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hollyhomburg · 7 months

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Before I Leave You (Pt.62)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: love becomes guilt, predator becomes prey, and Jin becomes...

Tags: Hospitals, medical talk, sicfic, seizures, angst, hurt/comfort, assassin! Jimin, implied autistic! jimin, meltdowns, settling, non-sexual biting, Mafia shit, murder, Dead bodies, Guns, violence, blood. everyone lives nobody dies, morality conversations, revenge, secrets

W/c: 10.9k

A/n: thank you to everyone who helped me make my birthday this year super special <3 im sorry if i was bad at thanking people publicly for their specific gifts <3 i figured that the next best way i could say thank you was to give you another chapter...be warned, this one ends on QUITE the cliffhanger....be warned

Previous part ~ Masterlist

The hospital is cold, maybe that’s just because of the first snow.

It gathers on the trees outside like a faint white outline where someone forgot to fill the image in. Cresting the shoulders of everyone who walks into the hospital and turning the streetlight into halos and the sky into one big white blanket. The whole world is a nest when the weather is like this. Maybe if the whole world was a nest, it would be enough to keep you all safe.

It’s useless to hope, as you wait with Jimin outside of Jungkook’s hospital room.

The hospital is a mess of glowing exit signs and endless beeping. A dull roar in your ears from coming down adrenaline and a telephone nearby blares. The scratchy intercom system overhead pages a doctor for a code red. Whatever that is. You sit and wait, worrying and picking at your nails, full of useless energy. There is nothing to do but wait until someone tells you if Jungkook’s alright.

You're not sure if he will be, this seizure was a bad one.

You and Jimin sit side by side, and you don’t talk. You don’t even touch. You don’t know what you prefer, the instant terror of the car bomb, or this slow terror. Slow terror feels like nails dragging down the back of your skull, like clothes that are two sizes too tight. A bad taste in your mouth, not blood and not soot either.

The relief of finding out that Jungkook wasn’t calling you because Moonbyul had done something to him was only temporary. instead of your packmate there was a stranger on the other end of the line.

He’d still been seizing when you’d got back to the coffee shop. Foreghein scents on him and a crowd of patrons and paramedics surround him. His eyes rolled back into his skull, on his side, blue lips and froth on the edge of his mouth. Luckily, someone in that coffee shop was a doctor, was able to keep him semi-comfortable but-

This seizure had lasted a long time. Too long. Jungkook has been a patient at most of the local hospitals before on account of how unpredictable his seizures are. He has directives as per Namjoon's guidance, in place since before they were even packmates. Anything more than 6 minutes needs an overnight stay and copious testing. This seizure had lasted almost 10. The longest he's had in years.

You'd watched horrified and all too familiar with it as they’d loaded your still twitching packmate into the red box. Unsympathetic paramedics unwilling to hear your pleas to just let Jimin ride with them to the hospital (he'd tailgated them the whole way) but even at the hospital you and Jimin still couldn’t see him. They whisked him right up for an MRI.

Maybe you’d be less unnerved if Jungkook had woken up, but he hasn’t yet.

They’re still running tests and keeping him under just to be sure. Not a medical coma, but the step below that. Something about Jungkook’s malfunctioned ocular nerve and not wanting to trigger more seizures with more stimuli until the lorazepam and half a dozen other medications have time to take effect.

Jimin is the one who okayed those. He signed those papers for medications as easily as if he were swiping his card or maybe firing a gun. You feel out of your depth here, even if Jimin is very used to this. It’s been a while. It’s not your fault the luck ran out. Maybe that’s why he’s angry, maybe that’s why he’s not touching you. You are at once, somewhere between a four-leaf clover and a bad luck charm. Intangible and unsure of your odds.

Maybe Jimin's not touching you because he hates you, maybe he hates you because you forced him to let you come with him. you'd have been by Jungkook's side while this happened if you hadn't. But Jimin might have died from the explosion then-

Jungkook might still die, you realize with a lurch. Jungkook might die because of the seizures and could die at any time really. It's so easy to forget. Maybe that's why Jimin's not touching you. Your thoughts rush over you, wave after wave.

But Jimin thinks you don’t deserve to be touched when he’s this angry. You’ve had a lifetime’s worth of an angry alpha touching you and he won’t be one of them. Won’t make you worse when you’re sitting small and fragile. Barely there, barely alive. No, he'll keep his shaking hands tightened to fists on his knees and his angry tongue locked behind pursed lips. touching you would be more for him than it is for you he's convinced.

Too close, they were too close today. Jimin promised you that he wouldn’t let them hurt you. He promised and he'd failed. you still have the gash on your chin.

His worry for Jungkook is another monster entirely, one that can't be made better with actions, that can't be fixed with his own two hands.

Yoongi and Tae are the first to arrive. Your mate’s hair is wet and tousled, in a pair of pajama pants on like he’d just been showering for the evening before he’d come. Tae is close behind, a pair of pink sweatpants poking out from below her long thick coat and her long nightdress tucked into the waistband. The same dress you cuddled up beneath this morning. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Yoongi holds your cheeks, searching your face. The words tumble from your lips, the first you and Jimin have said in what feels like hours.

“He was just- we were just getting the car and we thought he’d be fine for a second but then-” you feel like you’re going to be sick all over his shoes. In his hurry, Yoongi put on a pair of Tae’s Uggs, the platform ones. You don't know why your brain fixates on that.

“It’s not your fault,” is the first thing he says, although even he sounds unsure. You shouldn’t have left him alone are the words that he must be thinking, the words that no one’s saying.

(This is a lie. This is your brain making up the worst-case scenario and clinging to it. There is nothing anyone can do, no precautions that they can take that they already haven’t when it comes to Jungkook’s seizures. Yoongi just gets small and quiet whenever Jungkook is sick. Jungkook will always be sick, and this quiet devastation will always find your mate because he loves Jungkook so).

There is nothing to do but wait, even though waiting with them is better than waiting alone.

The people at the coffee shop said they saw jungkook lie down before he started seizing. That's the only way they were able to call you, because he'd had your contact open on his phone. He'd known he was about to have one and he'd tried to call you. He'd been afraid and alone and then he'd been nothing.

The movements of the hospital slosh the four of you like an unmoored boat while you wait. Every doctor coming closer prompts a turn of your head and pleading eyes. Hoping that they’re the ones that will relieve you of your misery. Your leg jumps up and down, jittery. Jimin by comparison is deathly still.

Yoongi goes up to the desk and Tae sits between you and Jimin, one hand a piece on either of your thighs. You lean into her and Jimin rests his cheek on her shoulder slowly. She holds around your shoulders, looking back and forth between the two of you. She doesn’t any anything.

Her fingers rub up and down your shoulder, feeling the crumbliness there. She picks her hand up, and you watch as she takes in the darkness. It's soot.

“It’s from the ambulance,” Jimin says before you can force your words to cooperate and lie.

Jin comes through with a flurry of his long felted coat, snow gathering on his wide shoulder. Holding his keys in his hand and almost dropping them when you stand to collide with him. He has just a choked-out "pup" for you but then there's the nurse, the one you've been waiting for. Telling you that Jungkook's fine- he's not awake yet- but that you can wait in his room with him until he does.

Jungkook doesn't have too many wires connected to him, nothing more than an electrode at his temple, one at his heart, and an IV in his wrist. His hospital gown is pulled down to his collarbones so that the electrodes don't pull, but his skin is absent of his usual healthy flush.

You wait, watching until you notice the rise and fall of his chest. Even and beautiful breath. Jungkook is alive, Jungkook is breathing of his own accord. You let out a single broken sob, but you're not the only one.

You watch Yoongi brush his hair back from his face, eyes glassy. Seokjin sits by his right side and tae takes the other. Jimin and you stand at the foot of his bed, just watching him. No one says anything. Every beep of the heart monitor is anticipated, every second more precious.

"There's nothing on his MRI that indicates any lasting brain damage from the seizure," the nurse states, fussing with Jungkook's IV. "but it will be hard to know until he wakes up. You might notice him unable to recognize you or speak for a few minutes- the location of the seizure may have affected his language and motor capabilities so-"

She continues to list his prognosis, but it's nothing you didn't know before. Every seizure has a risk of taking out part of Jungkook's faculties, his fine motor skills, and his speech. But a seizure has never damaged him beyond repair before. Tae takes one of Jungkook's hands from the bed and brings it to her face, trying to hide her tears but it's no use.

It’s startling, how much your body relaxes upon Namjoon’s presence, you feel the shift in the air before he enters the room. Nauseous one moment and then fine the next. He enters the room, hand skimming the top of your head and Yoongi's side as he be-lines it to Jungkook's chart.

His scent is so thick- comforting coffee even if it is a a little stale. You sway, and when he looks up, his eyes flicker from you and then the nurse.

Today is not the end of the world, even though it feels like it. It feels like it's ending every time Jungkook finds his way into a hospital bed, a good 3 or 4 times in a year. Honestly, they’ve been so quiet recently, so unnoticeable that they should have known a bigger one was building.

“Dr. Kim,” Jungkook’s nurse says, this is not Namjoon’s hospital, but he is on Jungkook’s file. This nurse looks at him and waits for his call. Namjoon flicks past one page on his chart and then another, pursing his lips.

“Why didn't Avery order a Ct? it’s not here.”

“The ct has already been run Dr. Kim, He put the order in 4 minutes ago” Namjoon hums, and you watch the clench of his jaw, the extra tight way he bites his cheek. And it’s then you realize oh, Namjoon is about to cry.

Yoongi gets to him before you do, Jungkook’s fingers twitch of their own accord against Namjoon’s wrist and Yoongi grips his shoulder. Namjoon looks back at him and at the same time, Jungkook opens his eyes blinking against the dim lights.

His words are all garbled for the first few seconds after a seizure, the Jumbled groan startling enough that you flinch. Yoongi backs up so that Jin and Namjoon can hold him down as he reaches blindly, startled and moving before his brain has a second to catch up.

"It's okay Jungkook, you had a seizure. You were out for a few hours, You're okay,"

"Come up slowly, don't try to sit up there you go."

Jungkook tries to get up and out of the bed but has to be held down by namjoon until his brain comes back online, he continues to speak garbled nonsense for a moment. Too loud, voice loud after so much quiet. It startles you; you take a step back.

And almost step right on Hobi’s shoes.

Hoseok is there, hand on the small of your back. Snowflakes that still haven’t melted in his hair. He doesn’t say hi to you, but his hand stays there. Pressed flat. He only has eyes for Jungkook. Jungkook relaxes, falling back on the bed, and gets one coherent syllable out and then another. It's their names-.

"Alpha- Joon- hughr-"

Jungkook pants, breathing heavily, and then his hand reaches up steadily, to touch the electrode on his head. Yoongi's hand closes around his just in case, but he doesn't rip it off.

Everyone waits with bated breath.

“You alright kookie?” Hoseok asks careful, with that same level of humor in his voice that you’ve come to need. His smile is as genuine as ever as he looks down a Jungkook in the hospital bed. Jungkook’s hand is tight around Namjoon’s as he stretches, muscles aching. He’s always so sore after a seizure. It's always so disorienting coming out of them like this.

Jungkook waits, testing out his words. “I feel like Like it got hit by a trucking fuck.”

He blinks, and the lights are turned low, but a breath passes and Tae laughs and so does Yoongi, and then everyone's laughing and sort of crying. Your knees go a little weak and you turn into hobi's chest hiding your tears.

Jungkook just blinks at the ceiling. “That wasn’t right.” But then everyone's smiling. Happy because he's talking, happy because it looks like the seizure didn't do any lasting damage. Jin rests his head on the coverlet and sighs a happy sound. All too relieved to hear Jungkook act something like himself. Wordlessly Jin brings Jungkook's wrist to his face, pressing his nose to his scent gland.

The hospital room isn’t big enough for all of you let alone when more staff enter the room along with someone who Namjoon must know, because she instantly starts listing off different medical jargon. Asking Jungkook how many fingers she's holding up, Namjoon's name, then testing his reflexes on his hands and toes. Stress tests and memory tests.

One moment you’re standing in the doorway and then the next you’re pressed to the wall between Tae, Jimin, and Hobi.

The hospital room isn’t big enough for all of you let alone when more staff enters the room along with someone whom Namjoon must know, because she instantly starts listing off different medical jargon and refers to him by name.

One moment you’re standing in the doorway and then the next you’re pressed to the wall between Tae, Jimin, and Hobi. Tae opens the door and gestures. You step out because it’s surely more important that Namjoon Jin and Yoongi get at Jungkook right now even if your heart clenches painfully at leaving Jungkook.

Jimin is still vibrating out of his skin, has been since Jungkook opened his eyes. But Tae tugs him in for a hug in the hallway. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until you watch him hug her back. But Jungkook was Tae and Jimin’s packmate first. It’s no wonder that this has shocked them both closer, their fight forgotten.

Or mostly forgotten, you watch as Jimin wraps his arms around her slowly, like he's not sure he's allowed.

Hobi jogs you out of your starting, turning your face towards his and, looking at you intently. Eyes flickering down to your chin and then to your eyes. You forget what he’s looking at until his fingers skim below your lips and you feel pain.

You drag your arm across it and it leaves a small rusty trail in its wake on the sleeve of Tae's jacket, just another stain on it. Oh, you fell during the blast and banged your face, you'd almost forgotten.

“Tripped, banged my face on the sidewalk.” it's close enough to the truth that the lie goes unnoticed. Hobi makes a sound, holding your elbow. Squeezing it reassuringly.

“I’m gonna get some snacks from the vending machine, can I get you something?”

“Didn’t eat dinner” you say, staring down at Hobi’s red Converse. There are scuffs on the linoleum and a drop of blood someone must have missed. You wonder who it’s from, another person from the emergency room probably. “You sure Jin and Joon won’t be angry if my dinner is just sweets?”

Tae is close enough to overhear, and she rubs her cheek across the top of Jimin’s head, scenting him sweet (or trying to.) “Yeah- junk food isn’t exactly the most nutritious.”

You stumble, stepping close, swaying suddenly on your feet. Hobi catches you around the shoulders and for a second, you must look like the mirror image of Tae and Jimin.

Hobi's scent smarts with worry and he pushes you back, making you sit down. “They can live with it, she deserves a special treat. I’m getting you a Band-Aid.” Tae looks like she wants to argue with Hobi, then doesn’t.

Hobi gets Skittles and Peanut Eminem’s and two bags of funyuns that you pick apart while you wait for the doctors to be done. The colorful packages are scattered across your lap as he tilts your head to put the Band-Aid on your chin (gotten from a helpful nurse). Fingers that tenderly curve under the wide part of your jaw, drumming there.

Tae nibbles on a peach ring. Inside Jungkook's hospital room, it isn't quiet, but the four of you are silent with exhaustion listening in. Jin sounds relieved, and the low grumble from your mate sounds just as happy.

Jimin still isn’t speaking much, just pacing back and forth in front of Jungkook’s door. When you say you feel nauseous, Hobi gets up and gets you ginger ale too. You know there just isn’t much for him to do, alpha instincts and no omega to cool them but you. Hobi holds your hand, he doesn’t say that Jungkook’s going to be okay. He doesn’t say anything but.

“Which are your favorite?”

The back of Skittles jingles and he picks out all the green ones, lining up his pants in an orderly little row for you to grab when the ones you suck on go small enough.

You don't realize you're crying until he gets you a tissue, dabbing at your cheek. "There you go, Kookies gonna be fine. He's always fine." His voice goes slower, honeyed.

You rest your cheek on his shoulder, and he lets you. “You got a pair of headphones?” Your breath is shaky, and you think you might be shaking apart right now if it wasn’t for Hobi.

Namjoon stares at the packages for a second too long when he exits the door. His hair is pushed up like he’s run his fingers through it, but he doesn’t smell quite as worried as he did before. He looks at the package and you shrink underneath his disapproving stare.

He all but snaps his fingers, “Tae, would you please go get some real food.” Hobi does not flinch at Namjoon’s cross-tone, even as Tae shoots to her feet and chirps "Yes alpha!"

Hobi doesn’t do anything but stare Namjoon down, put a pink starburst on his tongue, slowly.

Jimin keeps pacing.

“We’re sleeping here tonight.” It’s not an order or a request- your pack alpha has decided that this is too great a danger to separate you so you won’t separate. Neither of you pipes up anything to the contrary, now is not the time for contrary voices.

Jimin is still pacing. Black leather shoes smoothed and silent, barely acknowledging the pack alpha.

He’s making you anxious, your scent sour even to your own nose as your eyes track him back and forth. Namjoon pulls you to your feet, hand lingering on the back of your neck. “Will you be okay in those clothes pup? Or should someone go home and get your things?”

You hear the request for what it is; Namjoon is asking you if you think the alphas need a nest to settle if you think they need a change of clothes and things that smell like pack tonight for sleep and safety. he's leaving this up to you.

Your hands stay buried in the pockets of Tae’s white floral jacket. Hoping he doesn’t notice the soot smudge on your shoulder. “It'll be fine just-” your eyes are half glassy, “are you sure Koo will be okay?”

The pack alpha pulls you to his front, and one of the nurses passing by gives you both a look, you have to get on your tippy toes to kiss him. "of course he's going to be, we're making sure of it" Namjoon promises.

"I meant like, without a nest."

Namjoon laughs, and you watch the stress melt off his shoulders. he turns, guiding you inside with a peculiar look over his shoulder at Hobi. “I’m sure he’d love it if you’d help him make one. he already wants to start"

Jungkook looks a little bit better, with less of a pale-yellow flush to his face and more of a healthy glow. pouting down at the blankets and complaining that they're too rough.

For someone who looks so physically well/muscles defined even when they’re not flexed, it’s always a bit startling to see him lying prone and exhausted, lights dim to avoid the risk of another seizure.

Tae comes back with some food, and you all eat in silence, white Styrofoam containers balanced across your knees. The faint crinkle and drag of plastic spoons scraping plastic bowls. Jungkook eats hospital food. Nibbles it, and doesn't throw it up. One of the side effects of the medication is nausea.

The only one not at ease is Jimin, who doesn’t eat, sitting tacitly in the corner watching each of you, getting up occasionally to pace. The pack let him work off his restless energy until it’s clear it’s making Jungkook restless too. Shifting and watching him. His request of, “Minnie will you come and sit by me?” goes unanswered as Jimin flexes his hands from open palm to open fist again and again.

Jungkook watches the jello in his plastic tray jiggle with the force of Jimin's pacing, back and forth. Back and forth. Tae sighs, and Yoongi stiffens.

He goes like that, pacing one two three steps just in front of Tae before turning. He falls apart like this until Jin steps up to intercept him, and Jimin rocks to a stop rather than crash into him. He’s put his hands on Jimin’s shoulders, fingers digging into the tense ball there. Moving quicker than any of you thought possible.

“Breathe.” Comes his terse request. A little broken, a little begging. But Jimin’s alpha will never willingly disobey an order from his pack omega, that’s what’s happening, isn’t it? Jimin’s alpha has taken over, took over the second he saw Jungkook lying between those two tables in the coffee shop. All instinct and no Jimin, all fear and pulse and get them safe get them home get them out.

But it’s like Jimin’s lungs are pried open from it. He gasps, and Jin pulls him in for a thorough scent mark, systematically dragging his teeth from ear to ear, hard enough to leave dull red lines in his wake. You watch Jimin’s eyes dilate and constrict, plush lips parting in a gasp. Looking at you.

Jin licks his teeth after, “There you go.” You don’t know if you’ve ever seen Jin settle Jimin or if you’ve ever seen him settle any of the alphas like this. Jimin asks for bites again and Jin obliges. Bending over him to drive his teeth, to nip Jimin's skin pink between his teeth. Bite after bite Jimin’s body relaxes inch by inch.

And so does the rest of the pack, underneath the covers, Jungkook shifts his hips, splaying them a little wider. Relaxing as Jimin goes boneless.

Jin’s voice is a dark croon, the tone he reserves only for Jimin and maybe Namjoon sometimes. He's a little firmer when the more dominant alphas need his touch. Jimin feels it as delicately as Yoongi's soothing thumb on the side of your thumb when Jin pinches his cheeks and shakes him a little bit.

“Now, do you want to tell Omega why you’re upset?”

“S’my fault” Jimin sways on his feet, closer to Jin’s touch than back again. a planet in orbit. the rest of the pack watched transfixed. You see Hoseok perk up slightly. “Wasn’t there.”

“Minnie, I know you,” Jin cups his cheek a little gentler. Fingers skimming stubble. “I know you,” Jin repeats, such an air of finality about it that you can’t doubt it to be true.

Jin could command the moon to shift its orbit and it would. “I know you’ll do whatever’s possible to protect the pack" Jimin's eyelashes flutter. "To your dying breath.”

“You don’t have to be so intense about it” Namjoon half snaps, any of them dying isn't what he wants to think about right now. But he's forgiven the second he realizes he's being too harsh, everyone’s a bit stressed right now.

Jin’s dark tone falls away as quick as it came, “But still- what happened with JK wasn’t your fault, isn’t that right kookie?”

Jungkook nods, eyes closed, licking his lips like he's tasting the settling in the air. “Not Jimin’s fault my brains fucked up, just how it is” Jin pecks Jimin’s head, pinning his blond hair flat. “See pup? Listen to the omega’s, You’re fine. Everyone's going to be fine."

Jin speaks the words so surely you almost believe it.

The hospital is a bit generous with the extra sleeping cots (Namjoon might have called his boss and asked him to pull privileges), and you get 3 that they roll up one on one side of Jungkook's hospital bed, and two more on the other side.

But you and Jin pile in just around him. Cuddled up close and scenting along his shoulders, sniffling and fluffing a few extra threadbare blankets around him in a makeshift nest, full of your jackets too.

You steal Tae's pants for the nest making, letting her untuck her nightdress and let it flutter around her. But when one of the nurses comes to the door Namjoon (panicked) throws himself across the exposed line of her honeyed thighs to conceal her nakedness. but she just giggles, she’s not some Victorian maiden full of virtue, but it makes Jungkook smile and scrunch his nose. and it feels like a win even if Namjoon's cheeks go bright red.

You cuddle up, trying fitfully to banish the medicinal scent by scenting him. It's sour and not all like him, but the medicine they give him for his seizures always makes him smell a little off for a few days. It’s no less distressing to you, but Jungkook just grins and tells the others to let you do what you need when you rest your body weight on top of him and stubbornly bury your face in his chest. His hand with the attached IV strewn across your back to cradle your ribs.

Before no time Jungkook is laughing and leaning into Yoongi’s stomach where he lies across the top of the bed. In no time he's taking a few bites of veggies and a few sips of water, eyes heavy. He is tried from the seizure and medication even if he puts on a brave face.

They’ll drag him into one more MRI in the morning just to be sure that nothing concerning has developed over time but until then, the beeping of Jungkook’s heart monitor is your lullaby. Every heartbeat is a new chance. You don't even mind the lumpy hospital pillow. The pack goes quiet when Jungkook's eyes flutter, when they shut and his breathing goes deep. yoongi puts his finger to his lips and jin shifts slowly, Jungkook's head resting on his thigh. your lovely packmate resting between jin's parted legs.

The rest of the pack falls like Domino’s once Jungkook's asleep. Hobi shucks off his jeans to be more comfortable and so does Yoongi. The room is full of heavy breaths and dreams waiting to swoop in. You struggle to settle until Hobi gives you one of his headphones, and you lie close to share them, one in each of your ears. he still has his sleepy time playlist, and it blocks out the sounds of the hospital. When Sleep takes you it's thankfully dreamless.

Somehow Hobi's hand finds your waist under the covers, bunching up and tangling in his sweatshirt. Clinging to you and holding on for dear life. His bare thighs between your thin leggings tangled up in the makeshift nest. Jin only glances at your particular closeness a few times.

Sleep evades jin until he gives up on it entirely. Nothing feels quite as good to Jin’s instincts as having all of his packmates sleeping in one room. Even if it's not quite good enough to get him to fall asleep himself. But still- Jin would rather they not be here; would rather they be in the nest at home.

That will have to wait until tomorrow.

The distant hum of the hospital and the sound of his dull typing fill the room. His work computer screen is the only light in the whole room besides the monitors. Jin's computer balanced on his back because Jin had to leave during a briefing on a low-level gang member and Koo said he didn’t mind being used as a computer rest so long as Jin kept running his hands through his hair. Jimin is curled up on the next nearest cot, within petting (and settling) distance if he should need it.

7 a.m.

A look at the clock says that the pack has 5 more hours until Jungkook is allowed to be discharged. Until then, Jin will get some work done and keep an eye on the rest. Namjoon sleeps by the door, he declined a cot on account of there not being enough room for the rest of them to sleep comfortably. Namjoon turns fitfully with every new person who walks by the door. He’s gone in and out of sleep a few times. If he flinches awake again, Jin will get him a cup of coffee.

Until then, there's paperwork and an endless array of evidence for Jin to examine.

There are documents he can look over again, the same ones, back and forth. There are about 300 crime scene photos for each murder that the family has committed in the last 6 months, it doesn’t hurt to skim them again and refresh his notes.

That boy from the coffee shop burned beyond recognition. A pair of 30 caliber bullets in his chest. One under his ribs the other in his head, evidence of deep lacerations and torture on his body, bitten tongue, and evidence of red paint under his fingernails. The only other bit of evidence.

The origin of these paint flecks have been a source of annoyance and frustration for jin and the rest of his coworkers. Maybe they're evidence from a third location between abduction and dumpsite? A bit of the killer's car scraped maybe? The paint was metallic, old-fashioned. After a few minutes, Jin moves on to other murders, other people who have lives and packs and dreams that the family extinguished.

Jin no longer spends hours looking at his picture. The one of Choi Beomgyu alive and grinning. He still gets weekly calls from his pack alpha, begging Jin for any updates and leads. Jin has stopped feeling guilty over being empty-handed.

Jin’s boss's crime scene photos are a little harder to look at if only because of the nausea that those photos bring. Although Jin has become so desensitized to them that his bloated face no longer makes his stomach swirl with revulsion. His missing hand, the torn stump of it induced post-mortem.

One burned and one drowned.

These two kills are by far the family's messiest and hastiest. Usually, they don't even find this much of the bodies. Just a few fragments of bone or a tooth in a pire. Most of the time people just disappear.

What did you know, he thinks, looking at the photograph of the boy and then his charred corpse, what did you know that you shouldn’t have? Why didn't they have time to properly make you disappear? Why couldn't they risk you talking?

It’s funny, out of all the evidence, he tries to look at your cookbook and the late Don and data’s autopsy reports the least. Their tox screen and that one page that might as well be your confession and Ahn Hyejin's (Jin compared the second handwriting to a sample they had on file and matched hers to it in about an hour). Their murder was a neat and tidy little thing, but it is the murder that got his boss killed so maybe Jin should treat it with more scrutiny.

But that’s so simple, it’s almost a wonder why such a slight thread of spider silk needed snipping. Or is Jin wrong and this is a thread that could send the whole thing crumbling down?

Jin’s not sure yet, but maybe after a few more hours of pouring over this, he will be.

It’s nearing 3 in the morning and Jin is still sifting through every little bit of information when a ding punctuates the quiet in the room. Jin panic smashes the mute button before any of his packmates stir.

A warm body away, Hobi lets out a particularly deep and easy breath, and Jin relaxes.

Jin’s first thought looking at the email, is that no one not directly connected to the bureau should be able to get ahold of his email address, let alone be able to send him anything.

The email doesn’t have a heading, and the email doesn’t even have a subject or a cc. Unlike half of Jin’s other correspondents to other people giving them guidelines and delegating tasks. It's only secure for him to look at these here because everyone’s eyes are closed.

On closer look, the sender is just a random email generated with an obscure amount of Xs. He hovers over it. Cursor blinking until he clicks it, he knows better than to click on the link without launching it on his firewall server but the contents of the email aren’t anything but a video and a short line of text.

Skip to 17:19:07 for the fun parts :)

The video isn’t infested with bugs planning on robbing his data and pilfering him for information. No, the data and danger is just right there when Jin skips ahead, Jin holds his breath as he watches the grainy imagery.

The security camera is an IPC-110 if the shitty quality is anything to judge by. Trust a parking garage to install the shittiest CCTV cameras on the market but still the blurry figures of two of Jin’s packmates is unmistakable as he watches. Jimin’s face terse and afraid, backing up against the wall and exchanging words.

The flash of light is so sudden it makes Jin flinch hard and Jungkook groans, before settling and smacking his lips. Jin hardly notices as he watches you and Jimin get thrown by the blast, tight nuckled watching Jimin tuck his body around you and shouting your name. Pauses the video just to look at Jimin's panic-stricken face. To see him yank you to your feet and put you in the car.

Jungkook makes another soft whine when Jin shifts him, jostling him “One second baby” Jin murmurs, putting his computer to the side. Your jacket is on the side of the nest, delicately folded into the border. Jin detangles it and brings it to his nose.

Fire, burning things, soot. The smell is unmistakable. If the timestamp is to be believed, this is the reason why you and Jimin weren’t at the coffee shop with Jungkook. Jin feels the last little bit of his frustration fade at this.

Oh, Minnie.

It’s no wonder why Jimin was too spooked to speak, why he’s been so laconic tonight. First you and then Jungkook so quick. The stress would have anyone shutting down, this is why Jin's smallest but strongest alpha was so quiet and afraid. Why he’d needed a bit of settling when usually he’s someone Jin can depend on during Jungkook’s seizures. One surprise is hard enough to handle.

Jin shifts his petting from Jungkook’s hair to Jimin’s, combing through his blond strands lovingly.

He rewinds the tape back to the beginning, as far back as it will go, and sets it to 3x speed. The first hour goes by in 5 minutes, The person on camera is in all black, but even in black and white Jin would know the kind of mask they wear. It's red at the top and a stunning grimace at the bottom.

He watches as someone slight and billowy, probably 5’7 in height- no 5’9- figure cuts through the cars, heading for Jimin’s like they know which one to go for. The CCTV footage doesn’t cut out at all. Usually, the family is better in concealing their crimes. Usually, they don’t even leave a hint of evidence.

Usually, they don't send the evidence to Jin.

Jin freezes the frame when the figure turns, with the mask fully facing the camera. It’s a traditional Korean mask, the same one Jin has seen photographed on the rest of the family. He drags up Google, doing a cursory search. The footage is in black and white but the images on file are all red and black.

He goes back to the first murder, those hands, the red paint chipped underneath fingernails and his breathing goes heavy.

He needs to go back to Beomgyu’s dumping site and see if there’s anything red, any other possible reason why he’d have that under his fingernails. Either that or this is all connected, and the same person who killed him is trying to kill you.

Jin's breath goes heavy when he thinks about what could have happened if Jimin hadn't been there.

Jin does not wake you and demand to know what happened, Jin keeps his breathing measured and shallow. Does not let his scent get sour enough to wake the others. Jin fully detangles himself from Jungkook and pauses to lean over you, thumb skimming the Band-Aid on your chin.

No one hurts his pack and gets away with it. No one.

He’ll think about what you know and why Jimin didn't tell him later. Poor thing was probably just too shocked to say anything. You might have convinced him that saying anything would have put Jungkook in distress. Jin's anger is a cool sort, it's not you that he's angry at.

It’s only 5 a.m. but Jin goes and gets a coffee anyways. When he gets back, he shoves it into Namjoon’s hands startling him awake. But one glance at the pack omega says that he means business. Shadowed face unreadable silhouetted against the bright and open hospital door.

“Get the doctor, we’re going home.”

~-~

You wake in the hospital bed, roused by Yoongi's gentle hand on your shoulder, feeling listless and sorer than ever with Hobi’s nose pressed to the nape of your neck and Jungkook at your front. You wonder when that started to feel normal. When Hobi cuddled you stopped feeling so forbidden.

you know that when you take off your clothes you'll find your front bruised from falling, that you'll find your body dinnged. you don't know what you'll say, how you'll excuse the marks away from them but in the meantime, you watch jungkook. get a washcloth from the bathroom and whipe his face for him, standing between his legs.

"do you want water? coffee? can i get you something before your MRI"

namjoon sighs heavy, "pup- he can't-"

jungkook leans into your hands, letting you drag the cloth over his face, it's as much grooming as you ever have, but jungkook just smiles up at you and shakes his head. "when we get home yeah?"

The golden light streams through the horizontal blinds and Jungkook shifts as he gets out of the hospital bed and into a wheelchair for his MRI, and you wait for him with the rest of the pack. Yoongi returns with bagels and coffee for everyone. The caffeine makes you all jittery.

After he's given a clean bill of health, Jungkook leaves the hospital under his own power, on his own two feet because he always needs that certainty. Declining the wheelchair that the staff offers because honestly, he’s fine, he'd run out of here if he didn't think namjoon would drag him right back inside.

You’re guided into Jimin’s car, Yoongi drives. Hobi is in the front, turning to look at you more than he should, asking you questions about what song you want to play. Really, it can go as loud as you want cuz Jungkook's in the other car. He asks too many for your brain to answer accurately. You're too tired too worn out too everything to answer.

But when you get home, there is even more movement too quick for your sleepy brain to comprehend. Jin has to go to work and so does Namjoon; something about a revision surgery that won’t take too much time and can't be rescheduled. He's barely changed and cleaned himself before he's heading out the door again. Definitely a bit too tired, but oh well.

But now at home, the rest of the pack has Jungkook well in hand and ready for a bit more babying. Jungkook will be fine by this evening. Is honestly fine now. Just a little tired of being poked and prodded and just needs to nest and rest.

Jin too seems distracted by something, checking his phone and kissing each of you on the forehead before he goes. You're tempted to whine and ask them to stay, if not for Jungkook then for you but before you can, Hobi grips both of your shoulders and tells Namjoon and Jin that he’s got it, and the moment gets stolen away from you.

“I’ll get your pajamas,” he says after the door thuds closed, while Jungkook says something to Yoongi. Noodle meows and darts around Tae's heels and Jimin carries Jungkook to the couch and gently, gently- sets him down. Your mate is distracted right now (as he should be) but that doesn’t mean Hobi can’t fill the gaps.

He thuds up the stairs, bare feet probably cold. The house is still cold from a night left empty even though Yoongi’s just turned the heat on.

Jimin gets a ding on his phone, standing up the second he’s seen it.

Unknown (9:18): I want to talk to you about a murder.

Unknown (9:18): One you might have a vested interest in.

The picture is grainy, but Jimin knows the faces of the two women like the back of his hand although Hyejin takes a few seconds of racking his brain to place. Jimin feels his blood cool to a simmer and the shaking in his hands stops. His phone dings a few more times, whoever's sending it through must be a fast texter, from a burner phone no doubt.

Unknown (9:19): Especially because of the sensitive nature of this, you understand why I’d want to meet in person.

Unknown (9:19): (See attached address)

Jimin's suspicions are immediately peaked, warning bells going off loud. But before he can do more than read over the messages again more come through.

Unknown (9:20): I’m willing to offer you 10x your normal rate for each kill. Two Mil upfront. And Three more when the hit is carried out. I understand how risky it is for you to even view these texts so here

Jimin watches the next notification from his bank account ding through and holds his breath.

Fuck, that's a lot of Zeros.

Unknown (9:20): As a show of my good faith in you. I'll see you in three hours. If not, enjoy the money.

Jimin holds onto the phone like it’s a lifeline, the black plastic case digging into his fingers. He knows it's stupid, he knows that it's dangerous, and a million other things but-

Jin's words ring in his ears. "I know you'll do whatever you have to do to protect the pack, until your dying breath."

The money means nothing to Jimin, he'd do this killing for free. Out of all the lives he's ever taken, this is the first one that maybe he's ever felt vindicated in. the first murder that he's ever truly wanted to commit.

He's gripping his phone so hard he doesn't move until you make a noise. And when he looks up at you, you have a glass of water in your hands, waiting there, watching him. There is still that fucking scrape on your chin. Jimin looks at it and his mind is made up. All of this karma has come due.

If Jimin's being honest with himself, it's not Moonbyul’s confrontation or her comments about you that had Jimin so bothered.

All that "you belong to me" kind of talk that bullshit alphas with something to prove say, like something out of a manhwa. If he's being honest, the thing that bothered him the most, that made him so very angry was how clearly you didn't want them, and how willing she was to ignore that.

He grins at you, tipping his head back and you think Jimin might look like more of a demon than a man.

“I have to go to work.”

“What?” Jungkook’s eyes go wide, and he reaches for Mini and tries to cling but Jimin steps away, sliding back on his still-warm shoes. “I thought you called out already?”

Jimin tugs on his coat, The one with the reinforcement in it, hard panels that flap just a little bit too stiffly. The shoulders that seem just a little too crisp.

"Sorry Koo it's an emergency."

You know just by looking at him that this isn’t for his other job. (You don’t think of bodyguarding as Jimin's real job, not when this one is so much more prescient and dangerous.) You follow him outside, the door closing with that same rusty jingle of the old doorknob.

“It’s not from her.” The words are quiet, stolen. The empty birdfeeder clangs in a sudden wind and you shiver, warm only for a few seconds without a jacket. Jimin’s hand skims your shoulder and he pushes at it, urging you to go back inside.

“It’s not just her who hires me, this isn’t related to her.” He lies effortlessly. Turning and making to walk away, you wrap your arms around him and almost make him fall down the stairs but he catches both of you, swaying at the bottom.

“Pup, you need to let me go,”

“No!” you cling to him stubbornly, “if I let you go something bad is going to happen!”

Jimin is so quiet you think you might not hear him. He stops struggling and trying to twist out of your arms for a second. “You’ve got to, I have to do this, please.” his tone is so calm, so gentle. Jimin is smiling down at you when you pull back to look up at him. He gently but forcefully separates you from him, hands holding yours and prying them apart.

“I’ve got too much to make up for. You have to let me do this.”

You have a bad feeling about this, your instincts that you should listen to. Walking into this so soon after Jungkook’s seizure. Is this punishment for leaving him? Jimin slips from between your hands. Walking to his car, and you feel a lurching in your gut like something terrible is about to happen.

You say nothing, watching him, heart beating quick. but you are powerless to stop him, powerless to keep him from leaving.

You wonder if this is how Yoongi felt, leaving them. Powerless.

“You'll come back? you've got to- you can't-" you can't leave us is what you want to say. Standing on the steps of the house, Jimin by his car.

"I'd never dream of leaving you." Jimin says, swearing it. And all the fight goes out of your sails.

"Be careful Minnie.”

He looks back at you, hair ruffled by the wind. All the snow from the night before has melted but the cold will stay.

“Always am.”

You nod, giving him permission and Jimin gets in his car. You return inside where it’s warmer. And Jimin turns it on, but before he has a chance to pull away from the curb, his phone lights up with another notification.

Unknown (9:27): Make sure to wear your mask.

~-~

The location on his phone is a lot more desolate in person, the scrub brush that’s that's grown in is thick enough to hide his car. Green by the river and poisoned into sticks here. Jimin parks far away among the maze of what must be four-wheeler tracks and walks in. mask on and gun at the ready.

The rusted metal of the industrial park rises out of the soil and the fog. It has to have been abandoned for years given how poor of a condition it's in. There are a few half-fallen-down buildings and one big complicated warehouse flanked on one side by a wide and slow-moving river. The soil smells strongly of gasoline and rust. The soil here is probably soaked through with it. Jimin wonders if would burn and catch fire if a spark was lit.

The traditional mask fits snugly on Jimin’s face, the hole at the mouth just large enough for him to not feel like he’s suffocating. Eye holes are wide enough to see and not block his peripheries.

The doors are cracked and nearly rusted shut with age but Jimin slides through a crack easily. He’s a whole hour early on purpose. This is all by design, every moment of this. Every second is orchestrated like a symphony;

Jimin is the violin, with high and pointed movements, drawing his weapon like a cymbal. The crunch of his boots on the floor the drums, every breath a crooning saxophone. His thoughts flute spiraling up like high delights. All of this builds to one big crescendo.

He doesn’t take out his phone to check the time. The upstairs is mostly unlit but Jimin doesn't use a light, just lets his eyes adjust. He waits, stalking quietly, completely silent in his movements.

Jimin is not nervous about this handoff, mostly, he’s just wondering who it is in the family that's finally betraying her. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t suspect that the conditions of this were a little too perfect. Money and all.

The main atrium of the industrial park is rusted up with age. Old metal shipping containers that used to hold smelting equipment or maybe molten metal long since rusted out even though the chains still hang from the ceiling. A suspended catwalk rings the room on all sides.

Jimin spends a few minutes casing the place, noting the exits, and the obvious places to hide. The old rusty fans at the apex of the roof turn and squeak softly from the wind outside. The whole place smells like chemicals and rust. It's all Jimin can do not to have a coughing fit.

It’s a wonder he doesn’t smell the blood sooner

(Trust me, I speak from experience. if you spend enough time around blood that's not your own, you’ll eventually be able to smell it. Even a drop in an empty room. like a hound the the hunt. You'll smell it.)

Jimin is almost done with logging the entrance and exits when he finds the body.

He rushes to their side, Jimin doesn’t recognize their face when he slides whats left of the traditional mask off their face, it's the same as his. Racking his brain to recognize the face but nothing. the masks is broken into pieces. A bullet between the eyes is a good shot.

Before Jimin can do anything, can decide if this is a setup or just a meet-up gone wrong, He hears footsteps behind him.

~-~

In the wake of Jin, Namjoon, and Jimin leaving, the rest of the pack is a bit forlorn. Jungkook is not so mobile, not so willing to make the trek upstairs. Worried about the stairs and any sudden seizures and all. But there is no shortage of cuddle spots on the ground floor, you've made many a nest in the living room before.

And besides, in such proximity to the kitchen, Jungkook can have all his treats this way.

Lately, it’s started to feel like the pack has several nests, the one upstairs, the nesting pod, and the one on the old grey couch when you shove all the pieces together. Yoongi indulges jungkook in half a bar of dark chocolate while you get some nesting materials. Blankets and your wet cheeks catching the dimmed lights.

You’re a little pouty and a lot quiet, and the others take note of it. Skimming comforting hands up and down your shoulders, always touching you like they’re making sure you’re there. They don't ask why you're upset at Jimin leaving. They don't have to wonder. you snap the blanket as you fluff it huffing.

Jungkook finds your angry nestmaking cute. he pulls you down on top of him nipping at your throat when you fuss a little too long. Testing out Jin's method of settling on you.

It’s surprising even to you when the action sparks tears in your eyes, the opposite he was hoping for. You rub at your wet eyes with a clenched fist stubbornly. It’s not even noon yet and you’re already crying. You're so exhausted by everything that’s happened in the last 24 hours, so tired. You can't be blamed for getting a little teary-eyed.

Tae reappears, freshly showered. Her shoulder-length hair already starting to dry. tilting your face up to her's and says "Oh my little dove-

She piles into the nest and upstairs you hear Hobi moving around. tae stradles jungkook's thighs and shifts the two of you, lying you all flat,

"Don’t worry about Minnie, he’s always had something to prove.” You rub at your tears stubbornly, sniffling and nodding. Jungkook threads his fingers through the back of your hair, a little indelicately. But he loves without boundaries, like a butterfly flapping its wings for the first time.

“But why-” your words are quiet but broken, “why does he always feel so-"

“Guilty?” Tae finishes for you, looking out the window in the direction that Jimin disappeared. Humming as she strips you of Hobi's sweatshirt.

Hobi appears at the bottom of the stairs smiling. "Are we talking about Jimin's guilt complex again?"

Your mate groans and finishes putting together a little snack board. "I swear we've probably had this discussion like- fucking 20 times?" Yoongi's not wrong.

You only get more teared-eyed, crying a little bratty, thumping weakly against jungkook's chest, he grabs your thigh and pulls you snug across his lap. "But why! Why does he feel like everything is his fault?"

Tae hides her sad smile behind a hand, and you're less upset looking at it. Calmed in a second, because they have talked about this you realize, everyone in the pack is well aware.

“I guess he feels guilty because," Tae sighs, "because he was so loved.” Tae's fingers dance along Jungkook's thigh, and you're all quiet. everyone is quiet when they hear tae talk about jimin. it's a little like listening to someone describe what it feels like listening to your favorite song for the first time, what it's like to taste your favorite food, the feeling of a first kiss.

Hobi comes close to tae, sets down a shirt and a pair of pants. "would you get them into this while i shower?" the curtains are drawn and hobi goes upstairs and Tae undresses you while she speaks. You're a doll, teary eyed and willing as she and Jungkook strip you and put you in clean clothes. You didn't realize how much you needed to not smell like hospital until it's done.

"The first love you lose always hurts you the most, whether that's romantic love or parental love doesn't really matters. Each person metabolizes it differently. Truthfully, I believe that Jimin lost love the first time and promised himself- never again."

Tae talks, playing with Jungkook’s hair. He pouts “he's never gonna lose us.” Tae hums, agreeing. But you can see in her eyes the sadness there. Wounds that might never heal and wanting that might never fade.

Yoongi sits down beside you and together, the three of you undress and dress Jungkook. He could probably do it himself just like you could, but he's a willing puppet, happy when Tae tickles his tummy and slides his shirt over his head.

A minute later, Hobi's back, wet head that drips onto your cheek when he leans over Jungkook's curled form to grab one of the grapes on the snack board that Yoongi made. And Tae stares off into space, thinking of Jimin, how they met and how they feel in love, everything between then and now.

Tae smiles just thinking of him. "i know that pup, he just- he can't let himself believe it no matter how much he wants too. It was really hard on him, how our parents treated us, Jimin has guilt built into him because they made him that way."

It's too simple of an explanation for what they went through. What does it mean to love a parent that hates you? Or at least to have a parent that does not strive to understand you. How many times did the words linger on Tae’s lips? Standing in the doorway wearing a little boy jersey and little boy clothes, listening to his mother talk about the things on the news.

Wondering, Mom, would you give up God for me?

Tae rests her cheek on her hand. Her nail polish has gotten all chipped, maybe she picked at it nervously while you were at the hospital. She has a habit of picking at it when she needs something for her hands to do.

“If Jimin had a religion- it would be love. And every time he feels even a little bit like he's not loving us the way he should, he beats himself up for it and guilts himself into loving harder, loving better. He considers a lack of love the greatest crime. So yeah, feeling guilty is par for the course."

Jungkook groans, tipping his head back against the sofa, “I’ve told him, I’ve told him a million times-“

“Doesn’t matter” Hobi interrupts, “he still hates it when he’s not there when you have a seizure. He's upset with himself, that's why he left. Giving him more love when he feels like he doesn't deserve it is like his worst nightmare.”

You think of the explosion. Of Jimin pining your body and putting himself between you and the blast. Maybe with Jimin it's so instinctual it's not even a conscious decision. You wonder if it ever gets easy, to make the decision to sacrifice yourself for the people you love. Does that make Mimin feel like he deserves them more? the sacrifice?

You don’t know if it would be as innate with you, You might have to think it through for a few seconds.

You don't like that. You don't like realizing that you'd need to think through it however briefly. You fear a world in which you don’t love him as much as he loves you, in which any of this isn’t reciprocal.

(But then again, most recipes have twice as much sugar as butter.)

You melt against Hobi’s side. “He shouldn’t,” you say, feeling useless, a little quieter, a little bit more upset. “He shouldn’t feel guilty, he loves us enough!” Tae’s hand rests on your ankle, and her laugh strikes high and sad.

Outside a mourning dove coos, a lonely soft sound.

“Trust me, I’ve been trying to love Jimin more than he loves me for my whole life. He wants to win the 'I love you more' debate every time.”

~-~

The Industrial Park is different than Jin remembers.

It rises a little more jagged against the surrounding area of 3-meter-high brush that disguises a network of other dilapidated sheds and half flooded buildings. Jin recites what he knows about this place; the facts.

An iron processing plant, decimated by the flood of a nearby river 2 dozen years ago and bought through a shell corporation. Vacant land with so many entrances and exits. A veritable hotbed and the perfect body dumping site. construction on a housing development delayed on account of how expensive the environmental clean up.

He scans the building for red paint.

He can be forgiven for not seeing Jimin’s car, parked on the fringes. The opposite side from where Jin came in because Jin had to stop at the office first. Jin can be forgiven for having his blinders on, so focused with single-minded intent that he misses some of the signs. The smell of gasoline drowns out Jimin's vanilla scent.

Jin sees the fresh footprints in the dirt and draws his weapon.

That's the whole reason why it took him so long to get here, (why Jimin got here first even though he left second) He couldn't just go into an unknown setting alone unarmed, he'd had to stop back at the office to grab his vest and his FBI-issued firearm, a standard-issue Glock 17. Forghein and unwelcomed in his hands.

Even Jin will admit that he’s not the best marksman, (Jin had barely passed his exam a few years back, and continually has to study and practice for his re-certification every 6 months.) Jin does not prefer to be armed. If he wasn’t alone, if he didn’t go by himself for this, He might not have brought his weapon at all.

Jin enters through the front door; the old hanger doors are already open. Feet crunching on the gravel. Jin can feel his heartbeat in his fingers, how hard he’s holding the gun, he’s never had to discharge it during a field excursion before. How unbecoming of a director, how green of him. He lacks this experience.

The tip of the weapon shakes because he's holding it so hard. Jin feels like he can feel the breath of unseen eyes on the back of his neck. Someone is here, he knows it.

Jin walks into the atrium, gun at the ready, turning the corner when he sees them.

One masked man is bending over another a body, already strewn across the floor and dead. the man's mask litters the floor in red shards. Jin sees the gun in the living man's hands, gloved, Jin snaps his hand up and aims before he can really take in the details of the scene.

“Stop! FBI! Put your hands where I can see them!”

The man at the other end of the room tilts his head and does not speak, red mask flashing in the half-light. There is a single breath where the man does not move, just looks at Jin with that tilted face. silent. But then he takes off, running like his life depends on it. bolting down a corridor and out of range of Jin’s accuracy on the best of days.

Jin fires a shot and misses. It hits the metal wall with a loud clink and a bright spark, ricocheting off into space.

Jin curses and takes off after the killer, skidding in the dust and bashing into the wall, gun banning against the door with a loud metallic clang as he slides through it, running from hall to hall trying to get a good shot.

Every time Jin crests a turn and tries to aim, the man rounds another, darting through the maze of hallways and shipping containers.

Jin has longer legs and is taller and faster than his target. He catches up to them by the stairs, the man turns and hesitates again. If Jin were less adrenaline high he might already realize they've tucked their gun away.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!”

The criminal bolts up the stairs and Jin goes too. Up and up and up onto the catwalk. Feet clangs against the metal, the suspended walkway sways under the force of their steps, The chains clanking.

And then, at the very end, he stops.

Jimin turns, casting one glance back at him. And hesitates, the mask catches the light again. And Jimin reaches up, about to take it off. The words, "Stop baby it's me." Already hovering on the edge of his lips.

He never gets the chance to say them. Jin’s finger finds the trigger, and the gun fires in a gorgeous explosion of gunpowder and force. Fire made small, and love made lethal.

Jimin hits the wall from the force of the bullet, hitting the latch at the back of his head.

The mask falls off.

~-~

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~-~

Notes:

Everybody lives nobody dies.

Let me repeat that again NOBODY DIES, no one, not even Jimin. He’s just gonna be a little bloody from this, that’s all, before you get angry and yell at me.

I could have made this more convoluted, but I decided not too because…I simply did not want to stage a chapter between this one and the next one.

Jimin’s autistic meltdowns look a whole lot like mine do, I know they’re not typically what other people associate with meltdowns. But going nonverbal and stimming with your body (pacing) is very on par with me.

I felt like we needed to see a little bit of the jinmin dynamic before you know…Jin shoots him, just for funsies. And to talk about how Jimin loves.

A lot of people expressed a desire for Jimin to have some sort of concenquence for the way he treated Tae when she came out, just the part where he needed space, and for him not helping the m/c when he could have. I think this is his penance for that, getting shot by Jin, getting betrayed- however unintentionally- by someone he loves is the justice for those moments. I’ve always been stalwart on the fact that the bily charecters act sort of terribly sometimes because real people act terribly too, they’re dynamic in the way that they love and handle their actions.

On the subject of like- who framed what and explaining the events of the chapter, moonbyul and Hyejin are orchestrating everything. They pay Jimin MOSTLY because they know how suspicious it is and are trying to do anything they can to expose Jin to him. The scene in the industrial park goes exactly the way they wanted it too…accept that Jimin will live. They didn’t count on Jin being a poor shot lol

They are trying not only to manipulate the m/c away from the pack, but destabilize them to try and make the m/c come to them. Having one packmate kill another is definitely they way they wanted to do this. They’d 1000% just kill everyone if they thought that would give them the m/c but they’re attempting to manipulate her into coming to them rather than just abducting her point blank.

Funnily enough this is one cannon-cannon event of bily like, Jin was always going to shoot Jimin. If you go back and forth in other chapters you can see that Jin is almost constantly touching Jimin’s shoulder. It’s up to you if you think that Jin’s bullet got close enough to Jimin’s heart to kill him or if by some luck he survived

That’s a lie I can’t lie to you guys he’s 1000% going to live through this I can’t keep secrets from you guys, no one dies in this story even if it seems like they might at times we only have one more almost death to get through.

I feel like this chapter had less flowery language than my usual ones in part because it’s got a bit from Jin’s pov and also because everyone is so scared and frozen through the whole thing.

I cannot even begin to tell you how much less stressful the next chapter of bily is than my life, like i would rather GET SHOT AGAIN then be where i currently am, with the same level of anxiety that i have.

i wish i had time to edit this more but alas! its only 2 hours until i'll post this and i'm just finishing it up.

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sidekick-hero · 28 days

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(steddie | explicit | 11.7k | tags: pwp, friends to lovers, brief Steve/other, mutual pining, summary: Steve asks Eddie for help in fulfilling one of his fantasies. Eddie has no idea that he is the actual star of this fantasy | AO3)

“I have no idea where you get your weed but damn, this shit hits so much harder than the stuff I usually manage to score," Steve says, face pinched as he blows out the smoke, the pungent smell of it filling the small room, before handing it back to Eddie. They're sitting side by side on the bed, both holding beers, bodies already going lax against the mattress.

"You know I don't kiss and tell."

Steve snorts a laugh. "Since when? Just last week you got lost on a ten minute spiel about that guy giving you head during your lunch break dude."

Eddie’s eyes cut a sideways glance at Steve, lips already curling in a shiteating grin. “Yeah but we didn’t kiss, so my point still stands,” Eddie retorts, wiggling his eyebrows at Steve and they both burst out into high laughter. Steve's body tilts sideways into Eddie's, and instead of pushing him away, Eddie just adjusts his own position so they're leaning against each other more comfortably.

When their laughter subsides neither of them moves away, bodies too heavy with the weed and booze in their system. They’ve been friends for years and have found themselves in much more compromising positions. Friendly cuddling while high doesn’t even make the top ten, Eddie thinks lazily.

“So, anyone interesting happening since Lunch Break Guy?”

“I’m pretty sure his name was Matt. Or Mark? Something like that. And nah, had to help Wayne clean out my old room last weekend, remember? I’m still recovering from hauling boxes all day.”

“Awww did you haul them with your dick? Poor delicate flower.” Steve giggles at his own joke, petting at Eddie with the hand not holding the beer, movements already sluggish and uncoordinated. Steve is such a lightweight and Eddie wonders why he finds that so endearing.

“Asshole,” Eddie chuckles, swatting Steve’s hand away. “At least I didn’t hook up with a guy dressed up as Frankenstein."

"It was Halloween, Eddie." He can’t see his face but Eddie hears the eyeroll in Steve’s voice.

"Did you compare your freaking monster dicks?"

"You know we didn’t, you were the one walking in on us to make that exact same joke,” Steve snorts and Eddie feels it against the skin of his neck.

Once again, Eddie wonders if it's weird that they're so close. He knows Steve doesn't tell Robin half the shit he does when he's getting his rocks off, and they're platonic soul mates. He didn't tell Chrissy about Matt's? Mark's? tongue piercing, or how he swallowed about half of Eddie's load before he started coughing and got the rest all over their clothes, so Eddie had to call Steve to get him a change of clothes because he couldn't work in cum-stained jeans. And he's pretty sure that normal friends don't make out with each other when they get drunk or high either. But, like, whatever. Who needs normal when you can have Steve leaning on you like that, smelling of his expensive shampoo and weed.

Taking another hit from the blunt, Eddie holds the smoke in for a long moment, and just as he's about to blow it out, he feels Steve's hand on his jaw, turning his head down toward his open mouth, as if he'd been waiting for this very moment. So Eddie slots their mouths together and gives Steve what he wants, as he always does. Because it's Steve, and Eddie doesn't know how not to.

After they have both exhaled the smoke, Eddie gives Steve the blunt to put in the ashtray. Steve does so, but not before taking one last hit. It's their second joint of the night and they both feel it.

“What about you, Mr. Charming? Any new adventures I haven’t heard about?”

"I went to the Babylon the other day."

"Oh," Eddie says, drawing out the syllable as he looks down at Steve in surprise. "That's the one with a darkroom that has, like, another room behind it for the really kinky stuff, right?"

Steve laughs awkwardly, avoiding Eddie's eyes. "Yeah, that one, although I think that's a hoax."

"And how do you know that?" Eddie asks, before gasping dramatically, his hand pressed to his chest in mock indignation. "Steven! Did you go in the dark room?"

Instead of a snarky comeback, all Eddie gets is an almost timid nod.

Huh.

Steve almost never gets shy, didn't even blush when he walked in on Eddie eating out the bartender in their room when they went on vacation together last year. Simply told him to hurry up because he was tired before he went back outside.

Not in the least bothered by Steve's weird behavior, Eddie pokes Steve in his rips and asks excitedly, "How was it? Tell me everything."

He can feel Steve fidgeting where he's still pressed into Eddie’s body and he takes another sip of his beer before finally looking up at Eddie.

Steve's eyes are glassy from the weed, the white tinged with red and so dark they look bottomless, like Eddie could actually fall into them, lost forever. Fuck, Steve's right, the shit Rick sold him really hits hard.

"It was good. Like, really fucking good, y'know. Intense and, I dunno, a bit awkward at first, but then it was... yeah, just really good."

Eddie feels that Steve is not telling him something here. They may be high and buzzed, but that was a lot of good in Eddie's opinion. And Steve is still fidgeting.

"Sounds...good. You picked someone up at the club to fuck there?"

"Not...really."

As it turns out, Steve went in there alone, but he wasn't alone for long. Eddie listens with bated breath as Steve goes into more and more detail about dancing and drinking at the bar, about seeing people disappear behind a thick velvet curtain only to emerge long minutes later looking disheveled and satisfied. He tells Eddie about strolling over there himself, just to check it out so he could tell Eddie about it later, and about being surrounded by strangers, too dark to make out anything but the sounds of skin slapping against skin, ragged breathing, moans and whimpers filling the thick and humid air.

Eddie feels himself getting more and more turned on the longer he listens to Steve's low voice talking about lingering hands and mouths touching him everywhere, strangers grinding against him before he inevitably moved on. Eddie's already half hard, and when he looks down into Steve's lap, he sees the thick, hard outline of his cock in his sweatpants.

It's not as embarrassing as it should be. Steve has always been hot, Eddie has two functioning eyes and an active libido. It wouldn't be the first time he jerked off thinking about Steve, not even the first time Steve was present if asleep, but they never went further than a few heated make out sessions, sloppy kisses and some grinding before remembering their friendship and breaking apart.

Not that Eddie wouldn't drop everything and be on him in seconds if Steve asked, but that’s neither here nor there.

"And then this guy just grabbed me, he was strong and I wasn't expecting it, and then my face was pressed against the wall and he was on my back, rubbing against me, his dick thrusting against my ass, and -" Steve takes a deep breath and Eddie, realizing that he has been holding his breath all along, follows suit.

"And?" Eddie asks when the silence stretches.

Another deep inhale before Steve goes on. "And it was really hot, like, I've never been so hard in my life. I wanted him to, y'know, use me, just, uh, pull my jeans down and fuck me without me being able to do anything. Just… Making me take it, getting off fucking me and then walking away like I’m just some, I dunno, toy with his cum dripping out of me."

Eddie was biting his lip so hard he was sure he'd taste blood any second, but it was the only way he could hold back the moan that was trying to crawl out of his mouth. His dick had gone from half hard to so hard it almost hurt, and he was seconds away from pushing down his own sweats and jerking off to the way Steve talked about being used.

"But then, I don't know, my brain, like, panicked, and I pushed him off, and ran out of the room before I even knew I was going to do it."

Steve is decidedly not looking at Eddie, which is good, because Eddie has no idea what his face must look like right now. Probably as destroyed as he feels. He's pretty sure Steve has seen the way his sweats are tenting by now, but considering how obscenely Steve's dick is stretching the fabric of his own pants, Eddie thinks Steve doesn't have a leg to stand on. Eddie also felt the way Steve's hips squirmed as he recounted the way those strangers in the darkroom had touched him.

The silence between them grows and grows, sitting heavy on his chest, so Eddie clears his throat and asks, "So - was it, I mean," he exhales loudly, "did you, uh, like it?" Steve looks up at him, surprised by the question, and Eddie clarifies, "I mean before you panicked and ran out. Everything before that."

Chewing on his lower lip, Steve considers his questions and the air between them is so thick that Eddie feels like he's drowning. He swallows and watches, transfixed, as Steve's Adam's apple also bobs, a bead of sweat sliding past it as it moves.

"I mean, yeah. I did. It was hot, man, like I said. Especially the... the way they were just touching me, taking what they wanted. I didn't even know that I, uh, wanted that?” It isn’t often that Steve sounds unsure, at least when it comes to sex and hookups. So when Eddie hears his voice waver like that, like Steve is embarrassed to want something, his instincts to comfort and help start screaming at him.

Before he can do anything about it, like pull Steve against him and tell him it’s okay, Steve keeps going. “But it was too much… Too, I dunno, surprising? Like, I really wanna do that again, but like, with some precaution. So it feels safe and I can, uh, let go or something. Not panic again because that sucked man.”

Steve finishes his beer and drops the empty bottle on the floor next to Eddie's bed. Usually he would bitch about it, just because it's what he always does, but tonight is not like most of their ‘boys’ nights’, as Robin calls them mockingly. Eddie is a little lost and a lot turned on right now and he thinks it would be best for him if their conversation ended here.

If only it was that easy when you have the impulse control of a toddler and can’t leave things very well alone.

"But you fucked strangers before. Like two weeks ago I watched you pick up some random guy to fuck in your car before coming back in for another beer. I helped you get out the cum stains the next day, too."

"I know, I know. It's not that. It's - you remember Clive?"

"Ugh, that asshole." Eddie says with feeling.

Steve chuckles against Eddie's neck and moves even closer, soothing Eddie's annoyance with the contact. God, but he hated that guy who had treated Steve like shit. He had been mean and condescending, and Steve had always looked subdued, almost small, in the days after their hookups.

"Yeah, that one. You hate him, he was a dick, I know. But he, well. He fucked me like this once, pinned me down on the bed, caged me in, ass up, face pressed into the pillow so I could barely breathe, and pounded me so hard I was covered in bruises the next day. Said some nasty shit too, man, and I felt so dirty but also so fucking turned on that I came without a hand on me.”

Steve squirms and fidgets next to him, his body moving against Eddie's in small increments, and Eddie thinks Steve doesn't even realize he's doing it, lost in his memories and the typical weed horniness. "I want this, but, y'know, like, with more."

Eddie actually chokes on his spit at that, stammering, "More?"

"Yeah," Steve says, pushing his face into Eddie's neck like that's the last straw, the thing that's too embarrassing to say out loud. "Like, when I think about it, I'm completely helpless. Hands tied, legs spread with a bar so I couldn't close them even if I wanted to.”

Eddie can't help it, he's got to do something or he'll actually die of Steve-induced sexual frustration. He shifts slightly on his right side, towards Steve, so that he can push his left leg over his right, pressing it down enough to relieve at least some of the pressure. Still, the sensation of any kind of friction against his aching dick makes him clench his hands into fists, his whole body tense.

His next words sound strained to his own ears. "So why not... do it with someone else? I mean, I've seen you at clubs and parties, Stevie, you'd have no problem finding someone willing to do, uh, that."

"True. But it doesn't feel safe. What if, y'know, the guy is, like, a serial killer or something? I've watched enough crime shows with you to know that happens!"

Eddie doesn't say anything, just takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Because seriously, Steve is right, it's super fucking risky and if he's honest, he doesn't want to think about Steve in that kind of danger. He'd go crazy worrying about him.

They're both silent and Eddie's thoughts are racing, the mellowness that usually comes with getting high gone. Replaced by more and more images of Steve flashing behind his eyelids.

Steve on a bed, Steve bent over a table, Steve on some faceless guy. Hands and mouths and teeth all over Steve’s body, his beautiful hazel eyes wide and wet, his face slack with pleasure. His gorgeous dick dripping with need.

Steve, Steve, Steve.

"Can you be there?"

His thoughts come to a screeching halt as his eyes widen in shock. What?

"What?"

"Well, no one would try anything if someone was looking out for me. Also, I could let go knowing you're there. I know you'll keep me safe."

Which, yeah. Eddie would. He would always make sure Steve was safe. It's himself, his heart, that he doesn't trust to be safe when he's there.

"What are you saying here, Steve?"

"I dunno, just that when I think about it. Think about being naked and tied to a bed, all helpless and shit, and there is some guy fucking me however he wants. Use me however he wants… I just. I want that, been thinking about it so much since that night at the Babylon. And you're always..." Steve's hand clenches and unclenches against Eddie's arm. "I want you there. To watch out for me. Make sure I'm still safe, that he doesn't really hurt me. Like, y'know, a safety blanket."

Jesus fucking Christ. He'll never let Steve near his weed again. Not if it ends with Steve tucked into his side, that familiar heat spreading from all the places their bodies touch, both hard in their sweatpants, while Steve talks about Eddie being his goddamn safety blanket while he gets railed by a stranger.

Still, Steve so rarely asks for anything that Eddie wants to do this for him, as fucked up as it sounds. He’s always been a freak and it seems Steve’s right there with him.

Before Eddie can make up his mind, however, Steve lifts his head and chuckles in a way that sounds forced. "Sorry, never mind, it's the weed talking, just forget it."

With that, he untangles himself from Eddie and stands up, his hard dick very obviously tenting his sweats as he turns away from the bed and towards the door. "I'm gonna get another beer, you want one?"

Looking at Steve's back and the tense line of his shoulders, Eddie says, "Yeah, sure.”

Read the rest on AO3

#steddie #steddie smut #steddie fic #eddie x steve #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #nsft

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wellofdean · 1 month

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I read your post about Supernatural being queer somehow from season 1 and I have two questions.

1. Don't you think it straight-appropriates the word "queer" to say it just means "not normal"? That argument seems disingenuous to me, and a lot of us want representation, and to see that word applied to explicit depiction of queer sexuality, and it's a cheat that they don't. Queer studies did start as the study of queer sexualities and the experience of queer people.

2. Are you saying that the makers of Supernatural intended for it to be "flesh on queer bones"? Do you think they intentionally sat down to tell a queer story?

Those are good questions my anonymous friend. Thank you for asking. Here are my thoughts:

To answer your first question: no, I don't think it appropriates anything. Here's why: firstly, if we're talking about sexuality and gender, it's queer 101 that no one owes anyone a justification of their queerness, and not everyone who is queer is interested in labeling it or making it legible to you, and they have no obligation to do so, and not doing so doesn't make them any less queer. Furthermore, some people who are queer are not interested in sex, so what about them?

All of that together is why, for me, the entire queer project is much more deeply about non-compliance with hegemony, and specifically with hegemony around gender roles, sexuality and to put it under a big umbrella, patriarchy, than it is about who you fuck. Those things extend into so many other aspects of life that I think you can easily talk about "queering" a very wide range of topics, and possibly? ANY TOPIC.

You are responding to this post, I think, and in it, I made a choice to talk about family and hunting, and our heroes roles and characterizations in that, and did not talk about gender shenanigans or sexuality, because my point was that even before we get to anything to do with it, Sam and Dean are immersed in a queered world in a fundamental, structural way. That said, I assure you that if you go back into season 1 of Supernatural, you will find LOADS that could be said about gender and sexuality, too. As well as other things, and a particularly important area, as @ironworked pointed out in the tags, is blue collar/white collar class issues.

As I said, the depth of queerness in Supernatural is actually dizzying just in terms of the story's BONES to say nothing of how they flesh it out. Queerness is about deviation from the norm. It's about rebellion and disobedience against hegemonic systems for the sake of personal authenticity and love.

Think about Cas for a minute. Cas's whole story is that he rejects his role in a hegemonic heaven. He rebels for love, and that is pretty explicit as early as season 4 when he tells Dean "We're making it up as we go". Fellas, that is THE QUEEREST SHIT EVER even if he didn't do it for Dean, and like... HE DID IT FOR DEAN. Cas did not have to tell Dean he loved him for me to know it, and for Cas to be a deeply queered character. When he DID say it, I wasn't the least bit surprised he was in love with Dean, because seriously, we been knew. I was only surprised I got to have the immense pleasure of hearing him say it and looking at Dean's face while he took it in. Jesus. I will NEVER RECOVER.

This is my perspective on representation in Supernatural: It's excellent, and I relate to, and feel seen by it as a queer person. Nobody needs to get fucked on the maps table for me to do the math that this is a queer story. It is very, very, very thoroughgoingly canonically queer in so many ways, and not all of them are to do with sex. I think some fans will only allow it to be called queer if dudes make out in it. I am not one of those fans.

As to your second question, I think there is a wealth of evidence in the filmic oeuvre of Eric Kripke to suggest that as an artist and a writer, he is concerned or maybe even preoccupied with masculinity issues and issues around family, and around the way patriarchy fucks men up. So, yes. I think he knew what he was doing and he knew that queerness was part of the mix. For fucks sake, it's a family of men who hunt monsters. That is very fucking on the nose. Do I think he kicked off Supernatural in 2005 planning a 15 year operatic queer romance between Cas and Dean? No. I don't think anyone planned for it to go as long as it did, and it's a matter of record that some things were influenced by fan response, actors' chemistry, different writers and showrunners' preferences and etc. What I will say is that when they had a choice to "straighten shit out" or lean into the queerness, they fucking leaned in, nearly EVERY TIME. Like, it's pretty amazing how consistently they lean the fuck in.

I'll admit -- I wasn't watching it with those eyes the first time, and I didn't give it much real estate in my mind when I watched it as it aired from 2006 to the end, but the last three episodes reshaped it for me and made me angry, and also made me need to watch it all again, this time with an explicitly queer lens, and BOY HOWDY let me tell you this: the Supernatch rewatch journey is a wild and wonderful trip to Queertown. It is legit more difficult to argue that Dean is straight than it is to argue that he is queer. There is a full on CORNUCOPIA of story evidence to support that read and relatively little that convincingly counters it on the straight side, and that starts right at the beginning, when they bend pretty baby Dean over a police car in episode one, and he smirks insouciantly in his lip gloss. Do I think everyone involved knew how that looked? Sexy, submissive and a bit gay?

YES I DO.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #Eric Kripke #watching with queer goggles #I recommend it #it's just queer yo #anti-trashnatural agenda

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theunfortunateplace · 4 months

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Say you love me (Neteyam X OC!Na’vi) Chapter 18

Read On Ao3 Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Pairing (Neteyam X Original Metkayina Female Character)

Synopsis: follow Luaewe as her world literally gets turned upside down with new na’vi joining her village. Never having to face many obstacles besides finding her way back home. How will she be able to handle the constant jealousy she's faced with and an unwanted love triangle. Disclaimer: All characters in this fic have been aged up for the convenience of storytelling and to match the aging system up with both Pandora and Earth

AGES

OC Luaewe-22 Neteyam-23 Kiri-23 Lo'ak-21 Ao'nung-23 Tsireya-21

Warnings: Smut, Thigh fucking, P in V, Marking, Heavy impreg talk, Breeding kink, Creampie (let me know if I missed anything else)

I awoke bright and early along with the Sully family. 'Teyam and I said goodbye to my mother with her of course not sparing me the kisses. Even Neteyam got smothered in some. This trip was originally supposed to be us two but it quickly turned into a family trip. Was Neteyam happy about that? Nope. Not one bit but he eventually got over it. I on the other hand was excited regardless I never traveled that far before.

Travels like that were only meant for the traders of the clan. “Are you sure you packed everything?” I heard Reya ask as we approached the others by the ikran. “Of course I did! I even packed extra for you.” Lo’ak answered back while giving his ikran a pet. She was tagging along too her mother insisted it was the right thing to do and Lo’ak didn’t want to leave her alone.

“Why do I have the feeling they will be bickering the whole travel?” Neteyam whispered in my ear as we approached his ikran. I chuckled and looked up at him. “ because it’s highly likely that it’s going to happen, but I’m sure if you fly fast enough we won’t hear it.” I winked at him causing him to smirk at me. He leaned down and kissed my lips.

I felt his hand caress my face as he deepened it. “Ma teyam did you drink the tea this morning?” I asked in between kisses. He pulled apart resting his forehead on mine. “Yeah…I did…maybe we should have made this trip sooner.” He said in a worried tone.

I tossed the items my mom requested for me to bring on his ikran and cupped his face. “You'll be fine… if you feel like you need to take a break do it. Don’t push yourself harder than you need to.” He nodded his head placing one last kiss on my lips.

“OK, love birds, are you guys done sucking face so we can fly out?” I heard Jake call out as he finished loading everything up. I heard Neteyam groan pulling away fully reaching to secure the sack I placed on top.

I chuckled and quickly placed my hand on his. gesturing for him to check if the saddle and everything else were secured. I looked over at Kiri as she talked with Spider who sat in front of her. I still have yet to have a proper conversation with him… every time I try to it’s like he avoids me as if I were ill. I shook my head turning back to the ikran that was staring me down. I gave him a pat on the head only for him to blow air through his nose at me nudging while against my hand. “ you ready for the ride big guy?” His face changed making me raise a brow confused by his reaction, but he quickly licked a long strip on my cheek. I groaned and patted his head.

“Yup-yup, I love you too.” I walked off wiping all the slobber away and shook my head that dude needs to work on expressing his feelings in another way. I climbed on top and sat towards the front in my normal spot. I can’t believe I would be going to the forest…. Let alone meeting his grandmother. I felt his eyes lingering from behind me causing me to look and sure enough he was.

We didn’t have much time and every second we spent here the less time we had to make it there before his rut. “OK, is everyone ready?” I asked shaking the worriedness from my voice. I gestured to 'Teyam to get on and he followed. “All set!” Jake called out. Before I could even reply back I felt 'Teyam wrap his arm around me tightly inching closer to me. “You know the drill hold on tight.” I gripped the leather strap and he took flight.

I gasped feeling the wind rush past my face as the ikran screeched out. No matter how many times I fly with him it never gets old.

Jake took his position leading us in the front while Neteyam followed closely behind. Ever so often I could hear their voices communicating their next move or to ask questions. The technology was all new to me. Neteyam didn’t wear the device often but I guess since we are going to the forest it’s necessary.

I wonder if they use it because you can’t hear anyone when flying and it’s not like us, the Metkayina, where we have sign language….

My mind was filled with so many questions. Sure I’ve wondered how different clans lived their life but it just dawned upon me that the Omaticaya use many forms of human technology…

My mind was like this for hours new thoughts popped in. Questioning many different things it wasn’t until I felt a drastic shift in our direction that I realized we were making our first stop.

He landed the ikran and got off. Holding a hand out to assist me, I smiled and thanked him with a kiss causing him to smirk.

“Gosh, I have to pee!” I hear Reya say as she practically runs off somewhere. I chuckled and looked over to Kiri and Spider. I locked eyes with Spider and I saw nothing but fear in his eyes. Even though I was waving and smiling at the pair. I bit my lip and turned back to Neteyam who was looking at me with a confused face.

“What's wrong?” He asked I shook my head reaching for the snack bag and pulling out some dried fish. “It's nothing.” I looked up and smiled at him only for him to caress my cheek. He leaned down moving closer to my lips, when I suddenly I heard a crunch. I opened my eyes to find this man chewing on my damn fish.

“You little-“ he abruptly kissed my lips and started running away. “ I’m gonna get you once we get to the forest, you fish thief!” I yelled out. I huffed and ate the remains fish in my hand and walked over to Lo’ak who was stretching his legs out.

“How was the ride so far?” I asked he scoffed and smirked. “ I’m sure you can guess what it was like Luaewe.” I chuckled and shook my head.

“Well, it’s almost eclipse she will go to sleep soon, and the crankiness will wear off.” He smiled slightly and looked away for a short moment. “ I don’t suppose you have something that will help with nausea?” I smiled and patted his shoulder.

“And who would I be if I wasn’t prepared for everyone? Come I’ll give you a couple of things to give her.” He let out a sigh of relief and quickly walked over with me.

I undid the knot on the satchel that held all my medicine and took out some candy I made. “These should help.” He raised a brow. “You sure, because it just looks like candy to me.”

I chuckled. “It is candy, I made it. I figured we wouldn’t have time to sit and brew tea and all that extra stuff…well you guys might but Neteyam and I don’t.”

He hummed.” You know that’s a really smart idea. I never seen something like this.” I smiled and thanked him. He looked off again and scratched the back of his head causing me to raise my brow.

Is there something else wrong? Why is he acting like this? Normally he’s cracking jokes or goofing around or something. “OK, what's going on? This.” I moved my hands in a circular motion. “ is making me worried.”

“ I- shit…. You know this is really awkward to talk about especially considering you’re my brother's mate and now my sister...” I huffed and placed my hands on my hips. What the hell is he trying to say? And why is it so hard? “Lo'ak?” He looked at me directly. “ Just say it.”

I chuckled, causing him to smile. “How did you know you were in love… what did it feel like?” I blinked slowly, completely stunned by the question.

“Wow ok, I wasn’t expecting that um…. Well ha….At first, I was extremely conflicted due to some stuff that happened in my past… I don’t think there was a specific incident that made me love him, it was really everything combined. Like sure when you like someone you feel a pull or whatever but every second I wasn’t with him felt emptiness… when he held me even at the most awkward times.” I chuckled and looked off into the distance. “ It's like this warmth engulfed me and I’m not talking about body heat. I could literally feel his love. I don’t know, it's hard to explain but when you know you know.”

I looked back at him only to find him in a transfixed state. As if he were thinking really hard. It wasn’t until Reya called out to him that he snapped out of it. We don’t have deep conversations together but I could tell he was going through something.

I felt arms wrap around me from the back and I smiled leaning into his chest. He placed a kiss on my forehead and hummed. “ Where did you run off to fish stealer?” He looked down and chuckled.

“ I had to handle some business before we headed back out.” I raised a brow in confusion. I mean if he had to use the bathroom he could of ju- ooooooooh. I turned around and he tilted his head.

“ Why didn’t you ask? I would've helped.” I said lowly. He smiled and gently grazed his thumb against my cheek. “Ma orae if I did that I definitely would have not been able to hold back and would have pushed myself into an early rut.” I pouted but accepted his words. That’s the last thing either of us want. “You're right.....well, did you at least get the satisfaction you needed?” He laughed out and gently ran his hands up and down my back only for him to firmly grasp my ass making me gasp out in shock. “‘'Teyam, your family is right there!” I whispered, yelled, looking around quickly to make sure no one was watching

He lowered his face to my ear and playfully nipped it.“Shh, it's not like they would notice.” Of course they would you’re literally gripping my ass in broad daylight gosh I hope Tuk isn’t looking over here!

“It was enough, but I would have preferred that tight little pussy you have.” I playfully swatted his arm causing him to chuckle moving his head away. “You can be touchy all you want but you better keep that mouth in check!” I pointed my finger at him and furrowed my brows.

“OK, I’ll keep it in check. Wouldn’t want to accidentally turn you on, or we would be stuck here for days and I probably would end up with a broken arm again.”

Too late for that ‘'Teyam, and I’m sure he can tell because that damn smirk on his face is staying put. He leaned down kissing my lips. I felt his hands starting to grope my ass as he tried to deepen the kiss. I pulled away quickly and pushed his chest away. He looked at me as if I had betrayed him but quickly came back to his senses. “Shit, I’m sorry.” He pulled back fully and let out a frustrated sigh.

I shook my head and gave his arm a squeeze. “It's okay, that’s why I’m here to keep you in check.” I said trying to lighten the mood, he let out a soft chuckle and nodded his head. “We should head back out. I’m not sure if everyone else is ready but we gotta go.” He said while looking around.

He pressed his fingers on the device and spoke. “Me and Luaewe are gonna head out first.” I watched as Jake popped his head up from whatever he was doing. “OK, we will meet at the third stop.”

I reached back into the back and took out another piece of dried fish. I was just standing there watching them both communicate but I had no clue what they were saying. I felt Neteyam’s hand graze my lower back.

I turn away from the bag making sure to close it and look up while taking a bite of the fish. He chuckled and leaned down. I instinctively moved away having a feeling he would take another bite from me but he held me in place and kissed my forehead.

“Come on, my pretty girl it’s time to go.” Heat suddenly rose to my face causing me to look away. But I quickly grabbed the saddle and hopped up. He positioned himself behind me swiftly connecting his kuru. He wrapped his arm around my midsection and before I knew it we were off in the air again.

I have no clue when the next stop will be maybe hours from now well into Eclipse. I bit my lip feeling him reposition himself behind me as we leveled out in the air. Gosh, this was going to be a difficult ride. I mean I knew it was but shit his fucking dick is pressed up against my ass and it’s taking everything in me not to reach back and grab it.

But the last thing I want is for us to crash into the ocean……this is gonna be a long trip.

“OK, we will camp here for tonight leave out early morning and meet up with everyone at the third stop.” I hum as he helps me back off the ikran.

“How many more stops till we get there?” He walked over to the bags and took some off. “maybe two more, it all depends on the weather really.”

I smile and fold my hands together. That’s awesome we’ll I’m sure the weather won-“ the sound of thunder crashed interrupting me. “Well shit.” He chuckled as I looked up to see if there were any rain clouds.

I quickly walked over to him and took some of the bags. “Will those be alright in the rain I’m not sure how your material holds up?” We moved under a tree and set everything down. “Yeah, it's made out of leather and we waterproofed it…. It would be ideal if we found a cave if it’s going to rain but we will have to make do with this tree.” He said fiddling with something in the bags. I tried to help but he told me to just sit so I did.

If I knew one thing about Neteyam it’s that if he tells you he’s got it and doesn’t need help he doesn’t. Well until you hear cursing or a loud noise. I watched as he strung up the material that would keep us dry.

I shook my head subtly walking back over to him and went into the bag taking out the blanket we would sleep on. I heard his playful scoff from behind me and I smiled. He should have known I wouldn’t stay put. I jolted up feeling a sudden wetness on my back. “Looks like we landed just in time.” He said while quietly moving the other bags under the material. I hummed and sat down watching the rain hit the sand. “ I should have known not to jinx the weather.” I lightly chuckle as I feel him pull me closer and wrap his arms around my waist.

“It's fine, at least we get to enjoy the rain together…. You know I just realized this is the first time since mating we will sleep alone.” I smiled and rested my head against his chest.

“You're right… it’s weird not having Tuk trying to infiltrate our cuddle time or my mom waking us up.” I shook my head. I’ll never forget the day when Neteyam and I were about to have our afternoon nap. Anyone walking by would think we were about to have sex with how intense we kiss before we sleep.

But that didn’t matter to Tuk. She ran into our area and jumped on us complaining how it was unfair we didn’t spend time with her as much as we do with each other.

“Mhm, we are finally alone. Maybe when we get back our marui will be finished hopefully not though. It’s my duty- well back in my clan once mated the male or one who initiated creates the hammock or marui as you guys call it.”

I raised a brow confused do they not sleep in marui’s like us. “ wait so how do you guys sleep?”

“ in hammocks. There are individual ones, then ones for couples, and lastly the family ones but after moving to the mountains because of the war… we had to set up tents you can still sleep in the hammocks inside or sleep on the floor…. It’s kinda complicated you’ll see when we get there.” I hummed and moved forward reaching for some fruit.

“ I’m excited especially since you guys really talk up the forest.” He chuckled while placing a kiss on top of my head.

“ because it deserves to be talked up!” He held his hand out and I placed some of the fruit in his hand willingly. “ you think Sa'nok will make some porridge for me?” He let out a laugh and I looked up with a serious face. “ I’m serious! You said it was better so now that I’ll be there I can’t leave without tasting it!”

“You'll get your porridge don’t worry… and the other delicious foods,” I closed my eyes and hummed. That’s another thing I had no clue about. The types of food they ate…

I felt his face dip against my neck lightly nipping at my skin. “Why do you have to smell so good ma Orae?” He grunted against me. I bit my lip feeling his dick press against my back. “ I don’t know why this time around is so hard for me but shit!” I felt him squeeze my hips trying to lift me up but continued to restrain himself.

“Let me help you-“ I said trying to turn around he lowly hissed warning me to stay put. “Luaewe, you know we can’t.” He strained.

“But it’s hurting you! I can’t stand seeing you this way, 'Teyam. You don’t have to put it in. I can jerk you off or you can put it in between my legs.”

He nipped my neck again as his hand slid around to the front forcefully cupping my pussy. My breath shuddered at his fingers grazing my clothed clit.

He let out a deep chuckle against the back of my neck but cursed as I touched his thigh. I was still wet from earlier. It’s probably what’s driving him to behave like this. Gosh, I feel so bad! And the fact that I can’t even help. “My hand isn’t even fully touching your pussy and I can feel how wet it is.”

He playfully tapped against my clit causing me to jolt back in surprise. “What I would do to be inside you right now… feeling that tight hole squeeze me as I fill you up with my cum.” I let out a whimper as he continued to speak in my ear.

Fuck I don’t remember him talking this dirty before. I let a moan slip from my mouth and I could feel him smirk against me. “But this will have to do. Lay down for me sweetie.” He patted my thighs letting me know what he decided and I followed his instructions.

I laid down on my side with my thighs pressed together looking back waiting for him to move closer to me. He looked at my ass hungrily grabbing it with his hand. Even with hands as big as his some of it flowed out between his fingers.

He chuckled lowly moving his hands up my hips speedily undoing my tweng. His chest pressed up against my back causing me to lean into him. He dipped his face back into the crevice of my neck and let out a deep growl. “You smell so good.” His fingers found their way to my folds massaging my entrance. I let out an airy moan reaching back to hold his forearm. “So wet for me. Fuck I just want to be in you!”

You and me both! “Please?” I let go of his arm reaching back further for his cock that was pressed between my ass. “ I don’t want your fingers. Put it between my legs ''Teyam.” I gave up trying not to sound desperate right now. I wanted my mate and I couldn’t even have him the way I wanted.

He moaned as I gripped the base of his cock as I lifted my leg up slightly. “mmmm.” I bit back my moan as I rolled my hips back into him. Setting him in place nestled snugly between my folds. He forcefully grabbed my face detaching his lips from my now abused neck and latching them onto my lips.

He started moving slowly at first. Almost antagonizingly slow. Even in his horny pre-rut filled brain he still had it in him to torture me. But that all came to an end very quickly. His hand caressed my body spending extra time on my breast. When suddenly he sped up out of nowhere causing me to jolt forward with the increase in stimulation.

“ ssshit!” I moaned out while gripping his arm once again as he pulled me back holding me still. “I’m not even in you and you’re running?” He scoffed “How is my mate supposed to tend to me when she can’t even take my cock rubbing up against their tight little pussy huh?”

He lowered his hand to my clit rubbing it ferociously. I gasped, feeling an orgasm fast approaching but he switched up the pace on purpose. “Please please please please please-“ I choked out begging for him to make me cum but he refused. He pulled his hand away gripping my breast again.

“Fuck, I love these! And your fucking ass. I wonder how big they’ll get when you swell with my child.” It’s just his pre-rut talking. It’s just his pre-rut talking. I chanted to myself trying to rationalize his words. He leaned down kissing me once again quickly deepening it. “Please let me cum.” I begged against his lips.

He smirked moving to my ear. “You wanna cum? Yet my cock isn’t in you? You think I’ll let you do that?” I whined getting frustrated with this game! “All you have to do is-“

“Just fuck me already damn it!” I shouted out fed up with all this teasing and non fucking. Maybe I’m out of my mind maybe I’m just fucking horny but if he cheats me out of another orgasm I will lose it!

I felt him smirk pulling back slightly and slowly pushing into me. “Yes yes yes yes!” I chanted as the swell of his cock stretched me. His lustful moans filled my ears as he settled deeply into me. I gasped, feeling our Kuru’s connection. I didn’t even feel him touch mine.

He moved slowly trying not to hurt me but he could tell I was fine and quickly picked up pace. The sounds of our skin hitting and the sound of my squelching pussy overpowered the downpour that was upon us. Thank Eywa we were alone or else this would be an embarrassing thing to happen with everyone there. Though his speed picked up his strokes were deep and with the curve of his cock it almost felt like it was intentional.

“T- 'Teyam, you're too deep!” His hand went back to my breast rolling my nipple in between his fingertips. I moaned out arching my back from the new stimulation. He chuckled sinisterly knowing exactly what he was doing.

“You're mine.” He nipped my ear with his teeth “If your breasts are this sensitive now just imagine what they’d feel like full of milk.” His stroke grew deeper, more aggressive. I cried out feeling him grow larger. How is that even possible? “Fuck ‘'Teyam please you’re too-“

He growled tightening his hold on me refusing to let go. “ I’m gonna fucking breed you! I’m gonna get you pregnant muntxate.” My pussy clenched vigorously around him causing him to chuckle. “You like that huh? You like when I say I’m gonna get you pregnant hm?”

His hand moved to my belly causing me to gasp. “ I’m gonna love watching you waddle around the village parading that round belly. Having it be a physical example of what I did to you.” He said while caressing my belly as if a bump were already there

He bit down onto my shoulder pushing me right over the edge. He held me tight as a scream of pure pleasure ripped through my throat. My body convulsed from how intense the orgasm hit me. But despite how forceful it was he continued to rut into me as his knot began to swell. I couldn't help but get turned on even more. Knowing the risk of us already performing tsaheylu. If he were to knot me, I would for sure get pregnant.

He bit down harder as his cock twitched inside of me spurting his hot cum against my cervix. I can only imagine what it feels like to be stuffed with his knot.

I reached placing my hand on his thigh and rubbing it as he came down from his high. His soft lips peppered my neck with kisses causing me to smile. “Fuck.” He breathed out, “I- I'm sorry, my love…… I got carried away shit.” I shook my head while attempting to look back.

“It's okay, you're alright right?”

“Mhm,” he said lowly while dipping his face in my neck still trying to calm his breathing. I reached back brushing the braids out of his face. “Then everything is fine and you feel relieved no?” He nodded his head and I smiled.

“Then there’s no need to worry ‘'Teyam.”I tried to pull away to fully check out his arm but instead, he tightened his hold around my waist. I chuckled while tapping his hand.

“Alright big guy, let me go I need to properly check your arm.” He groaned and I couldn’t help but let out a little laugh at his antics. But my laughter was quickly replaced by a shudder of my breath as he pulled out of me causing the cum to rush out of me.

“Gosh!” It felt almost erotic feeling the warmth of his seed run out of me and onto my inner thigh. I looked back to see his glistening cock slowly relax and knot fully deflate. I sat up with him following suit and reached for his arm.

Unlike Ronal, I wouldn’t be able to tell the healing status when most of it had healed already but I can’t tell if it’s broken. I felt around for anything out of place and listened to him for any small sounds to slip from him. But there was nothing everything was fine. I looked up and smiled while letting his arm down, “Nothing is broken.” I said softly

He reached up to caress my face and pulled me in for a kiss. “Thank you.” I giggled against his lips and patted his thigh.

“It’s my duty.” I squealed as he pulled me into his lap and laid down. “ ‘Teyam! We have to wash up.” I whined only for him to shush me.

I let out a groan and laid my head on his chest accepting defeat. His cum is gonna get all crusty! “You're gonna be the one scrubbing your cum off of me!” Laughter erupted from his chest

He cupped my ass while sitting back up. Good because I didn’t want to deal with that in the morning. “You just won’t let me enjoy my muntxate huh?” He said while standing up still holding onto me.

“You must want a crusted-up muntxate then if you thought I would just let you let me lay there! Skin as smooth as mine takes care!” He shook his head playfully and scoffed.

I felt him playfully tap my ass, “alright, let's make it quick then”. He looked out from under the material keeping us dry and hummed. “It looks like the rain slowed down but we should still make it quick.

“Are you gonna put me down?” I asked while tilting my head he smirked. “No, this is payment for not letting me lay down with you.” I groaned playfully but I enjoyed it when he carried me. To him, I practically weighed nothing. I leaned that quickly from how many times he scooped me up and placed me in his lap.

I smiled and shook my head as I pushed my face into his neck. “Nga yawne lu oer“

“ I love you too,” he says. I tried to shove my face deeper and he chuckled. The rest of the night was spent with us bathing and playing around in the water longer than we should have but we eventually got out and went back to ‘camp’ as Neteyam called it.

I was cuddled up against his warm chest with his arms wrapped around me. I listened to his heartbeat while the sounds of light rainfall could be heard in the back. I gasped while closing my eyes feeling the connection of our kurus.

His hand grazed my back as he placed a kiss on my forehead. “Sleep Ma Oare, I’m not going anywhere.” He said in a low tired voice. I continued to listen as the sound of his heart beating turned into a trance….

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#avatar #avatar fanfiction #avatar the way of water #avatar smut #avatar oc #neteyam #avatar 2 #avatar way of water #neteyam smut #neteyam fluff #neteyam x oc #avatar slow burn #say you love me

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uncouth-the-fifth · 3 years

Text

cheat day - Damian Wayne/Reader/Jon Kent

Pairing: Damian / Catgirl!Reader / Jon

Tags/Warnings: aged up characters, thr*esome, deepthr*oting, face f*ck, oral (m & f receiving), vaginal s*x, double p*netration, sky s*x, Damian/Jon.

Word Count: 12,106

Notes: This has been a fantasy of mine forEVER, so in a tiny way of celebrating Jon's Supermanhood (puns puns puns), I'm sharing it with u. I totally break the laws of dick and throat physics here, but fiction exists for a reason 🥴

Ask to be added to my taglist for future posts!

You couldn't believe it. You couldn't believe it when Jon had given in with a big sigh, when Damian loaded you into his (Robin-branded) submarine, and when the underwater murk of the Metropolis bay seperated to reveal the Fortress of Attitude. Jon and Damian's secret mancave that you'd been hearing about for years now. No matter how much you'd threatened or begged, Jon and Damian always refused to give you a tour of their little club house. With the way they'd been talking about it, you expected a no girls allowed sign plastered on the door of the loading bay.

In the passenger's seat, the view had stunned you into silence. Damian piloted the sub into the air lock chamber and activated the draining system, which reminded you of the rainbow soap in a good car wash. He might have enjoyed it more if it didn't force you to cozy up in the sub together. He'd scowled the entire ride, clearly displeased that Jon had invited you without consulting him.

Okay. Maybe it was more about you being Catgirl than it was about the Fortress. But you'd spent months now reforming with the Super Sons, so this was probably, at least in Damian's mind, a final test of your trustworthiness. In yours, it was a gold mine of hot superhero guys to toy with.

You'd cut out the stealing. You'd been a good girl, using your skills only for Batman's war on crime. Selina had even said she was proud of you. So, to balance out all that good, you were allowed one teeny-tiny, totally inconsequential, naughty act. As a treat.

This, well. This was a whole dessert.

Robin you'd been pissing off since you were both in diapers, chasing each other in circles like a cat with it's tail. He'd gone from a little asshole who'd stab you given the chance, to a slightly bigger asshole who just boredly begged you to put the diamonds down, Catgirl, and finally to this. Damian. Your favorite toy, only because he knew he was one and pretended to hate it. He was one of the handsomest guys you'd ever set eyes on. Robin was built like a brick shithouse, stacked with abs you could scrub laundry on, pecs you could bounce a quarter off of, and a face that constantly seemed to be thinking about tearing your panties off. Or throwing cuffs on you to drag you to Blackgate. Either one. When he wasn't brooding holes in the floor, Damian was one of those boys that was secretly all sweetness and sugar, treating you special and only you.

Robin slammed you against the brick wall, chest heaving for breath against your back. "Caught," he panted, "you."

You'd make this last chase hard for him. Ever since you'd learned Damian's secret identity, you made careful attempts to insert yourself into his civilian life. Of course, Damian took this as some kind of hostile takeover in which you planned to blackmail him, but really all you wanted was to spend some time with Damian instead of Robin. (And okay, you were totally tailing him, but it wasn't like the creep hadn't done the same to you). Robin was dangerous and mouthy and hot. Damian had seemed to be, from your angle watching him leave his university's chess club meeting, a cute, collected college student who thought he was smarter than you. He wasn't. That was why plain-clothes Damian thought he was chasing you, when in reality, you were leading him exactly where you wanted.

"Or maybe," you pushed up on your tip-toes so your butt was completely buried in his lap, head lolled back into his shoulder, "I've caught you."

Damian didn't go tense. He was too used to your flings to tense up at new touching, but he did give a heavy sigh.

A cool nose pressed against the crook of your neck. "If you missed me, all you had to do was call."

"Call what?" You scoffed, turning against the wall to face him, and mourned how Damian's hands moved to brace against the brick instead of your body, "the bat-phone?"

Damian made a hmmph sound. Up close, the space between your bodies non-existent, he seemed softer, more touchable. This part of Robin seemed more likely to kiss you all over instead of fuck you senseless. "Fair point. I'll give you my number, if that's what you're being so coy about. But I have a condition."

"Hmm," you tapped your chin. Robin's eyes, Damian's eyes, watched the movement too closely. "Maybe. What do you have in mind?"

Looming over you, Damian glanced over his shoulder to see if you were alone on the university's rooftop, then tenderly wrapped you up in his embrace. The routine is familiar to you. Damian checks that you're alone. Damian checks a second time, mask dropping. Then he lets loose all that heavy armor so only his gooey center remains, loving and kissable. First, his large, calloused hands lifted yours and kissed them once each. He drew them over his shoulders like you were a high school couple at a dance. It was cute enough to entertain, so you folded your hands over the back of his neck and took in his next kindnessess. Damian then squeezed you against him, warm cheek to warm cheek, in a full bodied hug.

"Just this," Damian murmurs. His tone is soft and perhaps a bit croaky, all on top of the smooth, sexy voice that could entice anyone to bed. "I... missed you too."

"Really?" You let your smug satisfaction pour from your words, "Just a good, long hug? That's all you want in exchange for me being in your civilian life?"

Damian's right hand, his bowing hand for his violin, flushed tight to your body and moved up it, back to hips to ribs, so he could turn your chin up and angle your lips in line with his. A spark jumped off the hazy moss green of his eyes, which turned crystalline in the sunset. Green steam off a rainforest blown into amber dusk. He had longer lashes than most models did, and his eyes were unfairly, beautifully sharp and feminine. In some ways he reminded you of a nature spirit, with preserved youthful beauty and ancient depth. Like a desert in the shape of a man.

An incredibly sexy man.

"Obviously I want to get my cock up that cute little skirt you're wearing as well," Damian said, darkly, pressing his thumb into your lip. "I just preferred to prepare you first. What kind of fling would I be if I wasn't romantic?"

"Average," you answered.

(No matter how many times he made that jump between flirting with you then openly planning to fuck you, you still had to keep a squeak from slipping from your mouth.)

"Precisely," Damian scoffed. He took you by the hips and whirled your around, immediately shunting up your skirt so it bunched around your belly, "And when have I ever been anything less than above-average, Catgirl?"

His belt buckle rattles. After all this time, the sound still shocks pleasure straight into your core. You press closer to the wall and scold yourself. Without one word of command you've turned around, planted your hands on the wall, and spread your legs, just for Damian to see.

"Never," you gasp.

And he does a lot more than just look. Damian hooks his finger into your underwear and drops it around your ankles, taking generous handfuls of your thighs and ass as he does. If there's flesh to squeeze or stroke, he does both. Damian's hand eventually traces your aching core. He considers his options as his warm fingers wet themselves with your slick, sucking them clean with a wet slurping sound. Damian hums, like he's just decided how hard he's going to fuck you.

"Condom?" He asks.

"Pill," you reply.

Damian chuckles, low in his throat and dirty. You feel his hands brace against the brick above you, sculpted chest forcing your top half flat to the wall, and then his warm cockhead brushes your pussy. He's brutal with it. He taps himself to your clit until you gasp, he soaks himself on your slick until you pant for breath. You couldn't push back into him if you tried, too, with how strong Damian is. The hands knuckling the brick overhead slip down to pin your own, contorting you flat to the wall so you can take his dick best.

"Good girl," Damian praises, and then he slams all the way in.

You can't speak. Your breath is compressed out of you in one long blow. Your body seizes, your words catch in your throat, your pussy immediately clenches down upon the intrusion, wrapping you around Damian's massive, girthy cock. He doesn't piston or buck his hips, because even that is too slow a pace for Damian. You're piped so good and so relentlessly that you can't even get enough breath to moan. That's how you know this is for you instead of Damian. Had this been for Damian, there would be candles and mood lighting and far more kissing. But he knows you, and he loves you, so Damian snaps your hands behind your back and fucks you, railing you in a blur of speed the Flash would envy.

He stops. It's brief, but it's like being bathed in a sea of hot pleasure only to be ripped out into the cold air, exposed. Damian drops his lips onto your shoulder, then lathers his hands down your body. He appreciatively squeezes your breasts, feels along your ribs, then secures your hips in place to fuck you more solidly. Then he does.

It's wet. That's the first word that comes to mind, when your brain manages to churn out a thought in the first place. There's no thinking, no internal monologue. Your mind isn't necessarily blank. But any moment spent away from this one comes at the grave cost of missing how Damian destroys you, so you prefer to soak in your nerves and his touch instead of your mind. Juices spill between your bodies: Damian's thighs viciously snap against your sensitive, aching ass, and his cock plunges through your slick with the most obscene noises you can imagine. You could tell the sex was good based on the noises alone. Every throb of Damian's cock thrummed through your entire lower half, doubling the pleasure. Fierce hands pin your hips in place. Even with Damian's cock drilling you through the wall, his grip is so strong that you couldn't move even if you wanted too. The pleasure is even better than you'd remembered or imagined. It takes all of your effort not to cum on the spot so this moment can last, but it doesn't matter—Damian would keep fucking you anyway.

You're ravaged. Everything about Damian is physical, but this especially, claiming you with his hands and his manhood, biting your flesh, licking hickeys into your neck. Your feet are barely touching the ground because Damian is so brutally deep, keeping you squished between his broad chest and the brick. With every roll of his hips you're plastered tighter to the wall, legs spreader further and further apart. It's the ultimate, sluttiest fantasy: the hot guy you've been crushing on for years now throws you against the wall, rips off your underwear and just wails on you. Damian's not just any hot guy, either: he does you as he does all things, to excel. If sex was a skill you could critique and study as closely as art or music, Damian's technique was perfect. He knew exactly what you wanted, how you wanted it, and how to give it well. He alternates between surging inside you fast enough to make thunder, to slowly filling you in inch by massaging inch. When your squeals get raspy, one of Damian's arms cinches around your middle. His smooth, long-fingered hand cups your belly as it decends, only to seperate your folds with two thick digits and jerk them against your pulsing clit.

"Damian!" You mewl. He has you mewling, now.

"Enjoying yourself, Catgirl?" Damian growls, voice grinding against the harsh end of his throat. His smile bleeds smugness into your ear, "Fuck, you are so tight."

"You're so big," you moan a laugh into his mouth. Damian sears his lips to yours from over your shoulder, but it's not good enough for him.

You're moved sideways. Damian takes one of your legs and hooks it onto his bicep so he can squeeze his cockhead between your legs from the side, really testing your Catgirl flexibility, but it's less for the change in angle and more so Damian can kiss you. Kiss is an understatement, though. He claims your mouth with his, rooting your lips together and dragging his tongue against your own, doing all of this while moaning into your mouth like it was you fucking him. Damian's wet tongue tasted like black coffee, dominating your kiss with ease. And of course, because he's perfect, Damian's cock persists inside your pussy with the same passion as the kiss, stealing every ounce of your senses for himself. When his broad hand splays across your belly and his finger return to flawlessly stroking your clit, you lose it.

He's smirking. The fucker is smirking. Damian is fucking you senseless, kissing you senseless, fingering you senseless, and smirking. His cock is buried in your pulsing cunt to the hilt just as the wire in you snaps, and Damian smirks against your moaning lips, knowing just how good he is. Just how much you love it.

Your twitching hips are filled by Damian's seed. It was easier to tell how much he came when he did it across your face or even down your throat, but you knew it would be a massive load. Damian kept on smirking as he stuffed you with cum, revelling in the ecstacy flushed all over your face. His grip on your thigh is white-knuckle close, so you could feel his abs tense against your clit, cock pulsating back and forth with your pussy.

Damian sorts you. He pulls out, rights his slacks, then dips onto his knees to help you back into your panties. You're so dizzy with bliss that Damian has to do most of the work, but you'd done the same for him plenty of times. This time, though, was for your pleasure, so Damian pulls your skirt back in place, then licks your juices off of his fingers all for your viewing bliss. His plump lips flush just right around his fingers, and his handsome jawline catches the fading sun like his skin was made of gold.

Then, he was back to business as usual. Damian plucked up your phone, put his number into it (how had he known your code?), and left you with a sweet kiss when he replaced it in your jacket pocket.

"I had a lovely time, Catgirl," he whispers into your ear, "call me?"

"S-sure," you said.

He disappears as soon as you blink.

You sigh, grin to yourself, and let a shiver of pure pleasure roll up your body at the thought of him. His cum pours into your underwear in hot, salty globs. Your hips are as marked and appreciated as your neck is. You're left there seeing white, and when you finally start to make sense of your surroundings, even then your vision spirals with stars.

Damn him. Damn Damian Wayne.

Jon wasn't as different from Damian as people thought. After a pretty intense job, Selina had moved the two of you out to Metropolis to lay low. That hadn't lasted very long. Superboy was a total pain in the ass because, not only did he never yield when it came to you sneaking away with your plunder, but he made you feel guilty. He'd sit you down while you waited for the cops to show up, lecturing you about stealing like the curb outside the lab he'd caught you in was a school office, and he the principal. Superboy would do this every single time. On the third or fourth, it was kind of... hot. His round, masculine face would take on this stern look that always made you press your thighs together. Flirting as a distraction was more Selina's thing, but you couldn't help yourself. Are you gonna spank me, Superboy? You'd smirk at him. I think I deserved to be punished. Will you punish me? Jon stopped falling for that by the time it was safe for you to return to Gotham. But you could tell that you'd hooked him. He patrolled with Damian twice as often, hoping to see you.

You couldn't blame Jon. If you had a taboo crush on a sexy, jewel-thieving criminal who'd taken your virginity in the most mind blowing way possible, you'd look for ways to see them again too.

You deserved some serious points for this. You deserved the best dessert you could imagine and the value of all your steals in cash, just because you'd done such a fantastic job.

Catwoman had told you to distract him.

Superboy's eyes were mostly hidden by the hand sunk against his cherry-red face. You were unsure if aliens sweat, but Jon was certainly shaking, head to toe and gut-deep. At any moment he would probably crumble onto his trembling knees and collapse on top of you, cumming his suit. The only thing keeping him upright was your hands steadied on his legs. Just watching you work made Jon yelp and gasp. Under his hand, you liked to imagine Superboy was biting his lip hard enough to break skin. You didn't blame him. You were good at blowjobs, but more importantly, you enjoyed them. It was the only job you did messily. Especially this one: as deep on Jon's cock as you could go, you guzzled him down, mouth slurping and squelching. When your lips smushed in a ring against Jon's naval, his cock made a satisfying guck noise in your throat. His eyes rolled up and shut so quickly he could have passed out. Taking that as a sign to let him breathe again, you locked your mouth around his girth and sucked back, adding to the bubbles and ropes of saliva attaching your chin to his thick dick.

Jon wailed, low and erotically. "O-oh my Rao."

Needless to say, you'd distracted Superboy.

Catwoman had definitely gotten away with the jewels by now, if she was as smart as you were when it was Selina's turn to distract Batman post-crime. You'd never understood the appeal of using your body as an asset before, but toying with Superboy had explained everything to you. There was nothing more fun than showing your tits to a gorgeous man too into his "moral hangups" to stare like he wanted to. It had taken longer than you'd liked to break Superboy, but that only meant the wait would be worth it. Tonight ended perfectly, having earned two prizes: Catwoman's jewels and Superboy's huge, handsome cock in your mouth.

"No one's ever... n-no one..." Superboy panted.

"Well, good thing you choose me to blow you first, huh?" You seductively tongued Jon's balls, sucking them into your mouth one or two at a time (if you could fit them). "Instead of some geeky farm girl with her braces still in, you get a professional."

"Someone who knows," you stroked his cockhead in the welcoming heat of your mouth and slurped back your spit so you could speak, "how to take care of you."

Jon watched his dick drag against your face, appreciating how it looked against your skintone a little too much. "W-wow..."

Taking in a big breath, you locked your lips around Jon's head and gulped him down, watching his face the entire time. He moaned like the amateur he was, constant and shakily. They poured out of him each time you moved, but that was probably because you made every movement count. You bobbed your head with so much enthusiasm it bubbled strings of spit down your front, you flicked your wrists in tandem, occasionally knocking them together as you worked Jon's dick, and your tongue caught the special spot under the ring of his head with every pass. Eventually there was so much spit between your mouth and Jon that it was spilling onto the concrete, so you moved yourself closer to let it pool into your costume.

Jon watched pre-cum and drool drizzle between your cleavage, pressed to the extreme by your tight catsuit, and instantly came in your mouth.

Now, you'd been planning to have sex with Superboy for a while. You'd contemplated what it would mean to do it with an alien, so you were ready for whatever odd sexual secret Kryptonians might have. Worst case scenario, Jon would have pinchers or something and you'd have a neat story to tell. You're glad it's superstrength and an insane amount of cum instead. Very glad.

By the time it's all over, your chest feels like an entire bottle of maple syrup has been squeezed onto it. In your mouth, Jon is as sweet as cake frosting, with the sticky consistency of warm honey. He doesn't have the saltiness that a human man would have. You can't help but eagerly take the stomach-full, gulping him down like he was the first milkshake you'd ever had, dizzying your head with pleasure.

Jon collapses back against the wall, but you keep swallowing, following him back so you press his pelvis into the building with your nose. His expression is the ultimate charicature of lust, rose red, jaw lax with pleasure, brows sewn together. While you're tonguing him clean you get the full view of his throat and jawline, defined by bold strokes that soften into square turns. Jon licks his lips and gasps. You can imagine that tongue buried inside you, stroking your clit at superspeed, driving you crazy, so you're more than disappointed when Superboy disappears.

The moment you lap up his last rope of cum on your tongue, Jon evaporates into a streak of red and blue.

You sit there in shock. Was he embarrassed? Had you done something wrong? Even then, you felt like Superboy was too much of a gentleman to just leave you—

"...Here," Jon materialises just behind you, offering you a handful of napkins and a pack of mints. His face is so red it seems to cast light, coloring his visage against Metropolis's gold midnight shadows. "I-I uh, picked them up from the store real quick cause' I didn't want you to feel gross. I know it's like super icky for girls when they do that, even though it's like awesome for guys—which I can vouch for cause it felt amazing, you were like so good—and I guess I want to say thank you?"

"That's subjective, Superboy."

"Huh?" Jon blanked.

"I said," you unzipped your costume slowly as you stood, rolling your hips from side to side, and smirked as you displayed your cum-soaked tits to him, "that's subjective. Not all people think it's gross."

He was trying hard not to stare at you, then when it occurred to him that he was allowed to, he devoured the sight of your naked skin. Superboy had a handsome gradient of blue in his eyes, one that took in your body like an untamed lion ready to eat.

Jon's brain seemed to leave. "...Think what's gross?"

You rolled your eyes, but that look was exactly what you'd been searching for. So he did have a rough side. It was agonizing, standing there ready for him and waiting, so you massaged up his chest with your palms and obscenely licked the shell of his ear, breasts pressed against him.

"Focus..." you husked at his moan, "Kiss me?"

"You've got..." Jon blushed, "oh, I guess that's kind of hot. I would love to!"

He was so sincere about it that your chest flushed with liking, and because of it your kiss became a little less of a bucket list thing and more a happy thing between two people. Jon was nervous, but no one in Metropolis could call him a coward. You smiled as Jon cupped your face, asked for permission to lift your goggles, which you allowed him—just this once—and kissed you. How you'd swallowed down most of his cum not a minute earlier made Jon apprehensive, but soon enough he was pecking you like you were his little princess, sweeping his arms around your middle and helping you out of your suit. No one had ever treated you like this during sex. Superboy only got braver as the kiss grew messier, and his sweetness grew too. You felt his fingers kiss your spine in circles. Jon parted his lips for a nervous gasp, and you didn't hesitate to soak his tongue with yours, kissing him deeper, faster, more dirtly. Between the pops of your lips, your fingers toyed with his hair in long strokes. Just kissing him made you want Superboy to tongue fuck you, to bruise your legs, to make earthquakes because he fucked you so hard. You told him this as you kissed, licking your way into his mouth and sizzling against his lips, please fuck me, punish me, tell me what a bad girl I've been. Pound me at superspeed until I can only feel how good you are.

Jon pulled away from the kiss. His tremendous blush made him harder to take seriously. "Alright. We can keep going. But you... you can't tell anybody."

You playfully raised your eyebrows. "What? Ashamed of me already, Superblow?"

"No," Jon said, honestly. His voice was a sweet rumble in his throat. You liked that about him; how genuine he was made him all the more fun to tease. Jon snorted, "I like you. You pretend you're one of the bad guys, but I know that you're not. Why would you be here if you were? That's why I don't want to tell anyone."

This made you pause. Dryly, you asked, "Because it'll let all the other criminals know that you'll cave for a blowjob?"

"...Because it will let the other criminals know that you're in with us," Jon rolled his eyes.

At this, you considered putting your clothes back on. You crossed your arms over your exposed breasts. "What do you mean, in with you?"

"I want to make a deal with you," Jon cooly said. It was the most confident you'd ever seen him. A cocky smirk twisted behind his messy hair, which paired well with the gentle hiss of his alien armor opening at the waist. (You supposed to had to come off somehow). "If you start patrolling with Robin and I on the weekends..." Jon's gaze danced through the air in thought, like he hadn't already settled on his offer, "I'll have sex with you for as long as you want. How does that sound?"

Mocking him as obviously as you could, you slid both hands up his chest and pressed your body to his, pouting and batting your lashes at him, "You want this deal because... what? Spending a little time with the two of you will make me into a good guy, like lil' ol' you?"

Jon shrugged, but his eyes glinted with purpose. "Maybe. Maybe I just want to spend a little more time with the prettiest girl in all of Metropolis."

Alright. That was a little flattering. You saw through it, but still, Jon was so genuine. His hands slid solidly over your waist, toying with the waistband of your underwear.

Damian and Jon, pressing in on you on both sides for weeks... Hmm.

"Fine. Deal." You said.

And then you were more than a hundred feet over Metropolis.

You squealed. Jon laughed, startling a circle of birds flying beneath you. He already had his hands secure around your back, having hooked your calves around his hips at superspeed, but you couldn't help but scramble up him and grip his shoulders like a cat in a tree. Your vision spun, and in it the cityscape's frames closed into one, the huge skyscrapers you'd scaled hours before now capable of fitting under your thumb. The wind whipped your hair from your face and bit into your nude skin, wracking a shiver up your spine. Superboy was still chuckling.

"Thanks for the warning!" You hissed.

"I was only getting us some privacy," Superboy smiled. "Someone was coming up the rooftop entrance. The only way to go was up. You didn't want to be caught naked with me, did you?"

"Hm." You turned your lips into his ear, "But I'm not exactly naked, am I?"

Superboy's broad hands squeezed your thighs. He drifted backwards, too high to be seen but too low to freeze in the sky, and comfortably reclined like you weren't so high that you couldn't make out people on the ground anymore.

"I can help with that, if you'd like," he grinned.

Well... this was Superboy. If you were going to have sex with him, it might as well be spectacular—and a couple thousand feet in the air. And he was probably the one man who could give you an opportunity like this.

Finally, you bit your lip and nodded your head.

Scooping you into his arm's hold instead, Jon held you close and peeled off your panties until you could kick them into the wind. You went to comment on how you wanted to keep that pair, but Jon kept you quiet with a passionate tonguing, mumbling his excitement between your brows. Nothing in the world could keep your hands off him. Both because Jon was so beautiful, his voice so soothing, and you kind of didn't want to fall to your death.

"I won't drop you," Jon husked.

Brushing your thumb along the spray of beauty marks on his nose, you shuddered in anticipation, "...I believe you."

Jon couldn't keep his hands off you, either. While one arm was reserved as your seatbelt that locked you into his lap, the other fluttered across your body. It occurred to you that Superboy might've never even had a girlfriend before. His touches were too light, like he was still testing how much strength it took to caress a girl. When you saddled him long enough to feel safe, you ran your free palm over his, dragging his touch deeper into your skin. And when you grew even braver, you dragged Jon's open suit around his thighs with his boxers and began to pump his cock, which pressed against your bare naval. Settled on him right, Jon's length went all the way to your belly button. It was still slick from your blowjob, soaking the inside of his boxers with hot cum and your sticky saliva.

"Please," Jon gasped. His hips jerked up into your hand like frieght train with steel breaks, throwing your entire body up a few inches. His ecstacy was shaded gold by the nightime city glow below.

It took getting used to, but the longer you drank in Jon's features, his hair spiralling in the wind, the salty smell of the bay on the breeze, the hieght flushed your core with heat. There wasn't any real danger. Superboy would catch you, no matter how spaced out he was by a mind-blowing orgasm. But being so close to danger was thrilling. You could already imagine how Damian would try and one-up something as adrenaline-fueled and sexy as a skyfuck with Superboy.

"Don't be gentle," you warned him.

"I have to," Jon winced, "There's no way you'll be able to take it."

Taking him by the seam of his cape, you jerked your faces close, "You said we could do this for as long as I want," you grinned, "I don't want this to last. I want it to be messy, loud and super-speed fast. Either you fuck me into a hospital stay, or we don't have a deal."

Jon closed his eyes and let his head loll back. His flight tilted away, like he was reclined on a bed with you saddling his lap instead of free-hanging in the sky.

"Sorry," he said when he returned to himself, "I just had to make sure I wasn't dreaming."

"This will be better than your dreams," you smirked. Slowly, you shifted up with Jon's shoulder as support. "And I know you've dreamt about it. I'm your dirty little secret, aren't I, Superboy?" You squeezed his cock, base to tip, until it's thick head was soaked against your clit. "You've dreamt about fucking me like this, haven't you? Filling me up all the way with you as my only support, the only thing I can touch in open air..." You smoothed your palms across his abs over the armor, and then rolled his cock into your sore heat.

Jon groaned, "Ngn!"

The stretch was incredible. His first inch makes you both lose your breath, so you're both hovering against each other, moans caught in your throats. Jon lets you settle around him (warm, wet, massive him), and then with all the gentleness in the world, viscously squeezes your ass under his nails and slams in as deep as he could go, sheathed almost to the hilt. Almost—because he's too big to not have an inch or half leftover.

You wail. It's a sensual, fuck-me-more wail, which Jon gasps and chokes back with one of his own. He pulses so hard that his dick stretches out your soft core just saddled there. You let him, arms thrown around his shoulders, and wade in the cozy pleasure with a drooling mouth. Jon kisses you and gasps apologies, and you growl your ecstacy into the heat of his lips. Fuck yes, just like that, f-fuck me just like that!

After you notice the length, and the width, and the pure dimension of the above-average Kryptonian boy, you're astounded by the liquid. Jon's cum and your spit already pour from your sex, but your wetness too drowns any chance at roughness. You're so slick that Jon could twitch and slip out of you. It only makes the suction stronger, so the first time Jon lifts your hips, your pussy squelches and pops off his length, liquid sealing his cock inside you. He slaps you back down on his thighs so fast your head spins, too in love with your tightness to leave all the way. The pleasure of friction is yours, but it's the closeness that makes Jon float a little higher in the air. Just to test, you clamp down on him. Jon pulls a moan from so deep in his throat that you're almost bucked off him entirely. Inside you, his cock twitches just right against your best bundle of nerves.

Your own weight sets you deeper on him. Jon's head doesn't just poke your womb, but flushes against it, totally closed inside you. At the same time, you dip your heads to see the mess you've made of each other. You can barely see the outline of your sensitive pussy under Jon's massive meat, which flushes inside of you once, twice, and a third time, the muscles there convulsing in bliss.

"Faster, fuck, p-please," you whine. It's the opposite of a mistake.

Jon's adam's apple bobs, "Y-You sure?"

You brace your hands on the symbol on his chest, the grooves of the armor cool against your flushed skin. "Give it to me."

Nervously, Jon tests the waters with a few experimental thrusts, rolling his girthy cock hard against your good spot. Satisfied with his plan, he takes off.

In short bursts, you're fucked sensessly. Super-speed is the best kind of vibrator. Jon fills you so fast and so much in such little time that his dick hums inside of you, twenty thrusts a second. A vibrator doesn't give you the satisfying smack of flesh or the liquid, which is truly the hottest part. He gives you seconds in between to breathe, but all you want is for Jon to drill into you like a industrial oil digger. When you cum on only the third burst and beg him to keep going, beg him to rail you until his cum is pouring from between your legs, Jon finally delivers.

That's what sex with Superboy is like. You flop your head onto his shoulder and hold on for dear life, eyes rolled back into your head in your bliss. The muscular arm Jon has secured to your waist sinks low, hooking you around the hips instead, and you feel him twist in the air to hit your pussy just right. You only have the energy to tremble. Jon's strength really starts to show. You feel his other hand dig in earnest into your ass, bruising it blue as he did where the flat plane of your underthighs meets his merciless hips. His dick schlups obscenely inside you, and Jon's too lost to do anything but saw into you, mindless. You know he won't hurt you, but you can tell the sex is better than he expected. Jon slips mid-air after every solid thrust, so you're ten feet lower than you were the first time you came, and Jon almost forgets his strength when his tongue lavishes your mouth.

"M' there," Jon gasps, "Oh my Rao, m' there."

He twitches. His hands melds your hips to his, and then Jon lets it all loose, swallowing your desperate mewls as your pussy swallows his cum, throbbing and throbbing to get it all, filling you wall to wall. You feel his seed pour down your inner thighs and across his abs in a constant, never-ending stream. It could have been whole minutes before Jon showed any sign of stopping. You came purely because of his pleasure, wracked all over his hot electricity. Jon puts his whole body into a sensual kiss, cock jammed inside you to the hilt. When he finally slips free, your pussy aches with body-shuddering aftershocks. You laze against each other, and Jon is so dazed that you float along the breeze, basking in each other.

"Wow," Jon smiles dizzily.

"Yeah," you fell against his chest, closing your eyes to the flood of cum drizzling down your legs. Your smile feels equally dizzy. Looks like you survived. "Wow..."

You'd only had Jon once, unlike the many (many, many) times you'd had Damian. Damian was fiercer than Jon, more animalistic. In some ways he was more passionate, too, a love-making partner instead of a fuck buddy. You wouldn't compare them much, though, when they were a dose better taken together. You'd fantasized about it enough to know.

This was your naughty exception. You wouldn't steal, you'd be a good girl, and you'd have Damian and Jon together at least once.

"Hey," you said.

Damian was waiting for the airlock to warm up, the sub lightless but for the glowing blue console and the blue light of the water churning on the other side of the windshield. His face was illuminated by the array of buttons, which highlighted his sharp jawline and intense brows.

"Be quiet." He snapped. "I'm doing something."

Grumbling your displeasure, you spun your chair sideways, reclining your boots across Damian's lap. He was used to your minor annoyances, so he worked around it and ignored you. You changed tactics.

"I miss you, y'know," you whispered in the sub's humming silence. "I haven't seen you in so long. Or touched you." You slid a hand onto his arm, "...Or kissed you."

Damian scowled at the driver's handles. When you touched him, the look softened. His thumbs nervously played on the controls.

"...I haven't kissed you in some time, either," he muttered.

You unbuckled the straps that kept your cat cowl under your chin, drawing closer to him with fluttering lashes. "Then kiss me now."

Twenty minutes later, you, pristine, walked out of the sub's cockpit with a disheveled Damian in tow. Jon asked what kept you. Robin mumbled something about the airlock malfunctioning as he raced away to 'fix it', hiding a hefty bulge under his cape. He was always so easy to turn on. Damian could never resist a passionate make out session, especially if it took place in his lap.

"Y/N," Jon coughs. Being alone with you has the same effect on him as it had on Damian.

"Thanks for inviting me to your little boy's club, Superblow—" your cheeks went hot. "Sorry. Been thinking a little too much about you, I guess. Thanks, Superboy."

Jon, frankly, looks winded. The hands on his hips shock down to his sides like he's been electrocuted.

"You look very pretty," he stutters. Jon's face is already cherry red, and he's waving his hands around like the gestures will cover up what he's thinking. "I like what you did with your... hair..."

You loop your finger through the curl in the middle of his bangs, stepping into his personal bubble like it wasn't the same for him as a transition between the atmosphere and space.

You lean into his face to flirt, "And I like what you did with yours."

"O-oh, it's just like this," Jon chokes, "I don't even brush it! Well, I-I do actually, I'm not gross or anything like that. I'm actually very clean!"

Low-toned, you smile, "I remember."

Jon forgets how to speak. He squeaks for a while, and you nod along, eating up his shyness. He makes an attempt at hiding under his cape like Damian does, but the fabric isn't wide enough. You figured he would have gotten bolder since your time together, but Damian lurking around every corner seems to shy him up again.

Soon enough, Damian glides back into the room in his normal Darth Vader fashion, which you assume means that he thinks he's strong enough to resist you. He's not.

The boys give you a tour. Damian must have gotten out his spring cleaning supplies, because every room you walk into is spotless and untouched by any trace of college-age boy parties. He makes a big show of all the technical work he's done for the base, including the underwater sensors he installed himself, and a breach-plugging system he described with lots of big words. It's adorable. The two exchange excited glances whenever you seem to approve of something, and Damian's annoyance with having you there is quickly proven to be fake.

After you lay out what movies you're going to watch in the rec room as a group, you decide it's time. "Do you mind if I take a shower first? I didn't have enough time before we left."

"Sure!" Jon says. "It'll give me some time to get some snacks together."

From the couch, Damian broods, "Don't take too long, L/N. We have a schedule to maintain."

With that, you fly into the showers in the locker room, strip your outer clothes, and grin to yourself. The look on their faces will be almost as priceless as the sex. You study your reflection in the glass door to the showers. The lace Superboy bra will tempt Jon into using his x-ray vision, and your tight, perfectly fit Robin panties will have Damian right where you want him. Knee-high stockings were Damian's favorite, and Jon will definitely go crazy for them too. All according to plan. After you... prepare yourself some more... you decide it's time.

You walk the short distance from the bathrooms to the rec room at a casual, confident pace, mentally readying yourself. Two men you cared endlessly for. No matter how long you'd been fantasizing about this, nothing about executing it would make you less nervous.

Taking a breath, you leaned against the doorway and greeted in your silkiest, smoothest voice, "Boys."

Jon was lounging sideways in the corner of the L-shaped sofa, one arm relaxed behind his head. Both he and Damian had traded their uniforms for pajamas. Damian, who was reading off his tablet, wore the tightest tee he could get his hands on, abs practically spilling out of the fabric. Jon was in a loose fitting crop top that showed off his toned arms and dewy skin.

Their conversation swerved to a halt. They stared at you, then glanced at each other.

Suddenly, the two boys grinned.

"Look at this, Kent," Damian's voice glittered with dirtiness, "We hardly had to do anything and she's fallen right into our laps. Our plan worked perfectly."

Jon sat forward, brows raised michieviously. "Our plan was to lead her up to it, D. This isn't really our plan."

The two boys stood. You became very, very aware that they weren't boys anymore.

"She's wearing underwear with our names on it," he scoffed. His eyes devoured the sight of you, and there that panty-tearing look was, as promised. The sharpness in his eyes is begging to rip your underwear off with his teeth. Damian sauntered forward, closing in on you. "I say that is a success."

Your hands fumbled for a place to rest on your body, but crossing your arms puffed up your breasts for Jon to swallow drool over, and setting your hands on your hips outlined them for Damian's hungry eyes. This time, you were the one squeaking.

"No way," your cheeks flushed with heat, "You did not plan a threesome. I planned a threesome. This was my idea!"

Jon and Damian shared a look. It clearly wasn't.

"Well," Jon coughed, respectfully eyeing your exposed skin, "You want this. I want this. D wants this. Let's... let's do it!"

You look between their towering forms, underwear soaked so fast your legs are trembling, and size up your options.

"...Okay."

The two crawl closer. Jon meets you at your front, happily kissing your hands as he draws them around his neck. Damian takes the open angle to fit his iron hard-on against your ass, hands filling in your hips with the same passion his lips appreciate your shoulders with. His mouth spirals into your hair, then your neck, searing your ass backward and into his pelvis. You're kissed on the lips by Jon's angel pecks, dipping in and out to brush his lips to yours. Both are talented kissers. On top of their broader, stronger manhandling of you, you know all of your fantasies are about to be fufilled.

So you moan. You let it all out, mewling, whining and groaning, making sure they know how much you want it. And you want it like you've never wanted anything more in your life. You want Jon's cum to paint your chest and you want Damian spilling ten inches inside of you. You want to be fucked and used, to be made love to. Judging by how you're kissed, that's what they want too.

Jon tongues your teeth. He gets braver as you go, groaning into your mouth, muttering things between kisses. You dig your fingers into his fluffy hair and drag him in for more. He's enjoying himself so much he's humming, which makes you want to get on your knees and hum around his dick like that. Adorable.

Meanwhile, Damian's getting tired of being ignored. His kisses are joined by harsh bites, and his hands smooth up from your hips to your chest in circles, squeezing your breasts in each hand. The feel over the fabric isn't enough for him, though, because he quickly forces his hands up your bra and over your chest. Jon's wide palms join his, squeezing and massaging your collarbones and tits.

"Beautiful," he mumbled, "you're so beautiful."

You give him a longer, sweeter kiss for the comment, which is the last straw for Damian. One moment Jon is nuzzling your cheek with his nose, and in the next Damian is shoving his tongue into your mouth. You moan, but he only likes it more. You wore a Superboy bra and Robin panties for a reason. From behind, Jon can hug you against him, warm and honey tasting, kissing your neck and cupping your chest. Your nipples are rolled lovingly through his fingers. Damian, on the other hand, leaves his love in his kissing. Your ass is grabbed viciously by his nails, which he rakes up your flesh in supple handfuls. Your ears are flooded with kissing sounds, the popping of spit, the moans between breathes. You sink into their hold in total bliss.

But this isn't only for you. Soon, you find a way to pry yourself out of Jon's hug and Damian's aggressive ass-grabbing to slip onto your knees.

"Ready?" You smile.

Damian snaps, "Get on with it." His voice makes your pussy throb.

Jon flicked Damian on the arm and tried not to look too shy. "Be nice." He touches your cheek, "Yeah... um, yeah, we're ready. Go ahead."

They're too shy to make the next move. You have no issue doing it for them, considering how fun it is one on one. But this is two on one, so there's two faces to watch as you palm them through their pants, drag them closer, then unwrap them. Jon has his eyes closed in anticipation (and shyness), lashes fixed against his cheeks. Damian's lazarus green eyes targeted you. His gaze is heaviest, so you treat him for it.

Their cocks are huge. Bigger than you remember, even. Jon is rediculously proportioned, long, thick, and smooth. He literally hangs when you pull him free, at least a foot long. Maybe half your arm. Damian is bronzey, veiny, and handsome-looking. You don't need to collect any spit, since the drool pooling in your mouth at the sight of them is plenty. Working Jon in one hand, you start with Damian's cock.

He slides himself into your mouth by the hips, studying your handiwork with malacious delight. You're all moaning too much to speak, except for Damian's low grunt of, "You know what to do, Catgirl. Take what's yours."

Like any good thief would, you do. Damian's cock immediately jolts in to press into the back of your throat. You let him through, gulping, guck-ing, and sucking with every new inch. A chill races up your body at the deadly edge in his eyes. Robin talked the law plenty, but he let you go at every opportunity for a messy deepthroat. Superboy has his kryptonite, and Damian has you, balls deep. You hit his base with ease. His cock settles perfectly in the sleeve of your throat. Every throb of cockmeat fills your entire skull, bulging under the skin of your neck. You suck spit back through your teeth and pump your head along the last inch of cock.

Of course, he's never satisfied. You're too slow for him. Damian gives Jon a smug look, nets your hair in both hands, then begins to pound into your face like a madman. You love it. You love it like you loved stealing, feeling wrong and naughty and used. Nothing feels sluttier than the heat in your belly when Damian uses you as he pleases. Damian goes until your eyes well with tears, stuffing you to the brim, and then releases you to groan, "Good girl. You've improved."

Your spit hangs from his dick in strings and bubbles. You'd lick them up if there wasn't another aching, desperate customer to take care of.

"Don't strain yourself," Jon whispers.

It had taken four times as long to get Jon to cum from a blowjob the first time you'd done it, so by now, you've learned. The spit from Damian's dick follows you to Jon's, which you waste no time popping into your mouth. He likes light kisses and lots of tongue, which you wield without mercy. The veins in his cock flutter when traced. His head is almost too big to hold comfortably in your mouth, but the wobble it puts in his lip makes it worth it. Jon mewls for more. You suckle his head faster, rolling your wet tongue along it's sweet surface. With a few more kisses and a lot more long drags of your tongue, he's panting as hard as Damian is.

"Don't worry," you grin, "I didn't forget about you."

You can barely fit their tips in your mouth one at a time, but you try both anyway. Damian smears your spit back onto your cheek with his dick, which slips easily through the slick saliva dripping down your chin. Their fat, delicious cocks squeeze into either side of your lip. Jon has to grab the back of the couch to keep from breaking something. Damian forces you into Jon's cock by the hair, sawing you onto the first few inches.

"Look at her go," Jon gasps.

"She has a very talented mouth," Damian remarks.

You hum in agreement, since your mouth is too full for you to speak properly. While you're gagging on one of Damian's balls, Jon leans down and fixes your bra. ...Then slides his dick through.

The hot, sticky flesh sizzles between your breasts. You try not to cum when you realize what he's trying to do. Squeezing your tits around him, you shudder in pleasure as Jon begins to thrust his spit-soaked manhood through the shape of your chest. The fact that it's Jon making such a bold move only makes it more panty-soaking. Taking advantage of the spare hole, Damian guides your head to the side and onto his waiting cock. You're used from two angles then, once as Jon's pair of tits, and again as Damian's slutty cock-sheath.

"She loves it," Damian grins, "What a whore. I bet you're begging to covered in cum, aren't you?"

You nodded as best you could on Damian's girth. Jon's thrusts push you back with every blow, bouncing your breasts each time. Without warning, you're struggling to gulp down Damian's load, which he only plunges deeper into your throat. You can practically feel him pumping it into your stomach. It's the sexiest thing you've ever felt until Jon cums a second later, pouring—pouring—a whole quart of seed across your neck and chest. Kryptonians came an unreasonable amount.

You collapsed backwards, spent. Slouched there, covered and filled with cum, you felt like a cream donut.

The boys recover before you do, so you're scooped up and deposited between them on the couch. In the corner of your eye, Damian disappears, no doubt to gather supplies, leaving you to sink into the cushions with Jon. Definitely for a brief amount of time. You can't think of many reasons why Damian would be eager to share you. Especially with someone like Jon, who reeks of boyfriend material. A clever suspicion forms in your mind, but you save it for when Jon isn't cutely keeping your hair out of your face.

"Damian's getting all the stuff we'll need, towels included," Jon blushed at the mess on your chest from where he sat next to the couch on the floor. "M' real sorry. I shoulda warned you ahead of time..."

You lick a smear of cum off your chin and play with crossing your legs, which easily draws Jon's eye. "Don't sweat it, J." You rub the underside of his jaw like you would a puppy. "I knew what I was getting myself into. How'd you convince Damian to do all this, anyway?"

Playing with his fingers, Jon met your gaze though his long lashes. "Oh, uh. He convinced me, actually. I wasn't sure if you'd want to, but he proved it to me."

Now this was interesting. You squinted at him, "What proof?"

"Well, we tell each other everything," Jon awkwardly laughed, "When you and I had our night together, I told him right away. (I hope you don't mind). He'da found out eventually, whether I liked it or not. He was always telling me about you two, anyway. He likes how much control you have in your life. I think he's a little jealous a' you." Jon opened and closed his mouth, unsure if he should have spoken. Your silence invited him to continue. "But, um... That time when you, uh... were in Damian's room..."

Your teeth flashed. "When I touched myself in his bed to get back at him for being mean?"

"Yes," Jon's cheeks flushed, pinned back by his smile, "He heard you say both of our names. His and mine. And I dunno, his detective sense knew that you weren't just trying to get under his skin."

Your eyes drew up from Jon's biceps, plumped out against his side. He was so muscular that he even had those sexy indents over his ribs. Jon's muscle was softer than Damian's though, more huggable. You wanted to sink your teeth into him.

"So he organizes this?" You said.

"Yeah. Like I said. We all like each other," Jon shrugged, "And it's not like we can do this kind of stuff with normal people. Secrets could get figured out, people could get hurt. This is... actually pretty healthy, I think."

"Mhm," you hummed. When your nails drag under Jon's chin, he dropped his face into your hand and tried to hide his embarrassed grin. "You hurt me real good," you purred. "I was sore in bed for a week. Gave me plenty of time to think about you..." you brushed his hair behind his ear, "use my toys..."

Jon's eyes got the slightest bit wild. "But you didn't have anything as big as me, did ya?"

You gave his chin a friendly pinch. "Don't get cocky, Kent. Damian was perfectly big enough for me."

Jon went quiet. You figured you'd hurt his feelings, revealing that you'd had sex with Damian within the week you'd made love to him, until his hand squeezed your waist. "Did he do the icepack thing?"

You examined him, suspicious, "How do you know about that?"

"When you get hurt, he puts all these ice packs on your bruises and patches you up, but he kisses em' all first. Maybe he gives you a backrub," Jon listed. He drew patterns on your hands while he explained, shyly, "And as he's kissin' you and rubbin' you, he starts kissing where the bruises aren't, telling you what he likes about you, how he'd do anything to help you feel better... right?"

You smiled to yourself, watching Jon's hand. "He drew me a bath. Read me poetry. Said something stupid about being worried about me, wanting to keep me close to him. Bent me over the bathroom counter and ripped the towel right off me."

"Romantic," Jon snorted.

"What he do for you?" You asked, arms uncrossed.

"Didn't have my powers," Jon explained, and the look on his face answered your question just as much as he did, "He played me piano, made out with me, made me dinner. And when I was all nice and gooey for him, he blew me until I was brainless. By the end of it I was so crazy for him I had to go home and deprogram myself like I was some kind of cultist."

You raised your eyebrows, shrugging, "Damian was raised to be a cult leader."

"Damn pretty one," Jon said.

You giggled together like real gossips.

"I love his morning voice," you conspired with him, "I felt like I'd been shot, holy hell. So sexy. All husky and low..."

"And then he has the guts to whisper in your ear with that stupid mouth," Jon cursed, shuddering in delight. "Somebody needs to clean his mouth with soap."

"You know," you tapped your chin in thought, "the moment Damian found out that you and I had sex, he had to have thought of this. All three of us pouncing on each other. He had the exact same fantasy I did! I would have never pinned him as the type..."

"Me either," Jon hummed, tone brimming with amusement. He snickered. "I bet he just wants to watch us, the weirdo."

Damian's sharp shadow fell over your and Jon's bodies, scaring you both out of your skin. His low, handsome voice cut through your conversation like a katana through butter. "I'm not opposed to the idea, Kent."

When you recovered, Damian smirked between the two of you and raised the things he'd brought. Towels, a bowl of water, a washcloth, and lube. He set the water bowl on the side table behind you, leaving the cloth inside. "I was going to clean you off, Y/N, but if you're inclined to this..." He gestured between you and Jon, grin almost a handsome sneer, "I wouldn't mind watching my cum drip down your chest as Kent fucks you."

"You've been holding out on me, beloved," you teased, "Since when are you so bold?"

Jon grinned impishly. "You were right. He totally wanted to do this because he's got a fantasy about the two of us."

You uncrossed your legs and moved forward onto your knees, crawling across the couch to simper into Damian's lap. "Look at his face, Jon. He totally did." You gave Damian's burning cheek a cute squeeze, "Did you think about him touching me like you touch me?" You kissed into Damian's ear. "Did you think about how making love to me like how he loves you?"

Damian gave a shy, stern nod. His expression was icy, but that just meant that he was trying harder than usual to fight down how turned on he was. The boxers he'd pulled back on twitched with the start of an erection. You didn't even bother to excite him with your hands, and sunk your head between Damian's trembelling legs to mouthe his bulge through his underwear. Jon watched from over your shoulder, mouth watering. You would have invited him to join you if you were feeling generous, but the taste of Damian's hardening cock is too good to share.

You spread your knees and hooked your calves around Jon's legs, who's already slipping your panties out of the way. He's smart enough not to take them off of you. Instead, Damian gets to watch as Jon kisses your back, your hips, hooks your Robin panties around his finger like a reign, and dizzies with pleasure as his cock sinks into your pussy.

Damian's cock gets your full-bodied moan. Large, calloused hands hook around the back of your neck and keep you on him. For a breath, both of them stop to let you settle. They could plow into you and use you until you were lungless if they wanted to, so you take the uneeded moment to laze in the feeling of them. Damian's palm pushes you deep on his girth, thumb stroking your hair. He smells like sweet oils and leather-ish because of his Robin suit, which takes you back to the nights where he would take off his belt so you would ride him in uniform. Behind you, Jon drops his hands next to yours on the couch. You feel your back press into his toned abs, his nose fall into your hair, his dick pulse within your plush center. He whines, low and wanting.

You imagine what you must look like with orgasmic delight. Damian shoving you onto his cock, the dark freckles on his wrist tweaked because of the angle. Jon's tall, muscular body stretched out over yours, his open mouth just inches from Damian's, shoulders rounded out, arms flexed. It's dirty. It's downright slutty. You're laid out, face down and ass up, for Robin and Superboy. The two men you've dreamed of having are desperate to fuck you. You're guzzling Robin halfway down your throat already, and Superboy pumps deeper inside you every second. It's a dream come true.

As Jon bounces you around Damian, and Damian thrusts you back onto Jon, you're fucked back and forth in a maddening line. You expect Jon to be considerate, and he is. He starts slow, working you with his wide tip first. Jon rolls his hips in gentle dips, wetting his head. In one thrust he could steal you all for himself, but he makes the depth worth it, earning you inch by inch. Soon he's soaked enough to take you deeper, and deeper, until you're being filled every time. The burn soaks into a pleasurable softness. His long, firm shaft flushes to your sensitive walls, filling your pretty pussy with powerful Kryptonian heat. You would try to meet his thrusts, but Damian and Jon's rythym is ruthless, and any pull away from Damian is a request to be mercilessly met by Jon and vice versa.

While the slaps of Jon's hips to yours are loud, your gagged mewls are easily louder. Damian was done letting you play with him. You were such an expert when it came to riling him up, you could keep him from cumming yourself if you wanted to. Your tongue would only offer his head playful, light licks, and you would keep him in the shallow of your lips, barely touching him even if he was completely in your mouth. Watching Jon fuck you turned him on too much to stick to riling alone, so Damian took your hair by the root and started you off like he wanted you to. Damian pulled his cock into the comfortable depth of your throat, letting you gag and swallow him to no avail. He let you go for an instant and automatically you dragged your lips sideways down his length, sucking him hard. On the second drop you slurped his balls into your mouth, expertly licking back up him to deepthroat him, thrown even deeper by Jon's timed thrust. Damian let you have your freedom, now that he knew you'd pay attention to him properly. You didn't beg him with your eyes or tickle his legs like you usually did. This was for pleasure, not for show. You kept your throat open and began to bob on his cock, around his tip, around his shaft, against his base, shuffling your wet lips low on his sensitive manhood. Damian groaned and gasped like he didn't know how to speak.

Your lips plumped around him perfectly. You could taste your spit glimmering on his long, clean bronze cock, and bubbled it down his shaft until it cloyed to his legs. Soon Damian was off his thighs and up onto his knees, where he could fill your mouth in earnest. Dark amusement glowed in his eyes at your every pop and slurp, like there was nothing sexier in the world than the way you took him so happily. His eyes would flicker from your slow, sensual deepthroating to Jon's face as he fucked you. Damian was close, if the throbbing filling your throat meant anything. There wasn't a moment where a cock wasn't inside you. On your hands and knees, you're spitroasted between their furious hips.

You swallow up your leftover spit when you pull off him, lips glazed with pre-cum and drool. "He feels so good," you whined, "o-oh my god, Damian," you pressed your cum-soaked face into his cock, gasping and moaning and shuddering, "o-oh my god, he feels so good—holy fuck he's so big—I'm so close, ah, fuck! Fill me up fill me up fill me—"

Damian caressed your face in one shaking hand, and the moment you opened your mouth for him, worshiped your soft lips down his side, and tongued his head, he bucked into the hieght of your throat and came until your stomach was full. Jon gets an eyeful of Damian's sexy, burning ecstacy, and in two seconds he's vibrating cum into your slit too. Even as he cums he keeps thrusting, and thrusting, and Damian locks your head in place so your mouth is flush to his abs. Your vision goes white. On either side, in both holes, you're stuffed to the brim. Cum pulses down your throat and pours from your slit. Jon and Damian moan, twitching against you.

And Jon keeps going.

The moment Damian cuts you loose, you're whipped onto your back and plunged into. Twenty, thirty thrusts a second, Jon steams with heat, fucking you, reaming you, while Damian watches. You wail for it, because this is the Superboy you've been waiting for. Jon is fresh over the edge, just a little too turned on to remember he can break you in half, and going totally crazy on you. You cum again and another time, spasming in pure bliss, fucked out of your mind. To your misfortune, Jon is able to come back to himself.

"Oh my g-gosh," he flushes, "What am I doing? Y/N? Are you okay? I-I didn't mean to hurt you, honey, I—"

You're too high to speak, so you shut Jon up by cupping your hand over his mouth. He pulls it away, anxious, and tenderly holds your palm between his. The soft edge of his pupil spills across your body, a treat in it's own way. He'd fucked you so fast that your body didn't have time to catch up to even one orgasm, so they're thrown on top of you all at once, leaving you breathless and plowed. Your pussy throbs, sensitive and raw.

Jon lifts his hips to get off of you, until Damian hisses, "Don't you dare pull out of her, Kent."

Furiously, Damian jerks his soaked cock in one hand. The other has pinned a knuckle between his teeth, eyes fused to the scene in front of him. Since your head is in his lap, a few flicks of pre-cum and spit land on your face. It doesn't matter much, though, because Damian lets go between your and Jon's bodies a second later. You open your mouth just in time to get Damian's cum. It drapes across your face in upside-down ropes, spilling into Jon's waiting mouth.

"More," Jon mumbles.

Cupping his face, you give him more. It's a devilish, tactical move, but you're gearing Damian up for the same ferocious fucking you'd gotten from Jon. Watching you kiss his cum into Jon's mouth has the exact effect you'd hope for. Damian goes still above you, mesmerized by the romantic kiss. Jon pecks your mouth with sweet dips. Your tongue slides against his, exchanging Damian's cum and a few soft moans.

When you pull away from each other, your sly eyes slide up to see the look on Damian's face.

"Evil," he dramatically covers his blushing face with his hands, "both of your are evil."

Giggling, you allow Jon to help you up, and together you relax into Damian's arms, who pouts at all the touching. It's hard for him not to dissolve totally into a blushing mess. None of you have the strength to say more, but it's agreed in your haggard breaths that this is only a break. Even if Damian enjoyed the show, Jon had his turn with you. Now, you really wanted them both. Damian, of course, reads your mind.

"You've prepared yourself for me, haven't you, beloved?" Damian smirked. You felt his nose brush your ear, and the closeness of his voice flushed back your arousal at an insane speed. The feel of his hot, moist breath hovering over your neck made you want him to lick and suck all over your flesh. "That's exactly what you planned for. Of course you want both of us at the same time... You've always be so greedy..."

Jon caught up with what was being said, and instantly flushed in the face. "Y/N..."

"Please?" You teased, flushing closer to Damian's chest. The warm arm around your waist became a hand possessively squeezing your ass. You covered it, and let your other cup the sweaty hair at Jon's neck. "I'll be such a good girl," you promised, darkly, "I think I deserve something for all the hard work I've done."

Damian and Jon exchanged a look. They'd known each other long enough for the glance to be telepathic, so a decision is quickly made between them.

"Alright," Jon says.

Damian's eyes glimmer with lust. "So. Where will you have me?"

part two.

#damian wayne smut #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x reader smut #dc smut #dc comics smut #dc #dc comics #jon kent #robin smut #superboy smut #jon kent x reader #jon kent smut #jon kent x you #super sons #damijon #jondami

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

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zarnzarn · 3 years

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Alright, I'mma get it out of my system once, because I don't like clogging the tags with negativity

The main difference between Valentino and Angel and Stolas and Blitz isn't the potential to grow from unhealthy beginnings or whatever. It's that whatever Stolas and Blitz have is CONSENSUAL and what Val and Angel "have" is very much fucking NOT.

First off. It's a literal parallel of POSITIONS. Not even spoken words or actions. It's literally just the positions, and that too because the storyboarder who worked on both themself said it was accidental habit that the scenes looked similar.

Second. Look at the actions leading upto it. Blitz himself is the one to run up the staircase and then crawl towards Stolas, and doesn't resist as Stolas pulls him close, willingly going all the way, even when at one point he looks kind of resentful. And then Stolas smiles possessively, and Blitz blushes, looking conflicted because of the truth of Moxxie's voiceover and his lack of autonomy, but still staring longingly at the image of Stolas smiling at him. I'd say its just a physical rep of what Moxxie is literally telling us, that can't fathom it but he craves intimacy, but that's for a later discussion.

By contrast, Angel is coming back from a show and exhausted, visibly uncomfortable by Valentino's hand around his shoulder while he counts the money Angel earned. He then tries to get away from Valentino when he's being roughly dragged in for a kiss. He doesn't want it at all; the frame people are using as a "parallel" is a split second shot, where he's completely blank-faced compared to Blitz's loaded expression and is possibly coming down from his drug and adrenaline rush, and IMMEDIATELY after he snaps out of it, he's furious and trying to get himself away from the other. Following which, Val gets angry and forces the kiss, with Angel still resisting. Conversely, when Stolas gets pushed away by Blitz, in episode five and six, he retreats immediately and doesn't try to go after him again.

Valentino is also visibly rougher than Stolas, a tight grip on Angel's wrist and chin all throughout and his smile is creepy and predatory, enjoying Angel's discomfort until he's had enough. Stolas in the dream sequence on the other hand, pulls an unresisting blitz closer and makes space for him and then gently tilts his head up, smiling possessively all the while. Yes, this is the unhealthy part of the symbolism kicking in, when Stolas is looking at him as if he's a toy more than a person, but he's still not hurting or forcing him, even in the drug trip.

Third. One of them is not even fucking real????? The stolitz scene is LITERALLY a motherfucking hallucination while Blitz is high as fuck on drugs, and for all of Stolas's nagging and following him around and going on sexual rants, not once has he actually crossed any true boundaries. He lets Blitz push him away when he pulls his cheek too hard, Blitz doesn't seriously tell him to stop at any point, and the symbolism of their class differences may be real yes, but the actual chains?? That's all Blitz's imagination on steroids. Stolas didn't actually do any of the things we saw, which? People seem to forget?

And last and most importantly. There is no 'relationship' between Val and Angel to compare Stolitz to. Angel works for Val, by contract, and he very clearly wants nothing to do with their interactions- everything is non-consensual and he is visibly scared of Valentino. Stolas and Blitz may have an even larger gap in terms of hierarchy, yes, but neither of them are contracted to each other, truly. They have an unofficial arrangement that was MUTUALLY agreed on; yes, Blitz was running for his life when it was made, but he'd stolen a very important thing from a very important prince in HELL, so it's kind of understandable that he had to hear Stolas out to know whether he was gonna be pulverized or not. And??? It's a mutually beneficial arrangement?? Sex once a month in exchange for an important book that potentially can get Stolas in a lot of trouble if misplaced and keeping their business afloat is not a bad deal in the slightest???

But I digress. Point is, Blitz and Stolas are both grown adults who know how life in hell works, as compared to Angel- who was relatively new to the place and estranged from his family and desperate when he signed on with Valentino. And the most important difference is that BOTH STOLAS AND BLITZ have given consent. Blitz is not being forced into anything- he himself called it a TRANSACTIONAL fucking, which still means that he's okay with it. Plus, he clearly enjoys himself as well- he goes along with the roleplay happily, he's having fun with Stolas in the end of ep six, he's comfortable around Stolas himself and smiling into their kisses. At no point is he being forced into anything, although it would be very easy for Stolas to do so, through blackmail or just sheer power. It's also implied in ep five that there are other ways to the mortal realm, Stolas is just the easiest- so his business doesn't entirely depend on the book either, which means he still CAN break it off.

to summarize: It makes no sense that people are comparing Val and Angel, which is very clearly nonconsenual at every turn, to a drugged hallucination of an unhealthy-ish but still consenting Stolitz, and if you're going to be weird about it anyway, don't be an asshole and don't put it in the fucking stolitz tag

#stolitz #stolas #blitz #blitzo #valentino #angel dust #long post #meta #stolitz meta #rant

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peachy-panic · 3 years

Text

“Look at me.”

Hi there. I’m new here, but also very much not, which is to say you’ve probably seen me pop up a few dozen (hundred) times in your notifications with likes and comments and the occasional ask when I’m feeling brave, sliding under the radar from the safety of my obscure fandom-turned-main account.

POINT IS, I’m no stranger to the wonderful works of this community, and CERTAINLY no stranger to whump appreciation, even if I haven’t always had a word for it. And because I’ve been so inspired by all the talented writers here, I’ve decided to finally cut loose and throw my own work into the ring, and the whole @whumpmasinjuly thing seemed like an opportune time to pop up.

I’ve aggressively lurked on so many of your pages in the last year so I’m sure I’m leaving someone out, but I did want to tag a few of the writers who have really motivated me to start this page just by reading their writing:

@ashintheairlikesnow @orchidscript @deluxewhump @whump-tr0pes @evermetnotforgotten @card-games-and-pain

And if you’ve made it this far into the post, we’ve arrived at the actual content. This snippet is from a project I started writing before I knew about the existence of the BBU, but I’ve slowly started molding it into something that fits more-or-less within the bounds of that collective universe. Some things may take slightly different turns to the rules established there, but it’s the same general concept.

Without further ado.

PROMPT: “Look at me.”

WARNINGS: General BBU-esque warnings, human trafficking, slavery, non-con (fade-to-black ish but the lead up is… Not Great). Let me know if I missed anything!

He knows something is off right away when Mr. Torley calls to him from the end of the long hallway on the other side of the house.

When the children are home, Jaime is confined to the main common areas: the living room that spills into the large open-concept kitchen, the guest bathroom, the laundry room (where he has already spent most of his time working), the boys’ toy room (where he has only gone to clean up after them), and of course, the small room he has been given to sleep in, which he is sure once served as some sort of storage area.

At the mouth of the living room is a corridor that leads to Mr. Torley’s study, and across from that, his bedroom. So he is told. Jaime was given instructions never to go into that wing of the house unless explicitly invited. He has been in his new home assignment for three days now and has never once been asked to cross those bounds.

Until now.

Carefully, Jaime places the mug he had been diligently scrubbing in the basin of the sink and shuts off the tap. He looks around for the hand towel and, remembering he had thrown it in with the last load of laundry, dries his hands on his t-shirt instead.

There’s a shift in the air, something thick and weighty and terrible as he steps into the opening of the hallway, but he doesn’t allow himself a moment to hesitate. He pads near-silently forward, toward the only open door, all the way at the end.

In the threshold between the hall and the master bedroom, Jaime’s toes brush against where pristine hardwood meets soft carpet. It feels good against his bare feet after days of standing on an unforgiving surface without the allowance of shoes or socks, but not nearly good enough to settle the uneasiness building in the pit of his stomach. Mr. Torley sits on the edge of the bed, a long, deep-colored robe covering most of his body, save for the deep strip of exposed skin down his chest where a few patches of thick, dark hair peek through. Jaime forces his eyes up to his.

“You called for me, Sir?” His voice low and steady, even as his eyes draw unwittingly to the lamp on the bedside table, which has been dimmed to an orange glow that makes the room feel small and suffocatingly warm.

“Come here,” his Keeper beckons, and Jaime’s muscles operate by the hand of some unseen force, pushing him forward. He only makes it half a step in before Mr. Torley raises a hand, gesturing to where the light of the hallway spills in around his silhouette. “Close the door behind you.”

Jaime’s limbs feel very heavy all of a sudden, but he moves anyway, a phantom sting buzzing beneath his skin at even the briefest thought of hesitation. Never make your Keeper wait. Never let your Keeper ask twice.

The hallway is plain and sterile, much like the rest of the Torley house, but Jaime stares longingly out at it as he pulls the door shut, wishing he were out there instead.

When the door clicks shut, he can feel a pair of eyes rake down his back like cold fingertips. It raises the hair on the back of his neck, his skin breaking out in an unpleasant chill, but he forces perfect neutrality into his expression before he turns around. He zeroes in on the sensation of soft carpet under his soles instead of the prickling dread under his skin as he makes his way toward the bed, coming to a stop a couple feet away.

Mr. Torley chuckles under his breath, a low, amused sound that Jaime is already getting used to hearing. He seems to reserve it for Jaime alone and it always serves to make him feel like there is some sort of private joke he’s not been let in on. Or, more accurately, that he is the joke, and he can’t quite stifle the lingering sense of shame that comes with that.

“I said, come here.” It’s a direct order, but paired with a hint of amusement and something darker swimming behind his eyes. He rubs a hand invitingly, pointedly, over the comforter next to him and Jaime swallows back a lump in his throat that feels a lot like bile.

He isn’t stupid. Despite everything that’s been told to him, he’s not. But in that moment he wishes maybe he was, and then ignorance could be bliss for just a few more seconds. He knows where this is headed, and he knows that it’s wrong. It is against the policies, against the rules, he knows it is, but he isn’t surprised, either. It hadn’t taken long at the training facility to discover that the system on paper looks a whole lot different than the system in practice.

“‘We uphold a zero-tolerance policy for the sexual exploitation and abuse of Domestic workers,’” a cruel, mocking voice recites in his head, alongside the memory of a leather-gloved thumb sliding between his lips, his wide, tearful eyes glued to the tiny, black remote in his handler’s fist.

The skin beneath his collar burns at the memory, and he raises his fingers absently to touch there, half expecting to feel the heavy weight of the electric clip attached. He doesn’t, of course, and the only electricity he feels now is of a different nature, coming off his Keeper in waves as he waits, a bit more impatiently with every second, for Jaime to sit.

So he does.

Mr. Torley crowds his space immediately, and his instinctive response to pull away is smothered by a heavy arm draping over his shoulders and a droning voice inside his head. You must make yourself available at all times. You may not refuse any order or request that does not directly interfere with the wellbeing of another person. Jaime allows himself to wonder, for the briefest moment, if his wellbeing counts for anything. He knows it doesn’t. They had just spent the past three months teaching him, in every way imaginable, that he was not, in fact, a person at all.

All the offhand remarks from the trainers, the lewd sneers, the heavy-lidded glances and roaming hands… they had all painted him a picture of what to expect. He had just tricked himself into thinking that maybe, hopefully, if there ever really was a god in this universe that loved him like he was sure he once believed, that he was wrong. In the three days since he had stepped foot into his newest post, Jaime had managed to convince himself that maybe, possibly, he had gotten one of the good ones.

Mr. Torley is all too happy to shatter the illusion as his finger and thumb find Jaime’s earlobe, rubbing it between them and then ghosting down the side of his neck.

“Take off your shirt,” he whispers.

Jaime’s blood runs cold.

You may not refuse any order or request. He can’t conceal the trembling in his fingers as they curl around the hem of his standard-issue grey t-shirt. You may not refuse any order or request. The warm ambience of the room feels startlingly cold against his naked torso as he pulls the fabric over his head, letting it fall in a soft whisper onto the carpet. You may not refuse any order or request. His arm is back around his shoulders instantly, hot and cold assaulting his skin all at once and he feels so exposed and he doesn’t want to be here he doesn’t want to do this.

Mr. Torley places a heavy palm against his chest, running it slowly downward, and Jaime can picture what it looks like without even looking; calloused pads scraping over soft skin, all thick fingers and subtly unkempt nails, the beginnings of age spots and wrinkles and small dustings of black hair across the knuckles. He thinks his keeper must be able to feel the way his heart is pounding through his ribs, and he feels a surge of embarrassment that he was sure the training should have beaten out of him.

It’s because you weren’t trained for this, the panicked voice in the back of his head screams as the hand trails lower, grazing the thin patch of hair below his navel. This isn’t supposed to happen. This is against policy. You weren’t made for this. His skin feels static in every place Mr. Torley’s fingers brush, and he wishes he could dissolve under them.

“You’re shaking, baby.” Jaime winces at the unexpected term of endearment. So far, it has only been boy, curt and abrasive when thrown in his direction, usually followed by a direct order. “Have you never had a man touch you like this?”

His mind supplies a horror show of memories, flashes of images behind closed eyelids - leather-gloved hands and concrete rooms of the training facility - and he realizes he doesn’t know how to answer that. He wants to cry. Can’t cry. Isn’t allowed to cry. Then there are fingers on his chin, on his jaw, softer than any of his touches have ever been; soft like the word baby on his lips, soft like the half-lidded eyes that he is forced to meet.

“I asked you a question.”

“I haven’t. Sir.” His voice shakes, barely a whisper.

It is mostly true, probably in the way Mr. Torley really meant it, and unfortunately seems to be exactly the answer he was looking for. Dread splits Jaime in two. One part, the part of him that’s hazy and pliant and good tells him he has done a good job, that he has pleased his Keeper, he has said the right thing. His keeper’s needs are his needs, if his Keeper is happy, he is happy.

The other part just keeps screaming. And screaming. And screaming.

He doesn’t want this.

It doesn’t matter what he wants, he’s not supposed to have wants.

But this isn’t allowed.

His Keeper is happy.

Please, please stop touching me.

He can’t say no, no is forbidden to him.

Please don’t make me do this.

His keeper is smiling.

“You’re very lucky,” Mr. Torley says, dragging the thumb that was holding his jaw over he’s lower lip. “They could have given you to any one of your bidders, and trust me… there are some messed up people out there who invest in the services of Domestic Companions. But I can be good to you.”

Somehow, he doesn’t feel very lucky at all.

“Yes, sir,” he says, a bit breathless as fingers trace up and down his spine. His own fingers curl into the bedsheets on the opposite side of his thigh where Mr. Torley can’t see the outward signals of his distress, though from the naked delight in his eyes as he watches him, he doesn’t think he minds.

There are lips on his before he can even process what is happening, and he feels his whole body go rigid in his Keeper’s hold. He’s never been kissed before and the cold wetness against his mouth is nothing like the movies make it out to be. It’s hard to wrap his head around the overwhelming sensation, but the one thing he knows for sure, immediately, is that he hates it.

He hates his first kiss unlike anything he’s hated before. Terror and humiliation seize him in equal stride as he realizes he doesn’t really know what to do. He is frozen, for a moment, his own pulse beating wildly in his ears as slimy lips move against his own. When Mr. Torley cups a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to lean into the kiss, his mouth opens instinctively, submitting to the insistence of the movement, and this seems to be exactly what he was looking for. A low, throaty hum vibrates against his mouth and Jaime clamps his eyes shut tight. He feels like he might die. For a moment, he kind of wishes he would.

He doesn’t register the pressure of the hand against his chest until his back is already pressed into the duvet. Mr. Torley sits up then, breaking the kiss, then stands. Jaime doesn’t look at him - he can’t bring himself to - but he can feel his eyes on him anyway. Thick fingers hook into the elastic of the thin, gray pants he had been given three days prior, and his breathing goes flat. Please don’t please don’t please don’t, his brain lights up with panic, every nerve ending in his body on high alert. But he doesn’t move, other than to close his trembling fingers around the material on either side of him, curling the soft fibers of the duvet into his fists. He wants to close his eyes, but he can feel them burning, then swimming with moisture, and he knows if he clamps his eyelids shut, the tears will spill over and he doesn’t want to cry in front of Mr. Torley.

Instead, he stares up at the ceiling fan, focusing on the long, thin blades of wood instead of the feeling of cool air against his lower half as the material is pulled away from him. He hears the rustle of cloth as his pants join the discarded shirt on the carpet at his feet, and then another sound of the same, this time heavier, but he doesn’t dare look away from the grey clump of dust dangling from one of the fan blades above him.

Worse than the chill of the exposure is the heat that follows in the form of skin on skin, an immovable weight settling over his body. His throat jerks in another attempt at a sob, a plea that can’t let free. He swallows it down and tells himself that if he just keeps staring at that one spot of dust, he isn’t really here, that his keeper is not on top of him, that this isn’t about to happen to him.

But he is. It is. There’s no stopping it now. There never was.

“Look at me.”

For the first time, he allows his eyes to slip shut in a quiet moment of defeat - just a singular moment of hesitation before he follows the command. He feels the moisture slipping out at the corners but he can’t do anything to stop them even if his hands weren’t being slowly pressed above his head and into the mattress. When he opens his eyes, he looks up into the cold expression hovering over him, fully eclipsing the spot of his previous focus. It’s just him now. It’s all him, every one of his senses besieged by the one person whose life he is supposed to center himself around now. In that context, perhaps this should feel exactly right.

Somehow, it doesn’t. Not at all.

#whumpmasinjuly #whump #tw: noncon #bbu #kind of #like bbu adjacent?#further exploration to come if i can manage to keep posting #Do No Harm: Jaime & Sebastian #Jaime #Mr. Torley

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sunrisefairy · 3 years

Text

Chocolate

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: Y/N drunkenly confesses her feelings for George thinking it is actually Fred she’s talking to.

Warning: mentions of alcohol

A/N: I’m having way too much fun writing again, any feedback is always welcomed and if you have any ideas for future one shots let me know :)

Taglist: @hufflepuff5972 my first little tag list, my heart ❤️ if anyone else wants to be added, just message me

The Gryffindor common room floor feels like it’s about to take flight with the vibrations from the multiple speakers set up around the room. The Gryffindor quidditch team had won the first game of the year against Slytherin so of course celebrations were in order.

You found herself in the middle of the makeshift dance floor with Alicia and Angelina dancing and singing, no screaming to the music. You jump up on the nearby table taking a big swig of some fire whiskey. You start to swing your hips to the music and continue yelling the lyrics to your favourite song which just started playing. You hear a few people below whistling and cheering you on.

“Yeah! Go Y/N! Woo!” You think it was Angelina calling out, acting as your hype woman.

As the song comes to an end you jump off the table feeling like a rock star. As your feet make contact with the floor you stumble. Your legs seem to give way, maybe it was because of the way you landed but it was most likely because of the amount of alcohol running through your system, you fell to the floor.

“Woah Y/N are you okay?” Alicia was immediately by your side helping you up. You couldn’t control the giggles escaping from your mouth.

“M’ fine babe just need ‘nother drink” your words mixing into each other.

Alicia shakes her head at your drunken state, “I think you need to slow down love. C’mon, come sit down while I get you some water” Alicia guides you over to the couches on the corner of the common room, looking for a free one which isn’t occupied by a couple making out, she spots George sitting alone, perfect she thinks, a mischief glint in her eyes.

“Hey, do you mind watching this one for a minute?” Alicia practically pushes you onto the couch and you might as well be sitting on George’s lap with how close you are to him. The redhead just laughs and nods his head at Alicia who disappears back through the crowd.

The thing with being drunk is your vision tends to get blurry which is exactly what had happened to you, your surroundings becoming fuzzy. Fred and George can be tough to tell apart on a good day so add

some alcohol into the mix and some might find it near impossible. You always prided yourself on the ability to tell the 2 twins apart, noticing subtle differences in their appearance and the way they spoke which helped you realise which one was which. Although the butterflies George never failed to give you when he was in the same room as you, helped you in telling who was who. However right now in this moment you were absolutely certain the redhead sitting next to you was Fred, oh how wrong you were.

“Havin’ a good night then little one?” George says, placing an arm around your shoulder in an attempt to steady your swaying body, maybe using that as an excuse to be close to you.

“Oh loads” you yell over the thumping music, “my foot is kinda sore though, actually ya know what might fix that?” George is too entertained by your drunken rambling to answer. “I think some chocolate will help, don’t ya think chocolate just fixes everything, maybe chocolate has somethin’ magical in it. Don’t you think chocolate is just delicious?” you hiccup, George nods amused.

Your eyes widen as you’re reminded of something “Oh Freddie, I think I know why I love chocolate so much” George doesn’t think he heard you right, did you just call him Fred? He goes to correct you, but you keep talking.

“Chocolate tastes so warm and sweet, it reminds me of Georges eyes, his eyes are so warm and sweet to look at” you say almost dreamingly, George shuts his mouth pretty quickly. “George has the prettiest eyes. I mean he’s got the prettiest everything. His face is like, like it was crafted by angels. And he’s so funny, everything he says makes me smile, I like him so much Freddie.”

George thinks he must be dreaming, surely he hadn’t heard you correctly. You feel your eyes growing heavier by the second, resting your head on the redhead’s shoulder.

“Freddie, promise me you won’t tell George, I couldn’t take it if he doesn’t like me back.” You say curling into his side.

George doesn’t know what to say, part of him wants to tell you that he isn’t actually Fred, that he’s George and he does like you back but the other part of him kind of feels embarrassed he didn’t say anything sooner, so he opts for:

“I’m sure he likes you too.” He doesn’t think you heard it though, judging from the light snores coming from your mouth.

At that point Alicia is back in front of them, thanking George for watching you while she was gone, with a little struggle she is walking you back to your dorm.

~~~

The next morning George is sitting with Lee and Fred in the great hall, spilling everything Y/N said last night.

“I knew she liked you!” Lee exclaims, “like she’s always staring at you during class.”

Fred chuckles “maybe she thought she was staring at me.”

George shoves him in the chest, shaking his head. The tall boy is nervous to see you today. He isn’t sure what he is going to say, George knows he needs to tell you that he feels the same way but a part of him is worried you didn’t actually mean what you said. You were very drunk and drunk people tend to say some random stuff. He doesn’t have much time to dwell over it because he spots you and Angelina walking into the great hall. Your hair is a little crazy, obviously quickly been thrown in a bun and you clearly are sporting a killer hangover but he still thinks you look divine.

“Surprised to see you up so early Y/N, you were very intoxicated last night” Lee laughs as you and Angelina sit down.

You groan, rubbing your eyes “I’m surprised too, I feel like a zombie and my ankle hurts.”

Fred laughs loudly after sending a wink Angelina’s way, “that’s probably from when you jumped off the table after your little dance performance. You went tumbling down. It was hilarious” George whacks his twin over the head, eyeing you slightly as you put some toast on your plate.

“Merlin, I don’t remember that or anything from last night to be honest. It’s all so fuzzy” you mumble as you take a large bite of your toast.

George feels his heart drop a little, although last night you hadn’t realised it was actually him you were talking to, he thought it would be easier to confess his feelings if you actually remember last night, now he was too scared.

~~~

Later that day you and Angelina are back in your dorm room laying on your bed with Alicia talking about previous night.

“What even happened last night? The last thing I remember is dancing and that’s it” you laugh as you flick through a magazine.

“So you don’t remember chatting to George on the couch before passing out? You can thank me for that Y/N, I had the brilliant idea of having George look after you while I went to fetch you some water” Alicia grins.

Alicia and Angelina were the only ones who knew of your major crush on the tall sweet redhead. Many times, they have tried to convince you to just tell George how you feel and even try to meddle themselves.

You furrow your eyebrows, trying to remember if you said anything embarrassing to the boy.

“Huh, are you sure it was George? I swear I was chatting to Fred last night” you chuckle remembering some of your conversation.

Alicia shook her head, “nope it was definitely George, I know that for a fact because when I left to get your water, I passed Fred and Angelina making out” Alicia elbows Angelina’s side who is blushing profusely.

You shrug your shoulders, “well me and George then were having a pretty weird conversation about chocolate actually. I thought it would heal my sore ankle” the girls all giggle as you continue, “it was very random we were talking about chocolate and then…” your voice fades into silence as you remember how that conversation went.

Alicia and Angelina are confused as you leap of the bed and start running out the door, “wait what happened?” you hear Angelina yell as you run out of the room.

Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest, you need to find George. You are beyond embarrassed that you basically confessed your love to George, the whole conversation becoming clearer and clearer in your brain. But you are unsure if you had dreamt the reply Fred, no George had given you as you drifted off to sleep on that couch.

You enter the common room, scanning for a particular redhead who you find sitting on the couch with Fred and Lee. You run up to the group, out of breath.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” you blurt out, feeling very, very nervous.

George break eye contact from whatever he was originally looking at and meets your eyes which are desperately searching for a response “what?” he squeaks out.

Fred and Lee share a look at each other and move from the couch, figuring out that the pair need some privacy although they do continue listening to the conversation from the other end of the common room.

“Last night. On the couch. I told you that I liked you, well, I said I liked George because I thought I was talking to Fred. And then you said ‘I’m sure he likes you too’ so do you? Like me?” you feel like your heart is going to explode and you are well aware of the multiple pairs of eyes staring at yours and Georges exchange which is making you extra scared of the potential rejection.

George nods, not really confident enough to speak right now. What you do next surprises him. If he wasn’t already sitting down, he might have fallen over with the force of you leaping towards him. You wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his. George immediately grips your waist and kisses you back. You can hear some people cheering in the background which makes you smile into the kiss.

You pull away slightly breathless, “that’s good then,” George chuckles and you hear Fred from somewhere behind you say rather loudly to Lee.

“Imagine if she kissed the wrong twin.”

“Shut up Fred” You and George say simultaneously.

#George Weasley #George weasley one shot #George weasley x reader #Fred and george #George weasley fanfic #George Weasley x you #George Weasley Fluff #George Weasley imagine #George Weasley oneshot #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #hp fanfic #hp one shot

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

Perks of the Job | dark!Boba Fett x reader x (soft)dark!Din Djarin

summary: the only thing worse than one bounty hunter on your trail is two. the only thing worse than a bounty hunter who wants to abuse you is a bounty hunter who wants to make you into a lesson for his makeshift apprentice. the only thing worse than a villain is a villain who thinks he’s a hero.

word count: 5.8k

warnings: smut (noncon, including vaginal, oral m receiving, anal, and dp… so you know, basically everything), a specific kink of mine which I have dubbed "no, not there!" or NNT for short (betcha can guess what that means), din catching feelings lowkey, hair pulling, choking, bondage, forced begging, all the good stuff

Boba had proven to be unendingly useful in bounty missions, even if he was a little bit rough around the edges and slightly more ‘shoot first ask questions later’ in his attack style. Still, Din was grateful for his aid and was happy to tag along when Boba explained he was tracking a target to Florrum— just a smuggler, wanted by the New Republic for trafficking death sticks all across the Outer Rim, nothing too serious or high-profile.

Turned out Din was less useful than he wanted to be, because only Boba was able to get into the club he’d traced your beacon to, so Din was instead left to wait on Slave I and try not to get into any trouble in the meantime.

After less than an hour of resting his eyes in the cockpit, he heard Boba’s voice come in through the comms system. “Target acquired,” he rasped, and Din instantly noticed the distant sounds of struggle and the destruction he must have left in his wake. “Be ready to take off when we board.”

Din leaned forward to hold down the blue button; “Roger,” he replied quickly as he kept an eye on the camera feed of the loading platform, opening and extending it so the hunter and his bounty could board easily. The man appeared on the visual soon after, dragging a woman by the scruff of her neck.

It was you, with your hands tied behind your back and your mouth restrained by a makeshift gag. You were putting up quite a fight, but not nearly enough to stop a man as ruthless as Fett. The second the two of you were inside, Din triggered the loading platform to return to its upright resting place as he started the engines, the ship’s gyroscopic insides tilting against the lift-off sequence. He turned his attention away from the screen as he saw Boba toss you to the ground, focusing instead on his task of exiting the atmosphere and getting the ship into hyperspace so you could be returned to those who sought you.

Hyperspace was quieter, which meant he could hear the sounds of your resistance more easily even with you in another part of the ship entirely. Wondering what all the fuss was about (and, secretly, a bit curious about this feisty young woman Fett had captured), Din made his way out of the cockpit and towards the cargo bay where Boba was wrestling with you.

It didn’t really seem like a fight, in the traditional sense of the word, since a fight implies two opposing forces— it seemed more like you were giving everything you had to try to wrench out of his grip (and go where?, Din was forced to wonder, we’re in hyperspace) while your captor was merely humoring you by not immediately knocking you out and freezing you in carbonite.

Your desperate grunts and whines were muffled by your gag, screeching to a halt as Boba used one hand to hold your torso and pull your back against his chest, the other gripping your jaw tightly. “Stop fighting, little girl,” he hissed, “you’re just going to get yourself hurt.” That deep commanding voice enough to intimidate even Din; thankfully, Din was on Fett’s good side, for the moment, and was pretty sure his own ‘bounty hunter voice’ (as he referred to it only in his own head) was at least 80% as scary.

You made this little motion like you were considering disobeying his instruction, but your rebellion was quelled by a gloved fist tangling into and subsequently tugging your hair. You winced, but relaxed a bit as you gave in to the reality that you’d been bested.

Din didn’t understand what was happening when Boba bent your bound-and-gagged form over a console, but he knew it couldn’t be good: not with the way tears were pouring down your face and soaking the cloth tied through your mouth, not with the way you struggled underneath his grip in your hair and on the back of your tunic.

“What are you doing,” Din asked, although it didn’t come out quite like a question without that uptick at the end, his voice firm and steady and deep even as his heart started to race.

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m taking my bonus,” Boba answered plainly, kicking your flailing legs apart to slot his body between them.

Boba must have seen the younger man’s confusion, even through his helmet, because he took a pause from his work to look back at Din.

“You can fuck ‘em before you chuck ‘em, you know,” Boba informed him, like it was obvious— like this was open secret that he was amazed he hadn’t already acted on. Truly, the thought hadn’t really crossed Din’s mind before. His upbringing had been devoid of any sexual education, even to the point of drawing a clear line between right and wrong. Then again, right and wrong were always a blurry mix in his mind as a bounty hunter: instead of that dichotomy, he was taught that there was the Code and nothing else. And the Code didn’t have anything to say about this, specifically, even as guilt and fear tingled up his spine along with the sickly addictive feeling burning in his gut— arousal, as he realized with a little gasp.

Fett leaned down to push his helmet against your ear, as if you’d be able to hear him any clearer even though the helmet’s modulator made it all sound mostly the same anyway. “Don’t try to fight me,” he insisted again. “Just stay still and keep your mouth shut.”

After a shaky breath, you nodded a little, and Boba sat back up, letting go of you with both of his hands— Din was pretty surprised to see you actually stay still, clearly the threat had gotten to you. Fear, as the Mandalorian had learned many times, was a much more powerful tool of control than force. Boba had you beat in both regards.

There was a little grunt from the man behind you as he reached down to fiddle with his trousers, finding the belt and opening which he reached into. From where he was standing, Din couldn’t really see what exactly his travel companion was doing, but even he wasn’t so naive not to figure it out.

A harsh, cracked sound spilled from your mouth, muffled through the gag, as Boba roughly pulled your trousers down and slid his cock between your legs, teasing you— taunting you. It wasn’t enough to violate you, apparently; he had to degrade you, siphon every drop of terror as he reminded you what was happening. You shook your head, and even though your words were objectively unintelligible, it was apparent to Din that you were pleading with your captor to stop.

Din got the sense that he should leave, but his feet were welded to the floor. His eyes were trained on you, shaking and breathing unsteadily where you were bent over and your head was turned to the side to press on the cold metal. You closed your eyes tightly, and Din recognized the expression as ‘bracing for impact,’ although in your case, it wasn’t that you were about to be impacted but impaled. Of course this couldn’t be right, Din knew enough to know that, in fact he was pretty sure it was illegal on some planets, but they weren’t on any planet right now, and Din had done things that are illegal on every planet. Maybe this really was normal bounty-hunting fare, and he was just too inexperienced to realize that. Maybe this was a relic of how hunters operated in Boba’s time; and Din, of course, had a lot of respect for tradition.

Maybe, more than anything, Din had lost track of the part of himself that cared if it was right or wrong, overpowered by a much more primal part of himself that had been chained and suppressed for far too long. The funny thing about monsters is that they get hungrier the longer you keep them caged up.

The way your fists clenched and shook as you were forced to take the hunter’s cock inside you, the way your teeth ground together and a hiss leaked out from between them, the way you whimpered and cried and he could see the shiver run up your spine… Din was obsessed with it, and his chest burned with a foreign emotion that could be described as jealousy, but that wouldn’t explain all of it. It was more than that, indescribable even to someone much more fluent in the language of feelings than Din was.

You sobbed quietly as your body went limp underneath his tight grip on the back of your tunic, just between your shoulder blades. He was already moving his hips quickly, chasing the pleasure he stole from your body. Din could see that he was hurting you, pain unmistakable in the way your expression twisted, even as the rest of your body seemed to have resigned itself.

Din wished, against every instinct of justice still firing wildly in the back of his mind, that he was hurting you like that, and not his companion. Although, he also fancied himself noble enough that, given the opportunity, he would treat you fairer than Boba would. And he was right, but then again, to be less cruel than Boba Fett takes little chivalry.

Your cries were sharp, loud enough at times to echo around the ship’s interior, other times completely silent as the brutality of Boba’s movements knocked the wind out of your lungs.

“Take her mouth,” Boba offered, “it’ll be a good way to shut her up.”

Din’s head was spinning as he tried to process that. It was like his body was moving on pure instinct as he stepped closer, his trousers getting tighter as you looked up at him. Your eyes were pleading for something: mercy, presumably, but he felt helpless to do anything but obey Boba’s order. It was an order, right? He had to do it.

A gloved finger tucked under your gag and pulled it out of your mouth, the fabric falling around your neck as you licked your dry and cracked lips.

“Please,” you whispered.

He kept one hand weaved into your hair as the other opened his pants, his cock bouncing free the moment it was given any space to do so. He held it at the base tightly, afraid it would all end too soon if he didn’t.

“Please, don’t do this,” you insisted, whimpering a little as he rubbed his cock around your lips, smearing the clear precum over your cheek.

The hand he’d tangled into your hair moved to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth open, and he gently pushed his cock inside— barely enough to rub his cock on your tongue, to feel the humid moisture of your breathing. You didn’t close your lips until he pushed his cock deeper, enveloping him in the silky skin of your mouth as he tried to keep his cool. How it felt was one thing, but how it looked was another entirely— your lips stretching over his girth, your cheeks bulging where the head of his cock pressed against the inside, your eyes blinking up at him as they brimmed with fresh tears. He hadn’t even been creative enough to imagine something like this those few times he’d gotten himself off with his hand, those few times basic biological need overcame confusion and naivete and ineptitude. Now it was going to be the thing he thought about every time, which was why he was doing his best to commit it to memory now.

Every groan and whimper that Boba forced you to make was vibrating through his cock, making Din sigh shakily and hold your head with both hands.

“Maker,” Din whispered as his head fell back, even though he didn’t believe in the Maker. At least, he hadn’t before.

“Good, isn’t it?” Boba encouraged, his voice tinted with the curl of a grin. Din couldn’t imagine what Boba was getting out of sharing his spoils with him, but he wasn’t one to question the nature of a gift when it felt like this, like your hot, wet tongue massaging the underside of his cock.

“Yes,” Din agreed hoarsely.

You yelped around his length when Boba brought a gloved hand down to smack your rear, the sound almost as erotic as the way your flesh rippled and shook with his aggressive touch. “Go on, suck him harder, give ‘im a real show,” Boba instructed to you darkly. You whimpered but did as he’d said, hollowing your cheeks and creating the most wonderful pressure as you sucked on Din’s swollen head.

Boba shed himself of his right glove, tossing it aside to palm at where your flesh had turned red in the shape of his hand already. Din shivered as he watched Boba’s thumb move inward— he couldn’t see where it was, but he had a pretty good idea based on the way your entire body tensed up, a weak whimper of confusion echoing around Din’s cock.

Instinct told him to take his cock out of your mouth, even if the idea of not feeling you for a moment was unpleasant in so many ways. Still, he figured he needed to hear whatever it was you had to say.

“Don’t,” you pleaded with Boba. “Not that.”

“Bet you’ll like it,” Boba assured, and he must have pushed in to the first knuckle because your whole body jolted forward, running from the sensation as you winced. “Relax,” Boba instructed firmly.

“Stop,” you whimpered, and Din’s heart twisted to see you in pain.

“Do what he says,” Din suggested— not a command, just his best proposal of a solution. In situations of inequitable experience, Din deferred to Boba liberally; certainly, Boba knew more about this than he did, even if that was a very low bar.

“Please, make him stop,” you whispered to him, more of a conversation than the two of you had had before. He was almost tempted to honor your request, even if he would never consider standing up to Boba, but his body was pulsing with need and it overrode any sense of decency left.

“I’m sorry,” was his only consolation as he pushed into your mouth again, and though it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t very useful to you, either.

He held your neck as he pushed himself deeper, his sense of shame deteriorating in favor of pleasure. It was embarrassing enough to be doing this at all, let alone with Boba right there, watching him— well, Boba didn’t really seem to be watching him, too preoccupied with watching you squirm beneath him, but still, he could see it and that was a fact Din preferred to ignore. He imagined instead that this was a private, intimate moment the way it ought to be, the way that he had deduced these activities were usually conducted. He also imagined that you wanted to do this to him, that you were on your knees willingly as opposed to bent over a table by force. It was so easy to picture you wanting it, begging for it, even. Let me do this for you, I want to taste you, I want to make you feel good, you would offer as you knelt down, and he would still feel guilty for it but he wouldn’t stop you, either. Din hadn’t previously allowed himself to fantasize about having a companion of that nature, but as he indulged himself in his imagination now, he decided you would be unendingly generous: with your time, with your love, with your body. In return he would protect you… from exactly the sort of thing he was subjecting you to right now.

Renewed guilt seared through his chest as reality hit: you’d never care about him, you hated him, he could see that clearly in the way you looked up at him while he used your mouth. And he didn’t blame you for it at all, although he wished you would appreciate that it was Boba’s idea in the first place and that his crime was far worse than Din’s. Fett seemed to get off on your reluctance, relish and savor it, while it was just a compromise to Din.

You closed your eyes with a little sigh through your nose, relaxing your mouth further for him to thrust his hips forward into. He realized that you were trying to relax like Boba had told you, and for good reason— Fett had replaced his thumb for two fingers, and Din was almost curious enough to lean forward and try to get a glimpse of your puckered hole opening up to him. You looked pretty with your eyes fallen shut, those eyelashes delicately resting on your cheeks, but it wasn’t as good as being able to gaze right at you.

“Don’t close your eyes,” Din instructed quickly. When they opened again, he saw your stare dart around his helmet, seeking somewhere to latch onto. “Right here,” he clarified, releasing one hand from your throat to tap on the tinted visor. When you looked at where he had told you to, it was almost like you were really looking him in the eyes— although, truthfully, he was sort of glad that you couldn’t because he was sure you would find more there than he wanted you to see. It would be impossible to hide his nervousness, his inexperience, his fear if it weren’t for the beskar in the way. Even now, your bright eyes threatened to pierce right through him.

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you, girl?” Boba rasped, the closest Din had ever heard him to beaming with pride.

You shook your head against the intrusion in your mouth, and Din pulled out to give you a chance to talk. (Perhaps it also served the secondary purpose of delaying Din’s orgasm, which he had been holding back for so long now as he found himself oddly insecure about his stamina, but that’s neither here nor there.) “No,” you denied, but your voice was wavering as your eyes darted to the floor.

“She’s lying,” Din announced.

“I know,” Boba replied. “I can feel it— on the inside,” he hissed, and Din wasn’t sure if he was addressing him or you but it made a jolt of electricity shoot up his spine either way. You seemed to react strongly to that, too, although any verbal reaction was lost to him shoving his cock into your mouth one last time— yes, this time he had no intentions of stopping until he pumped his come right into your throat.

It was all happening so much faster than he intended, due in part to your moans shooting right down through his shaft to his balls, which grew tight with his impending release. He’d never felt anything like this— he hadn’t realized before that it would feel different when it wasn’t his hand. I mean, of course everything before the orgasm would feel different, but he imagined that the peak itself was the same. That assumption was beyond inaccurate— he’d never fucked his own hand the way he was fucking your throat, he’d never moaned the way you were making him moan now, he’d never tightened his fists like he was now, and even if he had, it wouldn’t have meant choking you and hearing all your cries come to a sudden halt.

Without your noises it was only the slapping of flesh and the occasional filtered breath through a helmet. He missed your moans, and yet he relished his power to take them away so suddenly.

He could feel the shape of his own cock through the thick skin of your throat, bulging into his hand, accentuated by your pulse just nearby. He could feel you fighting for air. He understood now why Boba had more fun with this than he did with hookers in cantinas— your helplessness was his power. Your weakness was his strength. And Din had never felt so strong.

He relaxed his grip to give you a chance to swallow as he came, pumping into your throat, grunting with each pulse of his cock filling your mouth.

Suddenly the sensation felt like it would become too much, forcing Din to pull his cock out of you and step back. At the same time, Fett stepped back too, which was odd because Din was pretty sure he hadn't finished: if he had, he was a lot more subtle about it than Din was.

“You want your turn, don’t you?” Boba addressed Din, making the latter feel awkwardly exposed.

“I thought this was my turn,” Din answered.

“With her pussy,” Boba clarified, and Din was sure that he had managed to blush hard enough that it was somehow visible through the helmet.

"And you?" Din asked, not wanting to impose.

"I'll be attending to… another matter," Boba explained with that audible smirk in his tone, and Din had a few ideas of what that could mean, all of which caused him to swallow thickly as Fett grabbed you and pulled you up to stand before unceremoniously dropping you to the floor. Din joined you there, not quite sure what he should be doing but figuring he should get on with it as the other man knelt down behind you.

Pulling you onto his lap, you spread your legs to straddle him in an unexpected show of submission which Din thoroughly appreciated. One arm held you up while the other grasped his cock, still hard and hopefully not too sensitive so he could actually do this— he could actually fuck you. It felt unreal; it felt beyond real, hyperreal as he started to slide his cock through the soaked and swollen intricacies of your sex. You must have come like Fett said you would, otherwise he couldn't imagine how you'd become so wet… he could even see it glistening on the inside of your thighs.

When he found the opening he was looking for, all Din had to do was lower you down onto him, gasping slightly as he watched and felt you sink down onto and around him, a little grunt coming out of you as your hips met his.

It was lucky that he’d already come once, in your mouth, because otherwise he would’ve lost it right then and there— you were so warm inside, soaked thoroughly such that his movements were smooth and easy as he instantly started to fuck you, groaning at how perfectly your body accepted him.

“Slow down,” Boba grunted, “I need to get in.”

You cried and shivered as the other man pushed into your available entrance, your head falling exhaustedly onto Din’s shoulder. He looked down at your face, then, and brushed your hair away so he could see it better, peeling strands from where they had been stuck to your forehead and neck by the thin layer of sweat that covered you. He wanted to comfort you, to promise that the pain would ease soon, but he couldn’t really think of anything to say; so, he just held you tight as he began to move within you again, and saw the other hunter do the same.

He made a conscious effort to not look at Boba’s cock, for fear of comparing it to his own. It was disturbing enough to be able to feel it, slightly, through the thin barrier your body provided. How inconceivable that Din had woken up a virgin and would fall asleep tonight with the memory of this lodged in his mind forever. In one day of sexual activity he’d gotten more done than many would in a lifetime, and yet he still lacked the most common things: love, passion, consent… perhaps someday he’d find those, even if it could never be from you.

Not worried anymore about an attempt to fight or flee, Din reached back and untied your wrists from each other, hoping he wouldn't get scolded for it by Fett who thankfully remained silent aside from his own restrained sounds of pleasure. You clung to him instantly, your freshly-freed hands clutching at his back, and he decided to interpret it as a token of affection even if he knew that was a bit of a stretch. If nothing else, maybe you recognized him as the lesser of two evils.

He opted to take credit for the way your moans were different from before; even in his wildest fantasies could he not convince himself that he was better at this than Boba was, but he could swing at the idea that you preferred him because you were meant for him. It was probably more outlandish, yes, but it was so easy to believe that you were made to be his when you felt so good around him. Din hadn’t even known anything could feel this good.

Something Boba had said earlier gained clearer meaning when Din felt your inner walls seize up and shift around him. Trying not to be too loud, he resorted to coping with the feeling by gripping your waist tightly. The idea that he could leave bruises on your skin excited him more than he would have anticipated (if, of course, he had anticipated any of this).

Another tug on your hair from Boba wrenched your head back. "Gonna come," he grunted at you lowly, "in this tight little ass. You want it?"

"Please," you whispered, not quite sounding enthusiastic but managing to give him whatever he was looking for, apparently, as another choked noise signalled his release. Your body reacted strongly to that, clenching down hard on Din's cock.

"You like it," Din posited. "I can feel it," he reminded you when you tried to deny it with a shake of your head, "from the inside."

Boba took his time pulling out, the most peculiar sensation that made Din shudder a bit. As tight as you were when you were full in that way, Din preferred having you to himself.

"I'll be in the fresher," Boba announced as he stood up and tucked himself back into his uniform, looking so composed in a way Din envied; he was sure, somehow, that he looked a complete mess even with the armor covering him. "I'll leave you to your fun. Don't take too long."

“I— I won’t last much longer,” Din stammered, wondering immediately if it was too much information.

“Not inside,” you begged suddenly.

Boba chuckled a little as he left, and Din wondered if it was what he said or what you said that made him laugh. The thought was forgotten as the hunter left, and he suddenly felt a wave of nerves wash over him— the way he always felt when he was alone with a pretty girl. Not that he'd ever been alone with a pretty girl quite like this.

Not sure what to say, he opted to just not say anything as he held you tight and bucked his hips up into you. You wouldn't let him off that easy, apparently, as you reiterated yourself: "You can't come inside, please don't—"

"This isn't a negotiation," Din reminded you firmly.

He was too close to imagine stopping now, anyway; the snug grip of your insides was too good to be ignored, his body was incapable of slowing down as he fucked you deeper and faster than ever. He noticed which angle of his hips made you moan loudest, hoping to feel you come around him just like Boba had.

“Come for me,” he instructed, hearing an impression of Fett in his own voice as he tried to come across as dominating, “I wanna feel it.”

You shivered a little, whimpering into the crook of his neck before he lifted you by the jaw to look at your face. You looked exhausted, eyes blown wide and dark, lips swollen and bitten red, hair tangled and unruly from being used essentially as reigns.

“Can you do that? Can you come?” he pressed, grinding his hips up into yours and watching you whine at the sensation of being filled so deeply. You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him. “Say it.”

“Yes,” you answered, “I’ll— I’ll come.”

“Good,” he praised plainly, doing his best to hold himself back until he got his chance to feel you reach your peak.

Your head fell back as your hands weakly tugged at his shoulders, and Din hoped that tearing your tunic down the front to grope your breasts would speed things along for you. He hadn’t taken off his gloves, but even so he relished the weight of them in his palms, curiously pinching at a hardened nipple which made you flex around him again.

“Are you close,” he asked, losing that intonation of a question again, focusing instead on trying not to sound exasperated.

“Yes,” you hissed, “I’m gonna— fuck,” you interrupted yourself.

You were moving a bit on your own now, instead of him holding you still and letting you limply take it like a ragdoll— no, you were rocking your hips in time with him, pushing down against him. You wanted it, obviously, and Din was more than happy to give it to you. He slammed into you with each thrust, held you down so you couldn’t squirm, groaned when he felt your body pulse around him. A new surge of wetness gushed between your bodies, your broken cry echoed right against his ear— if this wasn’t a dead giveaway that you were coming, he wasn’t sure what was. Unable to hold back anymore as you sobbed and shivered on top of him, he finally released into you, everything building up so fast only to snap in a moment, an embarrassingly weak moan slipping from his lips.

He was sure he had never been so exhausted, but it was the most incredible feeling as well. A little tear fell down your cheek— from terror, maybe, or disgust, or even pleasure… he had no real way to tell.

As he began to catch his breath, he wondered if he should say something; and, if he should, what that would be. Thankfully, he felt the lurch of the ship leaving hyperspace— the weight of gravity sinking a little heavier as you slumped down on top of him.

He picked you up and set you down on the floor, standing as he delicately stuffed his cock back into his trousers. “Looks like he’ll bring you in soon,” Din mumbled, but you didn’t really seem to care much, just laying on the floor and staring into nothingness. He watched his seed leak out of you and onto the steel, making a mental note to clean that up later, hoping you weren’t too angry with him for disobeying your request that he finish elsewhere. “You’ll need a new tunic,” he noticed as he realized it was probably less than ideal to bring in a target who had been so obviously violated. “I’ll bring you something to cover yourself with,” he decided.

Heading for his sack to search for an old cape or blanket that you could wear, he passed by the cockpit where Boba was steering the ship.

“I’m keeping the reward,” Boba interjected suddenly without turning back to look towards him, making Din stop walking, “since I was generous enough to share the… fringe benefits.”

“Of course,” Din nodded, not having expected a share of the bounty in the first place since all he’d done was keep lookout during the actual hunt. He was ready to walk away, but Boba spoke again as he turned the captain’s chair and faced Din, finally.

“Did you do what she asked?” Boba pressed.

“What?” Din choked, taking a moment to remember what he was even talking about— when you asked him not to come inside, apparently. “Oh, um, no.” His face warmed beneath the beskar as Fett chuckled to himself.

“Good,” he nodded. “Never take commands from a target, or a whore.”

Din shuffled nervously but said nothing, considering he had no idea how to respond to that.

“Besides,” Boba continued as he turned back to the controls of the ship, “if she’s pregnant that’ll be the New Republic’s problem.”

Din figured he was free to go now, taking a moment to glance over Boba’s shoulder at the planet ahead before continuing ahead. His quest for a cloak for you was nearly forgotten as he tried to clear his mind of what Boba had said so casually. He needed a shower, desperately, but he didn’t have time before the ship landed— and Fett probably intended on making Din complete the transfer and bring the credits back, since the older hunter wasn’t exactly a friend of the Republic.

He ended up grabbing an old shirt of his, tossing it at you when he entered the room where he’d left you, finding you standing with your trousers pulled back up. Silently he wondered if you had made any effort to clean yourself of his come or if it was still there between your legs, but neither of you said a word as he put you in more formal shackles than the rags that Boba had tied you with originally.

The New Republic officer definitely reacted to your appearance when Din brought you forward, all but dragging you as he gripped your arm. “When’d she get so roughed up?” the young officer interrogated as he handed Din the credits he was owed.

“Found her like this,” Din shrugged.

He didn’t seem to buy it, with the way he scanned your form and raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything else as he motioned for two guards to take you away. Din considered looking back but decided against it, returning to the ship and immediately surrendering the credits to their rightful owner in Boba.

“Next job’s on Dantooine,” Boba informed him gruffly as he piloted the ship out of the atmosphere. But Din wasn’t listening, instead watching your new prison shrink and disappear into a dot, hoping to find in himself the carelessness that Boba had already mastered. He had a thousand questions he wanted to ask his hunting partner— Is this how it always goes? Will it happen again? Do you really think she could be pregnant? — but he wouldn’t even consider speaking any of them aloud. It was almost funny that they had shared something so disturbingly intimate and Din still felt unable to be direct with him, although neither of them had the sense of humor to appreciate it.

“Thank you,” Din blurted out. “For teaching me about the job.”

“My pleasure,” Boba replied gruffly, and with a jump back into hyperspace, the ship was submerged once again into silence.

#dark!din djarin smut #dark!din djarin x reader #boba fett x reader #dark!boba fett x reader #god how tf do i tag this uhhhh #din djarin x boba fett x reader #din djarin x reader x boba fett #the mandalorian dark fic #hopefully that's enough

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javier-pena · 3 years

Text

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

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The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao, @filthybookworm, @frannyzooey, @khalysa, @leannawithacapitala, @mothandpidgeon, @mrsparknuts, @mxsamwilson, @piscespussybabe, @something-tofightfor

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #star wars #din djarin #pedro pascal #fanfic #the hunt fic #yes i've queued this #yes i'm asleep right now #and yes i'm too much of a coward

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bonny-kookoo · 3 years

Text

Ready Player 01 | JJK x Reader | 🔞❤️☁️

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: dystopia!AU, former Game developer!Jk, former pro gamer!JK, former IT specialist!Reader, former programmer!Reader, romance, Smut, slight cyberpunk elements

Warnings/tags: injustice, forcefully controlled public, violence (police/government officials against citizens), unfair powerplay, interrogation, tech talk, Jungkook be antisocial as FUCK but so is the reader lmao wbk, fear of physical contact (Haphephobia), past trauma and mentions of a bad childhood, insomnia, crime, smut because yes it’s me hello my content isn't kiddy-proof in the first place what yall want from me I'm not sure, but that’s waaY at the end ya know, friends to lovers, a slightly sassy AI but we love her, reader struggles with emotions, I mean same tbh, they're both so sweet tho I cant, not proofread because let me live

Summary: there’s a war going on; silent, but it’s there. Media has been strictly become controlled and regulated- to the point of making it illegal to own a TV or phone with internet access without a valid license. But there’s always some people that will try to break free from the controlling force.

"-a new age. This is a new year. And remember; we're doing this for the greater good. Until tomorrow." The news reporter stops talking after she somberly looks somewhere behind the camera that is pointed at her.

Your room is dark- the TV brightness on it's lowest setting so you can see what's going on- but outside, no one can see the light shining in your tiny apartment. Investing in blackout curtains had really paid off at the end of the day.

You don't want to get caught.

There's an announcement van driving past your window; the tiny slits in your curtains where the light from outside can creep its way inside brightening a bit as the headlights pass your windows. Something is spoken, and by now everyone knows the routine speech.

"Electricity will be shut down in five minutes. We advice to save all progress immediately- and we wish a good nights rest. Electricity will be shut down in five minutes..-" It repeats, over and over, counting down the minutes. You slowly move into your kitchen, opening one of the loose floor tiles to turn on your own emergency electricity system. With well practiced movements you close the tile again, moving the rug over it as you walk back into your living room, swiftly sliding the TV behind your wardrobe to make it disappear. As if on cue; there's a knock at your door.

The same as always. Routine. Two times, loud and clear. You don't even have to look through the peephole to know what awaits behind it.

"Yes?" You ask, rubbing your eyes as if you had been already asleep. The officer behind the door nods at you shortly, a mild smile on his face as he looks down at you.

"We didn't mean to wake you miss. Just routine, as usual." He says, peeking into your apartment to look for any electronics still running. It's pitch black however- so he simply nods, as his colleague notes something into his tablet. "We wish a good nights rest miss. Again, sorry for intruding." He apologizes, and you nod, closing the door.

Only when the street lights turn dark, do you move from your bed.

"Creator." The AI voice chimes up, her voice greeting you as as you lift the tile on the floor again- your phone connecting to the AI to show information you instantly decode and note down inside your head. "Player01 has just connected." The voice states, and you sit down on your cold kitchen flooring, smiling a little. "He has sent a message. Would you like me to play it?" The voice asks, and you take a deep breath.

"Yes." You say, and there's a small sound indicating the start of the voice message. A male voice is head.

"Hey, whats up?" He asks, and you can hear something in the background- maybe an empty can or something similar. "I uh.. I'm on my way. Should I bring anything? Ah wait, I know the answer to that.." He says, chuckling at the end of his sentence, and you can hear him zip up his jacket as he moves around. "Yeah uh.. just text or something, I'll bring stuff over. Can't have you starve." He ends, and the AI speaks up again.

"Would you like to repeat the message?" She asks, and you shake your head at her; a signal the artificial intelligence has come to detect quite well. "Should I archive it?" She questions again, and this time, you nod- something your invisible assistant can pick up due to motion sensoring.

"Send him a message." You say. "Tell him: I only need you. Get yourself here in one piece and I'm happy. And I'm very capable of taking care of myself." You state, and your phone shows a small loading message- indicating that the voice is doing as you said. It chimes up after a moment. "Thanks Kana." You say.

"No problem creator. Would you like for me to run through the databases now?" She asks, and you nod, a smile on your face. "Database search in progress. Estimated time: sixteen minutes and eighteen seconds." You huff out a breath as you look at the tiny display on your arm; tiny, yet powerful as it's your way of keeping Kana- your AI assistent- close at all times. Tonight, there would seem to be a lot to dig through.

They really added a lot of content these days.

It's not the door that makes you notice that there's a visitor after a while- He never uses it anyways for some reason. You're sitting on your kitchen floor with a small cup of tea in your hands- kept hot inside a slightly beaten-looking thermos can since you can't use to water boiler at night. Using anything other than Kana would cause a spike the police would be sure to notice; and you're not ready to get caught yet.

Not tonight.

It's a boy who, after a moment, opens the unclosed kitchen window to climb in; his combat boots getting a little snow and dirt from the outside into your apartment as his 80's looking jacket makes distinctive noises as it brushes against the sides of your window. His blonde hair has grown out a bit these days you notice- the roots clearly showing. It's a little wet and slightly curly from the moisture. It must be snowing outside- or maybe it had. You couldn't know for sure.

You never left your apartment.

He closes the window after slipping on the tiles inside a little, the plastic bags noisy as he almost drops them- sheepishly taking off his boots as he smiles at you. His socks are different from one another- but that's another thing so distinctive and just so.. him. He's his own person, always has been; it's what brought you two together, after all. You both stood out against the 'regular public' these days; with his brightly almost white-bleached hair he was like an albino in a sea of crows.

But you knew he didn't need that to stand out to you.

You can still remember the first few times the boy in front of you has visited you; the times where he had just dyed his hair to rebel out, or when he pierced your ears in exchange for you to do it to him as well. It was like you had made a blood pact in your kitchen that night- you had somehow gotten closer, formed a little more than just a simple companionship in order to riot against the law. He began growing close. Gave you a nickname. Began calling you his player 2. Began calling you his 'ace'. He had explained that he thought of it from memories of his gaming days; the two fighting teams always called red and blue, and one of his favorite weapons having that nickname- simply because it always 'saved his ass last minute'. He had rambled on about his last tournament after that, eyes sparkling and cheeks round from cold noodles.

You had become friends.

"hey." He says after sitting close across from you on the cold floor; the opened tile and Kana's core exposed to you two, the only source of light apart from your bracelet. The colorful LED's paint marks on his face and illuminate his features to you; but it does the same to you from his point of view. It's a familiar sight. "How are you?" He asks, almost shyly, but you know that's not what's bothering him.

"Hey Jungkook." You simply say with the hint of a smile, as you answer him. "Haven't slept well these days but, what's new I guess." You chuckle, and Jungkook smiles too- though a glimpse of concern is still shown your way. He knows however that forcing you to sleep won't do much good- your insomnia was too bad to really conquer it in a day or two just by taking naps.

And also; who was he to talk about solving personal issues.

"Have you seen the most recent reports?" You ask him, and the boy somberly shakes his head.

"I was unable to." He states. "They were patrolling close to my apartment complex because there had been someone reporting a Glitcher today." A 'glitcher'- a slang word now commonly used for people like Jungkook and you. People who went against the nightly routines, people who tried to trick the system by using electricity at night, owning media, consuming it, or dealing with it. It somehow became worse than underground drugs. "They pulled him out at around twelve or so- but they seemed too on edge the entire day, so I didn't risk it." He says, and you nod. Jungkook had always been a very good person when it came to calculating risk versus reward. He was good at reading people too- even though he didn't interact much, he got out of his apartment a lot more than you did. "Anything important?" He asks, and you shrug.

"There was a report that China and Japan were still on edge- with the chinese government arguing that they would soon start with 'more drastic measures to get things under proper control', whatever that means." You say, and Jungkooks brows furrow as he starts to pick on the skin of his jaw. "Let's just hope the flood doesn't throw us under the sea as well if it escalates I guess.." You say, and the boy across from you nods.

"Creator." Kana's voice chimes up, making Jungkook look up before remembering that the only source would be your bracelet, which you look at as well. "My scan of your body shows that you have not consumed a sufficient amount of calories today. I recommend a meal in the next five to eight minutes to avoid malnutrition." She says, and you groan. "I take this as a form of verbal communication. Running data search..." She says, as Jungkook looks at you; thoroughly amused by the teasing banter between the AI and his friend. "My data search concludes that you are annoyed, creator. I have only stated a fact however-" She continues, and Jungkook steps in.

"I've brought some leftovers from my dinner today we can eat." He says, pulling out some plastic containers as he moves to get proper cutlery out of your drawers. He makes sure to push them towards you, making sure to nod with a smile as you nod and thank him a little embarrassed. "It's nothing. You know I love you too much to let you starve!" He states with a grin, bunny teeth on full display as bitterness creeps up your throat- something you make sure to swallow down before beginning to eat.

Because the kind of love he's talking about right now, is not the kind of love you want him to feel for you.

"You forgot to give it a proper validation there-" He points out as you type away. "Otherwise it will just run instantly, and everything at once. That could crash older systems, and we know that V95 uses an older laptop, so we should take that into account." He says, and you nod, clicking back to the spot Jungkook is talking about.

This is what you're both good for.

Writing code for you had always been something you did with a passion- simply because you were good at it. Numbers and short phrases were something you could remember with ease; but you never had to think much about the visual aspect of programs in your department back when you were able to work for a simple programming company. You had simply always been tasked to program security systems and automatically updating firmware, or simple AI's for factory robots. Jungkook however had been all about the visuals; he had been programming games after all. That's why you two fit so well together in this scene. Whenever he would be in complete awe of the broad knowledge you had about official guidelines and security breaches, of staying undetected and unseen while still gaining as much as possible from every single line of code, he could always throw in his input to make sure the program you were both writing and updating for the glitch community was easy to use and simple enough so it could run smoothly on as many systems as possible. Be it phone, laptops, PC's- you two made it possible.

This program was connecting Glitchers all over the globe- and with yours and Jungkooks knowledge, you made it almost invisible. And even if it was somehow detected; there was no possible way to track down any of it's users.

The fact that you had to hide a simple program from the government made you sigh.

"Okay. Yeah I think that fixed the bug." He says, and looks at your arm- at Kana. "Oh, by the way, Kana?" he asks, and the chime gives him the cue to talk. "I heard you had a bug-fix too recently." He says, and the AI chimes again.

"I did, Player01." The AI answers. "The addition of code to my current program has proven to significantly increase my ability to observe and save more data." The female voice answers, and Jungkook grins. "You are happy, Player01." She states, and he nods.

"I am." He says.

"Why is that?" The AI asks, and Jungkook shrugs.

"I'm just happy you're doing well. Someone has to take care of ace when I'm not close by, yeah?" He states, and you try not to react to it. Jungkook is by now used to your more stoic expression; you're not too emotional and barely let things get under your skin. You've been hurt before, he knows this even if you never told him- he can see it in the way you hide inside the safety of your home, how you're so cold on the outside but still clinging onto him. Sometimes he wishes he could touch you; run his hand over your head to ruffle your hair like in those cheesy movies, hold your hand, or simply give you some reassurance in the form of a gentle hand on your back whenever you struggle.

But he's got his own demons, and they love clinging onto him just as much.

"V95 has connected to voice chat. Would you like to talk to him?" Kana states, ripping him out of his thoughts as he watches you nod.

"JK? Y/N?" A deep voice asks.

"We're here. Heard there was a raid close to you?" Jungkook asks, and he can see you grow a bit more serious at that. "Are you okay?" He adds, and V answers, although quite.. tired?

"I'm good. They got Jimin though." He states, and you sigh, running a hand through your hair as you stand up, frustrated. Jungkook knows you're trying to calm down by pacing. He doesn't mind. "They didn't officially arrest him, took him for 'questioning' though. We know what that's about." He states somberly, and Jungkook takes a deep breath.

"Jimin is a master manipulator V. He'll get himself out of it, I'm sure." Jungkook tries to reassure, but it doesn't gain him much than a hum from Taehyung on the other end of the line. "What about Sleeper?" He asks, and a chuckle is heard.

"He's been checking the videofeed from inside the past few nights. He said he's send some of the big bites to Ace though?" He says, and Jungkook looks over at your form.

"Yeah I've seen it." You simply say, though Jungkook grows uncomfortable with the way you're suddenly standing there. You're a little hunched, biting the skin on your thumb as you look at the tiles as if they suddenly began to move. He knows himself that things inside the 'rehabilitation centers' weren't all that nice to see- but you rarely ever displayed so much distress over it. "Let's just hope Jimin get's his ass out of this situation. We can't afford to loose him." You say, and V stays silent before he sighs.

"Yeah. I tell sleeper you've seen the stuff. Oh, and our prince charming has asked for a date with Ace. Again." Taehyung chuckles, and you groan- while Jungkook can't help but clench his jaw. Kim Seokjin was a very good asset to the team; with connections reaching deep inside the government and his position as a former lawyer- but he still hated his guts.

You didn't need to waste your time dating. You were totally capable of taking care of yourself, you had even said it personally! And for anything else Jungkook would provide for you. You didn't need anyone else than him.

He was totally not jealous of him.

"Can he not use our underground connections for that circus?" You say. "I don't even go grocery shopping, why would I want to go on a fucking date?" You mumble, sitting down next to Jungkook as you take a spoonful of rice. Jungkook feels a weird sense of satisfaction about the situation.

"Who knows." Taehyung says. "Alright, 10 Minute mark- I'll hear from you two soon. Take care." He says, and you both say your goodbyes before the line goes silent.

Although Jungkook hates physical contact, he likes keeping you close.

His heart is melting like chocolate as he notes the way your hand grips his jacket tightly as the two of you walk through town to get your license renewed- a way of holding onto him, and he somehow wishes it could be his hand. He knows yours would fit so perfectly in his, and yet he can't bring himself to do it.

His body is not cooperating.

He remembers vividly how his fear had developed; with his father and mother both being dramatically overworked and overwhelmed with having a kid at a young age, they had no idea how to make a child behave. Every second touch would bruise, every time he had been held would be force.

And at some point, he started to dislike physical touch completely.

It had just been like his growing interest in freelance climbing- the way he would walk and jump high over the heads of unsuspecting people, away from all judgemental gazes they'd throw his way for behaving the way he did. Only when the wind could hit him freely, only when he couldn't make out faces of anyone down below, only when he was high up- that was when he felt safe. The ground below had nothing of interest for him, no point in going down, as his apartment was located on the top floor of the complex. Jungkook never took the elevator, always the stairs.

He liked being reminded how high he lived.

And yet, there's one thing that pulls him down, brings his feet to the earth below, calls him like a siren song. It's you, hidden away from everyone's sight inside your tiny home, just as troubled and judged as himself.

He'd fallen in love with you the second you told him his name.

It had been a rainy night, his clothes drying on your heater as he was wrapped in two of your blankets; the smell of your fabric softener and something so typically you surrounding him like a mother's hug would a child. It had given him a feeling of comfort he had never quite experienced before, and it had also been the first time he had imagined what it would be like to hug you.

To have you close.

He had explained to you why he had freaked out when you reached for his arm to steady him when he almost fell inside your apartment through your window; had apologized and bowed his head in shame until you had simply shrugged.

"You don't have to justify yourself to anyone, Jungkookie." You had said. Jungkookie. "You're you. And I like you." You had said, not looking at him as you typed in some code to Kana's internal system.

His heart had warmed up at that.

And while you had accepted him, he had accepted you just as much. While at first caught off guard by your quiet and sometimes harsh way of treating him, he had also gotten to know just how gentle and delicately you treated the ones you loved. You were a loyal person, always going out of your way to be helpful, and silently basking in praise any time it was directed at you.

He loved that view. The way your cheeks would grow warm, how your eyes would sparkle; and he loved most of all, that he had been, according to Taehyung who was the second closest to you, the only one to see you smile.

You even laughed with him.

It filled him with pride to know that you were able to let go around him, even if it was just a little. It made him feel like he did something huge. It helped him sleep at night knowing that you were trusting him enough to let down your guard a little.

And it hurt him even worse knowing that he couldn't do the same thing for you.

He was a coward-

and you deserved a hero.

"Ace?" He asked, slipping through your window as he noticed the apartment silent and dark. Nothing greeted him. "..Ace?" He tried again, maybe you were asleep? But your apartment was quiet, empty, nothing spoke of your presence. Dishes were in the sink, a cup of water left untouched on the counter, and something inside of him churned painfully at the way this looked. He checked the kitchen tile, sliding it to the side like he's seen you do it countless of times.

It was dark.

Instead, he was greeted by a post it note. "Underneath the bed. Take care." Was all it read. He stood up, pushing your bed away from the wall noticing how your carpet had been torn a little. And as he lifted the cut flap of carpet, there was an envelope.

Your watch. A small in-ear piece, and your old IT-identification, folded.

A noise outside your hallway made his head snap up as he pushed the bed back into place, making an escape for it as he climbed outside the window, watch safely inside his jacket as he climbed back up on top of a building, before he examined it further, turning it on, after putting the earpiece in.

"Hello, Jungkook." Kana greeted him, and it felt weird to hear the AI say his name like that. "Creator has advised me to answer all questions you might have, and assist you from here on." She said, and Jungkook simply put the watch on, making his way to his own apartment.

"What happened?" He asked, his face serious as he walked.

"At around 6:12 O'clock, creator was taken into further questioning regarding illegal possession and knowledge of classified information and technological equipment. She had shown no resistance and complied with authorities. My observations however showed that she was taken with more force than necessary." Kana explained. Jungkook shook his head. "She had prepared for this instance during the night, approximately twenty-six minutes after you had left."

"She knew?!" He suddenly said, shutting his apartment door violently as he started to pace around, throwing his jacket on the couch. "Why didn't she contact me?"

"Analysis; your body shows signs of-" Kana started, but Jungkook interrupted.

"Shut up. Why didn't she tell me?" He asks again, and Kana seems to hesitate for a moment.

"Considering her close relationship to you, she probably wanted to not get you involved." She stated, and Jungkook sighed, sitting down on his couch as he gripped his hair. He should've stayed. Hell, it wasn't the first time he wanted to stay. He had dreamed of staying over, of fucking living with you for months to no end by now, but he was a coward. And this was his paycheck.

"Kana." He said lowly, and the small tune gave him the cue to talk. "Contact V95. Tell him it's urgent. We got an emergency." He says.

"I can't watch this." He says, jumping up and holding onto his head as to not punch his wall, unable to go through the videofeed of your interrogation room.

There's not much to see, but Jungkook knows that's simply because they haven't had the time to see to you yet. You and him knew best what really happened in these rooms, and he hated knowing that deep down they wouldn't go easy on you simply because you were a young woman. It didn't matter to them.

He'd seen teenagers way younger than you and him getting the rough treatment before- and elderly didn't get spared either.

The government bragged about having everything in order; yet they couldn't even control their own law enforcement it seemed. When he really thought back on his history lessons in school, not much had changed at all.

The world was still in utter chaos.

His palm shuts his laptop harshly- earning a tiny chime from the AI he’s already forgotten shares his home with him now. “I suggest that you practice care in treating your electronics to-“ he groans, successfully shutting it off at that. “Why are you frustrated?” It- she? Asks, and he sits down.

“I don’t know how to help her.” He admits in shame, thinking back to the footage of your hidden camera; the way they had pushed you to the ground, before grabbing you, leading you out of your apartment a few minutes away from him. “I don’t know what I should do.” He says.

There’s a bit of silence, until the AI speaks up again. “Do you have a romantic interest in my creator?” She asks, and his head snaps up at that.

“What the fuck? Why would you ask me this?!” He barks, unsure where to look since he can only hear the voice.

“I have observed both my creator and your behaviors; you seem to have a very deep rooted interest in each others well-being and opinions. This is commonly found in partnerships. I was only asking you to confirm if my assumption is correct.”

He’s silent for a moment, until he speaks again, watching the announcement van pass his window; voices dull and unintelligible though the walls and windows. “It’s no use anyways. Who wants someone they can’t even shake hands with?” He sighs, looking into his lap again. He hates that he’s like this; that even though he very much loves and adores you, there’s no magic moment that makes him forget- even though he craves the contact, he can’t do it. Every time he’s close to you, he knows that he could simply hug you; or let you rest your head on his shoulder, like in romantic movies. He wants to hold your hand, wipe your tears- but his body won’t cooperate. He can’t do it.

Not even with you.

“Creator seems very comfortable with you.” The AI states. “I have been asked to archive all text messages and phone calls of you two recently. When I asked for a reason, she claimed she would need it someday- I was unsure what she meant.” Jungkook furrows his brow, raising his head again. “Sometimes, when creator is deeply upset, she has the habit of playing some of the recordings of you singing, or reminding her to take care. My research has shown that it slows down her heartbeat to a more normal level and also improves her insomnia.” Jungkooks eyes widen at that.

Does that mean.. that you like him back?

"Kana, fuck- cut the feed." He says, agitated.

"Are you sure?" She asks, and he sighs, before yelling his frustration out, sitting down to take a deep breath. He slowly shook his head no. He couldn't let all your hard work go to waste like this.

He couldn't stay a coward.

"Jungkook, it appears to be that the creator is being let go." Kana suddenly chimes up, and Jungkook rushes to his pc setup to see for himself. And she's right- your arm is being held tightly, and something is being said to you, but your hands are no longer chained to the chair- you're free.

What just happened?

Jungkook sometimes really hates himself for being the way he is.

There's no sugarcoating it that you need comfort now more than ever, even though you don't openly show it to him. He can see it in the way you're still biting your nails, he can see it in your eyes which never stay on one point for too long. And he can definitely see it in the bruises on your upper arm, and the cut on your lower lip where you had bitten in anger and frustration. He wants to comfort you, he knows you'd let him- and yet he can't move any closer than where he is right now; only the length of his palm of space between you two. And yet it's like his joints are locked into place. He can't touch you.

What if he hurts you?

And it dawns on him right then and there while he watches you drink your can of overly sweet soda while typing your code like second nature, that he's not scared of you hurting him. He's scared of doing to you, what's been done to him. Because deep down he is aware that his parents never had bad intentions, never hated him or wanted him to suffer; they were simply unsure and not at all confident in how to really care for a child. They had been caught off guard and gotten overwhelmed by the sudden shift in their situation that they never truly knew what to do. And nowadays he felt like he was simply heading down the same road.

He was starting to feel like he was becoming just like them.

"Hm?" You ask him, ripping him out of his thoughts as he looks at you, your eyes wide and worried as you put down your almost empty can of soda. "What is it?" You ask him, and he wants to scream. He wants to throw a fit like a child at the way you seem to worry for him every time you should worry for yourself. He's a coward, he's useless, he's everything you don't need nor deserve in his eyes, and yet you always look at him like he's the main character of your favorite movie.

If he was, he was sure he'd be merely a sidekick- because you deserved to be the focus of every story told in his eyes. And if you weren't included in the tale, he knew he didn't want to ever know about it.

He swallows, before he manages to make his hand move, finger pointing at your arm where a green-ish bruise already formed. "Does it hurt?" He asks, and he's not even sure if he's asking you about the bruise, of if he's asking something else. He doesn't know what he's saying, doesn't even know if he's asking you or himself.

"No." You answer, and he looks at you, searching for any hint of a lie in your eyes. But he only sees that slight smile, lips turned a little, almost unnoticeable. But its there, he can see it, and he wants to print it into his mind to never forget it. You were so observant, knew him so well, that he was almost certain you knew of his inner fight and what he really meant with his blurted out question. "Are you okay?" You ask him, and he swallows again, eyes stinging with unshed tears as his body grows rigid like an unoiled machine, only moving with as much force as he can manage to come up with. His breathing is heavy as his eyes can't leave the spot on your arm, and your watch him with wide eyes as his shaking hand slowly reaches out.

He doesn't know what he expects to really happen.

Maybe like those electric shocks you get when someone had rubbed their socks on a carpet before touching someone else. Maybe he had expected to recoil instantly. Maybe he had expected nothing- but he was suddenly in a rush the moment his fingertip touched your warm skin, delicate, soft, everything his rough hands weren't.

And you were still as prey in front of a wolf.

But the wolf in this scenario was holding his breath while his tears finally fell. He wants to speak, but he can't, he doesn't know how to ask for something when he doesn't even know if he wants it.

But suddenly he moves again, his palm now resting fully against your upper arm, shaking, as it moves over the length of it, softly, as he imprints the way your soft skin feels. "Jungkook.." You whisper out, and he suddenly snaps, leans forward, his legs on either side of your body as he snakes his arms around you from behind, pulling you close to his chest. You can feel him shake as he holds you, his cheek resting against your back and you don't care about his tears staining your shirt as he suddenly cries openly and possibly for the first time since he was a mere child.

He's unsure, overwhelmed, because you're so warm, you smell so nice, you're so soft, and he can't let go, doesn't want to let go. He whines out as you turn a bit as he thinks you're moving away but you're simply placing your legs over his as you sit in his lap, hugging him back as you make sure to give him a gentle squeeze.

He calms down after a long while of simply existing. Of breathing you in, of feeling you. "You're right." He whispers into your neck, and you can't help but shiver, leaning into his hug.

"It doesn't hurt at all."

"You know, I get why you come up here." You comment, as Jungkook makes sure to hold your hand tightly in his, your feet dangling off the edge of the building you're sitting on top of. "It's nice." You say.

He's not listening that well though.

All he can really do is watch your face, illuminated by the neon lights of the city, hair swaying in the wind as you look down below. He doesn't quite know what you two really are, doesn't know how long it will take him to really come out of his shell and give you the love you deserve, but he's trying. He's fighting, he's left his cowardly self behind.

He want's to change.

And not just for you alone, because while he hates seeing you hurt, he knows what you two are doing- what all of you are doing- is for the greater good.

Jungkook hates your ideas sometimes.

Simply because he knows they will work, but also end up with you getting into danger at the end of it. And just like now, all he can do really is hope that you make it out as he keeps a watchful eye on your movements from above, giving you directions via Kana as you sometimes trip and stumble a little.

You're not a very active person; running wasn't really your thing.

Fuck, you were basically a hermit, the most you walked around was from your bedroom into the kitchen!

But then again, sacrifices had to be made somewhere. And Jungkook really admired you; because every time he thought that you had reached your limit, you would face it head first and break through it.

"Ace, try and somehow get to higher ground. They're caging you in from all sides." He urgently tells you as he watches police chase you down the roads, pushing citizens aside to not loose sight of you.

The plan had been simple. Gain all the attention so Taehyung could infect one of the police station's servers with a new worm, giving you all a better and easier access to any data and communication of the area. Jungkook couldn't play the bate well enough; and you had been on their radar already, making you the best option to gain their interest quickly enough.

Although Jungkook hated that part.

"Come on, ah fuck it." He grits out, jumping down to grab a ladder, making his way to a nearby area he could pull you up. There was no way you could reach any of the fire ladders yourself, and by now, things were getting too hot for him to risk anything. "Here!" He barks out, not thinking twice about grabbing your hand and helping you upwards, trying not to worry too much about your heavy breathing. And then there's it.

A pop, loud, followed by another, and another, and another. You're suddenly falling, scraping your knees on the ground below as he can't catch you, too startled by the fact that they had actually decided to shoot to react quick enough. "Fuck!" He says, eyes wide and pupils blown as he looks at you.

"Jungkook, why the fuck aren't you running?!" You yell at him, a scratch on the top of your left cheek as you push his leg away from you- the only thing you can reach. "Go!" You bark again, and he growls out something, before he manages to pull you onto his back, adrenaline not letting his brain process what he's doing.

He can't just leave you.

"Taehyung, get out, Ace has been shot. Whatever was uploaded has to be enough." He says via the in-ear piece, doesn't wait for a response. He still gets it.

"Fuck, what?! Okay okay, I'm out" He says, and Jungkook can only catch a glimpse of the older man leaving the building via the backside entrance. He's only concerned with getting you somewhere safe.

"Urgh." You groan, slowly sitting up on Jungkooks couch. "I mean, I know paintball hurts, but rubber bullets? Jesus.." You complain, while Jungkook looks at you with a dark expression. "What?" You ask him, and he huffs.

"You sound like you haven't almost been killed yesterday." He grimly says, and you shrug. "Stop. I'm serious." He tells you, and you let yourself fall back down onto his couch.

"Whatever. At least we killed their communication." You say, closing your eyes. "Must've at least pissed them off." You say.

"Kana." Jungkook suddenly says, waiting for the familiar sound to tell him she's active. "Shut down for now." He says, and you sit up, hissing instantly at the sudden movement.

"Hey- ah fuck!" You say, as you watch on your bracelet how Kana complies; shutting down. "Why would you do that?" You say in an offended matter, before you grow quiet, watching him go onto his knees in front of you, as he lets his head rest on top of your lap.

"I just want.. you to myself. Just.." He mumbles, and you slowly bring your hand to his hair. "Just for a moment." He says, and you sigh. Jungkook had been under a lot of stress recently, you no doubt being the main cause of most of it recently. So you simply let him be, as he closed his eyes. "Y/N?" He asks suddenly, and you answer him. "I love you." He says, and your body stops moving.

What?

"It's okay if you don't." He says, not moving from his spot, and neither opening his eyes. "I mean it. I only want you to know." He explains further. "Because I.. couldn't fucking live with myself if something happened to you, and I've never told you." He admits, and you can't help but stare at him. Jungkook looked down on himself so much that it was sometimes frustrating to see; simply because you saw him as such an amazing human being with countless talents and beautiful flaws.

You knew you couldn't muster up the strength to actually answer him; not so spontaneously. You weren't that expressive, you couldn't communicate as freely and colorful as he could. All your words seemed black and white to you, mixing into grey and mundane sentences while his words seemed to bloom into the most amazing paintings. He had a way of charming those around him- and he didn't even know.

You slowly leaned down instead, moving his hair to the side as you placed a feather-light kiss to the top of his cheek, close to his eye.

You hoped he would somehow understand you.

And as he moved again, looking at you with eyes that sparkled brighter than any city's skyline ever could, you knew he did.

He'd always understand you, no matter how you communicated with him.

You didn't need words to understand each other.

The shy kiss you two shared, bathed in the purple glow of the neon lights outside his window, spoke enough.

"You should try and sleep." Jungkook tells you, taking away your can of soda as you whine at him. "No buts. Come on, I'll finish this for you." He says, and you let him take over the keyboard of your laptop. It's something you really only let him get away with- anyone else would've probably lost a finger or two trying to touch your work.

You don't trust anyone but him at this point.

"I know that Kana snitched." You comment, as you lean your back against his shoulder. He chuckles. "Can't believe my own creation goes behind my back like that." You mumble, and Jungkook has a light tune to his voice as he speaks.

"Well, it's a good thing though." He tells you. "I worry about you." He says.

"Ugh come on, you know that's not the part I meant." You laugh, and he grins.

"Oh, you mean the part where you listen to my crappy ass singing to help you sleep?" He tells you with a teasing undertone. "No wonder you got insomnia trying to find rest to that." He chuckles, and you playfully hit his thigh.

"Shut up, your voice is nice." You say, and he's glad your eyes are closed, and you can't see him blush.

Somehow, moments like these re-energized him again. Because it proved to him that there was still a piece of that innocent and untainted you inside that thick shell you had put up to protect yourself. And considering that you let him see you like that made his pride grow taller than any of the skyscrapers of his city.

Maybe one day the two of you will have a future together that won't be so difficult and unfair like your current one was. Maybe one day, you both will have changed enough to teach the next generation about what you've overcome.

But then again; living in the moment seemed to fit a lot better in his eyes, as he watched you sleep soundly against his shoulder.

Yeah, this moment was more than enough for now.

The world won't change over night- you both know that. All of you know that. But small things were starting to make a difference here and there; for example, the letter you held towards Jungkook as his eyes widened.

"..and we have officially decided that we no longer want to participate in the case against the defendant. The result of this agreement is that all charges against Y/N L/N have been dismissed and are no longer being investigated." He reads out loud, almost whispering as if saying it too loud could make it a lie. "They let you go?" He asks, and you nod, the small bandaid on your cheek making you look even cuter in his eyes as you shrug.

"Jimin had reached out too. They've let him go home as well." You say. and Jungkook huffs out in disbelief.

After infecting the police station with the worm you had all worked on, you had scared the entire country enough to take a step back from the overall aggressive tone. It wasn't much- but it meant that they knew you were there. You existed, and you were not bowing down.

You were still untamed.

Jungkook smiled brightly as he put the letter down to the side, reaching out to you to pull you onto his lap. He simply holds you for a moment, his lips kissing the skin of your shoulder as if in a trance. "I love you." He tells you, and you smile, squeezing him a bit in your arms. "I really do." He assures you, and you nod.

You don't answer him, and he doesn't seem to mind as he leans back from you, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he grins, hands holding your face so delicately as he places a kiss onto your lips, making you close your eyes as he breaks away from you, letting you rest your head against his shoulder.

He's still not letting anyone very physically close other than you; he's still scared of going out and around like everyone else. You're still rather hiding inside his apartment- both of your apartment now- and you still have trouble sleeping.

But Jungkook keeps the nightmares away.

And you make him brave in exchange.

It's really weird to hear the sound of a radio nowadays.

Things are still far from normal- but recently, citizens had been given radios to listen to public broadcast again. It only played crappy music with some rare good tracks here and there, but it was better than nothing.

Jungkook couldn't help but think that your breathless voice was far more entertaining than any music station he can remember from his youth.

While he hates touching other people, even friends and family, he can't help but feel a rush whenever he touches you.

His hands can't stop on one specific spot, can't seem to stay still even for a moment as his lips nip and suck at the flesh of your neck and shoulder, marking what's his, visualizing that you really belong to him. He bears the same mark on his collarbone from last night, and he should have been satisfied, but even an early morning couldn't keep him away from you.

The rain hit the window harshly, but he didn't notice at all. All his eyes could see was your form underneath him, skin glowing as he moves above you, euphoria filling his veins as he can't look away from where you're connected, where his cock disappears inside of you over and over and over again.

"I love you." He breathes out as he comes undone, holding you close, resting his head against your shoulder, as you hold onto his arms, a smile, a genuine and big smile thrown his way as he can't help but smile along.

"I love you too, Jungkook." You say, and he chuckles.

The radio in the background still playing, as you lay in each others' arms.

(c)Bonny-Kookoo. Please stop reposting my content on AO3 thinking I won't find it. I'm literally everywhere you clowns.

To everyone else: Thank you for reading this mess- I really apologize for the messy storyline, but I just wanted to put this out before the entire thing escaped me again and I would end up struggling to find my way back into it (cough cough flashback to mean lmao). I promise to somewhat post more regularly. Thank you for your kind words and for sticking with me!

#bts imagine #bts #bts fanfic #jungkook imagine #bts fic #bts smut #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts reactions

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