kind of inspiration, and then stiffly put his hands on his hips and puffed his chest out. “No - not quite - !” Surprised and chagrined his first attempt didn’t cut it, his hands flitted but never settled on adjusting his cap, plucking at his little necktie, gripping the bright red mailbag at his side. “We’re aiming for relaxed - !” He crossed his arms and wrenched his torso to the side, mimicking Estinien’s coolness in his mind but coming off rather more like in the throes of despair. “Relaxed - “ G’raha stared out to her mournfully, his eyes the saddest and wettest rubies that were nevertheless trying their absolute utmost. Angeline exchanged glances with the pictomancer, who with a sigh sank onto a little folded stool and settled herself in for a long day of hurrying up and waiting. Angeline set her expression into the most double plus sparkling warm supportive one but as she turned to approach her erstwhile stranded star -

The rapid padding of feet gave them a second of warning before a little body barreled into G’raha, hitting him in the small of the back and making him yelp and stumble. There was a crash and a hiss and flutter of heavy packets scattering and loose pages escaping free, and even as G’raha twisted to try to catch the young girl that knocked into him, she was Intent on using him as a springboard to lunge for her spilled belongings, a stream of expletives and complaints and invectives spiraling from without cease. By the time G’raha caught and steadied himself on the bridge’s railing, the floating pages, about seven in all, had long slipped the reach of everything but the girl’s rising wail.

A switch flipped - G’raha lifted his hands, stepped forward, and began to cast, practiced and sure. The smallest expanse contracted and in an instant-length eon, he spread his hands and with certainty the pages were neatly stacked in them, matched by a relieved smile. The girl whipped around from her position wrapped around the opposite rail so fast it sent her short braids smacking directly into her face. She shook her head roughly and when she looked again her furious expression was coated in tears - not of relief, she insisted for the record. Braid got in her eye.

Angeline wrapped her arms around herself as she watched, twisting back and forth to her own rhythm in private personal joy. There he was, that thing that could never go away, not in a hundred years or a million. One that he couldn’t even to the best of his ability hide, stamped in deep on his heart and filled with gold. That thing that she would always long to see… Lurching in from the side of (or perhaps springing from) those sentimental thoughts was a notion that made her unpeel one arm from herself, send her hand vaguely questing for the pictomancer’s shoulder.

G’raha Tia had by this point helped the girl (a shipyard’s solicitor’s assistant, as it turned out) re-gather the rather prodigious amount of bundled paperwork and notes, and to secure them more surely with package twine he handily pulled from his mailbag. It was only until his fussing began to risk demolishing her newfound goodwill did he let her go and watch her run off, wishing her luck softly and sweetly. By this point Angeline’s groping hand had long since found its mark, grabbing the pictomancer’s shoulder and slapping at it lightly but with increasing intensity until she looked up from her tomephone - but at once she caught what Angeline had. Paint hit the canvas the instant the girl trotted by them, shooting them odd looks that grew even odder when she registered what Angeline kept saying, her voice so bright and ringing Limsa’s corridors picked it up and threw it ahead of the girl on her way home - “Tell me you got that! TELL me you got that! Tell me you got that…!!”

🎐🎐🎐

G’raha, if it were up to him, would have been perfectly happy to put the whole scenario out of his mind and just enjoy getting the opportunity to have something definedly low-stakes to do every once in a while (Aymeric had spoken energetically and profusely about how much adding personally scheduled stints as the Azure Elephant helped him). Angeline wasn’t having it.

“If it were something else, maybe, but I want you to see this one.” She scooped her arms under his to hug him to her, back to her chest, then turned him and walked him forward, kicking his legs with hers. He sunk against her and groaned, taking the opportunity to press his face onto the base of her jaw, an enforced blindness suffused with her scent. He didn’t wanna.

“Omg. Calm down,” Angeline teased, coming to a stop and settling in. She caught both his wrists in one hand and settled his hips back onto hers, bundling him tight. She had a hand free to tilt his head back down but he took a deep breath of her in, sighed, and spared her the effort. Then he opened his eyes and took himself in.

The Postmoogle General stood enveloped in whirling letters emerging out of Limsa’s seagulls and clouds, bright sky and cobbles, as sturdy a pillar in the maelstrom as the quintessential Lominsan lamppost that anchored one end of the bridge. His fine navy coat had long beribboned tails to match the bow in his own, his chest crisscrossed with gold straps and medals, and crowned above all with the Postmoogle Bag in ardent red. A girl - the girl - disappears off the edge of the painting, in the flow of and leading the swirl of letters through Limsa and wherever they may be going. Wherever it may be, wherever her words and those of her fellows, they would be watched over and safeguarded, his hand still gently outstretched from having helped send her off.

The star of hope in his eye, that lit his face, that burned in him, warmth and illumination set inside a crystal case - “That’s the Initiative,” Angeline said, resting her cheek on his head and twisting and swaying with him. “That's what I always want to see, anyway.” G’raha was quiet for a long time, long enough for her to twist him a little further on one sway so she could peek at his face. It just sent him burrowing deeper into his scarf, red on red again. “I don’t think I look the best in navy, but it’s a wonderful composition,” was the model’s final comment on the piece.

[tabl3]

you guys remember the oneshots i drew pictures for forever ago? here's the kaz and oil one //tw for homophobia and interrupted f slur

Kaz & Oliver (pre-Decimation)

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“It’s gray and disgusting.”

Kaz spat a little laugh. Oliver animatedly whirled around to shoot him a look.

Kaz waggled his fingers at him.

Oliver huffed, turning forward again.

Kaz grinned, kicking pebbles as his feet thumped on the sidewalk. 

It was a beautiful day, in fact. Cool, breezy, lively as well. Everyone was out it seemed. Parents pushed strollers, people paused to pet dogs being walked, and kids kicked soccer balls in Centium City Park. 

Kaz dodged the peanuts thrown at him in his regular routine. A lovely lady, Mrs. Dabney, held a grudge against him for accidentally scaring birds off that she was feeding a week after he arrived. This was their sweet little exchange whenever Kaz entered the park.

“I love you,” Kaz skipped over the light filtering through the trees. They were cutting through the park to get to the comic store that wasn’t nearly as good as the Domain but sufficed in its absence.

“No you don’t,” Oliver grumbled, folding his arms. 

Kaz laughed again.

“Do you want me to buy another one?”

“You can’t fix this,” he sniffed.

Kaz shrugged, continuing to trail behind his best friend.

“Buddyyyy,” Oliver ignored him.

What atrocity had he committed? Eating the last Philly Cheesesteak sandwich Chase had bought them a few nights ago because they made passing comments that they missed them. Bought was a light word. He’d gotten into a jet, casually flown to Philidelphia, and popped in an hour later with authentic sandwiches for the two boys.

Eating the last sandwich, yes. And he’d stained his polo, broken his lamp, read his feelings journal, and used his toothbrush. Silly things.

“C’mon,” Kaz poked his shoulder obnoxiously. “Commemorative “I Kazzed this up photo”?”

“No.”

“Ooh-kay,” Kaz shrugged. “I love youuu.”

“I know where you sleep.” 

Kaz snorted. He looked up at the sun for fun, squinting as long as he could.

“Hey!”

Both boys startled.

“Yeah?” Kaz turned. He flopped onto the nearest bench.

There was a group of four men. They gave Kaz a strange look.

“You’re Elite Force?”

“Yeup,” Kaz clicked his tongue. Oliver stood behind the bench, not forgiving Kaz for the slight but also not that thrilled about fans. He was far more reserved now than when he was younger. “Resident super-” Oliver planted a firm kick to his calf. “Bionic heroes.”

Murmurs. 

“So you are a sissy,” one of them said, curling his lip under his ratty baseball cap. His eyes unmistakably went to the rainbow flag patch that Skylar had ironed onto his jacket months ago.

Silence.

Kaz smirked.

“Bree’s the only sister, actually,” he shrugged. This would be fun. 

“You’re one of them.”

“I’m on the team, yes.”

They seemed to get frustrated with Kaz’s indignance, which was his exact plan.

“You slimy fa-”

“Hey!” 

Oliver’s eyebrows scrunched up angrily. Kaz’s smirk widened. The man who had almost let that word fly out of his mouth paused, looking at him. 

Oliver normally wasn’t a scary individual. He had soft swoopy blond hair and a face full of freckles. He typically preferred to have one of his teammates do the talking, sticking to the side and observing. It was very rare for him to raise his voice the past couple of years. Still, he began yelling all the same.

“What the hell makes you think you have the right to talk about someone like that?” Oliver demanded, jabbing a finger toward the group. “Do you seriously have no shame?”

The one he primarily addressed wrinkled his nose. “What, you his boyfriend or somethin’?”

“Oh god, no,” Oliver gagged. “I’d rather die, to be honest. It takes a special person to put up with him.”

“I’m telling Chase you complimented him-” Kaz whispered. Oliver drove his pointer finger into a pressure point on Kaz’s neck. “OW!”

“Anyway,” he refocused on the group. “You need to grow a damn pair and understand that us endangered heterosexuals can coexist with other people, jackass!”

Kaz giggled at their reddening faces, sitting back.

“I don’t want one of them protectin’ my city-”

“Move out, then,” Oliver firmly put his arms around Kaz’s shoulders from behind. “He might be an asshole, but he’s my favorite asshole, and that’s saying something because I know a lot of assholes! At least he isn’t bigoted and a public embarrassment at like… what are you guys, forty?”

The four men reddened further. They muttered more unkind words, kicked at twig at Kaz, then shuffled off.

“Yeah, keep walking,” Oliver waved. “Buh-bye.”

Kaz cackled. “Wowzers, Oli,” he looked up at him. “I’m gonna buy you Loopy-Loops.”

“With your sugar-boyfriend’s money,” Oliver quipped, stepping back so Kaz could stand up. 

“Do you want them or not?”

“Yes please.”

Kaz smiled, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He motioned for Oliver to follow him, headed toward their favorite grocery store. It was on the way to the comic shop, anyway.

Oliver started a step behind him when the phone was picked up.

“Hey, baby. What’s your card pin again?” Kaz hummed.

A beat of quiet on the other line.

“...What did you do?” Chase inquired, already sounding exasperated.

“Little ol’ me?” Kaz put a hand to his chest. “Nothing.” he slowed to be at pace with Oliver, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Oliver deserves a sweet treat because he’s such a sweet boy.”

Oliver rolled his eyes, but his slightly upturned mouth corners gave him away. 

“Not even going to ask. Just get home without wrecking the city, okay?”

Kaz’s phone beeped with the texted pin. 

“No promises.”

He slung his arm around Oliver’s shoulder, strolling inside the sliding doors. 

[syn4k]

my design notes for the mianite s2 cast (put under a cut because Long + mentions of s/h at one point):

in general i think that those who've lived in town the longest (especially Tucker and Sonja) are the ones whose clothing has been most affected by the world and era's fashion. they kind of look like they come from the 1800s and of course the other two champions bully them relentlessly for it but i like to think that tom exchanged the button up under his suit blazer for one of those ruffle front shirts because he liked how it looks, essentially making him look like the world's most genre and time-bending wizard ever, especially with the hat.

jordan

after really getting into the various engineering/mechanics/technical mods and getting shocked/burnt/etc enough times, he finally exchanged his basketball shorts for some reinforced knee pants and a plain white t-shirt with one of those pockets on the front, although nobody ever really sees it because he's wearing crazy armor most of the time.

wears steel-toed boots when working on technical stuff and sneakers the rest of the time

3 billion pockets with random shit in it (cool rocks, random trinkets, etc)

looks Absolutely Insane in the best way. none of his outfit actually fits together but somehow he makes it work

waglington

so a quick sidenote. i know he has a skin and everything however in my brain all of the wizards look like some variation of this:

(essentially "little guys who live in assorted hats due to being cursed by the gods after their hubris was revealed.")

however! this does not stop me from adding little details where i want, such as:

in s1, wag was basically confined to a wizard hat due to the restrictions of the world he was in. in s2 this is no longer the case and he has acquired many hats all with their own enchantments (though 90% of the ones he wears regularly are really durable).

this makes it look really fucking funny whenever he's doing Anything because when hes flying around you just see a hat holding a regular sized sword. when hes doing magic you see a hat in the middle of a firestorm or whatever. during the Purge he can sneak up on people really easily due to essentially being a hat. nobody has ever seen what lives under the hat and nobody has ever successfully tried to look inside without being killed

he's applied various odds and ends to his hats as the season goes on! (i.e patches, mends, embroidered runes and sigils). all rings and items are kept on his person, but it's generally accepted amongst the rest of the champions that his inventory space is located within the hat itself

sonja

out of all of the champions, she absolutely looks the coolest. everyone looks like losers next to her no matter what the situation is. eyeliner on point, has a fuckin Flying Orb She Balances On, you know the deal

has actual fox ears! this is only visible when the hood of her hoodie is back, though, which she doesn't do often except for when working on magic stuff for better visibility

pink everything if she can manage it <3 she has a theme and she sticks to it

tom

found one of those ruffle front button up shirts and wears it with his usual suit outfit. steve found him a green bow tie to wear with it so it still works!

likes to float around and do flips in the air and go all sorts of angles while flying. it is Very Distracting but he's having fun with it so who cares

engineered his hammer- sorry, wang- to look exactly like an upside down dick and balls while it's being used. he thinks this is the funniest thing ever and honestly it kind of is

tucker

(self-harm mention here!)

very pale and with constant eyebags and red eyes/pupils from working with blood magic

arms absolutely covered in cutting scars, also from working with blood magic

wears his ash ketchum cap on top of his crazy strong fantasy ass looking armor which frankly looks fucking stupid but he does not care

steve

tons of old scars, both from being a former fighter and a farmer

still wears farmer's clothing but don't be fooled, he Knows how to use the sword at his side

australian flag patch on his sleeve and as a sticker on his chestplate

very casual practiced movements despite his apparent age, even when doing kickass shit

martha

light purple eyes. makes her look like she's blind. she is not

transfem swag for YEARS

just as much at home in fighting gear as she is in a skirt!

andor

has long hair but keeps it up in a bun under his wooden helmet (that's why he always wears it) (yes hes also transgender)

can i just say that i love the fingerless gloves. that was an awesome design choice. the designers knew what they were doing with that one

[34goingon9]

Cheeseburger in Paradise

This story always gets me. The nature of its premise is so silly and wildly bizarre to the point that it’s almost comedic, except for the fact that it’s one of the scariest memories I have with my dad. It’s one of those stories that you just can’t make up.

My memory begins in the kitchen. My dad must have just gotten home from the bar in the evening around dinner time and he was one of the drunkest I had ever seen him. Many times I don’t think I realized completely the alcoholism and this time I thought he was being funny… until he wasn’t.

I come downstairs to my dad “cooking a cheeseburger.” When I say cooking a cheeseburger, I’m talking waving an overly oiled, greasy, sizzling hot pan at a complete 90 degree vertical angle with a handmade ball of meat slap-dab in the middle. American cheese is oozing down the sides burning a char in the corners of the overly processed slice of dairy. Scorching hot oil is ricocheting off the pan at his face and in every direction like a shotgun blast. My dad’s arm is conducting the cooking show like the inflatable figures outside of car dealerships instead of a well orchestrated symphony. Gordon Ramsay would NOT have been impressed.

“What are you doing?” I would ask my dad playfully.

“I’m CoOkiNg a ChEeSeBurGeR 🍔 “ My dad would respond slurring his words as he confidently waves the metal pan around like a flag.

This exchange would continue back and forth several times. Each time, things would escalate further somehow. Not always aware and somewhat naive towards the extent and unpredictability of my dad’s alcoholism, I remember giggling more and more at watching his performance and the way he was responding as he answered me. I think I even was trying to film him on my new state of the art 2 megapixel cell phone because of how outrageous things looked. I could tell that I was starting to provoke him after a certain point of repeating the same things back and forth to one another with his tone becoming slightly more aggressive, but I did not realize how much I was poking the bear or when I had crossed the threshold of no return. Suddenly, the bottle cap flew off and my dad exploded like mentos in a coke bottle.

“THIS is what I’m FUCKING DOING!!”

At this moment my dad took his eyes off the pan and turned them towards me. They were hollow and black but they also seemed to possess the same fire that was heating the pan he was using. I remember as our eyes met, I felt both the color in my complexion and my over all soul drain down from the top of my head and out my feet like someone opened a valve pipe. In this moment I also began to RUN as I saw my dad lunge towards me as he screamed. I dodged out of the way at the last second before my dad managed to grab a loaf of bread behind me.

Having the advantage of being a traumatized competitive gymnast with an adrenaline rush and my contender being a belligerent, stumbling troll emerging from under the bridge.. I sprinted ahead of him up the stairs. I ran past my sister into her room who was oblivious to what had just unraveled downstairs and hid behind her desk in the corner of her room.

My dad’s footsteps can be heard stomping up the stairs like some kind of “ fee fi fo fum!” in the stillness as I awaited his presence in fear.

He storms past my sisters room which is the first one you pass as you get up to the second floor. The two of us DID NOT get along and never had, but I can’t blame the ways she resented me because of the way I became her responsibility. Nonetheless, she knew her job was to protect me and she did so to the best of her angsty pre-teen ability.

My dad continues to pass my bedroom and turns the corner to his room. I cannot physically see him but I can sense his demeanor and movements like a looking glass and I know time is running out like grains of sand. After a short time of a drunkenly thorough search, he continues to move back through the hall and retrace his steps. I can feel him look into my room like a predator which is like a small cubby. He quickly moves on to the last room and finds that third times a charm.

I am frozen standing in the corner barricaded by my sister’s desk. My sister remains sitting propped on her bed interrupted by the hurricane that just came through her doors. My dad’s face appears in her doorway. He is standing there like the grim reaper but instead of being armed with a scythe, he has a death grip on his loaf of bread.

He sees me and makes a bee-line for it. My sister hops off the bed but my dad makes contact with me behind the desk before she can make the first interference. He screams his words that are still ringing in my ears like tinnitus from just moments earlier, only this time grabbing me and smothering the loaf of bread into my face as he viciously repeats ‘THIS is what he’s FUCKING doing.’

Natalija intercepts and somehow manages to pull my enormous and sloppy father off of me and ensures I can breathe. She puts herself in between us and is pushing him away with her arms outstretched and guiding him towards the door as she is yelling in utter hatred and frustration at him.

“GET OUT!!!! NO ONE WANTS YOU HERE!!! GO BACK TO THE BAR!!! GET OUT!! JUST GET OUT!!!!!”

I do not know why, but my dad listens to this and retreats back downstairs. The dust has by no means settled but the immediate threat is now at least removed from proximity. I am scared and I cannot stay as the risk is too high. My dad is unpredictable in every sense of the word, just like how he flipped at me just prior. There is a chance he could completely forget, or he could see me and immediately be set off again. I live in a household of Russian roulette and you never know when the bullet is going to go off in the chamber.

(Furthermore, though it’s a bit late to figure out how to fit into this story, I believe this was the night my dad was also taking wads of cash out of his wallet every five minutes and handing it to me. I think this added to the bizarre nature of his behavior and why I was particularly childish towards egging him on about “what he was doing.” Also, when I say wads of cash, this is not a childhood exaggeration. My dad had a high paying job and was able to be a functional alcoholic through his cocaine addiction. He had money and he always had plenty on him to spare just in case. My father was always generous with money and gifts to make up for his behavior but this night was not like that. I had probably amassed $1,000 completely unbeknownst to him for no reason. He just kept handing it to me like a broken ATM dispenser.)

Standing in my sister’s room, I am faced with a difficult decision but I know she is neither the target and able to assert herself in ways I cannot. I still have guilt towards leaving her that night, but soon after I must have called my best friend Jaime. I have no idea what was said in exchange, but it was without hesitation that her father arrived at my house to pick me up to spend the night with them. I faced the predicament where I could not go down the stairs and run the risk of my dad hearing me let alone know I was leaving. My trampoline was located below my sisters window, so I crawled out and jumped off the roof onto it. I can remember seeing Mike’s black Toyota Rav 4 off in the distance like a mirage but grass, not sand, was rubbing past my ankles as I ran towards safety that was thankfully not a hallucination or in my imagination.

I don’t remember the rest of this evening. I don’t know if any of us talked about what happened. I do know that the Spiegel’s home was a safe haven for me then and for years to come- even into present day. I mean that in the sense that they not just provided me safe shelter, but also showed me unconditional love and treated me like real family during a particularly sensitive time that I didn’t even understand how bad things were because it was my norm. Regardless, my dad cared more about his appearance to the world than my actual well-being and I remember the next morning being scared in anticipation towards his reaction. There were times where I had to leave overnight for my safety but would wake up berated by my father because in reality, I had exposed his secrets to the outside world which was a no-no. I do want to say this time my dad did not question this decision. This isn’t to say I got an apology either. Things were glazed over. Perhaps I got a sorry in the form of one of his coincidental next-day Bloomingdale hauls, but I don’t think that was even the case here. Either way, life resumed and it wouldn’t be long before the cycle repeated itself.

This memory is a painful one and has as much gaps as it has vividness.

Putting it down for now. But I did give him back all the cash.

[a-man-outof-time]

Red Zone // Steve, Tony, Sam, Sharon, et al.

[Start date: August 4, 2019]

All Avengers and affiliates:

I've just been made aware that a group of highly-trained, possibly enhanced operatives infiltrated the CDC in Atlanta less than an hour ago. Our most recent intel confirms that they've stolen the smallpox sample housed there and are currently headed westward. Our best guess right now is that they're planning to use it as a bioweapon.

Agent Carter and I are preparing a jet to track the operatives and recover the smallpox sample. This is an all-call to anyone who can assist us. Wheels up in 15; we will rendezvous with anyone who can't be here by then.

Sam Wilson

---

Steve looked up from the message and quirked an eyebrow at Sam.

"You didn't sign it 'Captain America.'"

"Let's see if I earn it first," Sam said.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this jittery with nerves; he usually handled them better, but now he couldn't settle, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he continuously looked from Steve to the Quinjet and back. It wasn't just the stakes of the mission that had him on edge, but the hard fact that this was going to be his big reveal as Captain America.

"It's not too late for me to give this back to you," Sam said. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the shield magnetized between his shoulders. Steve smiled and shook his head.

"I got an upgrade," he said, raising his left hand to indicate the circlet around his wrist. "It's yours."

Sam breathed a laugh and shook his own head, still a little incredulous, then saw Sharon exiting the Quinjet and walking toward them.

"We're all set, Cap," she said to Sam. Then the smirked at Steve. "What are we supposed to call you?"

Steve shrugged. He still hadn't thought of a call sign. He probably should have posed the question in that massive text chat since everyone seemed to know about his night job now.

---

“Well, clearly he’s outgrown the campy patriotic superhero stuff,” Tony said over the comms. He’d invited himself into the channel since he was already en route with an armor. “Has to have a bite to it — I’m RSVP-ing, by the way, if it wasn’t obvious — yeah, think dramatic Oscar-baiting one-word movie titles. Dissident. Maverick. Rogue. Nomad. Something like that.”

---

Matt felt the burner phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out, smirking as he listened to Steve's text.

"On our way out for that HYDRA mission. You still in?"

Oh yeah, he was in. Foggy was going to be pissed with him for leaving the office early, but the offer to go out and punch Nazis was just too inviting.

[That depends, do you do pick ups?] He sent back.

---

"Isn't Rogue one of the X-Men?" Sam asked. Sharon laughed in response.

"I like Maverick," she said. "Very Top Gun."

"Great," Steve said. He was newly occupied with his phone. "Throw them around, see what sticks."

He finished typing out a message and then looked up at Sam and Sharon. "We have someone to pick up out of Hell's Kitchen."

[ Steve's text to Matt ] We'll be there in 20. Let me know on which rooftop we can drop a line.

---

[Matt | @Steve Rogers ] I'll be there. How about Fogwell's Gym?

---

[ Steve | @Matt Murdock ] perfect

---

Sharon and Sam exchanged a glance. They'd long ago figured out that Steve had been running with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, but none of them had talked about it in any detail.

"That's a team of six," Sam said. "Against an unknown number of possibly enhanced people with a potential bioweapon."

"Six of us fought an alien army," Steve said.

"I'm pretty sure first responders were also there," Sharon said, but then she looped an arm through Sam's. "More people may come. And even if they don't, we're some of the best of the best."

She tugged on Sam, and he followed her with a laugh toward the jet. Steve smiled and fell into step behind them.

"You riding with us, Iron Man?" Sam asked over the comms.

---

"You riding with us, Iron Man?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got my own ride. I’ll race you there,” Tony said, and not entirely in jest. If he did get closer before the others, then he could have JARVIS start gathering on-site intel on the place and how many hostiles awaited them.

“By the way, for future reference, I’m worth like, at least twelve super people.”

---

[Peter I @Steve Rogers] Suiting up, just warn me when you are in NYC and I’ll hitch a ride. You don’t even need to land.

---

[ Steve | @Peter Parker ] We're en route toward Hell's Kitchen. I'll leave the door open for you.

---

[Logan I @Steve Rogers] Just send me coordinates to meet up with you. I had some enhancements added to my bike.

---

Sam and Sharon took the helm for final flight checks.

"We know you are," Steve said frankly to Tony over the comm. Sam saw Sharon playfully roll her eyes, and he snorted lightly in response. If Steve sensed their silent ribbing, he didn't address it, even when Sam leaned over to smirk at him.

"I have Daredevil, Spider-Man, and Wolverine confirmed to rendezvous at Fogwell's Gym in Hell's Kitchen," Steve told Sam, completely straight-faced for about half a second before he cracked a smile.

Sharon released a blunt, "huh," and Sam turned back around to face her.

"What's up?"

"Unless one of you weighs 350 more pounds than I'd thought, we're over on weight," she said.

Steve's frown was almost audible. "Will it slow us down?"

"Not at all. Even once we're full up, this jet can still go supersonic with no problem."

"Probably some leftover gear I missed," Sam said. "I'll unload it when we get back."

---

Sam was really hesitant to respond to Captain Falcon's message about the mission - none of the Avengers really knew he was staying at the compound, and he thought it might we weird to just Show Up without warning. Still, he suited up and talked to Karolina about joining. They only had a few minutes to decide.

He wanted to walk right up to the team very confidently at the quinjet and say 'we're ready for the mission!' but then once he saw Sam, Sharon, and Steve getting ready, he panicked. Somehow in that moment, he looked for a place to hide, which led to an alternate entrance.

So instead of making a grand entrance for the first time as Sam Alexander, Black Nova of the Avengers, he was stuck inside the storage compartment with Karolina.

"Oh man...I think we're heading off soon. I'm so sorry, I panicked. Everything was happening so quickly!" He hid his face in his hands out of embarrassment.

Worldmind assured him that this sort of thing happened a lot to Richard when he first started on his own, but that wasn't very comforting.

---

Karolina gave Sam a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Hey, it's okay Sam. As long as we're on the plane, we're good."

She shot him some fingerguns. "Plus, hiding from adults? kind of my specialty."

It was hard to see him in the dim light of the storage compartment, but she resisted the urge to use her powers. The adults would absolutely notice if she suddenly went full rainbow brite inside the plane, and she didn't want to risk getting kicked off the mission. She wasn't exactly a trained superhero like the rest of them were; they probably wouldn't want her coming along if they knew.

Karolina already couldn't help but feel out of place next to Sam, in his shiny Nova uniform. It wasn't like she had a superhero costume she could throw on when they got the call, so she'd just gone in her yoga clothes. She'd have to try and get a uniform if this whole hero thing worked out; punching Nazis in leggings and a sweatshirt full time seemed kind of lame.

"You know, I've never really done a mission like this before." She said. "I mean, I used to beat up bad guys with the other Runaways, but they usually came to us."

---

[ Steve | @Matt Murdock @Logan @Peter Parker ] ETA 2 minutes

With final checks completed, they departed the hanger and jetted for Hell's Kitchen. Steve shot off quick ETA texts to Peter, Logan, and Matt, then headed back to the bay door. They were violating several air traffic regulations with this maneuver, but it was the fastest way to pick up the rest of the team and get going. At Sam's signal, Steve opened the rear bay door and dropped a braided steel ladder out the back.

---

A light thump on the roof moments before a red and blue clad figure crawled in from the top of the opening and across the ceiling. “I always am up for punching Nazis. Thanks for inviting me to the party.”

---

Matt could hear the jet from almost five miles out, as it flew into Manhattan. Whatever military grade rig the Avengers traveled around in didn't seem to be much quieter than a regular plane, and the ETA text Steve sent him as they were closing in on Fogwell's gym made the vigilante laugh.

The vibrations from the engine seemed to shake the air itself, vibrating the glass in the surrounding buildings as it came to hover above Daredevil. Another costume had shown up to wait with him, no doubt answering the same call from Sam. He wasn't much of a talker, it seemed; the two of them exchanged a curt nod, but otherwise waited in silence.

Matt climbed into the jet and greeted Steve with a pat on the shoulder. "Thanks for taking me along," he grinned. "This should be interesting."

"Thanks for inviting me to the party."

The vigilante nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized there was someone on the ceiling above him- Spider-man, if he had to guess. He should have picked up on the that, but the background noise from the jet must have been messing with his radar sense.

"Fuck, kid, you scared me."

---

"Thanks for coming along," Steve said to both Matt and Peter. He nodded to Logan as he also boarded the jet, then pulled the ladder up and secured the bay door. "Iron Man flew ahead to scout out what we're up against."

He scanned the occupants of the jet. If they hadn't all met, they had at least all heard of each other, or so Steve was fairly certain. And it was a solid team. He returned to his seat and invited the rest of the team to buckle in as Sam gained altitude and hit the throttle, heading westward.

---

Matt buckled in with the others and spent the majority of the flight trying to tune out the roar of the jet engines in his ears. God, he never remembered how much he hated flying until he was stuck having to do it. At least he'd get to punch some Nazis at the end of this.

He tried to focus in on his teammates, and the steadiness of their heartbeats. Sam and Steve were as calm as ever, though he supposed that was to be expected from seasoned heroes. Spider-man was a bit more jittery, and Logan...well, Logan was pretty much impossible to get a read on.

It was the two extra heartbeats Matt picked up on that really caught him off guard. There were only six of them in the cabin, and yet he clearly heard the telltale sounds of eight people on board the jet. They were fluttery, nervous sounding, and coming from the other side of the wall- cargo hold maybe?

"Ah, fuck." Matt muttered. This could be a problem.

He unbuckled himself and made his way towards the front of the plane, where Sam was driving. Keeping his balance was a bit difficult, given their current speed, but he found his footing fairly quickly.

"Hey, oh Captain my Captain," Matt said, leaning casually over the back of Sam's seat. "You've got two stowaways in the cargo hold."

---

Sam jerked around and raised his eyebrows at Daredevil.

"Um. Excuse me?"

He glanced at Sharon, who immediately unbuckled and strode back to the cargo hold. She drew her sidearm on her way there, and she could hear someone else -- probably Steve -- coming to join her. She wasn't too worried about two stowaways given her present company, though, so she opened the cargo hold.

Inside, she saw Nova and a teenager she didn't recognize.

"Hi." She returned her gun to its holster and propped his hands on her hips, trying and failing not to smile. How very on-brand. "Were you planning on staying in here the whole time?"

---

They were about 20 minutes out from the eastern California border when Sharon swore loudly and turned in the copilot's seat to face the rest of the team.

"Social media feeds and local news stations are starting to report a rapidly spreading illness." She locked eyes with Steve. "Like 28 Days Later rapid. No one's sure yet what it is or how it's spread, but people who were complaining of flu-like symptoms this morning are now covered in purulent red rashes, in a whole lot of pain, and experiencing symptoms similar to anaphylaxis."

She watched Steve raise his chin slightly, as he often did when he mentally transitioned into full battle-readiness. Illness was one thing she knew could be a sore spot with him, but he hadn't had so much as a head cold since 2011, so as far as they knew, he was in the clear.

A lot of them might not be, though. And Sharon, for one, hadn't expected a biological weapon to already be in play, if that was what this was.

"Tony," Steve said, "what do you see on your end?"

___

“I wouldn’t get super excited about whatever’s spreading on the ground,” Tony said. Social media highlights and headlines flashed across the HUD, lingering only long enough for Tony to get ahold of the situation, which didn’t take long. “I think that’s just previews. I was able to tap into their communication channels and I’m using that to triangulate their current location.”

Tony sent them the coordinates he had.

“From what I gather, the plan is to launch the sample onto the thermosphere, just past the Kármán line, then use the Earth’s rotation to spread the contagion. The entire planet could be vulnerable in a matter of hours.”

---

With a definite location to aim for, Sam poured on the speed toward the coordinates Tony had provided. None of them were particularly surprised that the bad guys were hiding in a mountain, but the plan Tony related was more than a little rattling. As they approached the coordinates, Sam was almost underwhelmed by the face of the compound as it came into view: it wasn't much larger than a standard storefront. He was nevertheless willing to bet that a good portion of it was underground.

"Ste--uh" -- Sam wracked his brain for the field names Tony had thrown out earlier -- "Nomad. Grab the gas masks out of the hold. Let's stay ahead of this."

He landed about two miles away from the compound, then stood and turned to face the team: his team, for the moment. Sharon stood to his left; Steve, bizarrely, was among their motley crew, waiting intently for Sam to call the shots.

"Nomad. Winter Soldier. Wolverine. Iron Man. Secure all the bioweapons and personnel you can find. Bonus points if you find an antidote. Thirteen will lead Daredevil and Spider-Man in evac until hazmat arrives. Nova and Lucy" -- he made deliberate eye contact with each of them -- "you're with me on air support. If Iron Man's team calls for back-up, you're on point to back them up."

(God. He hoped that was the right call. Both of them could fly faster than he could, and he'd be damned if he separated them.)

"Y'all ready?"

---

“Almost,” Tony said over the comms, adding a small pause for suspense. “First I’d like the record to reflect that I came up with Steve’s new field name.”

Hopefully that would add some levity to this whole thing. Tony could tell Sam was nervous — or, at any rate, he expected him to be.

“Now I’m good. Team Iron Man and the Ironettes, I will be seeing you on the ground.”

---

“If you are all done being fangirls about each other . . “ Logan rolled his eyes at the comments. “If we run into any loose or exposed bio-hazard should leave it to me.” He’d yet to find something that could slow him down for long.

---

Matt made a face when Steve handed him the gas mask, but accepted the item without comment. Cutting off his sense of taste and smell was going to put him at a disadvantage out there, but he guessed anything was better than being dead.

"Nothing like a bioweapon to keep things interesting." He sighed.

"Thirteen will lead Spidey and Daredevil in evac until hazmat arrives."

"On it." Matt said, popping the billy clubs from the holster on his leg. He snapped the two ends together with practiced ease, and activated the cable mechanism inside. Between buildings would probably be the fastest way to move down there.

"Spider-man and I can swing down- I'll take Agent Thirteen."

“First I’d like the record to reflect that I came up with Steve’s new field name.”

"I dig it, not much of a Nomad when you have a team though." Matt laughed.

---

"Nova and Lucy, you're with me on air support. If Iron Man's team calls for back-up, you're on point to back them up."

"Aye aye, Captain." Karolina said, giving Sam an awkward salute. As nervous as she was, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement at the sound of her codename being used by actual superheroes.

She pulled off her bracelet and let the familiar warmth of her glow calm her nerves.

"Sorry if I'm blinding everyone in here." she added, trying to keep the glare to a minimum.

---

Sam was a bit nervous. He knew his helmet would filter everything, but bioweapons were serious... He would be staying in the air with Karolina and the other Sam, so he was comfortable at least. Worldmind scans better while he's in the sky anyway. He can keep watch and scan for threats the ground forces may not pick up on.

Honestly, the most comforting part of all was seeing his heroes in action again. He trusted Sam's plan. He trusted the smaller teams.

"We won't let you down, Captain Falcon, sir!" He smiled.

---

Sam smiled back at Nova and tried not to think too hard about the last time he'd flown with Riley. How blasé they'd been.

"I know you won't," he said. He dropped a hand on each of their shoulders as he followed Nova and Lucy (LSD in his head, but he could rib her on that later) out of the jet.

"Let's hit the skies."

---

Sharon looped an arm around Daredevil and watched Sam and the teens take flight, then tightened her hold on instinct as he rappelled them both toward the center of town.

"Hazmat should be here in about twenty minutes," she said over the comms. "Then we can back up the ground team."

They could have used hazmat twenty minutes ago, by the look of it. People covered in scarlet rashes were pounding on locked doors begging for entry, presumably because their families or landlords had locked them out. Others were laying across benches or tucked into alleyways, too sick to stand. Possibly unconscious.

Sharon quietly decided that everyone was alive until proven otherwise.

"Spidey, can you head to the hospital, find out what you can? Daredevil and I will try to shelter these people."

---

Steve raised an amused eyebrow at Matt as he pulled on his gas mask and they disembarked the jet.

"Sam technically isn't a captain, but here we are," he said to Matt.

Behind them, the jet automatically shimmered out of sight as the retro-reflective paneling kicked on. He could barely see Karolina against the clear, brightly-lit sky, but both Sam's were clearly visible shades above them. Much of the team were people he'd only worked with once or twice in the field, but the gist of it was familiar. He wasn't reassured by that, necessarily, given the circumstances they were working against -- but he felt competent. Capable. Like he was doing what he was supposed to be doing instead of skulking around looking for trouble.

He nodded at Tony as they approached him, then at the double steel doors beyond.

"Lead on."

Between the four of them, opening the front door was almost insultingly easy, as was dispatching the guards who'd been waiting for them. Almost, but it seemed unlikely that a group that could break into and out of the CDC in the time they did it wouldn't have had at least an inkling who was going to pursue them.

"Cap," Steve said, "it's a set-up."

Sam was silent for a fraction of a second longer than Steve would have expected, but when he answered, he was definitive.

"Support team, get back to the ground team. Nova, Lucy, and I will land when y'all rendezvous. What's it looking like in there?"

"Too easy," Steve said. They were making suspiciously good time now as they drove deeper into the compound. "We're following the breadcrumbs for now -- "

"I'm losing you," Sam cut in, and the connection was indeed garbled. "Keep going. We're right behind you."

They made it to a reinforced door deep in the facility, the minotaur in the labyrinth. For the hell of it, Steve tried to open it, and -- confirming his suspicions immediately -- it opened. The door was barely ajar before something exploded at their feet, emitting a cloud of scarlet gas. Immediately after that, a booted foot came down hard on the back of Steve's knee, followed by a backhand to the face that felt like getting hit by rebar.

Had to be Rumlow; Steve remembered the gear from over a year ago. Rumlow meant HYDRA.

HYDRA meant Tony was in danger.

---

Tony grabbed ahold of Rumlow and flew him straight against a wall with all the force of his irritation at the fact that he seemed to be one step behind them rather than one step ahead.

”Stark — can’t see your long face but I definitely feel it,” Rumlow croaked out with a pained laugh. ”Not a fan of surprises, are you?”

“I saw you coming from a mile,” Tony said. He activated one of his wrist rockets (more extreme than what he’d been using so far, but then again, Rumlow did land pretty hard on Steve, so...).

Error message.

He already had his fist pointed at Rumlow, so turning the dud into an armored punch was easy.

“You guys can handle this low life,” Tony said over the comms, then flew upwards. “Secure your masks. I’ll make sure that this funky smoke doesn’t sneak outside.”

And then, only to Steve, while JARVIS ran diagnostics on the armor’s electronics, “I didn’t actually see him coming,” Tony said.

Hopefully Steve would understand the source of Tony’s anxiety without him having to phrase it. Rumlow was on every most-wanted list on Earth; he should have lit up on the HUD like a Christmas tree. And he hadn’t. JARVIS, or Tony himself, could be compromised.

---

Steve's hand flew to his face as soon as he was hit; the blow hurt, but worse was the chilling fear that the gas mask might have come unseated. It hadn't, but now he couldn't see for the smoke that filled the room.

"Me, neither," Steve hissed into the mask. Even if the room wasn't already flooded crimson, he'd be seeing red. Shield now in hand, he ran toward where Tony had slammed Rumlow to the wall.

"Wolverine," he said, "who else is in here?"

"Just me," someone said -- a familiar female voice, even muffled by what had it be a mask, from clear across the room.

Against his better judgement, Steve whirled toward her voice. Rumlow was Cynthia Schmidt's muscle; she was undoubtedly the ringleader of this operation.

He heard something click shut -- a briefcase? A computer? -- before she spoke again.

"Can't stick around," she said. "Give Iron Man my regards."

Behind him, Rumlow took a few heavy steps. Steve spun back around, activated his shield, and was smugly satisfied to hear the distinct whir and buzz of hard light against Kevlar.

"Like hell you can't," he growled.

---

There were a lot more people outside the compound than had been there when they'd arrived 25 minutes ago. They must have been hiding a ways away and only mobilized once the heroes had split up.

"Sam? Where did this come from?"

"No idea," Sam said, clearly pissed. "I didn't think to scan infrared or UV in the middle of the day. They could have been cloaked the whole time and I never caught it."

Sharon frowned. "Who has tech so good even Wolverine and Iron Man didn't catch anything?"

"Tony does," Steve interjected between heavy breaths. Dropping field names wasn't necessarily unusual for him, but Sharon did get nervous when he immediately followed up with, "Does anyone have eyes on him?"

"Is he not in there with you?" Sam asked, landing a few yards away on top of two of the soldiers now guarding the compound.

Steve didn't answer. Sharon didn't have any choice but to let it go as she engaged the nearest guard; questions wouldn't get her inside any faster.

---

Sam didn't wait for Steve to respond.

"Nova, Lucy -- get inside and back them up," Sam said. "Daredevil, Spider-Man, Thirteen -- don't let anyone else into the building."

As far as he'd seen when they'd arrived, there was only the one visible door, but he wasn't going to miss any more obvious details. He deployed Redwing to make sure no one else was flooding the facility. Behind him, gunshots fired, followed by Sharon to him, dual-wielding handguns and gunning down exposed throats and the backs of knees as she went. They locked eyes, and then Sam turned his back to the fray and locked the wings into a shield, where Sharon took cover to reload.

"I've lost sight of Daredevil," she breathed. "I think he might be down."

"Great," Sam snarled. He checked the Redwing interface on his arm and took manual control until he could find Daredevil.

"Spidey," Sam said, "I need you on Daredevil. Get him out of here."

He exchanged another look with Sharon. She nodded, firearms at the ready, and he whirled back around and brought his own weaponry to bear.

"Nomad, Nova and Lucy are coming for you. Confirm."

---

The smoke had gotten dense enough for Tony to visually pick up the patterns of its movement, so he followed it along by flight to the only ceiling vent. By the time he got there, the original idea — completely sealing the place so that the gas couldn't escape at all — struck him as one of those simple stupid risky things he was willing to expose himself to, but maybe not the team who was in here with him.

If he coordinated well enough with the teams outside, maybe he could find a way to air this place out without putting anyone at risk.

“JARVIS, get me data on the wind patterns outside—“ JARVIS never answered. The HUD suddenly went dark and for a split-second, the armor was completely dead in the air, then in free fall.

After crashing on the ground, Tony allowed himself to groan from the pain since now there was really no chance anyone in the team could hear him anyway. His communications were out. Visibility was very impaired — he could only see through the eye slits of the helmet, and without the visual environment provided by the HUD, he started to feel claustrophobic. The air filtration systems were offline as well, and Tony had a limited supply of oxygen. Soon he would have to either let outside air in, or he would end up suffocating.

The HUD suddenly blinked back to life, but it didn’t come with JARVIS’ soothing presence. The words Execute Program? flashed in front of his eyes, followed by an externally inputted YES.

Well, they might have the armor, but they didn’t seem to have him. At least not yet —

Tony cried out in response to a sudden, sharp pain on his right thigh. Without a second thought, he interfaced with the armor to confirm what had just happened. The armor had just administered to him one of its emergency doses of adrenaline. And in the process of confirming that, he had made himself vulnerable just for long enough to be taken.

---

Through the static in his comm, Steve heard Sam say something about Nova and Lucy, but he was still engaged with Rumlow and couldn't quite parse it out. Only seconds later, someone or something crashed to the floor nearby. Behind him, gunshots -- almost certainly Schmidt firing on Logan and Bucky.

"Tony?" Steve shouted over the din.

Static from Sam trying to contact him from above ground rattled in his ear until, suddenly, it went dead. That cleared his head enough to hear the distinctive whine of the repulsors powering up. The first beam pierced the smoke and shot across the room, followed by Logan growling. Steve heard the impact of the second shot as someone hit the opposing wall, but without a vocal cue or disengaging Rumlow, he couldn't tell who.

Rumlow, for his part, was matching Steve blow-for-blow. Steve could see now that Runlow was wearing what had to be infrared goggles over his helmet, and Steve swung at them, hard. His head snapped to the side, one lens splintering under the impact, but he kept at it -- and then Steve heard the repulsor firing up again.

Steve grabbed Rumlow and used his momentum against him to pull him between Steve and glow of the repulsor. The impact nailed Rumlow squarely in the back and sent both men sliding across the floor. Steve took his chance to try to grapple him, but, defying Steve's expectations, Rumlow rolled away from Steve and made for the door. Two more pairs of feet followed him out of the room and down the corridor, leaving Steve and Tony behind.

"Tony?" Steve climbed to his feet and peered through the smoke in search of the armour's glow. "What the hell?"

---

<Execute program?>

<YES>

All of the projected confidence aside, Sin had only half-expected it to work. She raised an eyebrow when it did, and that was as far as she would go in betraying her surprise.

Getting past Wolverine was easy. A tutorial level in a first-person shooter game, except that her laptop saw through Stark’s eyes and she had more interesting things at her disposal than just guns and grenades. She hummed as she examined her options.

“Interesting.”

”What?” said Rumlow, walking into the sealed room. He tossed all his damaged head gear on the floor. Sin rolled his eyes at the display of temper. Nothing got to him quite like taking a beating from Steve Rogers.

“Stark has offense and defense protocols set up against practically every Avenger,” she answered. Brock leaned over her shoulder to look at the laptop screen. “But nothing against Rogers.”

”How’s that interesting?” Brock barked. ”Inconvenient.”

Sin ignored him. She wasn’t here to illuminate dimmer minds.

---

In Tony’s lab, a back-up server suddenly went online and, as planned, established an immediate encrypted connection with Steve’s communication device.

“Steve. It’s me,” Tony’s voice sounded through Steve’s comm. “Kinda. It’s Artificial Intelligence-me. I’m a security program set up by Tony Stark. If I’m online, that means that Stark has been compromised. I’m here to walk you through disabling the armor and enacting the Johnnie Walker Protocol to render all his mental data unusable.”

---

Externally, Tony didn't respond. Neither did anyone from outside. The silence from the comm in Steve's ear was deafening -- and then the feed clicked back on.

"Steve. It's me."

"Tony -- "

"Kinda. It's Artificial Intelligence-me."

Steve's breath caught. He watched the tell-tale glow of the Iron Man armor in front of him, got the hardlight shield up between them.

"If I'm online, that means Stark has been compromised."

"Tony!"

Steve stood his ground. Tony -- the armor -- raised a hand, palm out.

"I'm here to walk you through disabling the armor and enacting the Johnnie Walker Protocol to render all his mental data unusable." The armor fired. Steve braced himself.

The shield winked out.

"Shit -- "

Steve ducked, rolled, got back on his feet. The armor turned awkwardly, slowly, to follow him, and Steve got the distinct impression that someone or something outside of the armor was controlling it manually. Tactically, it should have been a relief that he wasn't up against Tony's own programming, but it wasn't. Someone was inside Tony's head, stealing his autonomy from him and turning him into a mindless weapon, and that would not abide.

"Whose mental data?" Steve asked the AI in his ear. He hoped the AI meant the version of JARVIS that powered the suit.

"You know whose," came Tony's voice. "I can only hope you promised you'd do this. I may have programmed this before asking you."

Of course he did. Steve circled the armor. For all he knew, Tony was fine inside and only the armor itself was compromised. He had to get Tony out.

"There's a voice-activated code that'll get you started. Repeat after me -- "

"Hold that thought," Steve said. Then he dove for the armor.

Tony's voice continued, uninterrupted, as Steve grappled Iron Man. He couldn't open the armor in here without exposing Tony to the gas that still filled the room; he'd have to provoke Schmidt into taking this outside. To that end, he kicked his legs up, wrapped them around the armor's chest, and leaned his full weight back. Without any control from inside, the armor couldn't correct for the shift, and the two of them crashed to the floor. Steve wrapped his arms around the helmet in an ineffectual headlock, but he needed to make sure Schmidt could hear him.

"I will find you," he growled, "and you'll never regret anything like you're gonna regret this."

Then he released the armor, rolled to his feet, and bolted for the door. He almost made it up the first flight of stairs before he heard the armor in flight behind him, slammed carelessly into walls and ceiling until it burst through the door, up the stairs, and into Steve. Together they bounced against concrete and steel, up and up, Steve's vision swimming as he tried and failed to break free -- but then they were out, careening through a grate and away from the building, away from the mountain, away from the gas.

"Can't you turn this thing off?" Steve shouted.

"Then confirm the order with your name, and that should do it," Tony's AI said.

"Without the data deletion part," Steve said.

"This is the only way. Where did I lose you?"

Steve shook his head, tried to inhale any of the rapidly thinning air that whipped around him. He'd lost his mask at some point while they'd ping-ponged around the stairwell. Up here, he wouldn't need it.

He pulled his hands free and reached for the manual release on the side of the helmet. The face plate dissolved to reveal Tony's face. Tony's eyes were unfocused, unseeing. His jaw was slack, his brow relaxed. He was bleeding from several cuts across his forehead, his nose; he looked like he may have bitten the inside of his mouth hard enough to draw blood as well.

"Tony." The wind whipped Tony's name from Steve's lips.

Steve wrapped a hand around the back of Tony's neck, the other around Tony's jaw. Tony's expression didn't change, but he released Steve, forcing Steve to scramble for purchase before he fell away. Their flight slowed, then stopped, until they were hovering well above the battlefield -- a safe distance away from Schmidt and Rumlow to escape.

He had to trust Sam would catch them. Even if he could get back to earth safely, he wouldn't do it without Tony.

"Hey," he said. His voice sounded thin. Tony's eyes were so dark.

"There's a voice-activated code that'll get you started," came Tony's voice.

"Tony. Please."

"Repeat after me."

Could he force Schmidt to land them? Where was Sam? He had to get Tony out of the suit!

"Don't."

"Activate Johnnie Walker override. Authorization: the first Avenger."

But the longer Steve stalled, the more Schmidt would get from Tony. She'd already shut down their comms, his shield. Given enough time, she would had access to everything Tony had access to, every wirelessly-enabled device on and orbiting the planet. He had no idea how far she'd gotten already, but he knew Tony would never forgive himself if Steve didn't do this.

"Don't make me do this."

"Walter Wolf. Rivendell. Eleven. Pyxis. Larghetto."

He had to. Tony had asked him to.

"Then confirm the order with your name, and that should do it."

Steve's chest, head, everything hurt. He couldn't breathe, and he couldn't pretend it was the altitude. He hoisted himself up enough to press his lips, dry and quivering, to Tony's temple.

"Activate Johnnie Walker override," he said.

He felt the armor shutting down against his chest, under his arms, as he tore each word out of his own throat and sobbed it back to Tony.

"Confirm override," he said.

He forced his head up to watch Tony's eyes. Nothing had changed. He crawled his numbing fingers around the back of the suit to reengage the face plate.

"Steve Rogers."

The repulsors cut off, and then they were falling. They were too high up even for Tony in the suit to survive the fall, much less Steve with no parachute and no shield, so Steve clung to the armor with Tony inside and closed his eyes against the wind. He didn't see Nova and Lucy coming until they each tried to take hold of him and Tony, but Steve refused to let go, forcing them to descend in an awkward tangle until they were low enough to drop Steve and Tony without injuring them. Hitting the ground was like flipping a switch; Steve was back in action, singularly focused on nothing but getting Tony out of the armor.

"Steve! What happened?" Sharon said from somewhere both nearby yet incredibly far away. He was already manually removing the armor as he answered.

"Schmidt. Did you get her?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "Wolverine and Winter Soldier got her, Rumlow -- and Clint." That caught Steve's attention. He jerked his head around to look up at Sam as he lay his ear to Tony's chest.

"Is he okay?" Sam and Sharon exchanged a look that Steve didn't care to decipher. He could hear Tony's pulse, but Tony's breathing was too shallow, too quick. He rose to his hands and knees over Tony, his back to Sam and Sharon. As long as Clint wasn't dead, Steve could follow up with him later.

"Come on, Tony."

Steve pinched Tony's nose and closed his mouth over Tony's. Tony's chest rose with Steve's breath, then fell almost still again. Steve gave him another breath; same thing. He sat up and started chest compressions and didn't stop until several pairs of hands pulled him to his feet and toward the Quinjet.

[mackenzielovee]

Phases was so cute 🥺 The way Rafe picked her up when she was sleeping 🥺 I noticed in your Q/A when you were asked what are Rafe and Y/N turn ons about each other, you replied all she has to do is breathe lmao! Can you please do a blurb where Rafe is like watching her while she’s busy and he jokingly asks for another baby and it’s all fluffy. I hope this makes sense lol! 🥰

a/n: happy sunday bestie!! i switched this up a little tiny bit so i hope you don't mind, i took your idea and ran with it so hopefully you enjoy!! xoxo (i didnt have time to proofread sorry!)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of possible pregnancy, intoxication, dad!!!rafe

series masterlist

ambivalence blurb: please stand by - rafe cameron

Connor Cameron is two years old today. Through your shock and inability to believe your baby boy is two years old already, you'd organized a party for him at the Camerons. With the help of Rose, your mom, Sarah, and Maddie, it seems to be going as smooth as a two year-old's birthday party can go.

"Y/N, where do you want presents?" Maddie asks, holding up a box that had been handed to her and showing off the diamond on her left hand in the process.

"Coffee table in the living room?" you more or less ask, watching her nod.

"I'll get Kelce on it," she smiles as she hurries off to find him.

Sarah's across from you at the island in the kitchen, setting out more drinks for guests. Most everyone is outside by the pool, Rafe and Connor included. You glance up at her just as Topper walks in from outside, empty beer bottle in hand.

"Hi, guys," he says quietly, then walks over to your side of the island and presses a kiss to your cheek, "You did a great job with the party, Y/N."

"Thanks, Top," you smile, then reach across the island and grab a beer out of the cooler for him.

As your eyes drift over Sarah and back to Topper, you notice the tint of pink in her cheeks that hadn't been there before. A smirk plays across your lips, which you quickly wipe away as he twists off the bottle cap.

"Actually, Sarah did most of it," you continue, watching her eyes widen and dart up to you, "She has a really good eye for this kind of thing."

Topper looks over to Sarah and gives her a genuine smile, "Looks great."

Her face flushes even more at that. Her hands have now balled up, as if trying to relieve some of the tension in her body.

"Thank you," she barely whispers.

You watch as Topper's eyes rake over her features, his own cheeks growing a little pink under the light of the kitchen. He continues to smile at her as his eyes glaze over, a feature you knew all too well from your own lovesick boy.

"Are you too busy to have a drink?" Topper finally speaks up, looking only at Sarah.

"Um," she glances up at you, watching you shake your head vigorously, yet subtly, "I guess not."

"Great," he grins, "You still into those watermelon white claws?"

Sarah's mouth falls open, most likely at the fact that he still remembers that.

"They're the best flavor!" she defends.

"Sure," he scoffs, "Come on, I think I saw some at the bottom of the cooler outside."

Even though neither party says a word to you as they exit, you can't help but cheer to yourself at the fact that they're finally getting closer. You'd been watching the exchanged stares, glances, and mutual pining for months now, after Topper drunkenly confessed to you that he'd like to give Sarah another chance.

You'd seen such a change in her over the years, graduating high school and becoming an aunt seemed to really help her grow up. She's been single since John B broke up with her years ago, claiming that she really wanted to spend that time working on herself and becoming someone people could respect. Now, the two of you have brunch on Sundays and gossip again like you used to when you were younger.

Just as you finish your little cheer, Rafe's figure appears in the doorway leading into the house. You knew he'd come to find you eventually; his inability to lose sight of you for too long completely and utterly predictable. His back is to you, yelling something to Scott about 'not letting Connor down while around the pool'.

When he turns, your eyes rake over him from head to toe; the stubble lining his jaw, the collar of his shirt wrinkled on his left side, his hand firmly wrapped around an empty bottle. You grab him another and twist the top off, meeting his eyes as you walk across the kitchen to him. He's wearing the polo you'd gotten him for his birthday a few years ago, the one with Connor's name stitched into the shirt pocket. He grins when he eyes you checking him out, wasting no time backing you up and pressing himself against you.

"Hi," he grins.

"Hi," you reply, "Need another?"

Your hand comes up to hand him the beer bottle you'd retrieved for him. He sets his empty bottle down on the counter behind you and then plucks the full one from your grasp.

"Thank you," he says quietly, eyes zeroing in on your mouth.

"Your collar is messed up," you tease him.

"Can you fix it for me, please?"

You nod and reach up, fingertips brushing the skin on his neck as you tuck his collar back into place. His mouth twitches upward at the feeling of your skin on his own; his mind and body perfectly inebriated from the amount of beer he's consumed since his best friends arrived.

He tucks his head down, nose brushing against yours as he tries to angle you just right. You laugh and press a chaste kiss to his lips, then wiggle out from between him and the countertop. He groans but lets you go, watching as you pick up the now refilled cooler to take outside.

"Connor's been asking for you," he says, removing the cooler from your hands and carrying it himself.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," Rafe hums, "Told him I'd come find you."

You smile and lead him outside, clocking Connor right away, running around in the yard as he's being chased by Scott and Wheezie. Sarah and Topper are tucked away, chatting in the shade. Kelce and Maddie emerge from the doors leading from the living room, telling you they'd finished putting gifts on the coffee table.

You lead Rafe over to the table you'd set up for drinks, telling him to set the cooler down on it once you make room. He does as told, leaning his hip against it once his task is complete as he watches you start to organize everything.

"Sweetheart," Rafe says, an attempt to earn your complete attention.

Your eyes remain on the bottles; your need for organization overpowering your brain.

"I'll go get him in a minute, he's having fun with Scott," you wave Rafe off.

"No," he says, taking a step closer, "I want another one."

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, settling on the three-quarters full beer in his hand.

"You're going to double fist at your son's second birthday party?" you question.

"What?" he furrows his eyebrows, "No. Not another drink. Another baby."

You freeze, beer bottle in your grip falling back into the cooler the second the words come out of his mouth. He takes one more step forward, close enough that his body heat warms your frozen arm.

You and Rafe discussed having more children; both of you admitting that you want more. However, that conversation had occurred almost a year ago, and the last place you thought it would be brought back up would be here. Now. Today.

When you look up at him, finally daring to meet his eyes, there's no hint of teasing or joking in them. He's serious, he really wants this. By the look on his face, you can tell he's been thinking about this for a bit.

"Another baby?" you ask weakly.

He nods, "Thought we could try for a girl this time."

You laugh and take a step closer to him, cooler completely forgotten. His hand snakes its way around your waist; his desire to feel you pressed against him a never-ending feat. The only time he's ever relaxed, ever truly calm and at peace, is holding onto you while listening to his son giggle on the other side of the pool.

"You want a girl?" you ask with a teasing smirk.

"Mhm," he nods, a smirk tugging on his own lips, mirroring yours in a way that makes you smile, "Although, I'm not sure I could handle another set of these beautiful eyes starin' at me all the time. We'd go broke buying her everything she asks me for."

You raise a quizzical brow, "Are you asking me to have another baby with you or go bankrupt with you?"

He laughs and tightens his grip, dipping his head down to kiss the sensitive spot on your nape.

"Both, maybe," he replies.

"Hmm," you hum, "And what makes you so sure it'll be a girl?"

"Did you learn nothing with Connor?" he asks, taking his turn raising an eyebrow at you.

You open your mouth to respond, but Scott's voice carrying across the pool stops you.

"Y/N!" Scott calls, "Come on, he wants you!"

You look over and find your brother holding Connor, who has blue icing lining his lips and staining his polo. It makes you smile, seeing Connor dressed to match his dad, having left Rafe in charge of getting him ready this morning.

"Mommy," Connor whines, "Play with us."

"I'll be right there, honey," you yell to him, then look up at Rafe again.

Despite Connor's plea, Rafe makes no attempt to release his grip on you. His grin only widens as he stares down at you, momentarily gaping at the fact that he'd stood in this very spot at fifteen years old, blushing profusely at the fact that you'd come over to swim for the day with Sarah. Now, he stands here, adding almost two feet to his height and a ring to his finger, and yet, a part of him still doesn't believe it.

"Let's give him a sister. He's sick of playing with Scott," Rafe teases.

"Rafe, I-"

"Mommy!"

You frown, then shake your head and attempt to pull away from him. He loosens his grasp and lets you go, eyes never leaving yours.

"He's just like me," Rafe says, "Can't be away from you without getting a little grumpy."

You grin and shake your head, then turn around just in time to find Connor running around the pool toward you. Scott follows behind him, knowing you won't be pleased with this sight.

"Whoa, hey," you say to him, scooping him up, "What's the rule out here?"

"No running," Connor frowns.

"That's right. You could get hurt, baby," you tell him gently, pressing a kiss to his cheek despite trying to be serious. He just looks too much like Rafe to ever keep you serious for long.

"Daddy doesn't get hurt," Connor counters, looking over your shoulder to Rafe.

Even though you don't turn around, you can feel Rafe step over to the two of you. He brings his free hand up to run it through Connor's hair, making him smile.

"Because I listen to Mommy," Rafe tells him quietly, "No running on the deck, buddy."

"Okay," Connor nods, a frown still teasing his lips.

"Now, the yard," Rafe continues, "We can run in the yard."

Connor's face lights up like a Christmas tree. It had taken you some time when Connor started walking and talking to get used to the fact that he worships the ground his dad walks on because of the fact that Rafe could get Connor to listen or calm down in times where you couldn't. Now, seeing Rafe make Connor feel better, you're thankful for Rafe's natural instincts.

"Football, Daddy?" Connor asks.

"Did you bring your football out?"

"Yes," Connor grins.

"Hmm," Rafe pretends to think, "Who's on your team?"

Connor doesn't hestiate, "Mommy."

Rafe snaps his fingers, like he just lost out on his first pick. You laugh at him, watching him try not to grin at you.

"I'd love to be on your team, buddy," you tell Connor.

"And Uncle Kelce," Connor continues.

"I'll take Aunt Sarah and Uncle Scott then, okay?" Rafe asks Connor, who nods, "Great. Why don't you go round everyone up."

You set Connor down and watch as he starts to take off, but when Rafe loudly clears his throat and raises his eyebrows down at the two year-old, Connor retreats and starts to leisurely walk away while yelling out 'Aunt Sarah!'

Rafe takes another sip of his beer as both of you watch Connor walk toward Sarah and Topper, who are now by the coolers getting another drink.

"Wanted you on my team," Rafe whispers to you, smirk ghosting over his lips.

"You'll just have to get used to the fact that there's another man in my life," you tease him.

He grins and wraps an arm around you, slotting you into his side. You fit so perfectly, you always had, to the point where Rafe swears to himself that space was made just for you, only for you.

"So?" he asks gently, pressing his lips to your temple, "Tell me what you're thinking in there."

"I'm thinking.." you trail off, watching Connor drag Sarah by her hand over to Kelce's spot on the deck, "About having another baby."

"And?"

You bite your lip hesitantly, but sigh when you feel Rafe's eyes burning into your side profile. You turn and look up at him, your eyes somber.

"Rafe, we don't have room for another baby in the guest house. I mean, Connor would have to sleep in our room or something-"

"So, I'll buy you a house."

Your mouth dries up with his words, and when you look up at him again, same serious expression on his face, you look down at the beer in his hand.

"How many of those have you had?"

He laughs, of course he does. You just stare at him, waiting for his laughter to subside so the two of you could continue. He shakes his head at you, pressing you even closer into his side, if such a thing was even possible.

"I'm not drunk," he insists, "It's something I've been thinking about. The guest house has been great, but it's time, don't you think?"

Your mind wanders back to the first time you'd ever seen the guest house; after the car accident, after Midsummers, and the night you'd gotten engaged to Rafe Cameron. He'd spent so much time, effort and money to build you your first home, the first place the two of you called yours together. The thought of leaving that, leaving the place you'd brought Connor home to, the place you'd gotten engaged in, makes you frown.

"Sweetheart?" he questions your silence.

"You built it, though, Rafe," you murmur, your eyes wandering subconsciously to the structure itself in the backyard.

"And it's served every purpose necessary," he replies easily, "Besides, baby, it's not like we're selling it. But, I have every intention of getting you pregnant again, and I'm not planning on growing old in my fucking parents backyard."

You laugh lightly and lay your head down on his shoulder, feeling him press a kiss into your hair. You're silent for a minute as you try to work everything out in your head and watch Kelce pluck Connor up from the deck and set him up on his shoulders, leading him over to the grass to start the game.

When Connor's eyes travel around the yard expectantly, settling on his parents with a wide grin that reminds you so much of Rafe, your heart squeezes in your chest.

"I don't want to be pregnant until we're settled into a house," you say quietly, "That's a big change for Connor and I'm not doing the whole moving thing while carrying a baby."

You feel Rafe grin against your head, a quick three more kisses joining the first one he'd left in your hair.

"Deal. We'll look at some houses tomorrow," he replies.

You stand up straight now, giving him your best 'are you serious?' look that you seem to have perfected over the years.

He laughs and clears his throat, "Or next weekend."

"Next weekend," you agree.

Rafe's grip on your waist is still tight, and when his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, you inhale sharply.

"But the second we're settled in, I'm impregnating you."

You grin, probably looking like a lovestruck teenager as you tangle yourself in the man you love so much and blush at the words he whispers in your ear.

"Mommy, come on," Connor yells out, still up high on Kelce's shoulders.

You shift your head and give Rafe a quick kiss, then wrap your fingers through his and guide him over to the yard. Sarah and Scott are throwing the football back and forth while Kelce runs around with Connor, making him laugh hysterically. Topper comes over to the edge of the deck with his hands on his hips, looking annoyed.

"Nobody wanted me on their team?" he questions.

"You cheat, bro," Kelce informs him, as if Topper's unaware.

"No, I don't!" Topper protests, throwing his hands up in the air. Connor giggles from above Kelce.

"Dude, yes you do," Rafe speaks from behind you, "You get way too competitive-"

"Hey, he needs to respect the game of football-"

"He's two!" Rafe yells back.

Topper just rolls his eyes, hands placed back on his hips. When he looks up again, he looks to Sarah.

"Sarah?" he questions lightly.

Sarah just smirks and shrugs her shoulders, "Since you're not playing, could you get me another drink? Those watermelon white claws are just to die for."

Topper's eyes narrow at her as both of you erupt into laughter, but it's Connor who encourages all of the adults to get their shit together.

"Hello," he groans.

"Sorry, Little Cameron," Kelce says as he blindly reaches up and grabs Connor, pulling him off of his shoulders and setting him down on the ground, "Where do you want us?"

"We need Mommy," Connor tells him, as if it's obvious.

"Mommy," Kelce calls, a devious smirk plastered all over his face. You shake your head at him and break free from Rafe, ready to join the two boys.

"Stop fucking calling my wife mommy, dude," Rafe yells out to Kelce.

You glare at Rafe for his language, watching as he realizes what he'd said and clamps a hand over his mouth. Kelce laughs, yanking the football out of Scott's hand despite his protest.

"Connor, don't say that," Rafe adds, pointing an authoritative finger at his son.

"Mommy?" Connor attempts to clarify, but you shake it off.

"Are you ready to play, handsome?" you ask him, squatting down so you're eye to eye with him.

"Ready," Connor agrees.

You listen as he and Kelce figure out a plan, but your attention is only half with them. Because when you look up and across the yard at Rafe, who is not participating in his team huddle but instead leaning up against a tree and finishing off his beer while he stares at you, you smile. Because now, all you can think about is how much more perfect all of this would be if you had a little baby girl here to join you.

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[nctsworld]

kiss me quick

✩ haechan x reader | enemies to lovers | college roommate!hyuck | fluff | suggestive | 1k

SUMMARY | a kiss between you and your awful roommate reveals something neither of you expect. WARNINGS | swearing, intense kissing, mentions of drinking/alcohol RATING | teen+ PROMPT | kissing to prove there’s no chemistry, even though it’s a lie, the kiss proving it REQ BY | anonymous 

“No fucking way,” Donghyuck mumbles, shaking his head. 

All heads turn to face the ball-capped figure at the end of the staircase leading into the living room area. Everyone, including yourself, is on the beer-littered floor. Currently, you’re all in the middle of playing the juvenile game of Spin the Bottle.

You’re playing with a group of your friends along with your roommates, sans one roommate in particular, and as long as you aren’t kissing him, that’s all that matters. 

However, fate is a cruel bitch, because the empty beer bottle comes to a slow and points directly at him at the same moment he decides to step into the living room. 

“Yeah, no. I’m respinning,” you immediately say, already grabbing the bottle. A hand quickly intercepts atop of yours.

“Nu-uh,” Jaemin, the owner of the hand stopping you and one of your roommates, says. “The bottle works in its special ways; you must follow what it says.” 

“He’s not even playing!” you complain, holding out your other hand.

“You know,” Jeno, your other roommate, pipes up. “Jaem’s got a point. The bottle’s never wrong.” 

Jeno lifts his chin towards Donghyuck’s direction. “Dude, get over here and kiss her.” 

The man at the base of the stairs scoffs in disbelief. “Yeah, I just came down to get a drink. I’m not kissing her, even if you paid me.”

You roll your eyes and scoff. “As if I’d ever kiss you in a million years.”

The disdain between you and Donghyuck doesn’t have a single origin story. 

You’ve been roommates for two years, and for that duration, you’ve never meshed with him. Maybe it was because of the time you overheard him complaining endlessly about living with you, or maybe it was because of another time when he ate all your leftovers and pretended he didn’t. Who knows?

And it wasn’t just painful to live with him as a roommate, but his presence in general. Donghyuck could say the exact same about you. 

You’d move out, but Jeno and Jaemin were great roommates, and the location was a steal for the price you were paying. For the bane of your existence, his reasons were similar, except that Jeno and Jaemin were not only his roommates, but his best friends.

If it weren’t for those two, you would never put up with each other as much as you already do. 

As you and Donghyuck burn holes into each other’s sockets from across the room, everyone on the floor shifts uncomfortably in the dreadful silence until Jeno finally speaks up. 

“Do you guys ever think that you two lowkey have a thing for each other?” 

“What?” 

Both you and your roommate-enemy spew in unison, staring at Jeno with confusion etched in your features. 

“All this negative energy could just be subconscious sexual tension,” he adds. 

Donghyuck folds his arms against his chest and asks in annoyance, “Are you really psychoanalyzing us right now?”

“Can’t help it.” The neuropsych major shrugs innocently, then runs his fingers through his hair. “But am I wrong?” 

“Absolutely.”

“Of course.” 

For a second, you and Donghyuck share a rare exchange of glances. Amused, both parties chuckle lightly. Your roommate tugs at the end of his baseball cap and drops his head to the floor, while you take a sip of your beer. 

Who’d think that the only time you two would ever agree on something is the distaste you have for one another?

Your sip evolves into a lengthy chug, then you plop the bottle down onto the floor and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Fine,” you say determinedly, standing up from the circle. “We’ll kiss, but only to prove you wrong.” 

You’re already crossing the room, disregarding the panic on Donghyuck’s face, and before he can dispute or blink, you grab your annoying roommate by his cheeks for a kiss.

Shock jolts and runs through your bodies, causing the kiss to be stiff at first. 

But once you experiment and slowly move your lips against his, he matches your curiosity. His lips are softer and plusher than you ever imagined, the kind that you want to keep kissing until you die from exhaustion.

Cautiously, Donghyuck tugs you closer by your neck and his other hand melts into your side. Your necks crane further, entangling deeper into the kisses. 

Since you don’t seem to be detesting it, when your mouth opens up slightly, he darts his tongue into your mouth. Donghyuck swallows a moan-whimper that exits from you, and you pray to God that nobody heard that.

On the other hand, that sound rocks his entirety. He wonders what other pretty noises he could elicit from you. 

After tasting him a little more, you force yourself to tear away from him, shoving him away by his chest—stopping this before it evolves into unknown, dangerous waters for either of you.

“See?” you pant, facing the group with a neutral expression. “Nothing. Did you feel anything?” 

A little disoriented by the liplocking, the one you kissed clears his throat. He dips his head to hide himself behind his cap from the small audience and stuffs his fists into his jean pockets. 

Replying woodenly, he says, “Nope.”

Without another word, Donghyuck zips out of the room, heading over to the kitchen like he initially intended to.

You sit back down with everyone, and the kissing must’ve came off as awkward in their eyes since the group easily progresses into the next round of the game as if nothing happened.

But you look longingly in the direction of the kitchen, pondering if Donghyuck meant what he said.

A few minutes later, when he passes by the living room to return to his room with his drink in tow, Donghyuck glances at you fleetingly. You’re smiling at something Jaemin said, touching his arm and then leaning your head back in a laugh.

Neither of you will ever admit it aloud, but maybe Jeno really was right all along.

Because pure desire now courses wildly through your minds and your bodies—both of you can’t stop thinking about your mouths on one another, wanting each other’s touch again.

No, you need each other’s touch again. 

[writerpeach]

Lights & Cameras

Jeon Somi x Male Reader

5575 words

Categories: smut, daddy kink, rough sex, dirty talk

---

Read on AFF

Read on AO3

masterlist

Three hours. Endless outfit changes. Barely an hour for lunch.

Jeon Somi had done photo shoots before, both as part of a group and as a soloist, for commercials and for album covers, but she had never had the focus be on her just like this. Her beautiful face was going to be on the cover of a magazine for the very first time for the entire country to see.

It took countless people to make a magazine shoot run smoothly. Stylists, photographers, directors, makeup artists, interns, and a plethora of untold staff members whose titles were unbeknownst to you.

Somi’s first magazine shoot was exciting. If she was nervous, she hid it well, radiating confidence behind the camera as hundreds of flashes went off every second.

You had lost track of how many times you saw Somi disappearing from the set into her personal dressing room, reemerging in an outfit that either tantalized or confused you. Each ensemble brought out several emotions and at least one change that left you scratching your head.

Fashion never made sense.

There wasn’t a moment behind the cameras that Somi wasn’t swarmed by staff - fixing her hair, touching up makeup, and preparing her for the next set of blinding lights. Somi basked in it all, she loved the attention and loved every moment of being in the spotlight.

You weren’t hired by anyone, yet had one of the most important jobs in the building.

Your job was just to be there. You were a familiar face to the gorgeous young model, keeping the couch warm in the first-story studio where you could be seen at all times when Somi felt a pit in her stomach from being overwhelmed.

One look into your eyes across the distance brought a bright smile to Somi’s lipstick painted lips, one that melted you like a hot summer’s day.

Another outfit change. One more shade of lipstick applied to her lips, her cheeks now a shade of pink instead of red. The fumes of hairspray lingered in the air as her dark big brim hat was swapped out by a simple white ball cap and blue sunglasses.

Truth be told, Somi could make any outfit look good. Whether it be tall high heels that almost made her trip, short skirts that showed off her amazing legs, or puffy coats that she looked adorable in, anything and everything looked great on Somi. You’re pretty sure she could make an astronaut’s spacesuit look sexy.

Somi loved dressing up, wearing expensive clothes and outfits she only dreamed about, each time she was presented with something new feeling giddier than a kid in a candy store.

This outfit you particularly liked on Somi, a rather long green dress that almost touched the ground, perfect for summertime. At first glimpse it seemed to cover her up, the sacrifice worth it as it did a terrific job of hugging her body nicely, leaving her shoulders bare and just a tease of her exposed back.

The best part of her fancy dress was how good her tits looked in it. Her wide hips were plainly visible, curves everywhere and outlining her delicious backside, the perfect woman.

Four hours in, Somi's energy level was just as high as at the start. Perhaps it was your company, or the high of her first solo photo shoot that kept her spirits lifted, filling her tank to get her through the rest of the day.

Bright lights went off again as Somi rotated through a myriad of poses, from sensual, to serious, to downright goofy, conveying a multitude of expressions that seemed to please the director.

Somi was a natural, the camera was in love with her and the feeling was mutual. You couldn’t hear her cute voice over the constant shutter sounds of the camera drowning out her playful laughter, but you knew she was having the time of her life.

Sitting there for hours at a time might have been dull as a spectator, but not so much as you loved watching Somi in different outfits and different styles of makeup. She stepped back into the dazzling lights appearing as an almost completely different person.

The brightly lit set became flooded with staff again. Somi was handed a bottle of water to her left, while on her right someone wiped her brow carefully with a white towel, heading out of view as if that were their only job.

“Thirty minute break!”

An echoing voice from the director rattled the walls as a much needed break was called. Somi was filled to the brim with unlimited energy as she headed to catering and you followed in her footsteps.

The catering table was surrounded in no time flat, trays of pastries and sweets spread out, an assortment of fruits and cheeses, sandwiches and skewered meats all made up a fantastic spread.

“Oh my god, I’m starving,” Somi said as she picked up a plate, stuffing it as high as she could, not even bothering to take a seat as she stuffed her face, forgoing the image she was portraying as a model as soon as she took her first bite.

“What do you think so far?” Somi asked as she found you, mumbling her words as she talked with her mouth full as she approached your position.

“You must be bored out of your mind.”

You shook your head and smiled. “I don’t mind. You look cute wearing all these outfits.”

“Which one was your favorite?” she asked, practically inhaling a bite of strawberry cheesecake.

“I liked the pink dress. And the white top with the jeans. This dress looks really nice on you too,” you said, trying your best not to stare at her chest while dozens of eyes were on you.

“I like it too. It’s light and comfortable and I can move around in it freely. Some of those other dresses I could barely walk in,” she said, annoyed.

Somi waited for a handful of staff members to pass by, exchanging polite bows and smiling as they headed off with equally filled plates.

“I want you to take it off me,” she whispered, flashing a mischievous smile, one that had you seen before.

“You want me to help you change?”

Somi shook her head cutely, keeping her lips pressed close enough to your ear that you could feel her hot breath nuzzling your earlobe.

“I want you to fuck me in this dress, daddy.”

Thankfully nobody was in earshot.

“It’s going to be several more hours before I’m finished shooting. There’s a spare dressing room in the back that nobody is using...” she playfully said, her expression the same as when she tried to convince you her vibrator was a neck massager.

“You’re bad, Somi,” you said, her gaze agreeing with you as you stared into each other’s eyes as if you were wondering what you were about to get into.

You took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Lead the way. I’ll stay a few steps behind you.”

Somi nodded gleefully, putting her half finished food down on the nearest table.

“I’ll uh, be back. I think something I ate didn’t agree with me,” she announced, letting the staff know she wasn’t going to be available for the time being.

If your calculations were correct the break was called about ten minutes ago, leaving you with twenty minutes left, yet also Somi leaving herself an excuse if extra time was needed.

But twenty minutes was more than enough time for what you wanted to do to her.

You carefully followed Somi, taking care to leave additional space in trailing her as you weaved through makeup tables and desks full of equipment, disappearing behind the set as your heart raced at what was about to happen.

“Come on,” she said, waving you down a long dark corridor and looking behind her as she took purposeful steps. Shortly after, she opened a door and stepped inside, ushering you in as the two of you looked around, making sure the coast was clear before entering.

Somi entered first, locking the door behind you as her lips smirked. She placed her hat and sunglasses on a nearby countertop, ruffling her hair messily.

“You’re so naughty, Somi.”

“Am I? What are you going to do with me?” she asked, putting her arms behind her back.

Stepping closer, you moved her hair out of her neck, planting your lips on her soft skin and sucked for several seconds, careful not to leave a mark. You took each of her dress straps in your fingertips, playing with them as you looked deeply into her eyes.

She stared back as if to say do it as you pulled the top of her dress down to her waist in one swift movement, exposing her full supple breasts as they bounced freely. You kissed up her stomach, marking her soft skin with your mouth until you reached her large heavy breasts, practically drooling all over her chest.

It was regretful that you couldn’t spend the entire hour worshipping her perfect tits, lips closing around a sensitive nipple that had already hardened as you latched on, sucking gently while you squeezed her free breast.

“F-fuck, daddy,” Somi moaned, as you took your time in sucking her tits, enjoying the sounds of satisfaction she released as your lips wrapped around each of her nipples, covering them in your saliva.

You loved Somi’s huge breasts as much as you loved breathing, the threat of a deadline hovering over her almost didn’t deter as you devoured her breasts.

Your pants tightened as you alternated breasts, slurping loudly and slicking up her stiff pink nipples with your tongue, leaving them swollen and doused in drool as you gave equal attention.

“I wish I could suck these all day,” you said, giving a disappointed look as you kept your focus on her beautiful tits, squeezing and kneading them, never wanting to leave your hands from them.

“I want you to do just more than suck them, daddy,” Somi said, moaning at your touch. You simply couldn’t get enough of her delicious tits, biting her swollen nipples as she whined and threw her head back.

Somi’s attention shifted to the bulge in your pants, and without another word she lowered to her knees and began to undo your pants. Her needy hands cupped your crotch, giving a firm squeeze.

She looked up for a second before she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your thin boxers, yanking them down with power and unleashing your stiff erection as her eyes widened, her lips smiling hungrily.

Her gaze never broke as she rubbed your leaking tip on her stiff nipples, spreading precum on and using your shaft to slap her large breasts with your cock. Somi loved getting your hungry shaft ready for what she was about to do, but no amount of work would ever truly prepare you for what was next.

Somi opened her mouth without a word, spitting on your shaft several times and stroked your cock furiously, lubricating you nicely with her own saliva. She took control of your shaft, placing it in the comfort of her pillowy soft breasts, trapping it as you moaned at the warmth enveloping your hard shaft.

Her chest began moving slowly, massaging your throbbing shaft and causing a torrent of pleasure as she created orgasmic friction, causing your shaft to twitch. Your cock had no chance to escape, surrounded by flesh that wrapped around it, causing your breath to be taken away as several sensations flooded your body.

Somi had the biggest grin on her face as she squeezed her tits around your cock firmly, using her hands to cup them and make sure you weren’t going anywhere besides her abundant cleavage.

“How does it feel daddy? You love fucking my big tits, don’t you?” she pointlessly asked, picking up the pace just enough to drive you wild with intoxicating pleasure. Your eyes were glued to her huge tits, watching your cock disappearing, every inch of throbbing flesh being swallowed up by her lubricated cleavage.

“Fuck yes, baby. It feels so damn good,” you replied, matching her rhythm and helping pump your shaft in between her tits, so much warm flesh hugging you tight that never wanted to let you go.

You couldn’t help but moan freely at the intense pleasure. You loved the way your leaking cock felt snuggled in between her cleavage, you wanted it to stay there forever. Her breasts felt so soft, softer than silk as you thrusted endlessly, savoring every moment of ecstasy.

Somi loved the feeling of your hard cock trapped between her sizable tits just as much as you did, trying to lick the sensitive head of your cock when it showed itself again, adding additional spikes of pleasure each time she succeeded.

You were more than content to keep this up, keep the incredible pleasure going until you couldn’t take anymore, but things were just getting started.

“Daddy…” Somi whined, moving her breasts up and down as you thrusted in her deep suffocating cleavage.

“What is it, baby?”

“I want to suck your cock. I’m still hungry,” she said, anxiously waiting for permission.

“So suck my cock.”

Somi gave an ear to ear grin as you pumped yourself in between her chest a handful more times as she slowly let your cock slip out of her tits, rubbing it between her wet cleavage. Her delicate small hand wrapped around your shaft, throbbing at her touch as she stroked your cock up and down gently from base to tip.

"You're so hard, daddy,” Somi hummed, pumping your shaft and squeezing it tighter as you leaked over her slender fingers, giving your shaft a single solitary lick from base to tip, proudly tasting your precum.

“So yummy,” she said, giving repeated licks of your cock, teasing the sensitive underside of your shaft, causing more fluids to leak out of your slit.

You would have loved Somi to spend more time teasing your cock, but time was of the essence here. She planted a soft wet kiss on your swollen tip, followed by another, kissing up and down your throbbing shaft and leaving her lips everywhere she could.

“This is much better than our catering,” Somi giggled, her voice full of desire and need, her wet tongue roaming every inch of your shaft. She pressed her lips on your flesh for one more deep kiss, causing a loud smacking sound to escape.

Her beautiful lips parted as the head of your cock disappeared inside her mouth, Somi sucking ever so softly on your tip and nothing more, causing you to groan softly at the intense sudden pleasure.

“Fuck, baby…”

Nothing ever matched the way Somi sucked your cock. Her small soft lips wrapped tightly around your cock, staring intently at you as her cheeks hollowed, applying the perfect amount of suction. Her mouth felt incredible, warm and wet in all the right ways. She took you deeper into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down in a short rhythm and as she held her gaze.

“Oh fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, scrambling for something to anchor yourself to. Thankfully you were inches away from the nearest countertop, finding the edge and gripping it tightly as Somi pleasured your cock expertly.

“I love sucking your cock so much, daddy,” Somi said as she lowered her head, nudging her nose against the base of your cock as she gave a few teasing licks on your tender balls.

“I love the way I can feel it throbbing inside my mouth. I love the way it tastes, it makes me so fucking wet, daddy.”

Somi’s filthy words aroused you even more as she dove her mouth onto your sensitive balls, tenderly sucking on them individually with just as much hunger. She kept a tight grip on your cock, giving slow strokes that accentuated your pleasure until your balls were doused in her warm saliva.

The combination of pleasure made you groan endlessly as she withdrew her lips from your balls after a few loud slurps, carefully fondling them.

“They feel so full. Is all this cum for me, daddy?” she asked, returning her focus to pleasuring your shaft, spitting on it several times and stroking it.

“Every last drop. They’re ready to be drained, baby.”

“I can’t wait, I want a nice big load inside me, daddy.”

Somi gave an approving smile, taking you back in the comfort of her wet mouth and sucking you off loud and wetly, lips almost to the very base of your shaft and leaving a glistening trail of saliva that followed.

Given the circumstances Somi wasn’t able to take her time with much regret. In a matter of moments she was furiously bobbing her head and taking every inch, letting out a shallow gag with every few strokes. She never quite conquered her gag reflex but didn’t seem bothered, she was just happy with every second her throat was filled.

Somi poured all her energy into giving you such a mind-numbing blowjob, moving her lips from tip to base, spilling saliva out of her mouth, covering your shaft in it. Her lips rested at the end of your shaft as her cute nose pressed against your stomach, smiling with a mouth full of a cock.

She came up for air, saliva dripping down her chin that she didn’t bother to wipe, her expression lust-filled.

“Fuck my face if you want,” she invited, taking your shaft and smacking herself in the face with it, rubbing it on her cheeks and lustfully grinning.

“I’d hate to ruin your makeup,” you replied, the one and only time you had that concern. Somi’s expression was full of disappointment, her smile fading and forming a pout.

“That’s the point,” she said, matter-of-factly. “My makeup artist can fix it later. She gets paid too fucking much anyways.”

Well, that settled that. Somi went back to slobbering on your cock as you placed your hands on both sides of her head, running your fingers through strands of hair and started thrusting inside her pretty mouth.

Consequences be damned, you were going to fulfill Somi’s wishes and desires, thrusting your hips back and forth and sliding every inch of your shaft down her tight warm throat.

Satisfied grunts and moans escaped your lips as you used Somi’s mouth for your pleasure, gagging her with your length as you struck the back of her throat to the point of tears from your forceful use, only encouraging you to give harsher thrusts.

“If only everyone knew what I was doing to you,” you said as Somi kept her mouth wide open for you as you furiously fucked her gorgeous face, slapping your full balls against her chin as she held onto your thighs and slurped hungrily.

“I bet that director had no idea what a cock-hungry little slut he hired did he?” you said, using Somi’s mouth as your personal toy, the constant sounds of gags and erotic slurps filling the small room as your pleasure sky-rocketed.

“Or your stylist unnie, she has no idea her cute innocent model loves choking on cock does she?”

Somi hummed around your cock in satisfaction, the vibration spiking your pleasure as you forced your cock down her throat, streaks of mascara starting to run and drip down her face.

Her makeup artist would certainly have her work cut out for her.

That wasn’t enough for you as you thrusted harder down her throat, slamming every inch nonstop without mercy, drool spilling out of her mouth and dripping onto her beautiful exposed tits as she choked and gagged on your needy cock.

“Take it all, baby,” you growled, holding the back of her head firmly against your crotch, not

caring if she could breathe or not. You desperately wanted to fill her messy warm mouth with cum, coating the back of her throat with it, but that dress looked so fucking sexy on her and you had other plans.

Instead, you savored the intoxicating warmth of her mouth for a few more thrusts, slowly withdrawing your drool-covered shaft as several lines of messy wet spit ejected from her lips, connecting to your swollen tip.

Somi gasped for air, rubbing her drool-covered face all over your wet shaft as she got the treatment she deserved, gargling the leftover saliva and spitting it onto your already drenched shaft.

You smirked at what you saw, once perfectly brushed hair was disheveled and out of place. Her eyes were still filled with tears, whatever leftover mascara she had staining her cheeks, drool glistening on her chin and her chest, an absolutely beautiful mess.

If only her staff could see her like this.

“Was I a good little slut, daddy?”

You nodded proudly and grabbed her dainty wrists and gently helped her to her feet, sharing intense eye contact as you kept the anticipation in the air high.

“I want to fucking ruin you,” you said, squeezing her breasts again, the drool coated on them making them glistening in the lights.

“Do it, please. Fuck me like the whore I am, daddy,” Somi begged, flashing the deepest set of fuck me eyes you had ever seen. You had gotten this far without getting caught, there was no reason to stop.

The dressing room was small with just two countertops, mirrors resting on top of each one waist high, used beauty products still scattered on both surfaces.

There weren’t that many options, no chairs in sight and the floor looked dirty and unkempt as it most likely hadn’t been touched in months if not longer. The counters provided ample space, but not enough for what you needed.

Somi looked at her designer watch she still had kept left on, and you saw you had ten minutes left before they would be looking for her. Plenty of time.

“How do you want it, baby?” you asked as you hiked her green dress up, surprised to see she had on a dark pair of blue panties for once.

“I don’t care, daddy, as long as you’re rough with me,” she said, biting her lip. You couldn’t help but smirk, roaming her tight body with her hands as you gripped her wide hips, harshly spinning her around as she gasped in delight.

“P-please, daddy. I need you. I need to be fucked so bad,” she pleaded, her eyes wide and bright. You kissed her bare shoulders, planting your lips behind her neck and whispered into her ear.

“I want you to watch me ravaging your pretty little cunt, baby.”

Somi dripped between her thighs and her muscles tensed up as you slid her skimpy thong to the side, exposing her gorgeous pussy to you, pink flesh dripping with arousal.

“O-of course, daddy,” Somi said, bending over the makeup countertop, sticking her plump round ass out and placing her palms flat on the surface, ready and willing to be taken right there.

Had there not been time restraints placed, you would have loved to make her beg and tease her pussy until she was as needy as could be, but unfortunately that wasn’t an option right now.

You spread her long legs, grabbing your throbbing shaft and rubbing her aching sensitive clit, pressing it against Somi’s hot wet flesh as she looked back, eyes full of desire.

“Fuck me, daddy. Fuck me like a whore.”

You didn’t hesitate for a second and pushed yourself in deep, her warmth suffocating you as you sank inside every inch of hot flesh, her cunt clenching hard as she moaned loudly. You didn’t waste time, thrusting immediately without any build-up, harshly gripping her hips as you began fucking her tight body from behind.

“Oh my god, daddy,” Somi moaned, her erotic expression visible in the mirror. Your rhythm was frantic from the very start, pistoning your hips and smacking them against her beautiful ass, causing her cheeks to ripple with every stroke.

“Such a tight little whore aren’t you? You like your pretty pussy stretched like this, baby?”

“Y-yes, daddy! You’re so fucking big, pound me daddy, pound me with your big fucking cock.”

“I’d fucking love to,” you replied, grabbing a rough handful of hair and wrapping your fingers around it, forming a ponytail and yanking back hard on it, tugging her head back. Her pussy clenched as she looked directly into the mirror, her eyes barely able to keep open as her mouth let out nothing but needy moans.

“Watch yourself, baby. Watch what I’m going to do to my pretty little cumslut.”

“Y-yes, daddy. R-ruin my pussy, please. Fuck my tight little hole until you blow your load in it!”

Somi’s filthy mouth only served to bring out your carnal desires, increasing your pace rapidly as you slammed her body against the counter, causing her back to arch perfectly as she screamed in delight. You really hoped the dressing room was far enough away from the rest of the staff to not be heard, but at this point you didn’t give a shit if they were listening right outside the door.

“F-fuck me harder daddy, p-please fuck me like the naughty whore I am!”

Your strong grip tightened on her hips, firmly pressing both thumbs into her toned back hard enough that you’re pretty sure was going to leave a bruising mark, one of the myriad of things Somi was going to have to figure out how to explain.

“Treat me like your pretty little fucktoy and break me!”

You watched intently in the mirror in front of you as Somi’s expressive features grew more contorted by the second, her lips only able to form breathless whiny moans and several strings of profanity.

Her pussy tightened to the point of almost causing pain, your shaft being lubricated thoroughly by her abundant slick that dripped down her thighs as you gave it your all, watching her breasts bouncing in the mirror in a way that hypnotized you into a trance.

“Choke me, daddy. Please, fucking choke your whore,” Somi said, as you seemed to be taken aback by every new sentence that left her lips.

You didn’t know what had gotten into her, but you didn’t have time to care as you dropped the bundle of hair you had, bringing the same hand to the front of her body, fondling one of her breasts before finding her warm, soft neck and wrapping your fingers around her throat and giving a gentle squeeze.

“More,” she demanded, and placed her small hand on the back of your own, increasing the pressure as she felt more airflow being restricted, thriving off the feeling she felt.

Somi’s dripping hot pussy pulsated wildly as you pumped into her, keeping a hand on her delicate throat as you looked at the sight in the mirror, something you’d never forget. Her chosen dress barely still on, mascara stains still visible underneath her eyes, her breasts bouncing deliciously with every rock of your hips as you choked her.

Somi kept her eyes focused straight ahead and loved every second of it.

It was hard to remember where you were, that this was still a designated break for Somi and that she would still have to return to work in a few short moments. Yet, you continued to pound into her tight cunt, giving such powerful hard thrusts she was liable to forget her own name.

“God, you’re so fucking deep inside my tight little pussy. Don’t stop fucking me, daddy, use me until you’re done with me!” Somi said, her words becoming an unrecognizable slur that all ran together.

Her warm wet walls grew wetter the harder you drilled her as the room became an orchestra of pleasure - the wet squelch of her pussy, harsh sounds of flesh smacking against flesh, and the constant rising volume of her loud needy moans and gasps, every second that went by without a knock on the door caused a sense of relief.

That satisfying smack of flesh grew louder and louder as you released your grip on her throat. earning a whimpering moan. Your hands weren’t kept idle as you grabbed Somi’s arms and pulled them back, gripping her wrists as her back arched even more, hammering into her pussy with as much energy as you could exert.

“Oh f-fuck, daddy! D-don’t stop, don’t stop fucking your slutty little whore!” Somi said, her clouded eyes barely able to watch herself in the mirror as you saw her vacant stare. You used her slender arms as handles to fuck her senseless, feeling her gripping pussy squeezing the life out of your cock as it pulsated wildly as the stale air in the small tight room grew hotter.

“I’m going t-to cum, daddy! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, daddy-”

Somi didn’t even have time to finish her sentence, her body already trembling, her held back arms shaking as her pussy tightened even more. Her hips bucked, toes curling into her expensive heels as she shrieked, juices flooding out of her cunt as she came the hardest she had in some time.

You didn’t let up, not that she would have wanted you to as you fucked her through her intense orgasm, pounding away and maintaining the same breakneck pace, harsh stroke after harsh stroke into her heat.

Somi's constantly clenching pussy sent tingles up your spine, and you weren't that far off from your own release if the aching tightness in your balls was anything to go by.

"I'm gonna fucking fill your needy cunt with cum, baby," you hissed, not asking for permission, hooking her arms and bringing her body upright until her back was pressing against your chest, making sure she wasn't going anywhere.

"P-please cum inside me, daddy. Cum inside your filthy little whore! Please, daddy, dump your huge thick load inside my slutty wet pussy, please!"

You loved using Somi like this, her pussy begging for cum as you railed her without mercy, the use of her arms taken from her and nothing to hold on to and at your mercy, taking every thrust into her body and pleading for more. You watched her lustful expression in the mirror as her breasts never stopped bouncing, chasing that sweet release you both desperately wanted.

It wouldn't be much longer now, your hips smacking harshly against her ass as her cunt was fucked so hard she would definitely have trouble not only walking out of her but for the next few days. Savoring every thrust into Somi’s tight warm body, you never let up, keeping the pace as fast your limbs allowed you to move until you finally were pushed over the edge.

“I’m fucking cumming!”

It took less than a handful of thrusts as you buried yourself in Somi’s wet warmth, groaning loudly as you spilled your seed deep into her cunt, throbbing with each shot of hot cum that you emptied into her inviting body, filling her to the absolute brim.

You used the last remaining energy in your body, hips tiredly working until you had no more to deposit in her. Thoroughly drained you never stopped thrusting, trying to fuck your hot deep as it possibly could go, spilling every drop into her womb.

Your moments slowed down little by little until they halted completely as you released her arms as she collapsed against the counter, both of you spent, filled with fatigue and gasping for air, an equally exhausted mess of bodies.

You rested inside her for one final moment, wanting to savor her smothering warmth for as long as possible as you gave her ass a quick smack and slowly pulled out, a flowing stream of thick semen dripping out of her roughly used pussy, staining her beautiful thighs.

“H-holy shit, d-daddy, you fucked me so well,” she said, her words trembling as you slid her thong back in place and pulled her dress down as she turned around to face you.”

“You asked me to.”

“I’m going to be so sore,” Somi smiled as she leaned in and kissed your lips, her bare breasts pressing against your chest.

Your breathing resumed gradually as you wiped the sweat off your brow. You wanted to say something but were rudely interrupted by a voice from the intercom.

“Jeon Somi to the set please!”

The two of you frowned as Somi took one more step, lips locking on to yours deeply, gasping for air as they withdrew.

“You really made me a mess, daddy,” she said proudly, as she pulled her top back up, trying to fix her hair as best as she could.

“I better get cleaned up. Fuck me again after I finish up?”

“Of course, baby.”

She kissed you on the cheek as she made her exit, walking gingerly and taking slow, tired steps out of the room.

You felt a little guilty that her staff would have to put in so much extra work, but that was their problem not yours. The fact that your load would be dripping out of her for the rest of the photo shoot, just the thought putting a smirk on your face.

You pulled your pants back up, stopping by the nearest bathroom to try and fix your hair, freshening yourself up before heading back.

Somi had a lot of explaining to do.

[writefightandflightclub]

Too much information (Frankie Morales x GN reader)

Summary: you’re dating Frankie in secret, and Pope is on to you. Brunch probably isn’t the best place to put his interrogation skills to use, but do you really think that’s going to stop him?! No, me neither.

Author’s note: this is just a quick, silly, shortish blurb. Nothing special but the scene popped into my head and then my finger slipped, so here you go. It’s mainly between reader and Pope, but you are dating Frankie and he does appear.

Warnings: not really. Food mention.

GIF by @themarcusmoreno

“Is that ‘Fish’s t-shirt?” Pope asks bluntly, as he settles into the booth opposite you, the group gradually gathering for lunch. You had arrived first, and begun perusing the menu.

“Normal people might shoot for a hello,” you josh, standing and leaning over the table to greet him with a kiss on the cheek.

“Yeah, that too,” he grins. “Well, is it?”

Before you retake your seat, you take a quick look down at the garment in question. A marled-grey band shirt.

“No,” you answer adamantly, crinkling your face in confusion. “It’s not.”

“You sure?” Pope presses, and he leans in, resting on his folded arms. His stare is intense, and you suddenly feel like you’re in an interrogation. You suddenly feel very sorry indeed for his prior subjects, considering this is a mere taster of the intensity they were subjected to.

“Yes,” you say in a level voice, looking him dead in the eye.

“Hmm,” he nods, considering it, his hand rasping over his stubble. He takes a menu too, from the stash at the far-end of the booth. You hope he’s dropping the topic, but no such luck. “See. You already made one mistake,” he breezes, and you squirm in your seat. “You checked. You looked down, as if it could be Frankie’s t-shirt.”

You saw your jaw from side-to-side.

“Which I’m pretty sure it is,” he adds with a flourish of his hand, his eyes flashing with a smug pride.

“It’s not,” you snap, staring him down until he raises his hands in surrender.

“Okay.”

Finally. You look down at the menu, selecting your burger and milkshake combo. But he’s not done yet. Of course. Air seethes out out your nose. “Looks like his though. Doesn’t really fit you either. Not really your usual style,” he muses, as if ticking off a checklist in his head.

You huff, and look back up at him. “You have too much time on your hands, Pope. How’s that job-hunt coming? Or, actually, when did you last get laid? Think you need to find somewhere to direct all this excess energy.”

You should have said yes. Should have made-up an excuse about how you needed to borrow some clothes. Because it definitely is Frankie’s t-shirt.

He knows it. But if you admit it is Frankie’s t-shirt, at this point, you are admitting a whole lot more besides.

“Now now. No need to get personal.” You wish you could knock the shit-eating grin off his face. “Just answer the question.”

“This is how I wear my clothes now,” you say, gesturing down at yourself. It’s flimsy and you know it.

“Okay.”

You’re really starting to hate the way he says that.

He’s quiet for a beat, and you think he may have given up, but, to your ire, apparently not. Instead, Pope leans over the table and presses his nose right into your shoulder, taking a whiff. “Kinda smells like his detergent too.”

You pull back from him in disbelief. He recognises his detergent? “That’s fucked up, Pope. Why are you so obsessed with Frankie?”

Your comments don’t seem to rile him. Instead, Pope’s eyes flash with a sudden knowledge.

Balls. That was your second mistake. You called him “Frankie”. Not “‘Fish”. Fuck. You flare your nostrils in annoyance and only hope that Pope missed it.

“Well? Explain that. Why does it smell like... Frankie?” No chance that he missed it, then?

“Guess we use the same brand,” you dismiss, propping your chin on one of your hands as you continue to review the specials, in an attempt to obscure your face.

“Uh-huh. Okay.” You bristle. There it is again. Maybe he simply irritates all of his subjects into confessing. He’s certainly irritating enough for that to be plausible. “So, let’s recap, shall we? You dress like him now, and use his detergent? Why are you so obsessed with him?”

“He’s a role model for us all, pendejo.”

He ticks up an eyebrow, looking distinctly unimpressed by your insult.

“Pendejo?”

“And I really mean that,” you say, with a saccharine smile, even as you reach across and bat his cap from his head with a quick boop under the brim.

He half rolls his eyes at you, and yet you can tell he’s biting back a smile as he scoops it up from where it landed and places it by his side on the seat.

“So you weren’t at his place last night?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the “p” and refusing to look-up.

“Didn’t arrive together and stagger your entry to avoid being caught? Because I’m pretty sure his truck’s parked out front and yours... isn’t. And yet here you are, and here he’s not.”

Well. You don’t have an answer for that one. Not right away.

Pope grins smugly, enjoying that he’s getting under your skin.

Shit, where is Frankie? Where are the Millers? Literally anyone. Pope evidently thinks you’re the weak link while you’re alone, and you’re not doing a whole lot to prove him wrong.

“I walked here,” you say weakly.

Pope even goes so far as to dip his head under the table.

“In those boots? Don’t they kill your feet?”

Well at least he was paying attention when the boys made you walk all the way across town that time, to get to this one “must-visit” dive bar. Kinda sweet he remembered actually. Unless, of course, he simply gathers information to use it against you, during times like this, for example.

Eyes drawn away from the booth, you finally see Frankie walk through the door, and you let out a breath of relief. Still, as Pope raises a thick eyebrow at you, examining every expression on your face, you try to avoid looking at Frankie altogether, just so you don’t give anything away.

Pleasantly oblivious, Frankie comes in and settles right next to you in the booth.

“Hey,” he says brightly to the both of you, before smiling at you a little too long, and so -subtly but pointedly- you bump his knee with yours to alert him to play it a little cool. He doesn’t get the memo. Instead, he points down at your torso, without thinking. “Is that my t-shirt?”

Your eyes flutter closed to the sound of a smug, victorious laugh from Pope. Groaning, you put your head in your hands, peeking at your interrogator through your fingers. You watch him lean back in the booth, raising his arms to rest his head on his interlaced fingers, and a smug grin extending over his face.

“Fucking knew it.”

Quickly putting it together, with a gasp of breath, Frankie realises what he’s said. He quickly tries to smooth it over with some elaborate excuse, but you place your hand on his denim-clad thigh and gently shake your head. “He knows, Frankie,” you sigh. “He’s on to us. Basically interrogated me.”

There is a heated and mile-a-minute exchange between the two men in Spanish, and it sounds animated but is clearly somewhat good-natured, typical of their dynamic. Then, Frankie turns back to you. “You know how to shut him up, though?” he smiles. “Give him too much information.”

And he’s not wrong. As soon as Frankie begins to start describing a list of hypothetical activities from last night in vivid detail, Santi quickly holds his hands up in defeat. “Woah, Buddy. Alright. I get it. Fuck.”

Honestly - these two. You roll your eyes, even as you shake out a laugh.

“Hell. I need a drink,” you express, and you step away to the bar, leaving your interrogation behind for a moment.

As you look on though, it seems like poor Frankie’s interrogation is only just beginning.

“So, how long has this been happening?” Santi asks warmly.

“How long do you think?” Frankie asks out of curiosity- wanting to assess Pope’s abilities.

The man weighs it up, his hand smoothing over his stubble. “One month, give or take.”

“Three,” Frankie confirms, a hint of pride flashing in his soft, brown eyes as he realises you’ve outdone Pope, even for a little while.

In contrast though, victory is suddenly the last thing on Pope’s mind, and he’s more concerned with how damn happy his friend looks as he reveals this information. Pope mirrors Frankie’s wide, beaming smile, and he reaches across the table to deliver a few solid, congratulatory pats to his shoulder. “I’m happy for you, man.”

Frankie’s smile lingers, and he steals a sweeping glance over at you as you lean-up against the bar, his eyes shining as he takes you in.

“How’s it going between you? This a serious thing or just fucking?” Pope asks, although he could hazard a pretty safe guess.

Frankie’s hands disappear into the sleeves of his cord jacket, and his eyelashes flutter bashfully. “I’m in love, man. I’m in some deep shit.”

Santi smiles, tapping Frankie on the arm and giving him a heads-up that you’re on your way back over with the drinks.

You smile brightly at him from across the way, and Pope looks between the two of you. Frankie certainly does look like a goner, he considers.

“Plus - shit,” Frankie adds quickly, in the moment before you come back into earshot. “Seeing them in my t-shirt is Doing Things for me, man.”

“Hermano,” he chuckles. “That’s too much information.”

You arrive back to the table to the sound of Frankie’s delightfully throaty chuckle - your second favourite sound in the world (since hooking-up, you have found one noise he makes which is even better). As you slide in beside the boys, you see the doors swing as the Millers enter the establishment in tandem.

You gaze at Frankie for a few moments, and you steal a final glance back at Pope. He’s still looking at you, but now he looks satisfied, as if he’s put a final piece of the puzzle together.

You don’t know it, but Pope’s suddenly deeply happy for his friends. He has the final piece of information, and to him, it’s quite plain to see. You’re clearly in love; and you’re evidently a complete goner for Frankie too.

“Hey, Millers- did you know these two are hooking-up in secret?” Pope asks loudly as the brothers join you around the table.

Well - he’s got it partly right. You are hooking-up, but it obviously isn’t a secret anymore.

You could care less.

When Frankie takes your hand under the table, giving it a little squeeze, you can’t help the smile which lights your face. Suddenly, you can’t help wanting to tell the whole world that Frankie is your man. And, what better people to begin with than your squad?

[junghelioseok]

clandestine. | 04

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 6.5k [4/6]

notes: we finally have a set chapter count! did this fic really need to be 6 chapters? absolutely not, but here we are! i’m hoping to have this fella finished up in the next month or so, but we’ll see how that goes given my track record. happy new year, everyone!

warnings: a little underedited bc i’m lazy, shower sex!!! mild? exhibitionist tendencies??? reader is dumb and jungkook is slutty, but what else is new 🤷🏻‍♀️

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 

“I swear to god, I am going to amputate your arm with a rusty hacksaw if you elbow me one more time.”

Undeterred, your brother prods you again, pouting at you from his spot in the driver’s seat. “I just want another chip, Noona. Don’t be so mean.”

“Are you a baby bird?” you ask in disbelief, gaping at the way he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue. “Seriously, I’m not feeding you. Get your own chips if you want them so badly.”

“But I’ve gotta keep both hands on the wheel,” he replies cheekily. “Ten and two positions, at all times.”

You frown. “Didn’t they change it to nine and three?” Nonetheless, you reluctantly reach into the bag in your lap, pulling out a potato chip and delivering it to his waiting mouth. “Next one’s going straight into your nose,” you warn as he happily crunches down on the snack.

Jimin simply offers you a beatific grin in between chews. “Love you too.”

“Nope, I changed my mind. Next one’s going up your ass.”

Your brother has long since grown used to your threats. “Kinky,” he chuckles as he merges smoothly into the next lane over. The song on the radio shifts into something more upbeat, and Jungkook is quick to start humming along under his breath from his spot in the seat behind you. Within minutes, it’s morphed into a singalong, and the offkey warbling of all seven passengers—no matter how dissonant—is a perfect soundtrack for the remainder of the drive.

The beach, when you arrive, is awash with tourists and locals alike, all clamoring to lay claim to a prime stretch of sand and a decent parking space. Jimin manages to snag a spot just as someone else is pulling out, and the rest of you are quick to disembark and scope out the beach for somewhere to set up camp. Plopping your bag down onto the sand, you rifle through it until you find your sunscreen, mentally patting yourself on the back for buying the spray instead of the cream.

“Can I borrow that when you’re done, Noona?” Taehyung asks, watching you wrench off the cap.

You nod, squinting against the sunlight. “Sure. As long as you help me get my entire back.”

“Deal.”

Flashing him a grateful smile, you shimmy out of your shorts and begin applying sunscreen to your arms and legs. Taehyung peels off his t-shirt, and you spray him down too, making sure to coat his entire back before he takes the bottle and does the same to you.

“I might have gone a little overboard,” he admits once he’s done, capping the bottle and tossing it back into your bag. Warm hands settle onto your exposed shoulder blades, deft fingertips rubbing the excess product into your skin. “There, that should do it. All better.”

“Thanks, Tae.” You turn around and reach out, wiping at a stray fleck of the white lotion on his bicep. “You’ve got a little bit here too, hang on—“

“Mind if I borrow this?”

You turn at the sound of Jungkook’s voice. The dark-haired young man is standing there with your sunscreen in hand, his gaze zeroed in on the way your fingertips linger on Taehyung’s bare skin. Awkwardly, you pull away and nod, hoping that neither of them can hear your heart pounding erratically against your ribcage.

“Yeah. Sure. It’s all yours.”

Jungkook grabs his white t-shirt by the collar, tugging it up and over his head in one smooth motion, and you swallow at the way his taut abdomen flexes as he tosses it aside. “You’ll help me get my back too, won’t you, Noona?”

You nod, moving before he can even finish his sentence. Your feet carry you across the sandy ground on autopilot, and Jungkook exhales audibly as your palms smooth along the golden expanse of his muscular back, dipping down to the waistband of his black swim trunks. Ever since his visit to your bedroom last night, you’ve been itching to touch him—to feel every last inch of him. It’s impossible with your watchful brother and group of nosy friends hovering around though, so you settle for this—rubbing sunscreen into his warm skin while he sprays down his arms and legs.

“Thanks, princess,” he murmurs once you’re done, soft enough so that only you can hear and raising gooseflesh on the back of your neck. “Maybe next time, you’ll let me repay the favor.”

Then Yugyeom is calling his name, and Jungkook sprints down to the shoreline to join his friend in the crashing surf, his face creasing with laughter. Each time he emerges from the waves, droplets cling to his skin like glistening diamonds in the sunlight. It’s impossible to look away from the sight, and your tongue darts out to moisten your lips as you watch water drip off his hair and down his nape, pooling in his collarbones before he shakes his head like a dog and sends it spraying in all directions.

All that sunscreen is going to waste, a tiny voice in your head points out, but it’s hard to worry about that when you’re too busy following the path of the water streaming down past his dusky nipples to the ridges of his abdomen. And it’s almost as if he feels your gaze on him, because he’s suddenly staring right back at you, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

“Come on, Noona,” he calls, raking a hand through his drenched hair. “The water’s fine. Don’t make me drag you in.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you call back, immediately regretting it when something equal parts mischievous and dangerous flashes across his face. There’s a glint in his eye that wasn’t there before, and you back away nervously as he emerges from the waves and saunters toward you. “Jungkook—”

“Yes?” he asks, his voice dropping down into a low purr. “What is it, princess?”

You edge around the towel that you’ve laid out in the sand, as if such a flimsy barrier could stop him in any way. “Just—just don’t dunk me under,” you plead.

Jungkook looks genuinely offended by that. “I would never,” he says, laying a hand over his heart and grabbing yours with his free one. “Now come on—let’s get you wet.”

You groan at the innuendo and try to tug free from his grip, but Jungkook only tightens his grasp, cackling the whole way down to the water.

///

The sun is just beginning to set, streaking the blue sky through with wispy strands of orange and gold, when Jimin raises his hand and declares it dinner time. For the past two hours, you’ve all been engrossed in a very tight three-on-three volleyball match with Jimin serving as referee, and upon hearing your brother’s declaration, Minho looks about ready to chuck the ball into the ocean.

“Dude, are you fucking serious? We’re literally two points from winning!” He gestures wildly at an invisible scoreboard only he can see. “No way we’re stopping here. I refuse on principle.”

“Yeah, I wanna see who the real winner is, too,” Jungkook drawls from the other end of the court, where he’s flanked on either side by Taehyung and Yugyeom. “I mean, we’ve been leading for most of the tournament, so…”

Minho scowls. “And we’re about to win the whole damn thing. Just you wait, Jeon.”

Behind him, you and Taemin exchange helpless glances. It isn’t the first time you’ve seen Jungkook and Minho squabble over the years, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. Both possess a razor sharp competitive streak and a certain pigheadedness that only emerges when it comes to athletic endeavors, and luckily, your brother knows this just as well as you do. Heaving a sigh, Jimin wearily gestures for them to continue, resuming his post at the end of the net. “Fine, fine,” he mutters. “Next point wins.”

On the other side of the net, Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “I’m good with that if you are.”

“Oh, I’m good,” Minho retorts. “It’s our serve. You ready?”

Jungkook smirks. “Bring it on.”

Minho cracks his knuckles and tosses the ball over to you for the serve. “All right then, let’s fucking do this.”

You sigh. Taking a deep breath, you heft up the ball, testing its weight before hitting it smoothly over the net. Yugyeom jumps up to intercept, batting it back over to your side, and Minho attempts to spike it back and into the sand. Unfortunately, Jungkook is too quick, and dives down to bump it back over to you. The back and forth continues like this for a while—you see Jimin boredly scrolling on his phone out of the corner of your eye—and you’re strongly considering calling it quits when Jungkook smashes the ball over the net and into the ground right at Minho’s feet.

“And that’s game,” he declares proudly, raking his sweaty hair off his forehead with a triumphant grin.

“Are you finally done?” Jimin asks, rolling his eyes and pocketing his phone. “Thank god. Can we eat now?”

Jungkook claps him on the back in affirmation, ignoring Minho’s loud, adamant protests that your team still technically won. Together, you head back to where your towels and bags sit in the sand, grabbing bottles of chilled water out of the cooler and fishing for snacks. Jimin pulls a package of hot dogs out while Taehyung rips open a bag of chips, and you follow their lead and grab the hamburger patties and buns. “Huh, I swear I bought ketchup,” you mumble to yourself as you rummage through the half-melted ice in the cooler. “Is it not in here?”

“I have it.” Jungkook materializes at your side, proffering the little red bottle. He’s pulled his white t-shirt back on, the material a stark contrast to his tanned skin, and you silently rise to your feet to take it when a sudden wave of lightheadedness rushes over you and sends the world spinning.

“Whoa,” you gasp, swaying on your feet. “Oh, god.”

Jungkook frowns and drops the ketchup bottle, steadying you until most of your weight is leaned against him. “Noona? Are you okay?”

You swallow, hard, and try to shake the unexpected bout of dizziness away. “I don’t know. Got dizzy, all of a sudden. I think I might have stood up too fast?”

Gently, Jungkook presses the back of his hand against your forehead. “You feel pretty warm,” he murmurs. “Have you had enough water today?”

“I thought I drank plenty, but maybe not,” you admit, and he nods decisively and gestures for you to follow him.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s grab some water and go somewhere quiet so you can rest. Minho isn’t going to shut up about that match anytime soon, and it’s cooler down by the water.”

You laugh weakly. “We did technically win, you know. We had one more point than you guys.”

“God, not you too,” Jungkook sighs, casting you a playful look over his shoulder as he digs two bottles of water out from the cooler. He uncaps one and hands it over before taking a swig out of his, and you take a grateful sip, relishing in the cool liquid that trickles down your throat.

Nearby, your brother and the rest of the boys have commandeered one of several firepits scattered around the edges of the beach. They’re piling up pieces of driftwood and some of the long, tall sea grass that Taehyung has found, and Jungkook waves at them as he slowly guides you toward the ocean with a hand on your back. “We’re gonna go find some more wood!” he calls, and Jimin raises a hand in acknowledgment before turning back to the firepit.

Water laps gently at your toes as you and Jungkook walk along the shore, washing away all traces of your footprints. The sun dips below the horizon at last, illuminating the sky in one last burst of red and orange and gold that slowly fades into deep purples and blues as night falls. The temperature dips as the moon ascends to her lofty throne, accompanied by a smattering of starry pinpricks. Most of the beachgoers have packed up and left by this point, and here, with nothing but Jungkook’s quiet, familiar presence and the lapping waves, you feel more at peace than you have in a long time.

“You know, I’m really glad I came this weekend,” you say softly, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between the two of you. Your gaze drops down to your toes, fixing your attention on a pearly white seashell that’s sticking out from the wet sand. “I think you were right—I really did need a break from everything.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t quite catch that,” Jungkook says, swirling his pinky in his ear. “Could you say it again? Something about me being right?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

Jungkook casts a quick look over his shoulder, and when you follow the trajectory of his gaze, you notice just how far you’ve gotten from the firepit where the others are sitting. Darkness has settled over the beach, the sand painted a wan silver from the light of the moon, and you flinch when Jungkook’s hand finds its way around yours.

“Jungkook—” you begin, but trail off when he twines your fingers together and gives your hand a squeeze.

“They can’t see us, Noona,” he murmurs. “Relax.”

Easier said than done, you want to say. Nevertheless, you suck in a deep breath and take another sip from your water bottle, trying to ignore the way Jungkook swings your interlocked hands between you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Shouldn’t—shouldn’t we be trying to find more driftwood?” you ask after several long seconds have dragged by. “We need way more if we’re gonna keep the fire going.”

Jungkook hums softly and veers inland, until the sand beneath your feet is dry and starts sticking to your wet toes. You come across a few scattered pieces of wood, dried out by the sun, and tuck them beneath your arm. Likewise, Jungkook gathers a few pieces of his own, hefting them up before reaching out to take your hand once more. His fingers slot all too comfortably into the spaces between yours, and your heart stutters a few times in your chest before plunking down into your churning stomach.

Nighttime has well and truly settled over the beach by the time you and Jungkook start picking your way back over to rejoin the group around the firepit. You pull your hand out of Jungkook’s well before you reach the ring of orange light that the flames cast across the sand, your arm now swinging free at your side and your fingers cold from the loss of his warmth. Silently, you hasten your pace and plop down onto the towel that Jimin has spread out, stretching out your legs toward the fire and wiggling your toes.

“Where have you guys been?” Jimin asks curiously. “You just kinda wandered off.”

“Getting more driftwood,” you reply, gesturing at the small pile you’ve dropped at the edge of the towel. “We told you that’s where we were going.”

Jimin frowns for a few seconds before the memory resurfaces. “Oh, right. I forgot.”

Jungkook snorts and takes a seat beside you, dropping his stack of driftwood on top of yours. “Dumbass.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Jimin retorts.

“You’re both dumbasses,” you sigh.

The fire crackles merrily, sending orange sparks up into the velvety black sky. There’s a grill situated over the flames, loaded with hamburger patties and hot dogs, and you watch as Jimin tears open a bag of hot dog buns and begins to place them around the edges.

“Hey, can you throw me the hamburger buns?” he asks you. “I wanna try toasting them.”

“You’re gonna burn them,” you tell him flatly. Nonetheless, you locate the second bag and toss it over, watching as he makes more room on the grill.

Dinner is a loud, chaotic affair, filled with laughter and conversation and plenty of booze to go around. Jimin has procured a flask of whiskey from somewhere in his clothing—an impressive feat in and of itself, considering he’s only wearing swim trunks and a thin blue t-shirt. You wave him off when he offers you a sip, and he shrugs and throws back a generous swallow himself. Then he offers it to Jungkook, who shakes his head and raises his water bottle. “Designated driver,” he says. “I’m sticking to water tonight.”

Curiously, you glance over at him. “You don’t have to do that. I wasn’t planning on drinking, so I can drive us back.”

“With the way you were looking earlier?” Jungkook fixes you with a look of pure disbelief. “Not a chance. Besides, we’re going back to the real world tomorrow, and the last thing I need is to be hungover. I have to get us back home in one piece, not to mention the entire menu I still have to memorize for work.”

You hum. Jungkook has mentioned his new job a few times—a summer stint working as a server at a new restaurant opened by a family friend named Seokjin. “Right, I remember you saying that. You start on Monday, don’t you?”

“Dinner shift,” Jungkook confirms. “I stole a whole bunch of pens from Junghyun’s room the other day in preparation. Jin said I’d probably end up losing two-thirds of them by the end of the week.”

“That sounds about right,” you tell him with a laugh. “Some guy stole my favorite pen last summer when I was working at that diner on Main. Lesson learned, forever.”

Jungkook laughs. “Yeah, I bet.”

You grin. “But, hey, seriously. If you need me to quiz you on that menu, I’ve got time to spare.”

“Honestly, I might take you up on that offer. I have flash cards, and everything.” He uncaps his water bottle and takes a long sip, his throat bobbing with each swallow, before glancing back over at you. “What about you? You ready for your internship?”

You sigh and offer him a helpless little shrug. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, to be honest. I don’t think I’m going to stop stressing about it until I get through my first day. The entire thing still doesn’t feel real.”

“I get that,” Jungkook hums. “Well, I can imagine it, at least. I won’t pretend to know exactly what you’re going through, since I’ve never had an adult job, but—“ He shrugs a shoulder halfheartedly. “I can kind of relate, I guess.”

“All jobs suck a little bit,” you tell him, and Jungkook lets out a derisive huff of agreement.

“I’ll drink to that,” he says, and the two of you tap your water bottles together before rejoining the conversation with the rest of your friends.

///

The drive back to the lake house is shorter than you remember it being—though that might be because you spend most of it watching Jungkook drive. He steers with one hand slung carelessly over the wheel, his expression relaxed as he sings along to whatever pop hit plays on the radio. Unloading the car is a team effort, though you hear no shortage of complaints from Jimin as he heaves the cooler over the threshold of the house before collapsing atop it in a pile of limp limbs.

“Thanks for leaving me to carry this thing by myself,” he snarks, not even bothering to raise his head. “Really appreciate it.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Taehyung scoffs, tossing a game console at him. “Have a beer and pick something to play. We’re waiting on you.”

You watch as your brother immediately hops up and darts over to join the rest of the boys lounging in the living room, fighting back the sudden wave of exhaustion that washes over you. “I think I’m going to head to bed,” you tell them, hiding a yawn behind your hand. “Goodnight, guys.”

A chorus of goodnights and see you in the mornings rings out in response, and you wave before heading down the hall to your room and into the adjoining bathroom. Your hair is crusty from being submerged in the salty water of the ocean, and a shower to rejuvenate your dehydrated skin is just what you need. Turning on the tap, you wait until it’s flowing warm before stripping out of your clothes and tossing them onto your bed to deal with later. Then you step into the shower and tilt your head back, letting the water stream down your face and soak into your hair.

You’re midway through squeezing a generous dollop of shampoo into your palm when there’s a soft knock on the door. “Noona?” Jungkook’s voice filters through the sound of rushing water, low and lilting like a song. “You left kinda fast. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

You cap the shampoo bottle and replace it on the shelf, peering out from behind the shower curtain. “I’m fine,” you call, hesitating before you steel your nerves and continue. “You can come in, if you want. I don’t like yelling through the door.”

Slowly, the bathroom door eases open, revealing Jungkook standing in his and Jimin’s shared bedroom. His brown eyes are wide as he takes in the sight before him, and you have no doubt that he’s thinking about just what the palm tree patterned curtain is hiding from his view. Your lip finds its way between your teeth when you notice him shuffle his feet awkwardly for a moment before stepping a little closer to where you’re standing beneath the spray, his mouth opening to speak.

“Join me?”

The invitation slips past your lips, unbidden, but you have no intention of taking it back. Not when Jungkook’s gaze darkens to obsidian at those two simple words, his mouth snapping shut and his hands already reaching for the hem of his white t-shirt. Not when he strips it off in one smooth motion to reveal all the dips and ridges of his abdomen, his skin golden even under the harsh fluorescent bathroom lights. And certainly not when he pulls aside the shower curtain and joins you beneath the spray, his dark eyes appreciatively raking up and down your bare figure.

“Hey,” he says, his voice a low purr.

“Hi,” you respond, reaching out and trailing a fingertip down his chest.

And then you’re dropping down to your knees, your tongue darting out to tease at the tip of his already rising cock. One hand finds its way to his balls while the other traces the line of his pelvic bone, and you smirk when you feel him let out a shuddery breath.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Someone’s eager.”

You wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, humming, and Jungkook’s fingers fly into your dampened hair. “Oh, fuck. You’re really trying to kill me, huh, princess?” he asks, and you respond by taking a little more of him into your mouth, laving at the vein running along the underside of his length before hollowing your cheeks. Jungkook throws his head back, a deep groan escaping his parted lips, and you preen under his encouragement as he urges you to take him deeper.

You’ve just begun to settle into a rhythm—figuring out exactly how much pressure he likes and what makes his hips buck—when he suddenly pushes you away. “Jung—” you begin, only to have him silence you with a searing kiss, grabbing you around the waist and hauling you to your feet.

“Wanna fuck you properly,” he rasps. His hand finds its way between your legs, experimental fingers sliding through the wetness that’s gathered there, and your cheeks heat up when he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean. “Just let me go grab a condom,” he whispers urgently. “Don’t move a muscle, okay? I’ll be righ—”

You silence him with a hard kiss. “Don’t,” you mumble. “I’m clean. Are you?”

Jungkook nods slowly, his eyes wide. “Does that mean… I mean, are you…?”

“I’m on the pill,” you murmur. “Fuck me raw, Jungkook.”

A sharp gasp escapes you when Jungkook cages you against the cool tiled wall of the shower, the slick surface dampened by the spray from the showerhead. He grabs ahold of your thigh and hoists it up to wrap around his waist, and you’ve never been more thankful for the ugly fish patterned shower mat that your mom insisted on putting down to prevent slipping. Jungkook nestles into the newly created space between your legs, his cock hot and slick against your center, and you keen when he grinds against you in a slow, deliberate motion.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, his breath hot against your cheek. “Feel how hard you get me, Noona?”

“God, Jungkook,” you breathe back. “Just fuck me already, will you?”

His answering chuckle sends a shiver from your toes to your crown. “So needy,” he murmurs, his hand sliding from your thigh to your hip. His mouth seeks out yours as he positions the head of his cock at your entrance, meeting little resistance as he slowly begins pushing inside. Your walls part willingly for him and your lips do too—his questing tongue slipping inside when you moan and beginning his seemingly endless task of mapping out every corner of your mouth.

“God, I forgot how big you are,” you breathe when he bottoms out—the entirety of his hot, heavy length sheathed within your walls. Your head falls back against the tile as he rolls his hips experimentally, a moan that sounds vaguely like Jungkook’s name escaping your lips. Your arms come up to brace on his shoulders as he picks up his pace, but he intercepts one of your hands and twines your fingers together, settling them onto the wall just to the left of your head. His other hand returns to your thigh to keep you stable and spread out for his increasingly harsh thrusts, and you whimper helplessly in his ironclad grip.

“That’s it,” he whispers, groaning when you clench around him. “God, you’re so fucking tight, princess.”

“Fuck me open, then,” you moan back, squeezing his hand and meeting his next thrust with one of your own. Jungkook’s breathing stutters, and you laugh breathlessly at the way his mouth falls open at the spike of pleasure. Emboldened, you grind against him, the spray from the shower easing the movement. “Jungkook, please.”

He chuckles hoarsely. “Careful what you wish for,” he purrs against the shell of your ear, punctuating the warning with a harsh roll of his hips that sends all remaining thought flying out of your head. In this moment, there’s only Jungkook—his dark hair dampened and dripping, the spray from the showerhead slicking his chest and pooling in his clavicle before trailing down each ridge and dip of his honeyed skin. His lips find yours again, and you sigh into the kiss as he begins to fuck you in earnest.

“Hey, Jungkook! You in there?”

Your eyes fly open at the new voice, your body tensing when there are several loud bangs on the door. Jungkook freezes mid-thrust with an expression that can only be described as a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, his throat bobbing nervously as he fights to find a response. You can practically see the gears whirring in his brain, and shove uselessly at his chest in an attempt to escape his steely embrace.

“That’s Jimin,” you hiss urgently, turning his face toward yours and prodding his cheek until his gaze refocuses. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

“Dude.” Jimin’s voice is laced with irritation. “I wanna brush my teeth! What the hell are you doing in there?”

Jungkook hesitates, glancing between you and the closed bathroom door. Then he inhales deeply, pressing a light kiss to your furrowed forehead before pulling the shower curtain closed, ensuring there are no gaps. “I got you,” he murmurs softly, his brown eyes boring into yours. “Don’t worry, okay?”

Your eyes flutter shut at the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin, but they fly open again when Jungkook breaks away and yells for Jimin to come in. Warm palms slide soothingly down your sides, but that doesn’t stop you from tensing up when the bathroom door creaks open, your brother’s soft footsteps approaching the flimsy palm tree patterned curtain.

“Have you been showering this whole time? Jeez. Leave some hot water for the rest of us, will you?”

Jungkook chuckles. Ever so slowly, he pushes forward until he’s fully seated inside you again, and you do your best to level a glare at him even as pleasure flares at the base of your spine. “There’s plenty to go around,” he says. “Relax.”

You get the distinct feeling that he’s not just addressing Jimin anymore. Jungkook pulls back until only the top of his cock remains nestled in your folds, and you open your mouth to berate him but all that comes out is a low moan when he sinks back inside you in one swift push.

On the other side of the curtain, you hear the faucet turn on. “Man, I can’t believe we leave tomorrow,” Jimin says over the sound of running water. “The weekend flew by.”

“Mmm,” Jungkook hums, brushing a thumb across your clit. The pace he’s set is slow and deep, and is made all the more sensual by the steam that’s steadily building up in the small room. You try once more to push him away—to quell the growing ache between your legs—but it’s all in vain as he chuckles softly into the crook of your neck, his bare shoulders quaking. “I got you, princess,” he murmurs, his voice a wicked little whisper that’s immediately lost in the spray of water. “Just let me take care of you, yeah?”

You don’t have a chance to answer. Jimin starts speaking again, this time accompanied by the sound of toothbrush bristles scrubbing against his teeth. “I’m starting up at the studio as soon as we get back—isn’t that crazy? I mean, I’ve never taught anyone how to dance before. Not really. Not for real.”

Jungkook snaps his hips up so sharply that you nearly mewl in surprise, forced to bite down into his meaty shoulder to muffle the noises that threaten to escape from your throat. “You’re a great tutor, man,” he says, his voice steady even as he resumes his slow, lazy thrusts, his cock dragging along your fluttering walls. “You’ve been helping people with math for, what, two years? What makes you think it’ll be any different with dancing?”

Jimin spits into the sink and sighs. “I don’t know. It’s scarier because there’ll be more people, I guess. Tutoring is one on one, y’know? And at the studio, I’ll have a full class of people watching me. Every single move I make, they’ll be looking at. That’s fucking terrifying to think about.”

Slowly, Jungkook’s hips still, his cock buried to the hilt in your cunt. Your heartbeat drums in your ears, backed by the relentless spray from the showerhead, and Jungkook leans down to plant a wet kiss on your cheek, his hair dripping.

“You’re a great dancer, Jimin,” he says once he’s pulled back and straightened back up to his full height. “Best one I know. You’re also one of the smartest people I know, but right now, you’re being really fucking dumb.”

There’s a clatter that sounds like a plastic toothbrush being dropped into the sink, and Jimin lets out an affronted squeak. “Hey!”

Jungkook just chuckles, his shoulders quaking. “It’s true,” he says easily. “Seriously, man. You don’t have a thing to worry about. You’re gonna kick ass out there, and your class is gonna be awesome. You’re already, what, almost maxed out on the number of registrants? You’re already killing it.”

Your brother lets out an unintelligible grumble on the other side of the shower curtain, but you can still hear the smile in his voice no matter how hard he tries to mask it. “All right, you fucking sap,” Jimin says at last, his soft footsteps padding toward the door. “Hurry up and get out of there, yeah? You’re really gonna use up all the hot water.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and you immediately smack Jungkook in the middle of his stupidly toned chest. “Oh my god!” you hiss. “Are you kidding me right now, Jeon? We could’ve been caught!”

“But we weren’t,” Jungkook replies easily, shaking his dampened hair out of his face and fixing you with an indolent little smirk. “So why don’t you be a good girl and cum for me now?”

///

The next morning brings with it a whirlwind of frenzied packing, and you mentally congratulate yourself for preemptively gathering all of your belongings together last night. Minho is wandering every last inch of the house with a piece of half-eaten toast dangling from his mouth, and you can hear Taehyung in the distance asking if anyone’s seen his strawberry body wash. Jungkook is seated on the floor near the front door, his brows furrowed and his lower lip jutting out in a pout as he fights to close the zipper of his suitcase.

“Got it!” he exclaims after a few seconds, triumphant. “Where’s your stuff, Noona? I’m gonna load the car.”

You begin to stand up from your spot on the couch. “It’s in my room, let me go get—”

Jungkook is on his feet and halfway down the hall before you can even finish your sentence. He returns a moment later with your luggage in tow, shooting you a grin and a wink as he passes by. “I got you, princess,” he murmurs. “Remember?”

Of course you do. You remember like it was yesterday—because, well, it was yesterday and you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. You remember the moment you shared at the beach and the way his hand felt so right wrapped around your own. You remember the way you’d dropped to your knees for him so readily in the shower last night. And you definitely remember the way he’d fucked you afterward—slow and deep in the best possible way, even with your brother’s untimely interruption.

After what feels like an eternity, both cars are finally packed and ready to go. You bid goodbye to the boys who are riding with Jimin, promising to stay in touch, before climbing into the passenger seat of Jungkook’s beat-up sedan. Jungkook himself is already lounging behind the wheel, his sunglasses perched low on his nose as he fiddles with his phone. He looks up at your entrance and flashes you a smile, tapping his screen a few more times before holding it up so you can see.

“I changed your contact photo,” he says. “Like it?”

You peer at his phone, and something in your chest clenches when you see the photo he’s selected. You’re on the beach beside the volleyball net, illuminated by the setting sun. The sky is streaked through with pink and orange behind you, but through some editing magic, Jungkook has made it so that you are glowing even brighter in the foreground—with laughter etched across your face and the wind in your hair. It’s a beautiful photograph, and you tell him so, unable to contain the dangerously warm affection blossoming in your chest.

“I love it,” you say. “I usually don’t like having my photo taken, but wow. You have a talent for this.”

Jungkook’s smile grows. “I have a pretty muse,” he replies, and your cheeks warm.

The door to the backseat opens with a bang, and you nearly jump out of your skin at the sudden sound. “Yo,” Yugyeom says, plopping down and buckling his seatbelt. “We ready to roll?”

Jungkook scowls and puts his phone back into his pocket. “Careful with the door, man. I need this thing to last through the summer.”

Yugyeom puts his hands up in apology, and Jungkook turns back to face the front, starting the ignition with a flick of his wrist. The engine sputters to life, and Jungkook waits for Jimin to pull out first before following after him, tailing the van out of the driveway and onto the winding road that will take you back into the city.

“Music?” you ask, gesturing at the stereo.

“Go for it,” Jungkook replies. “You want my phone so you can put on the roadtrip mix?”

“Sure.”

With the help of the upbeat music and Jungkook’s tendency to drive just a touch over the speed limit, you make it to the winding roads of Yugyeom’s neighborhood in what must be record time. “You missed the turn,” Yugyeom says lazily from where he’s sprawled across the entire backseat. “Turn left here—we can circle around and approach from the other side.”

Two more turns and a descent down a steep hill later, Jungkook manages to successfully drop Yugyeom off at his house. The drive across town takes no time at all, and before long, you’re cruising into your neighborhood, coasting past Jungkook’s driveway and straight into yours.

“Looks like we beat Jimin back,” you remark, looking at the empty spot where the van usually sits.

Jungkook hums. “Makes sense. He has more people to drop off.”

“Mm. Yeah.”

The sudden awkwardness that falls doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Clearing your throat, you reach for your purse, grabbing it from where it’s fallen to the ground near your feet. “I guess I’ll see you around then,” you begin, turning to open the door.

A strong hand wraps around your wrist, forcing you back into your seat. “Is that it?” Jungkook asks, and there’s an edge of something you can’t quite place in his voice. “Are you gonna go back to pretending like there’s nothing between us?”

You shake him free. “There isn’t anything between us,” you whisper. “We’re not on vacation anymore, Jungkook. We’re back home. Back to real life. We can’t do—whatever it is that we’ve been doing.”

“But you’re attracted to me,” Jungkook growls. “You like me. So why do you keep running away?”

A sigh escapes you. “Jungkook, it doesn’t matter if I like you or no—”

He interrupts before you can even finish your sentence. “Yes it does. It’s the only thing that matters.” And then he’s pulling you into his chest, taking advantage of your skewed sense of balance, and crushing his mouth to yours.

This kiss is different from the others you’ve shared so far. It’s hungry and passionate, and yet it’s tinged with something else—something that feels strangely akin to desperation. Jungkook kisses you with urgency, and it’s so raw and unbridled that it steals the very breath from your lungs and leaves you lightheaded.

Jungkook doesn’t say a word when he pulls away. Instead, he reaches down, popping the handle that opens the trunk and stepping out to pull your suitcase from within. Silently, he presses the handle into your hand.

And then he’s turning—climbing back into his car and leaving you with nothing but the memory of his lips and a whirlwind of thoughts in your mind.

[abbatoirablaze]

First Impressions

Word Count: 890

Just a little drabble of the first impressions Bucky's girlfriend made on Steve Rogers at Tony Stark's party

“Why not,” Steve shrugged, looking at the alcohol. Grabbing the beer he made his way over to the pool table, where you were starting a new game with Peter. You were playful, flirtatious even as you bent over, giving him the perfect view of the swell of your ass, hidden only under the thin fabric of your little black dress. He held back a groan as he stepped up to the platform the table was on. When you stood back up, letting Peter take his shot, his hand found it’s way to the small of your back, as he placed the new bottle beside you, “Nat asked me to drop this off. I’m Steve.”

“I know,” you replied simply, sending him a wink. You took a swig from the bottle and turned your attention back to Peter, “stripes or solids?”

“Solids!”

“Spidey with the stripes,” you giggled. You bent over again, completely ignoring that Steve was still behind you, and your ass brushed against his crotch. After he didn’t move, you looked back, your doe eyes staring a hole through his soul, “uhm, Cap…you may want to back up…”

Steve blushed, taking a few unwanted steps away from the warmth of your body. He looked at Peter and the younger superhero gave him a small smile through pursed lips, “you know…maybe cap will be willing to finish the game with you…I think I needed to help Mr. Stark with a few things.”

“Oh.”

“Not that I don’t want to hang out with you,” Peter said nervously, passing the stick to Steve, “I-I just…I should go check up and see if I’m needed. Superhero stuff. You know?”

Before you could respond, Peter had already gotten himself lost in the crowd of the party. You sighed, “ditched twice in one night.”

“I won’t make it three if you don’t want me to.”

You gave Steve a soft smile, “I don’t know…superhero duties may come a knocking.”

“There’s plenty of us here…someone else can get it, I’m sure,” he smiled in response, “you look like you need someone to unwind with.”

“Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

Steve blushed as you sunk another ball into one of the pockets. As your eyes flickered to his, you kept his gaze when you sank another shot.

Steve had to remain composed as a shiver went down his spine. Your eyes were seeing right through him, and god, did he find himself craving you even more. With every shot you and he exchanged, it felt like he was fighting the urge to keep you bent over the table and take you in front of everyone at the stupid party Tony insisted on having.

But he started finding that he didn’t mind the party anymore with every shot you took either.

It gave him time to focus on the little things about you. How you bit your tongue ever so slightly when you tried to focus on a shot and it peeked through the cherry lip you had painted on. How you would shift on your feet as you worked out the shot in your head when he was lining his own shot up. How you bit your lip and looked at him before you would bend over and take your own shot.

You were driving him wild.

And it seemed like you were hardly even trying.

When you sank the last ball into the corner pocket, you were quick to thank him for the game, stating that you had to go. And then before he could respond, you disappeared into the throng of people. A little while later, Steve found himself back at the bar, talking to Nat, annoyed with the party once again.

“Where’d your dream girl go?”

“Lost in the sea of Tony’s people,” Steve groaned, “probably gone by now.”

“Nat, two beers?”

Steve turned to see his best friend, arm around a dame, their lips locked. Steve cleared his throat, and Bucky backed away from his date, turning to him, “hey punk. What are you doing over here by the bar?”

“He lost his dream girl after she kicked his ass in a game of pool,” Nat smirked, sending Steve a wink. He furrowed his brow at her and she bit her lip, “right, Rogers?”

“You met someone?” he asked hopefully, “that’s great, punk…track her down. A dame that caught your eye must be something special.”

“Oh she most certainly is.”

Both Bucky and Steve looked at Nat and she shook her head.

“Doesn’t matter…” Steve replied quickly, shaking his head, “you brought a date tonight?”

“Yeah,” Bucky smiled, pulling you from behind him. Steve’s jaw dropped and he understood now, why Nat was laughing, “this is my girl. Been seeing her for a while now…”

“Two years, James. And I’m just now getting to meet your friends.” you reminded him softly, placing a hand over his chest. And that’s when Steve noticed Buck’s dog tags hanging around her neck.

How had he missed those fucking dog tags?

“My friends are intense,” he chuckled, pulling your hand up to his lips and kissing it, “Doll, this is Steve, my best friend…he’s the one I was telling you about this morning over breakfast.”

“Nice to formally meet you, Steve,” you smiled, biting your lip, “Bucky’s told me so much about you.”

[axolotlsauce]

Hiya there!! I came from @memesforcreators, to ask about the magical girls hehe

Well I guess it is time to talk about the magical girls then!

Introducing: Sentinels’ Pride

As with all the best things, there’s a veritable hotpot stew of inspirations behind these, but the main ones that are already things that you can read, and the ones id cite if I were pitching this to some executive, are Dragon Ball Z, Sailor Moon and Lucky Star. Yes, my goal is to someday create the ultimate magical girls shoenen battle manga.

Oh also all the characters are trans

In this world, there’s an organisation like an extradimensional magical government that creates magical girls (and guys, but the genre is called magical girls so I’ll be generally referring to them as magical girls) in order to protect the world from primal forces of myths and monsters that seek to reclaim the earth. They’re kind of like a magical SCP foundation. This organisation has a vault in which they contain magic itself, stored in the form of elements, abstract concepts, or even simple words: this magic was taken from the gods and monsters that the organisation has defeated. Their magical girls, called sentinels, are given these powers by cute little animal mascot creatures called arbiters. In addition, sentinels receive “magical bodies” which essentially operate under dragon ball Z logic, in that they can be physically trained to superhuman levels with no upper cap, and have the capacity to transform into more powerful states; like super saiyan but with a classic magical girl transformation and progressively more intricate outfits. The appearance of the sentinels’ new bodies manifests based on their inner desires, meaning it will always be the gender that they identify with, rather than their assigned gender; the “contract” signed by sentinels is that they agree to fight in exchange for gender-affirming bodies. 

When a Sentinel is given magic, they are assigned a sort of title in the format of “Sentinel _______”. The word in the blank spot defines their power. Sentinels are given some ubiquitous magical abilities, some of which are passive, including enhanced strength and durability, while others are skills that must be learned such as flight or combat spells. In addition, the specific source of their magic grants them particular abilities; for instance, sentinel aqua, who was imbued with the magic taken from Pontus, has power over all water, and can use water magic. Fairly simple. 

Now not to go all grimdark magical girls on you, but I’m just saying that Maaaaybe this dubious organisation has some ulterior motives? and PERHAPS they might not tell their recruits everything in advance? Perchance, even, there is a reason that they target dysphoric trans kids who will be reluctant to go back to their old lives rather than appealing to the universal desire of all people to have magical powers, kick ass and look cute doing it? I mean, doesn’t that just sound like something the us military would try? (If they ever attempt to offer trans healthcare in exchange for enlisting this counts as a prediction. Just get away from me with that dodgeball apollo.)

I realise that makes it sound kind of dark but that’s not the overall tone of the story, it’s mainly just about a group of sentinels who get given powers way stronger than they should have and they just kind of hang out and sometimes shit goes down. i wanna go into detail but im lazy and it already took me WAY to long to reply to this ask. sorry about that im bad at making myself write, even when its just a description of other stuff im going to write

@midnights-melodiverse thank you for asking about the magical girls im sorry this took so long

[blazingparker]

When I’m Like This, You’re the One I Trust

hello my lovelies!! I’m here with the one-shot I wrote as a massive THANK YOU to each and every one of my followers. When I started this, I had just reached 100 followers and now there are even a few more of you! I’m so grateful to each and every one of you, and I really hope you enjoy this fic.

This was inspired by the song Blinding Lights by the Weeknd. The specific stanza is referenced in my author’s note on ao3!

read it on ao3!

---

It wasn’t often that Peter had a sensory overload, but when they did happen, they were...devastating. Physically, mentally devastating.

This was one of those days.

Peter woke up with a pounding headache, every brush against the fabric of his pajamas or his sheets feeling like fire licking along his skin. Tony was apparently making breakfast for them, evidenced by the fact that Peter could hear every clunk of a dish being set on the counter and the crack of an egg that fell into a sizzling pan.

Against his better judgment, Peter cracked open his eyes. The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of their bedroom was normally a welcome sight, warming his skin and making him feel like a cat stretching out into the rays. Today, though, it was a blinding assault on his eyes that made him whimper and try to curl away from it, only to be met with more burning sensation from the fabric.

“Good morning, Peter,” FRIDAY greeted him, and the young man actually let out a soft cry at that. The voice, normally bearable, was so incredibly loud that he could barely stand it. He reached his hands up to cover his ears, trying to do something -- anything -- to make it better.

“FRIDAY, activate Spider Shutdown Protocol,” a voice whispered, but to Peter it sounded like a normal volume. FRIDAY didn’t respond verbally to the command, as she was relegated to listening only while the protocol was activated. Immediately, the windows were blacked out and the light blocked from the room. The heater kicked in, since Peter had told Tony once that his inability to thermoregulate seemed even worse when he was like this. Though they made no sound, Peter knew the walls of their bedroom had been soundproofed as well. He wouldn’t have to deal with hearing all the sounds of Avengers tower as people began to wake up and go about their days.

“Hey, my love,” Tony whispered as he carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. “Are we having a bad spider-senses day?” He asked, reaching out as if to smooth his hand down Peter’s back before pulling away, realizing that might not be a good move right now.

“Yeah,” Peter whispered back in a hoarse voice, feeling tears prick at his eyes. “Sorry for ruining breakfast, it was really sweet of you to cook.” He hid his face in the pillow despite the pain it brought him, trying to keep Tony from noticing his tears. His boyfriend knew him better than that, though, picking up on how his voice wavered slightly. He might not be able to see Peter, but he knew him well enough by now to know how he was feeling even without that.

“Honey, no,” he murmured back immediately. “You didn’t ruin anything, hear me? If anything, you saved our frying pan from getting another egg burnt onto it. We’ll eat whenever you’re ready, and not a moment sooner.” Peter relaxed somewhat at that, summoning the energy to scoot closer to Tony in their bed.

“Okay. Thank you,” he whispered. After a few moments of silence, Peter reached out for Tony’s hand. Finding it, he guided it to rest lightly in his hair, sighing softly in happiness as the man began to ever so gently card his fingers through his curls.

“You’re okay with touching?” Tony asked, voice still soft as he continued his motions. Peter instinctively went to nod, but stopped himself and instead just turned his head towards Tony’s voice. He didn’t want to make his headache even worse.

“You, yes,” he clarified. “Anyone else...no.” Tony felt his heart swell at that admission, knowing that he was the one Peter trusted when he was like this. Not anyone else.

“I’m honored,” he said truthfully, smiling down at Peter in the dark. Peter blushed, instinctively turning his face away from Tony as though to hide it, forgetting there was no way his boyfriend could see it in the dark.

The two stayed there for a while, in the dark and in silence. Peter’s headache was still raging but the feeling of Tony’s hand in his hair and the darkness of the bedroom were steadily making things better. He was so grateful for Tony’s endless patience, how there was never a sign of irritation or restlessness. It was like there was nothing Tony would rather do than stay here with Peter - and knowing him, that was probably true.

“How about a bath? We can get those pajamas off you, if they don’t feel good on your skin?” Tony eventually suggested. Peter had complained to him before about the feeling of sheets or clothes on his skin when he was like this, unable to handle the sensation. When everything was too much, even the smallest thing made everything seem all the more unbearable.

“You just want to see me naked,” Peter grumbled back, but the amusement in his voice was clear. Tony huffed out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

“It’s too dark for that, Peter. But I won’t deny I always enjoy the view,” he shot back with a wink that his boyfriend couldn’t see. After much playful grumbling, Tony was able to help Peter up and out of their bed and move them to the bathroom.

“Okay, cover your ears, my dear. The water might be too loud. I’m still working on that dampener,” Tony said once they got to the bathroom, gently helping Peter hop up onto the counter and going to start the bath. He added Peter’s favorite bath bomb - eucalyptus and lavender, something Tony had made specially for him. Peter had loved the eucalyptus and mint scent from Bath & Body Works before the spider bite, but afterwards the smell and taste of mint had become unbearable. After mentioning that particular fact to Tony off-handedly one night, the mechanic had traded his Iron Man gauntlets for bath bombs and room sprays, determined to create something Peter would like.

Once the bathtub was filled, Tony turned off the water and immediately returned to Peter’s side. He helped the young man out of his pajamas, FRIDAY wordlessly increasing the lights in the room by just a small percentage so he could see and keep himself from whacking Peter in the face or something.

“In we go,” Tony murmured when they were finally ready for their bath, helping his boyfriend down from the counter and easing the two of them into the warm water. He leaned back against the wall of the tub, pulling Peter into his chest so all he had to feel was the water and Tony’s skin - not cold tile. Peter’s tense, coiled muscles immediately began to relax and the younger man let out a contented sigh.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re the best boyfriend ever?” Peter asked, almost in a daze as he rested in the water with Tony. There was no blinding light, no fire on his skin, no sounds except for the water and their shared breathing. Everything was so much better, and he had Tony to thank.

“Oh, you’re going to want to be careful with those compliments. The team is always bitching about the size of my ego already,” Tony joked, beaming when he earned a small little laugh from the man in his arms.

“Mmm, I’ll beat them up for you. I’ve already stolen Cap’s shield once, I’ll do it again,” Peter mused softly, smiling sweetly when Tony leaned down to kiss his forehead.

“My hero,” Tony murmured back, but his voice had lost all its playfulness in favor of sincerity. He wanted -- no, needed -- Peter to know just how important he was to him. After an episode like this, the younger hero could have a tendency to get in his own head, blame himself for “putting Tony out” or “making Tony deal with him.” The older man was hoping to get ahead of that this time - maybe prevent that guilt from manifesting at all.

“I’m so glad you trust me to take care of you when you’re like this,” he whispered. “I love you so much, Peter. So, so much. Every part of you. Good days and bad days.” Peter twisted in Tony’s arms, looking up at him.

“I love you too,” he said, voice a little stronger now. “Thank you for taking care of me. You-you make it better.” Peter lifted a hand and stroked Tony’s cheek, droplets of water falling into that impeccable goatee.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Tony said with a soft smile, leaning into the touches on his skin and turning his head to press a soft kiss to Peter’s palm. The two remained there, whispering sweet things to each other and exchanging soft caresses until the water ran cold. Only when Peter started to shiver did Tony dare to move.

“Time to get you nice and warm, and maybe get some food into you. You feeling up to any lights?” He asked, climbing out of the tub and grabbing towels for them both.

“If they’re low, we can try it,” Peter agreed, smiling as he got out and was immediately wrapped in the softest, warmest towel he’d ever felt. FRIDAY brought the lights up just enough so they could see each other but it was far from their normal brightness.

“We’re okay?” Tony asked, drawing Peter into his arms and holding onto him before dropping a kiss to the top of his boyfriend’s hair.

“We’re okay,” Peter murmured back, tucking his face into Tony’s neck and pressing a soft kiss to the skin there. “Thanks to you.”

“Anytime, Peter.” Tony got to work on drying them both off and dressing them both in his clothes. Peter initially wasn’t thrilled, forgetting that Tony’s clothes always felt so much better than his own. His disappointment quickly faded when he was wrapped up in soft fabrics and Tony’s cologne.

“Breakfast?” He asked hopefully, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Tony finished putting his shirt on and turned to look at him with a smile.

“Sure. What are you feeling?” He asked.

“Toaster waffles?” Peter asked, blushing a little bit as he glanced away. “The chocolate chip ones, maybe?”

“If that’s what my Peter wants, that’s what he shall have,” Tony said with a charming smile and a wink, holding out his hand. Peter smiled shyly back at him, reaching out a hand covered by the sleeve of Tony’s sweater. Their hands clasped together and the smile went from shy to positively radiant.

Sensory overload days were tough, for sure. But Tony always knew how to make them better, and Peter was grateful for that.